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staytheword · 2 years ago

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kind regards

kind regards — one shot [general masterlist]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!

• changbin x female reader; lee know is briefly featured.

• non idol au. workplace au. rivals to lovers (workplace rivalry). some physical description of mc, drinking, explicit language, explicit smut.

• smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — dom!changbin, switch! reader, unprotected sex, sex in an empty public space, angry sex, elevator sex, use of pet names, lingerie, praising kink, dirty talk, slight degradation kink, dumbification, throatfucking, creampie.

• word count: 10.5k

Seo Changbin. Every time you get an email from me, you feel your blood boil. What a conceited, terrible human being. You have to work together, but it doesn't mean you have to like him. In fact, you only feel hate towards him. So what if you have no idea what he looks like, so what if you have never met him? Nothing could change your mind about him. Right?

• author’s note: Just a silly little one shot to take our mind off things. I wrote this completely for fun so I hope you can have fun reading it as well! Thank you for being here, sending lots of love your way. ♡

You stare at your computer screen, hoping that if you do it long and hard enough, it will magically conjure up the word you’re looking for. It starts with a g, that much you’re sure of, and it’s an adverb. It’s not gradually. It’s not gaudily. You have right there, on the tip of your tongue, but frustratingly out of reach.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You’ll find it. You’ll find it.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes flutter open on your coworker, Gahyeon, who gives you an apologetic smile.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Just can’t find my words today.”

“Hm,” she nods knowingly. “I hate days like that.”

You slide a hand through your hair and sit up in your chair.

“What’s up, Gahyeon?”

“I just wanted your advice on something…”

She circles your desk and puts a document on it, asking about the revision of a tricky sentence, offering you a welcome distraction. You discuss it for a few minutes before she heads back to her desk, long hair flowing down her back. You turn back to your screen, ready to get a good amount of work done before you head to lunch. Your fingers dance on your keyboard for a few minutes when you get an email notification.

Immediately, your blood grows hot and you stop typing. The notification shows you who the email is from: Seo Changbin, from marketing.

You haven’t even opened the email yet but you’re already angry. You know his email will be dripping with his usual passive aggressive tone, blaming you for this and that, asking you to make corrections to something that has already been done and approved. You just know it. The guy is never happy with anything, especially not your work. He’s the only one, though. You work well with your colleagues, and your team manager likes you. You always hand in your work on time. You’re always meticulous. You care about what you do, and you make sure it’s well done.

But this guy.

Not long ago, one of his emails angered you so much you almost punched your computer screen. You almost took the elevator to his floor to let him hear a piece of your mind. Luckily for him you have some self-control - and you know he is still your senior in the company. You don’t want to lose your job over some loser who clearly has nothing better to do with his time than bring you down to raise himself up.

It wasn’t always this way. You’ve worked at this company for years as a translator and never had any major issues with anyone, except for some classic bickering and gossip. Then this guy integrated the marketing department as a star talent and proceeded to make your life a living hell because he, too, spoke several languages and didn’t approve of your phrasing or your choice of words.

It’s not the tone we are aiming for is the sentence you’ve read the most from him. Sometimes you hear it in your nightmares.

You really don’t want to open the email, but you have to. Then you can treat yourself to a good lunch. You had planned on just grabbing something from the cafeteria, but you will definitely head out outside. A brie and spinach panini from the cafe next door, perhaps? Maybe even some sushi.

You inhale slowly and click on your inbox.

The email starts as usual. Dear Y/LN. It also ends as usual. Looking forward to your collaboration. You clench your fists, imagining they land on his nose and break it in a thousand pieces. The guy is polite - too polite. So polite you also want to break his teeth. You can just feel the arrogance oozing from his words.

You read the content of the email and take a deep breath. It’s not too bad today, considering, but it still puts you in a bad mood. There is something I would like to suggest, he writes.

Suggest it to my fist, you arrogant fuck.

You stare at your screen, your face frozen into an expression of disgust. You hate every single word he uses. You hate that he puts his font just a half a point bigger like he has something to compensate for. You hate the little gray icon next to his name at the top that indicates the jerk still hasn’t uploaded his picture like the company requires. Maybe it’s best you don’t know what he looks like, because then your hate would know absolutely no bounds.

You work for a big company. So big it occupies multiple floors of a sky-high building, and you’ve probably only met about 5% of the totality of your coworkers. That does not include the marketing team, except for a few faces you can recall from a Christmas party. That department is a floor above you, right on top of your head even, and the thought makes you rage.

I won’t let you step on me, Seo Changbin. You can burn in hell.

You imagine he’s a sixty-something year old guy with a fancy suit and a big watch, a family he does not know how to show affection for, and probably a mistress although his dick hasn’t worked properly in years. You just know he’s the sort of man to look down on women, to never say thank you to cashiers and to play golf with his buddies on the weekend. Hell, he’s probably a part of a country club of some kind.

You’re probably taking all of this too far but you don’t care.

You need to hate the guy. You want to hate him. It makes it easier.

With a sigh, you quickly reply to him, your tone cold and expeditive as always. You sign with your usual kind regards, words you’ve decided during a lonely night in your apartment after four glasses of wine. Just regards would be too easy, best did not convey your feeling and warm was just gross. Kind - that was perfect. Just the perfect amount of passive aggressiveness that could never be read as just that.

You close your inbox, inhaling slowly. You’re not going to let the guy ruin your day. You are not.

You get some more work done and ask Gahyeon if she wants to grab lunch with you. Minho yells from his desk that he’s coming too, so the three of you set off downstairs.

In the elevator, you complain about the email. Gahyeon shakes her head, although smiling amusingly, and Minho lets out a chuckle as you spit out your murderous intents.

“What are you laughing at?” you pout.

“I was just imagining the day you’ll come face to face with the guy,” he says, eyes gleaming mischievously. “I need to witness this moment.”

��Historical moment,” Gahyeon agrees.

“It would be best for you to be there,” you reply. “I’ll need help getting rid of the body.”

Once you’re sitting down with your platter of sushi not long later, you let out a sigh and plop one in your mouth.

“So, are you guys going to the cocktail party Friday night?” Gahyeon asks you both.

“You mean the thing with free food and booze?” you reply with a chuckle. “Why the hell would I miss it?”

Minho shakes his head. “I can’t that night, I’m cat-sitting for a friend.”

You glance at your friend, but then again, for such a sentence to escape his lips is nothing out of the ordinary.

“You could bring the cat to the cocktail party,” you suggest.

“And what, put the poor thing on a leash?” Minho glares.

You let out a laugh. “No leash. Just let it roam free. Hopefully my archnemesis will be there and the cat will scratch his face off.”

You all laugh over your plates, covering your mouths with your hands so as not to be too loud. It’s a tendency you have - you’ve been warned before about making too much noise in this very restaurant. You love their sushi too much to risk being banned, so you do your best to be discreet.

“Are you going, Gahyeon?” you ask your friend.

She nods. “Probably.”

Minho raises his eyebrows at her. “Hoping Mr Finance Department will be there?”

Gahyeon blushes slightly. “Well…”

You slap your hand on her arm, gasping loudly. “Oh my God, that’s still a thing?! I thought you were over him!”

Minho leans towards you. “It was, but he broke up with Sunglass Girl.”

“He did?!”

“And he got a haircut,” Gahyeon whimpers. “I didn’t think it would be possible but he looks even more fucking hot.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” you say.

You put a hand on your friend’s shoulder and look deep inside her hazel eyes.

“Don’t worry, Gahyeon. I’ll be your wingwoman Friday night.”

“That’s okay, Y/N…”

“I promise you to get you close enough to count the beauty marks on his face.”

“He has two.”

“I thought just one,” Minho frowns.

“No, two,” Gahyeon assures him.

“After Friday you can tell us how many he has on his entire body.”

“Y/N!” Gahyeon cries out, hiding her face.

She can’t stop giggling, though, and neither can you - and as Minho starts to make soft kissing sounds, you all burst out laughing.

When you settle at your desk for the afternoon, later that day, you’ve almost forgotten about your work nemesis. Almost.

Kind regards.

Changbin lets out a scoff, scrunching his nose in front of his screen. Kind regards. He’s not an idiot. He can read between the lines. He knows exactly what that means, and it’s kindly fuck off.

He’s not annoyed by it. Changbin knows better than to let things like that get to him. No, he’s definitely not annoyed.

He just hates your guts.

Before he closes your answer to his email, he catches a glimpse of your picture, right there, next to your name. It’s so small he can barely trace your features, but in a previous moment of weakness he opened the picture so it would be bigger and saw you almost too well.

Wide doe eyes. Full lips. Smiling almost cheekily to the camera, wearing a black turtleneck. Wispy bangs grazing your forehead. Simple gold loop earrings. A faint white scar on the right side of your nose, probably from your childhood.

Yeah. He might have looked at the picture a few times.

It was just to get to know his enemy better, he swore to himself. That way, he had an advantage over you - he knew what you looked like, but you had no idea who he was. You could meet him in the elevator or the cafeteria and you would have no idea - but he would. It happened once. He saw you in the main hall of the building one morning, holding a coffee and wearing headphones. You were bobbing your head to the music, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. He tried really hard not to stare, but it was beyond him - luckily, you didn’t even notice him.

Why would you, anyway? Thousands of people work in the company, hundreds of them wearing plain black suits like he does. Once Changbin understood that, he knew one day it would come to his advantage. He’s just waiting for the right moment. It will come. He just has to be patient - which has never been his strength, but for you, he trusts it will be worth it.

He takes the last bite out of his sandwich - homemade - and leans back on his chair. If only he could deal with someone else, if only you weren’t the translator assigned to his projects 90% of the time. At one point it started to feel like a joke, so much he wondered if someone was doing it on purpose. Your pettiness, your rude tone, it all rubbed off on him in all the wrong ways. He doesn’t do well with games and smugness, so you’re really testing his patience. Getting on his last nerve isn’t even covering it. Passive aggressive emails are starting to not be enough to convey his point. The fact that you’re pretty? It makes it even worse. You’re probably just a princess that thinks everything should be handed to her. He’s going to need to make himself very clear.

He just doesn’t know how.

Of course it’s on his mind all day, and it pisses him off even more that he can’t focus on work because of you. You might be pretty but right now, for Changbin, you’re the devil incarnate and he needs to exorcize you out of his mind. Luckily, he has his gym bag with him so he can head right there after work. Small blessings.

At six o’clock, Changbin stands from his desk, gets his things and heads to the elevator. Many people have already left, which is why he likes to finish his day at six - it’s much quieter in the building and the subway. His briefcase in a hand, his gym bag on his shoulder, he gets in the elevator and sighs. A part of him just wants to get home, and another dreads the silence of his apartment.

The elevator stops on the 11th floor - your floor.

The chances for you to step in the elevator are slim, but present, so Changbin tenses a little, just in case. Good thing he does, because there you appear. Wearing a skirt and knee-high boots, your jacket around your arm, clutching your phone. His heartbeat immediately accelerates, and he has to violently remind himself that while he knows exactly who you are, you don’t.

You step inside the elevator, giving him a small nod, and push the button for the main floor.

It’s very silent. Changbin can’t help but glance at you - but you do the same at the same time, so both of you quickly look away. Leaning against the back of the elevator, you are pinching your lips, and you keep glancing at him. Changbin is more tense than he has ever been, keeping a solid frown on his face, his joints getting white at how tight he’s holding his briefcase.

You pull out your phone and start texting frenetically. He keeps his eyes in front of him, hoping that the elevator would just stop to let somebody else in, but it’s well on its way to the main floor without interruption. He glares at you when you snicker at your phone. Are you talking about him? Are you making fun of him?

He breathes out. Calm the fuck down.

You have no idea who he is.

And maybe it’s exactly why you are smiling like you are, stealing a few more glances. You’re not flirting, but he can feel it off you - if the context was different, you might have been. He’s trying very hard not to think about the fact that you smell really good. That your eyeliner is perfectly curved at the corner of your eyes, that he has a soft spot for knee-high boots.

So as to set his mind right, Changbin recalls to his mind the email you sent him today, and all the ones before. All the arrogance and rudeness, all the times he wanted to punch a wall or yell at you. That makes it easier, just a little bit.

The elevator finally pings at the main floor and he briskly gestures for you to get out first. You give him a cute smile.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice dripping like honey. “Have a good evening.”

Changbin clenches his jaw and does not answer. You don’t seem bothered though, as you walk away with a spring in your step. Fortunately, you head towards the street, not the subway, and he lets out a sigh of relief. Truly, small blessings.

You stare at your closet and let out a long sigh. It’s not that you don’t have anything to wear, of course, but there’s just nothing you want to wear. You don’t care about impressing or seducing anyone, you just want to dress up for yourself, to feel good even just for a little while.

You hesitate but eventually settle on a simple black cocktail dress you adore because it’s extremely comfortable and has pockets. You slip it on, wearing only your golden hoops as your jewelry, and let your hair down. It would do just fine.

Gahyeon is waiting for you outside your building, which is only a few minutes walk away from the office. She looks insanely good in a red dress and matching lipstick, and you shower her in compliments. You make it to the building quickly, showing your identification to the security guard. The lobby is already quite busy with people from all departments, who are sipping champagne and catching up.

You and Gahyeon get a drink from the open bar, looking for Mr Finance Department in the crowd. Luckily, your friend has a radar for him and she spots him by the windows standing with his colleagues. He has gotten a haircut, and the short hair gives him an edgier look that really suits him.

“All right,” you say, holding your friend’s shoulders. “You remember the plan?”

Gahyeon nods. “Walk up to him, say hello, be myself.”

“And, what else?”

“Be direct.”

You hold up a palm so Gahyeon can high five you, and she sets off towards her crush, nervously playing with the strip of her handbag. You look at her go, trying not to squeal as you watch the guy turn to her and give her a sincere smile. From what you can see, although you can’t hear, they seem to be hitting it off. You feel a rush of pride, like your evening’s work has already been done. Now you can just let Gahyeon enjoy herself, have a few drinks, and go home in peace.

You head towards a quieter spot, considering going out to the terrace to enjoy the evening breeze when a familiar face stops you in your tracks.

“Oh, Y/N, long time no see.”

It’s your boss - not the boss boss, but high enough on the company hierarchy so that he is not the kind of person you can’t ignore. You give him a polite smile although you’re not really in the mood for small talk.

“How are you, sir? It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, likewise. Now I wanted to mention to you the…”

He starts talking to you about a recent project that he wants to expand, and you nod at him, listening more or less intently - and that’s when you notice the guy standing next to him.

His black hair is slightly combed back, small strands falling back on his forehead. He’s dressed all in black, his shirt without a tie, and there’s an elegant, discreet watch on his wrist. He just emanates charisma.

Sexy Elevator Guy.

That’s the unoriginal nickname Minho gave him in your group chat when you told your friends about your encounter with a mysterious, brooding stranger in the elevator.

All week you hoped to see him again, although you never really counted on it. You didn’t even know if he worked at the company - maybe he was just a visitor. But from his attire and the fact that he is standing next to your boss, you can guess he’s your colleague.

How delightful.

Your boss seems to notice he hasn’t introduced you, and so he points at the guy, who has been staring at you since you appeared.

“Oh, but you two must know each other, right?” your boss says. “Don’t you work together?”

You frown. “Hm, I’m not sure..”

“Sure, we do,” the guy answers.

You look at him in surprise and confusion. This smile - it really does look like he knows you. Is it because of the elevator? You don’t understand.

“How delightful to finally meet you, Y/LN,” he continues, and your blood gets boiling hot. “Seo Changbin, from Marketing.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drops at the bottom of your chest as you stare at him. Does he know who you are? He has to, smiling proudly as he is. You’re too shocked to feel angry, but you know it’s coming.

“I -” you stutter. “I’m not -”

“Can you believe this, sir?” he laughs. “We’ve been exchanging emails for months but we’ve never met.”

“Yes,” your boss nods, “well, that’s what happens with such big companies.”

The two of them keep talking but you completely lose track, your eyes fixated on him. Seo Changbin. He is your nemesis? He is looking forward to your collaboration guy? You can’t believe it.

Yet you have to face it.

That’s him. Seo Changbin.

The guy you’ve been hating and insulting and plotting to murder.

He’s standing in front of you - and he is also Sexy Elevator Guy.

No fucking way.

“Excuse me,” you mutter and walk away without another look.

You don’t care that you’ll come off as rude - you need some air. A lot of it, actually. You head directly to the terrace, stare up at the dark sky and inhale deeply. You feel dizzy, the wine coming up your throat.

You can’t believe what just happened. It’s one thing to discover his identity - but you can’t get over the fact that he clearly knew who you were. He is playing with you. He’s had the upper hand this entire time. Of course he does, you realize. His picture isn’t on his profile, but yours is. How dumb you are.

Your eyes fixated on the horizon, you let out a bitter laugh. What a fucking dick. What an enormous piece of shit. You clench your fists, ready to go back in and punch him in the balls for humiliating you like that. Your physical idea of him might’ve been completely wrong, but it clearly wasn’t in terms of personality.

“Here.”

At the sound of his voice, you spin on your heels, ready to spit venom - but he’s no longer smiling. His eyes are dark, his face serious, and he’s handing you a glass of white wine.

“Noticed that’s what you were drinking earlier,” he explains.

You squint your eyes at him.

“Get the fuck away from me,” you hiss.

He sighs, looking at you as if he is disappointed.

“C’mon, now. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, maybe we can be professional adults about this?”

“Excuse me?!”

“I’m talking about the attitude,” he says, raising an eyebrow nonchalantly. “We don’t like each other, and that’s fine. I don’t care, I don’t need to like you. But I’m tired of working with you feeling like a fight.”

It’s like you sober up all at once, fixating on him a dark glare.

“I don’t think I’m the problem here,” you spit out. “You came in and started criticizing my work like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve been working here longer than you.”

“I’m still your superior,” he replies, taking a step towards you. “Whatever I say goes.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“I’ve always been polite.”

“Polite, my ass. You’ve been looking down at me ever since your first email. I’m not stupid, don’t talk to me as if I am.”

“If only you did what is expected -”

You bark out a laugh, shaking your head. He stops.

“You did not just say that.”

He squints his eyes and exhales deeply. “All I mean is, it doesn’t have to be that difficult. Just make the damn changes.”

“I do,” you hiss. “But you could ask for them a little bit more nicely.”

“What, do you want every single email to come with a bouquet of flowers and a serenade? I have better things to do.”

“You’re such a patronizing asshole.”

“And all you do is insult me. Why can’t you act like an adult for once?”

“You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.”

You take a deep breath. It feels like arguing with a wall - clearly, there is nothing to be done, and really, nothing to say. You just don’t get along, and that will be the end of it. You suddenly feel tired. You take the glass of wine from his hand.

“Here’s one more insult for the road: fuck you.”

You just want to go back inside, finish your drink and get home, but Changbin grabs your upper arm as you’re starting to walk away. He doesn’t do it gently, but it’s not rough either - you look up at him with spite.

Or you try.

Because Changbin is so very terribly your type, smells wonderful, and has the kind of voice to get anyone weak in the knees.

Focus, woman.

“What?” you hiss.

“This conversation is not over.”

“Oh, I think it is,” you laugh with scorn.

“It isn’t,” he retorts, his eyes focused on you.

He’s standing a little too close for your liking - you can’t help but glance at his lips. Plump. Inviting.

“We have to figure out a way to work together. It’s not like we have a choice.”

You lift your chin slightly. “If you don’t let me go this second, I’ll scream and tell everyone you’re a pervert.”

He bites his lip, clearly holding back an insult, and you wish he would just say it. He doesn’t, though, and simply lets you go. You shake your hair out of your face.

“I’m sick of the games,” he chews. “Tell me what you want.”

You smile at him. “The games.”

He sighs and you chuckle.

“Don’t think for a second you’ll get away with this trick you just pulled. If you thought I was difficult before, you have no idea what’s coming for you now, Mr. Seo.”

He looks exhausted and slightly worried, but angry most of all. That delights you, and you finally walk away from him, finishing your glass of wine in one sip.

He can’t let you walk away like this.

This is all Changbin can think of as he watches you cross the terrace to go back inside. If it ends like this, then it will all be for the worst. You might follow up on your promise to make his life a living hell, or even worse, things might get awkward and even more tense. No, definitely, you and him need to continue this conversation and find some kind of agreement.

He licks his lips, turning away from the building in annoyance. He never signed up for this when he decided to leave his previous workplace for this one - yes, the salary was better, and so were the benefits, but it was never about that. It was about challenging himself, about growing and learning in his workplace environment, about finding his place. You couldn’t get in the way of that. Nobody could.

Changbin glances inside to make sure you haven’t left the building - he catches a glimpse of you near the bar, sulking. Good, he thinks, as he finishes his own glass. Let the both of you be miserable and angry, at least.

The world feels so quiet out on the terrace, but when he steps back inside, his ears are filled once more with the sounds of music and conversation. Since there are a lot of people around, maybe it won’t be as easy for you to start spitting venom at him - but he doesn’t really count on that. He takes a deep breath, tries to settle his anger. Just a conversation. Calm, polite, reasonable. You can do that.

However, as you lock eyes with him across the room, Changbin knows it won’t be that easy. Your eyes are full of fire, your mouth pinched in spite. It could be unattractive if only that black dress did not perfectly hug your curves and set his mind wandering against his will.

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you leave me alone?” you whine.

It would be so easy to fall back into the same energy as you, but Changbin holds on. He breathes in, leaning against the wall next to you. He’s not a difficult person. He doesn’t usually get into conflicts with people. Why he does with you is beyond him.

“Look,” he says. “I just want to be able to work in peace.”

“So do I,” you sigh. “But you never let that happen.”

“How about this,” he snaps, turning to face you. “I hold back on the passive aggressive, but so do you.”

To his despair, you only give him a smug smile.

“So you admit to the passive aggressiveness.”

“Is this what you pick up on?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” you say, frowning. “You humiliated me. Made damn sure I’d feel like a fool not knowing your face. I’m not going to let you walk away from that.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”

You scoff. “You think I’m going to tell you now? No way. I want you to live in fear.”

It’s entirely against his will, but Changbin laughs. He quickly frowns afterwards, sliding a hand across his face. The look of surprise on your face quickly fades away, though, to a certain revolt.

“Are you laughing at me?” you ask.

“No,” he sighs, making sure his face no longer holds any kind of laughter. “You’re just getting on my last nerve.”

“Well you’ve been on mine for a certain time.”

“It’s useless to talk to you, isn’t it?”

“If you wanted to talk, why didn’t you just come and see me? Why did you have to do all that shit with the picture and the boss? Why did you have to mock me like you did?”

You are so full of fire, Changbin can’t believe his eyes and ears. You’re like a flame he can’t look away from - a flame he desperately wants to extinguish for his own preservation, and yet one he desperately wants to graze with his fingers, even knowing he’ll get burned.

Your conversation is going nowhere, Changbin is aware of it. Things have gone completely out of hand, so much it all feels like a fever dream. So confused between his different feelings for you, Changbin breathes out, pulling on his suit to replace it on his shoulders.

“I need another drink,” he mumbles.

Without him expecting it, tables turn - this time, it’s you grabbing his arm as he is turning away. He looks up at you in surprise.

“I have an idea,” you say.

It might be the booze, or it might just be the adrenaline, but you find yourself dragging Seo Changbin by the wrist across the lobby, all the way to the elevators. To your surprise, he doesn’t even try to shrug you off, and you don’t let him go.

You both get in the elevator and you push the button for the 12th floor. Changbin waits until the doors have closed and you stand in silence to ask.

“Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?” you sigh. “Your office.”

He turns towards you, eyes dark.

“Why?”

You do the same, turning to face him. Your index pushes against his chest.

“You’re going to do something for me,” you state. “Even if I have to endure your shit, I’ll make sure nobody else does.”

“I’m not going to - It’s not even - and how are you going to do that?”

“Simple,” you grin. “Upload a picture.”

The doors of the elevator open on this perfect timing, and you wave your hand.

“After you.”

He lets out a long sigh but he still leads you to his office. You’ve never been in this area of the building, but now is not the time for sightseeing. Besides, most floors look the same.

Changbin opens the door to his office, and you follow him inside. It’s not a very big room, but it’s still wide enough for a large desk and bookshelves. There are two large windows, and the walls facing the rest of the floor are made of glass. Not much for privacy, you think. But then again, your own desk stands in the middle of a wide room, which you share with ten other people.

You nod towards his chair. “Sit.”

He rolls his eyes, but he does. You stand next to him, arms crossed, thinking about the fact that this was probably the spot from where he sent most of his day-ruining emails to you. You bite your tongue a little.

“C’mon. Open the computer and upload the damn picture.”

“I don’t have one.”

“One what?”

“A picture,” he explains. “An official one, I mean.”

You groan. “I don’t give a shit. Find another one, it’ll have to do.”

“I was told it had to be -”

“Hey,” you snap. “You’re in no position to argue.”

He scoffs but he doesn’t answer, although he clearly disagrees. You don’t care you’re being petty, and that he’s being the bigger person - you’ve never had much of a reasonable nature. As Changbin searches through his computer, you walk around the office, staring at the window, staring at him, and then at his screen. You catch a glimpse of a group picture, of him with friends, smiling widely at the camera.

He shakes his head but reframes the picture and uploads it to his email profile. You squint your eyes.

“There. You happy?” he lets out.

“It’ll do for now,” you say.

He closes the windows on his screen, standing up. His shoulders are wide, his arms too. You remember that gym bag he was carrying.

“Let’s go, then,” he says.

You chuckle. “Oh, do you think this is over?”

He blinks at you, chuckling in disbelief. “Isn’t it?”

“Not even close.”

“All right, this is enough,” he growls, taking a step towards you. “I’ve done what you wanted, can’t you move on now?”

“No, I can’t,” you spit. “You’ve made my life difficult ever since you’ve started working here and -”

“What about my life?” Changbin hisses. “You think your fucking tone and attitude has made my days easier?”

“At least I’m not a self-righteous asshole!” you cry out.

“God, you’re fucking detestable,” he says.

He’s standing too close to you now. All you can see, all you can smell, is him, him, him. The tension is so tightly drawn between your two bodies you feel like it can only snap. You desperately hold on to your end, though, because you’re scared of what might happen if you do let go - but it’s out of your control.

Changbin breathes in, and his eyes linger for a second too long on your lips - and that makes the tightrope snap.

He doesn’t kiss you first, but neither do you - it just happens at the same time. Your lips crash halfway in a feverish dance, and you can’t understand what is happening to you. It feels like your entire body just caught on fire, like everything makes sense, like every step you’ve taken, every word you’ve uttered, has led you to this moment.

Changbin’s hand slides behind your head, holding the back of your neck, and your arms circle his waist to sprawl on his back. He kisses you deeply, breathing you in, and you can only collapse in his arms.

Your hands go against his chest, and then in his hair, as he keeps pushing your head against his lips, as if to deepen your kiss, more and more. Your back hits the desk behind you, but you barely notice. All you can feel are Changbin’s lips devouring yours, his arms holding you close. You open your mouth wider but he’s quicker, sliding his tongue inside before you can do the same.

A moan escapes your throat, vibrating against his lips, and he draws you in even closer. It seems like forever before you lean back, breathless, just in order to catch your breath. Your lips feel swollen already, but you don’t want to stop kissing him. Still, the slight distance gives you enough perspective to realize what is happening.

“What the fuck am I doing,” you whisper, shaking your head.

A part of you wants to slip away, just so you have time to put some order in your thoughts, but as you are about to do so, Changbin’s fingers, which had been resting on your waist, grab your chin tightly. You whimper.

“Is this a part of your little game?” he says in a low voice, breathing heavily.

“What?”

“Tell me the truth,” he hisses. “Are you playing with me now?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You angrily grab his wrist, trying to pull his hand away - but he is stronger than you. You struggle against him, gritting your teeth.

“Answer me,” he insists.

“Fuck you,” you spit out.

He relaxes enough for you to push him away, squinting your eyes at him in anger.

“Way to ruin the moment, asshole.”

You do the only thing that makes sense for you in that instant - walk away. You’re ashamed and horribly angry at yourself for letting this happen. He’s attractive, yes, but he’s ruined so many of your days, made you feel miserable and worthless at your job. You have to hold on to your anger - and it has to be directed at him.

Your heels make no sound against the carpet and it’s infuriating. You don’t hear anyone behind you either, so you guess Changbin has decided not to follow you. It’s probably a good thing, although now you feel entirely at a loss as to how your workdays will go. Should you be quiet? You scoff. No - if anyone should, it’s him.

Your hand smashes the button for the elevator. It takes too long to arrive, but it does. You enter the elevator, push the button for the lobby and cross your arms.

Fuck, if only he wasn’t such a good kisser.

The doors are nearly closed when he comes in. He slides between them, stands in front of you. He’s not that much taller than you but someone in his demeanor makes you feel like he’s towering over you by several inches.

“Just leave me alone, will you?” you hiss.

He scoffs, shaking his head. There’s a wildness in his eyes, and you can’t look away from him.

“Can you really blame me for asking?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“About playing games,” he says, articulating each syllable. Each sounds angrier than the last. “You told me you’d make me regret what I did.”

You pout. “Aw, are you really that scared? It’s not my fault you made it your job to piss me off.”

“Look who’s talking.”

You stare at each other for a second. It’s like the tension has magically reappeared, unresolved. It’s clear you both want the same thing, but can’t bring yourselves to say or show it. You’re so angry at him.

He takes another step towards you. Your faces are inches from each other - just a nod and his lips would be on yours again.

“Fine. I’m sorry about the picture thing,” he says, his voice low and deep.

“Just that?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

His smirk only curves half of his mouth, and it’s humorless. “Don’t push it.”

You are the one to tilt your head forward, just slightly.

“This does not mean I’m not angry at you,” you breathe in his mouth.

“And we still need to talk about this,” he adds.

“Later,” you nod.

He turns to slam the button to stop the elevator, and as his body comes back to face yours, you pull him in your arms and kiss him.

It’s even more desperate and angry than before, maybe because neither of you are held back by the surprise and doubt. It’s unsaid, but you hear it from his lips, it doesn’t mean anything. You’ve just both been tense and you need an outlet - what better than each other?

Changbin pushes you against the wall of the elevator, his hands discovering your body. His warmth and his weight are completely enveloping you, and you push his jacket away. He shrugs it off, and the fabric of his shirt is soft against your skin.

Changbin kisses you deep, like he’s been waiting to do it, like you’re not on top of each other inside a dark elevator outside of work hours, his tongue tasting of lemon and gin.

One of his hands traces your hips and slides on your ass, squeezing softly. In a swift move, he lifts one of your legs and wraps it around his. It elicits a moan from you, your nails scratch the back of his neck. He growls in your mouth, biting your lower lip in answer.

With his body pushed against yours, you can feel his hard cock, and he shifts you so it rubs directly against your wetness. You roll your hips, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“You like that, huh?” he tells you. “Rubbing yourself against me.”

“Easy, you’re so fucking hard already,” you retort.

“Like you aren’t all wet for my dick,” he sighs, kissing your neck.

You feel yourself clench at his words. When you don’t answer, only grab him tighter, Changbin chuckles.

“You are, aren’t you?” he whispers, his hands moving up your dress, lifting it slowly, warming your thighs.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He shakes his head, biting your earlobe hard. You let out a small whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck that tight little pussy of yours so good you won’t be able to come into work tomorrow.”

“You wish,” you answer, starting to unbutton his pants. “I’m not gonna let you go a day without getting an email from me. I’m going to fucking torture you.”

As you mutter the words, you take his cock out of his pants and start to rub your hand around it. Changbin hisses, slightly bucking his hips.

“You need a fucking lesson,” he sneers, pushing your underwear to the side to touch you. “I’m going to shut you up.”

He is right - you’re soaked, but it seems to please him. He takes a few seconds to caress you, spreading your wetness, and inserting a finger inside of you. You let out a choked moan, wrapping your arms around his neck for a better hold.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “That’s what I like to hear.”

He inserts another finger, stretching your walls, and moving his wrist in sharp motions. You breathe out erratically, grabbing onto his suit, his fingers curled inside your cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Making me lose my goddamn mind.”

You don’t want him to stop what he is doing, but you are craving the feel of his cock inside of you, so you tug at his hardness, kissing his jaw.

“Fuck me already.”

He doesn’t need you to ask twice, guiding himself against your entrance and penetrating you. You let out a choked moan, grabbing onto the wall of the elevator. He gives you time to adjust to his size, but he’s not being particularly careful either.

“Holy shit,” you mutter in his ear despite yourself.

“Fuck, I can feel my cock stretching you,” he grunts.

He thrusts his hips faster and faster, and in a matter of seconds he’s pounding into you. The elevator is silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing and moans, and the lewd sounds of him fucking you, skin slapping against skin.

Your nails dig inside the back of his neck again, and he grips your waist so tight you’re sure it will leave a mark.

“Changbin, don’t stop,” you cry out.

“So impatient,” he sneers, but he still doesn’t stop, like he can’t, like he’s a man possessed.

He even accelerates, and you feel yourself coming. Your orgasm ripples through you like lightning. Your body shakes, your thoughts evaporate. Changbin fucks you deep, his breathing heavy in your hair.

“I can’t -” he hisses. “I’m not -”

“Come inside me,” you surprise yourself whispering.

You can feel his cock twitch at your words, and he comes inside you, hips bucking sharply, grunts escaping his throat like it’s hurting it.

You stay like that for a few minutes, panting, recovering your breath. After a few seconds he takes a step back, breathing out. You got back on both feet, feeling dizzy and already sore. You both look like a mess, hair tangled, lips raw from kissing.

You lean back against the wall, breathing slowly. He does the same on the wall next to you. You’re silent for a few seconds.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say softly.

Changbin nods.

“Let’s go back up. There won’t be anyone there.”

His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard - almost tender. You look at him, giving him a small nod, and he pushes the elevator button so it heads back upstairs.

He lets you go to the bathroom alone, where you clean up, but he’s waiting for you outside.

“All good?” he asks with a frown.

“Yes.”

You look down at the floor as he does, and then back at him - meeting his eyes in the process. The silence is awkward, but just like that, you find yourself smiling. Him, too.

And then you start laughing.

It’s not hysterical laughter, just chuckling. He looks almost shy, and you can’t stop giggling. You might even be blushing.

“I don’t know about you,” he says, scrunching his nose. “But I feel a lot better.”

You smirk. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

He stretches a hand towards you. “Wanna go back to the party?”

You nod. “Hell yes. I need a drink.”

“So do I.”

You head back to the elevator, and you let it head downstairs this time. Smirking to yourselves, you feel like the whole thing is unreal.

But you do feel better. You don’t force your smile - it stretches on your face, plastered, almost annoyingly so. And Changbin. Fuck. You think he’s cute, with his cheeks still red and his neck a mess from the work of your nails.

“By the way,” you say. “You look fucking hot in that suit.”

“Right back at you. When I saw that little black dress I almost bit my fist off.”

You grin. Changbin turns to you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Something’s not right, though,” he says.

You frown as he leans towards you, whispering in your ear.

“I didn’t get to do half of the things I want to do to you. So once we’ve had a couple of drinks, I’m taking you to my place, and I’m giving you another lesson. And this one will last.”

You bite your lip as the elevator doors open on the main hall, which is still filled with your chatting coworkers. Nothing has changed - the world has kept on spinning. Changbin gives you a smile, and extends his arm.

“Shall we?”

Changbin does not bring you to his place.

You bring him to yours.

Both of you started to get impatient after just one drink, eyefucking each other over your glasses although you had both just came hard in the elevator. It was like something finally snapped inside him, and he could let his thoughts roam free, unashamed, unbound.

The way your dress hugged your cleavage. The way your lips curled around the rim of your glass, begging to be kissed, begging to be fucked. All the things he wanted to do to you, that he had never let himself really think about, just proliferated in his mind. He could not stop thinking about how you moaned his name, how hot and humid you felt around him, how he wanted to slide his tongue on every inch of your skin. It made it difficult to focus on small talk with your colleagues. He kept feeling himself getting hard and he knew his pants were too tight for him to be able to hide it.

So he waited until you finished your drink and stole you away. Your place was just a short walk from the building. You made it there quickly, miraculously able to hold off making out and grinding against each other.

Now the front door is locked and you are alone.

Changbin stares at you in the darkness of the hallway. You look so fucking beautiful with your hair still a little dischelved from earlier, your lipstick tinting your lips a shade darker, your heels giving your legs the shape of heaven.

You take a step towards him and grab his hand, leading him to your bedroom. It’s small and cozy, most of the space occupied by a large bed - how perfect. It is unmade, the sheets tangled, a smell of lavender lingering in the air.

You aim for a kiss but Changbin shakes his head.

“Open a light,” he says. “I want to see you.”

You nod and turn on the lamp on your bedside table. It infuses the room in a soft yellow glow, and Changbin licks his lips. Perfect.

In a blur you find each other again, kissing passionately, feverishly. Changbin slides his tongue inside your mouth, toying with yours, drawing soft sighs from you. It’s a delightful sound he already likes too much. Eagerly, you remove his jacket, your hands palming his chest over the material of his shirt, and Changbin unbuttons it impatiently.

“Fuck, you look so fucking good,” you chuckle at the sight of his naked chest, immediately tracing the defined muscles with your finger tips.

His cock is already hard as a rock, pushing against his pants, but he barely thinks about it - he only sees you.

He takes a deep breath, because he wants to pace himself, because he wants to take his time with you this time. You made him impatient before, you clenched around his cock too tight, you sounded too good - but he won’t let it happen again. So he tilts your head to the left so he can kiss your neck, slowly unzipping your dress. His fingers brush the skin of your back at the same time, and he feels you shiver against him.

The dress falls on the ground, and Changbin takes a step back to admire your lingerie, simple black lace that makes the blood rush to his cock so hard he has no choice but to palm it, just to relieve it a little.

“You like?” you say cheekily.

“I’m trying to decide if I want to keep it on you or rip it off,” he answers, shaking his head.

You chuckle. “Want me to decide for you?”

Darkness flashes in Changbin’s eyes, and he closes the distance between you again, staring down at you.

“Listen, pet,” he growls. “Don’t think you have any control here. I make the decisions and you listen. If you don’t there will be consequences.”

The smile doesn’t disappear from your face, and Changbin can see that you like it when he speaks to you this way.

“A dom, huh?” you breathe. “How predictable.”

“Just as predictable that a brat like you is a sub.”

You pout. “Just for you tonight, sir.”

You slide a hand in his air and lean against his ear to whisper.

“One day you’ll find yourself handcuffed to the head of this bed and begging me to let you come. But let’s stick to tonight’s narrative.”

Changbin can’t help but chuckle at your words, feeling something swell in his chest. He likes you a little too much, and it makes no sense. Hours ago the only emotion you created in him was anger. But then again he hadn’t really met you.

“That’s right, pet,” he nods, taking a fistful of your hair. “Now you lay down on the bed like a good girl before I make you, huh?”

You nod, and Changbin follows you to the bed, when you lay down. He removes the rest of his clothes, letting his cock spring free, and catches you staring at it, licking your lips. He chuckles.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get your taste. But I’m having mine first.”

He pulls your legs so you are laying on the edge of the bed, spreading your legs so can stand between them. He bends forward to kiss you, stroking your hair, and carefully removes your bra. You sigh as he circles his thumb over your sensitive nipples, massaging the other breast in his hand. Slowly, Changbin makes his way down your neck, his tongue drinking in your skin. He leaves a few kisses on your breasts, then on your stomach, and then hovers over your panties.

“Changbin…” you sigh.

“Still all wet and full of me, are you, pet? Is this sensitive?”

He pushes his index on the lace material, sending a shiver through your body.

“Y-yes. Fuck, Changbin, stop teasing me.”

“I don’t think so.”

He kisses you above the fabric, sliding his tongue over it. Even that way he can taste you, your wetness drenching your panties, and Changbin can feel his cock twitch. Fuck, he cannot wait to be inside of you again - but he has to be patient.

“So good to me, pet. So good. Let’s remove that.”

He takes off your panties and pushes your legs apart, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, all throbbing and waiting for him. He hums appreciatively, unable to stop himself from stroking his cock at the same time.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Now you don’t come without me telling you so, right, pet? You understand the rules?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out.

From your voice and the way you are already heavily breathing, he can sense you are desperate for contact. Changbin finds himself unable to really torture you much longer, and sinks his lips into your cunt.

You immediately let out a whimper, arching your back against his mouth. Changbin holds your legs apart, swirling his tongue around your clit, slurping you in. Your taste instantly gets him drunk, the feel of your juices coating his chin making him want to possess you right this second. But it feels too good to feel you writhing against his caresses, moaning his name. You grab his hair, pulling it, and it hurts a little but it’s the best kind of pain.

“Look at that mess, pet,” he smiles against your pussy. “Has anyone ever eaten you out properly before?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, and he stares at the way your chest moves, your nipples hard. It’s such a beautiful sight he gives your clit a few licks to reward you. “Nothing like you, Changbin. You’re - fuck - you’re making out with my pussy so well…”

“Good, pet,” he chuckles. “Keep it up with the praise and I’ll let you come.”

“Changbin, please…”

He slides his tongue inside of you, teasing your entrance, and he can feel you clenching even this way - you must be close to coming, but you’re holding on, and he’s proud of you. He could edge you like this all night, if only his cock wasn’t starting to hurt him, aching for you.

“Fuck, your tongue, Changbin - keep licking me like that, please, don’t stop…”

“You want to come, pet?”

“Yes, please, c-can I?”

As he inserts two fingers inside of you and starts pumping them, his tongue pressed against your clit, you cry out in pleasure, pulling his hair.

“Changbin, fuck, I can’t - I can’t -”

“Come, pet, come all over my mouth.”

And just like that you do, your hips bucking under his touch, your pussy throbbing in his mouth. He can feel your walls tighten, your legs trembling, and he doesn’t stop his caresses throughout your orgasm, so you can ride it as long as you can.

Once you breathe out, your body sinking into the mattress, Changbin steps back, placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh. He wipes your juices off his chin and stands up to push your hair away from your face. You already look fucked out, your skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, your eyes glassy.

“Holy fuck, that was amazing,” you say softly.

“It’s not over, pet,” he replies, kissing your pretty lips.

“Can I suck your cock, now?”

“You’re asking so nicely, pet. How can I say no?”

You grin, looking down at his erect cock. Changbin takes a deep breath, letting you smear the pre-cum on the tip and giving it a few tentative strokes.

“I like your cock a lot, y’know?” you tell him. “So pretty and thick.”

Changbin slides a hand through his hair, easing his breathing, as you take him in your mouth. You suck him well, bobbing your head up and down, taking the time to wrap your tongue around him. Your hand accompanies your movements, stroking his base, and Changbin groans at the sensation. He would close his eyes and bask in the pleasure you’re giving him if only it wasn’t so intoxicating to keep looking at you. Such a beautiful sight, seeing you suck him off like that after having eaten your sweet cunt.

“Am I doing good, sir?” you ask, slapping his cock on your tongue.

Changbin grins. “Doing fantastic, pet. I knew you would look good wrapped around my cock, but it’s even better.”

“Did you think about it a lot?” you ask.

He frowns.

“You saw my picture,” you say, arching an eyebrow. “Did you imagine me with my cock in your mouth before, or did you just hate my guts?”

Changbin laughs, holding your hair. “I think I spent most of my energy hating you so I wouldn’t think about you sucking me off.”

“Hm,” you say with a satisfied smirk. “If I’d known what you looked like I would’ve come to give you a blowjob under your desk way before.”

“Never too late,” he grins. “If you do that for me I might bend you over my desk afterwards.”

You giggle, and Changbin feels that warmth in his chest again. He’s starting to like you a little too much, and it has nothing to do with the fact that his balls deep inside your mouth right now. You’re funny. Witty. Pretty. Even worse, you’re fun.

“For now let’s focus, pet, yeah?” he says. “This is good, but I want more from that pretty mouth.”

He guides you back, gesturing you to lay down on the bed upside down. Your head placed on the edge of it, he towers over you.

“You tell me if this is too much,” he whispers to you, and you nod - but you just open your mouth wide for him.

He guides his cock back in your mouth, able to move as much as he wants. You gag a little as he goes deep in your throat, but you’re taking him well - and so, Changbin accelerates. He fucks your mouth, perhaps a little too roughly, but it feels so fucking good he can’t stop.

“Fuck, look at how you swallow my cock, pet,” he says, breathing hard.

“It’s because you fuck my mouth so good, sir,” you answer.

He grins, bucking his hips, staring at your gorgeous body as he does. You’re touching yourself at the same time, your fingers pressed against your clit. Your eyes are watering, the saliva around your lips making his thrusts easier, and he’s dangerously close to exploding in your mouth.

“Such a good little pet,” he groans. “Do you remember when I filled that cunt of yours, earlier?”

You nod around his cock.

“This time I’ll make you choke on my cum,” he smiles.

You moan, the vibration sending him on the edge, and Changbin has to pull out from your mouth.

“Don’t move,” he grunts. “I need to fuck you.”

He climbs on top of you on the bed, making sure your head is against the mattress, and pushes into you without hesitation. It’s like it brings him clarity again, as much as the feel of you around his cock is making him more insane.

“God, this fucking cunt. I’m never getting tired of it,” he chuckles.

“Yes, fuck me deep,” you moan. “Make me feel that beautiful cock of yours.”

He thrusts his hips inside of you, stretching you deeper and deeper. You pant against him, your nails digging into the skin of his back, but Changbin doesn’t care. He pounds into you, feeling sweaty and drunk on the scent and taste of you.

“C-Changbin, fuck, yes…”

“Where’s that praise, pet? I need to hear it,” he grunts.

“I - I’m trying…”

“Am I fucking you dumb, or what? Keep talking.”

But he’s fucking so fast and sharp, and it’s difficult for you to find the words. Changbin can only stare at your face, your closed eyes, your parted mouth. Your lips are a little bruised, your hair a mess, your makeup smudged. You look like a dream.

“F-fucking me so good,” you breathe. “I love your cock inside of me. Please, k-keep fucking me…”

You’re clenching around him tightly, so close to your orgasm, and so is Changbin - he’s breathing fast, trying to hold off, but it’s getting more and more difficult. Once he’s inside of you he can’t think straight, and he’s getting impatient.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he slips out, your name feeling smooth on his lips. “I’m going to come. Let’s do it together, yeah?”

“Y-yes, please…”

How he wanted to come in your mouth - but his cock does not want to listen, and he explores inside of you instead for the second time tonight. You come as well, shaking around him as he fills you up, moaning his name loudly, the sound echoing in the room.

Changbin wipes his forehead, staying inside of you for another second. He tries to catch his breath, and opens his eyes to look at you. You are already staring at him, smiling softly.

“I thought you wanted to come in my mouth?” you tease him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really get on my last nerve, you know that?”

You both laugh.

It’s yet another day at work.

You twirl on your deskchair, typing your translation on a fair rhythm. You’re not particularly fast today, but you’re not slow, either.

It’s just that your thoughts are a little elsewhere.

You take a break to take a sip of coffee, and an email notification appears on your screen.

Seo Changbin.

You push your tongue against your cheek, smirking devilishly to yourself. You sent him a particularly fiery email a few minutes ago, and you can’t wait to see his answer. You click a little too fast on your inbox.

Dear Y/LN,

Your email has come to my attention but I am in a meeting and unfortunately cannot attend to your request. Please rest assured it will be my top priority once I get back to my office. I will make sure to personally attend to these matters.

Ever yours,

Seo Changbin

You bite your lip, trying to be discreet as you chuckle. You scroll down to see the email you’d sent him. Just a few meaningless words about asking for clarification about the dress code, and a picture attached. A picture you’ve taken from under your desk, displaying your blatant lack of underwear.

You’re still playing a dangerous game - it’s just of another kind.

You send him a quick reply, your eyes shining.

Looking forward to your collaboration.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. If you had fun, please consider leaving a comment below or reblogging the one shot. Don't hesitate to use the tags. Big hugs and see you next time! ♡

• permanent taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden

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sweetkpopmusings · 2 years ago

Text

jeongin coworker headcanons <3

a/n: i thought of this the other night when i couldn't sleep, and it made me laugh, so here we are. this is platonic but let me know if you want to read some coworkers to lovers content because i love a good fanfic trope <3 pics not mine :-)

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 0.9k | warnings: none really! brief mentions of eating | pairing: coworker!jeongin x gn!reader | requests: open

an absolute menace

but in a sweet/goofy way

when he realizes he likes your presence/vibe, he shows his interest in befriending you by teasing you

like he'll just walk by your desk and casually roast you

"i saw you go for the light roast coffee this morning. what were you doing, staying up late taking online quizzes?"

and you're just sitting there, holding your cup of coffee, looking at him like 1) mind your business <3 2) yes i was up late taking quizzes, what about it?

he will ask you which quizzes you took so he can take them too because he doesn't want to fill out the spreadsheet he has to submit by the end of the day

after he does his drive-by teasing for a while, you start doing it too. and jeongin is eating it up!!!!

this goes on for a couple weeks until, one day, you happen to take your lunches at the same time

he saunters on over and greets you with teasing comment and a sly grin

somehow he's charming enough to convince you to offer him the seat across from you

and, because weeks of jokes broke the ice, you're talking with each other as though you already were acquaintances

y'all start eating lunch together almost every day

it's no big affair, but you just find your lunch break to be way more enjoyable spent in each other's company

after you get to know each other more, you start this lil tradition of bringing snacks to share during your meals

every friday is special snack day and sometimes there's a theme you two use and other times it's a surprise

but it's always a good time! even if the snacks are bad because your reactions to the bad snacks make jeongin laugh and imitate you which makes you laugh

alongside snacks, you two always always always share workplace gossip

somehow jeongin knows the tea on absolutely everybody

whenever you ask how he knows, he just shrugs and says "people tell me things"

you won't question it because you live for the insider information

there will definitely be lunches when you're just sitting across from each other doing your own thing

if jeongin is on his phone watching tiktoks, he won't show you anything because he wants to send them to you while you're working to distract you <3

if he's bored during the workday, he'll walk over to your desk to ask you for stuff

paperclips? he just so happens to desperately need one at 10:17 am. gum? he's got a real craving for it at 2:02 pm. a blue ink gel pen? that's right! if he doesn't get his hands on one of those by 4:46 pm he is going to lose. his. mind.

every time you're like ... jeongin you're not sly. and he's like ??? um what are you talking about? i am simply an employee asking my coworker for basic office supplies. and you're like are you sure you're not just doing this to talk to me?

he smiles and says no <3

he's actually the king of distractions yet he always completes his work on time??

he's not rude though. if you have a lot of work, he leaves you alone so you can focus

on particularly stressful days, he'll come check on you by saying "you look like death" and shit like that and maybe give you encouraging messages if he's in the right mood

if either of you have finished a big project or have to suffer through a long meeting/training session, he will show up with drinks from your favorite nearby coffee shop

you thank him and he says he only did it so you don't fall asleep and snore at your desk because that would be embarrassing. he also claims you owe him $50 for his services

if you have to stay late and do some overtime, he'll walk you to your car/bus stop/etc

he explains that "if you go missing i'll have no one to talk to except our HR rep pete" is his reason for walking you there and waves goodbye once you're safely on your way home

he's also glued to you during any company party/event

because it's so fun to hang out with you for more than a few minutes at a time!!

and you two can whisper comments and jokes to each other about your coworkers' behavior without risking anyone overhearing it

plus, if the event is no fun, you'll go off and do your own thing

whether that's sitting at one of your desks and watching netflix

or going to the back corner of the event venue to play some stupid game like paper football or cootie catchers

while stealing as many free drinks/snacks as possible because it is a company event after all and jeongin is a firm believer in getting your money's worth

you never thought you'd look forward to work parties but with jeongin around you know you're set for a good time

after a while, everyone in the office just associates you two with each other because whenever they look up you two are joking around, hanging out, or laughing at messages you send each other while you sit at your own desks. it's iconic and all your coworkers are jealous <3

jeongin will really just tease and bug you on the regular but little do you know that on his worst days, even the ones when he is millimeters away from quitting, knowing he can see you 5 days a week is enough for him to stay :,-)

187 notes · View notes

junghelioseok · 4 years ago

Text

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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a1most-perfec7 · 3 years ago

Text

Something More | Marcus White x Reader

[FWB to lovers. I wrote a few months back and just forgot about it I guess.]

It was like any other day working at Cloud9; Aimee fulfilling her managerial role, Dina stalking and stammering the progress of other workers, and Cheyenne and Mateo gossiping at the centre of the store. You moved from the break room, ready to begin your first shift of the day when you spot Marcus distracting Glenn across the way. You smile a lopsided grin at the sight of him; a just under six foot tall dummy of a man. Your dummy.

The "on again off again" rendezvous you had with Marcus was a little confusing. A part of you loved sneaking around the workplace, meeting up in one of the cozy corners of the warehouse for a heavy petting make out session. Oftentimes ending with a little fooling around. It was exciting, the adrenaline running through your veins at the mere idea of being exposed in such compromising positions with Marcus.

With Marcus, ugh. It pained you to admit it, but the other part of you wanted clear waters with your relationship with Marcus. What exactly were the two of you? Friends with benefits? Cuddle buddies? Were you on the verge of potential ground for labels like, boyfriend and girlfriend?

Whatever it was, you found yourself going from confused about the ordeal to wanting solid ground about where Marcus and yourself stood together. In short, you could say you were crushing on Marcus. He wasn’t a knight in shining armour, honestly he was far from it. But he was just right to you; attentive just enough, cute but in an unexceptional way that made him appear handsome, in some sort. Tall enough and kind enough, with original quirks that made him his own person, an incredible reminder that he was far from perfect, but... he was perfect to you.

And so you stood with a dreamy daze in your eyes and a goofy grin slapped on your face while sighing to yourself quietly. "Hey Y/N, I was wondering if you could help me move these toilet rolls to aisle 5?" Sandra bursts your thoughts as she hauls behind her a stack of white rolls. "Oh, hey Sandra. Sure thing." You take the top row off and follow Sandra to the fifth aisle. It's a mundane journey, you're not particularly close with Sandra, but you're far less dismissive of the woman than a majority of the Cloud9 employees.

"And so, my mom's friend's cousin, that I bumped into at the gas station-" Her ever increasing tangent is interrupted by Aimee, who seemed tense as all Hell while bickering with Jonah, who marches towards you with authority. "Hey Y/N, I need you to run some numbers on a late shipment in the warehouse."

At the mere mention of the word warehouse, Marcus is prompt to return himself to your field of vision, appearing behind Aimee, almost towering over her.

"Warehouse?" You furrow your brows. "Shouldn't that be reserved for someone like Marcus?" You gesture and Aimee whips her head behind. Her eyes lock onto her checklist. "Ah, yes, both you and Marcus, please run some numbers on the late shipment, thank you." She hands you a list from the bottom before she marches off. Your thoughts on her current attitude are cut short when Marcus makes himself visible with a wide grin as he cheekily wiggles his eyebrows. "Come on, warehouse buddy.”

"Warehouse buddies?" You question, walking alongside him to the double doors. "I just- I just thought it had a nice ring to it." He scratches the back of his neck, sputtering his words simultaneously. You grin at him. "We could definitely brainstorm on that." You tease, giggling with him, semi serious about the idea.

---timeskip---

"You know, when we started taking notes on the first few boxes, I didn't actually think we were going to do the whole lot of them." Marcus complains, setting the last load of boxes as you run your pen across the page, marking it off.

"Oh, and I suppose you thought we were here for other things?" You tease, pulling on your shirt collar to allow air to cool you down. It sure had been tiring watching Marcus move heavy boxes from A to B.

"Well, you know?" He shrugs, checking the coast is clear as he slyly slinks his way towards you, hands coming to your hips before pulling you towards him. "The usual things we do here." He whispers, coming close to your lips as he ducks his head down to meet yours. "And what kind of other things did you have in mind Marcus?" He only responds by connecting his lips to yours, the motion momentarily taking you by surprise before you reply all the same.

The two of you stumble backwards before you bump into a collection of boxes. Marcus takes initiative, hoisting you up and placing you on top. With your hands slipping around his neck, your fingers begin threading through his hair. Marcus’ hands trail along your body, fidgeting with the hem of your work shirt before bunching it upwards and slipping his hands beneath, fingertips spreading along your skin. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Soon enough, a familiar feeling arises, goosebumps trailing your skin as Marcus works on starting a fire in you, lips latching to your neck. You sigh at the contact, feeling yourself give into the feeling. And you think you will carry on with this bliss.

But your mind is intrusive and an outright buzzkill, poking at your insecurity about the situation. Try as you might, your mind wins and you push Marcus away.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this right now." You frown, releasing a frustrated sigh to yourself while casting your gaze to the floor before sliding off your makeshift seat. "What's the matter? Did I- Did I do something wrong?" His face filled with concern. You move past him with your hands tangled in one another. "I've just got a lot on my mind, Marcus. I'm sorry." You pick up the checklist, hiding behind the corkboard to wipe a stray tear. You think you’re hidden, but Marcus is a lot more attentive than most give him credit for. “Hey, if- if you just wanna talk or, like, need someone there or something-” You cut him short, snapping impatiently.

“What are you doing, Marcus?” He stutters. “What- what am I doing?” “Yes, what are you doing? Because… I just wanna know where we stand with each other? Where I stand with you?” You curse yourself, mentally annoyed with your emotions bursting to the surface so quickly. Why couldn’t you just enjoy the moment?

“Wait, I’m confused. What do you mean, “where do you stand?” You sigh, arms crossing in front of your chest as your brows furrow. “I just- we fool around in the warehouse, hook up even. And then, you want to talk about feelings! How am I supposed to tell you about my feelings, when my feelings are about you, Marcus?!” His signature dumbfounded expression doesn’t arrive when you expect it to. Instead, he’s much more of the same; concerned and empathetic.

“Y/N, are you saying you have feelings for me? Like, you like me?” “Yes, Marcus.” You wince, feeling desperately vulnerable having to admit it aloud. Everything’s falling into shambles just because of your feelings. “Yes, Marcus, I like you. And, I- I tried to ignore my feelings and to just go with the flow of things, but… I... I just loved being around you, and I thought you were the cutest and-” You suddenly halt your rambling, did you really say that out loud?! “I’m sorry.” You hiccup, sheltering your face, now conscious of your streaming tears. You hold yourself before Marcus steps forward, clearing his throat with his hands in his pockets.

“You know, I always thought you were the cutest in the store.” He chuckles nervously. “And I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I seriously wouldn’t have something like this going on with you if I didn’t.”

He’s closer than before when you look at him, his hands shaking as he fists them outside of his pockets. “Really?” You sniffle. “Really, really.” He pushes a stray lock behind your ear. “You know, if I’m really honest, I kind of thought you and me, like, going out or something, but I don’t know, I just thought you wouldn’t be into that kind of thing.”

A beat passes. You’ve suddenly become very conscious of the heat in your face. Embarrassed you may be, knowing what Marcus feels offers a lot more clarity than you first thought. You take a deep breath. “Well then, what does that make us, Marcus?” He shrugs sheepishly. “I’ve always thought we could be boyfriend and girlfriend, ya know?” And finally, a small grin breaks across your mouth, nodding before you come to take a step closer, taking his face in your hands before bringing his lips to meet yours. As soon as he reciprocates, you pull away too soon. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” You try to play it cool but ultimately fail, a big and bright smile bursting across your features. Now it’s his turn to hold your face, his calloused thumbs brushing and soothing your tear streaked face as he smiles his signature goofy grin. “Wow, this is.. so cool! Yes! I am so happy right now!” He plants his lips on yours once again.

#marcus white #marcus white x reader #superstore #superstore x reader #fluff #reader insert

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lady-literature · 4 years ago

Text

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form.

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet…

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion.

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time). She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day.

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

#maribatmarch2021 #maribat #mlb x dc #jasonette #my typewriter #platonic dickinette #platonic timari

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angelanimedesaray · 4 years ago

Note

Can I get a modern AU Levi scenario where reader and Levi are coworkers and Erwin and Hanji are trying to set them up knowing Levi has a crush on reader?

I really like ur stories btw!! <3

AN: Thank you so much--I’m glad you like them!!

So...I have never done a coffee shop AU...now is THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY. This occurred to me when I sat there after reading this trying to figure out what job they shared. So yes, I’m going cliché for this one because I can’t resist the opportunity to FINALLY DO IT!!! Also, in a way, its also Levi finally getting his tea shop (Cries softly behind the laptop screen).

Okay, quick rundown of who does what and where so I don’t have to spend time on it in the fic: Levi--Owner of the coffee shop--though he also works there. he doesn’t deal with the people, though, just makes the drinks, namely the teas. Erwin--Business Partner, mainly the one who made the money work to get the store open and running. He also works in the back in the little bakery/kitchen he convinced Levi to incorporate so it wasn’t just drinks and there was something to eat as well. Hange--Cashier. She’s the bubbly chatty on that people get to interact with and deal with. Occasionally helps with the drinks if its busy and she has a moment. You--Pick Up Counter/Waitress and Drinks. You get people their drinks, the second face they see/person they deal with, and you help Levi with the drinks, leaving the teas to him since its his preference and specialty and making whatever else is needed.

Also I don’t know why this ended up feeling like a sitcom...and how we ended up seeing more from Hange and Erwin than Levi and Reader XD

Fanfic One-Shot Request is below the cut.

~*~The Perfect Blend~*~

“They work so well together.”

“I have yet to find a flaw--it’s like perfect harmony. It’s ridiculous and it makes me so jealous.”

“Well there is one flaw.”

“You mean the fact that he hasn’t--?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, I’m running out of ideas of how to fix that, and yours are just getting crazier and crazier.”

“I still suggest we lock them in the back cooler until they can work things out. Maybe we’ll get lucky and for warmth, they’ll--”

“Oi! Eyebrows! Shitty Glasses! The morning rush is going to start any minute now--stop gossiping and get back to work! Erwin, don’t you have another batch of scones still in the oven in the back? Hange--you still haven’t fixed the menu for the new week, get on that! Now!”

Erwin sighed and let out a soft ‘stubborn man’ before he disappeared into the back to make sure the scones were all right. Hange, however, pouted in the face of Levi’s knowing glare.

“Aww, Levi, come on, loosen up a bit! It’s a Tuesday, it’ll probably be really q--”

“AH! Don’t you dare!” you suddenly shouted at her, running through the back room door with a bag of espresso beans in on arm and a box of coffee cup sleeves tucked under the other. “The last time you said the Q word, we had to stay three hours late closing up and cleaning because we didn’t get enough time to breathe, let alone keep the place from turning into a disaster!”

Hange huffed. “That’s just a bunch of superstitious nonsense. Saying a word doesn’t effect whether or not we have a busy day.”

“Speak for yourself--jinxes are a thing,” you returned, getting up in front of the coffee machine and filling up the espresso side. “Also, Levi, we’re out of decaf beans. Well, almost--what’s in the dispenser up here is the last of it.”

“What? I thought there were at least three more bags back there,” Levi said with a frown, turning away from filling his tea assortment up front to look at you with a spark of concern. You didn’t get a lot of decaf orders, but orders were also fairly unpredictable--now that you didn’t have any more, today could be the day for a rash of decaf coffee orders.

“Well, I didn’t see any. I looked everywhere they might be, so unless someone moved it somewhere it shouldn’t be...”

Levi sighed, following you into the back to help see if the two of you could find the missing bags of beans. Once they disappeared from sight, Erwin stuck his head out the little window into the kitchen for communication between the front and back, one of the sliding doors in the back of the glass display cases for the baked goods open with a tray of scones sliding into place before he gave Hange a pointed look, brought his hands together with his palms faced outwards before he gave an exaggerated pushing motion.

“I know I’m usually the one for the crazy impulsive things, but we really shouldn’t lock our two drink makers in the cooler right before the rush hour,” Hange said with a sigh. “And it was such a perfect opportunity, too...”

“Did you hide the coffee beans?”

“Maybe.”

“You should have done it near the end of the rush when no one was looking. Then they might have gone looking for it when we could afford to shove them in a freezer for a while.”

“Erwin, you’re starting to sound like me.”

“It’s been a year and a half, Hange, I’ve lost my patience for this, it’s getting ridiculous.”

“We might have to stage a straight up intervention. Before that, do you think we could set them up on a blind date? Do you think they’d take that bait?”

“Levi knows what we’ve been doing, he’d see right through it...Hange, it’s taking them a while, where did you hide the beans?”

“In my car. They’ll never find them until I want them to. What if we just tell Y/N? Shorty obviously isn’t going to make the first move, so maybe try to get her to?”

“No, I don’t think she will make the first move, either, they’re both too damn shy. Hange, you should probably smuggle those back inside, it really is almost time for the morning rush, and we might need it.”

“Don’t worry about the beans, you just worry about your pastries.”

Erwin raised an eyebrow at her tone, noting that she was pretty much standing in the same place she’d been in when Levi snapped at them for gossiping when they should have been working. “Don’t you have a menu to update.”

“Pfft,” she replied, looking like she was about to laugh it off before a now disgruntled Levi appeared through the back room doors, and she slunk away to at least look like she’d been doing it all this time.

“Just keep Hange up to date on how much decaf we have left so she knows when to stop selling it. When it’s out, it’s out,” he was telling you, going back to his little section behind the corner where he would stay during the rush to make the teas. The door opened with a quiet whoosh, and Hange scrambled down from where she’d been scrawling the new specials for the weak on the chalkboard menu so she could wait on the customer that had just walked in.

And just like they’d been anticipating, the rush began a few minutes later after the first arrival.

When there was a lull in the constant flow of business that constituted your morning rushes, Erwin poked his head out of the back to gesture you over to him.

“Y/N, I need a second pair of hands back here, just for a second. Hange, can you--?”

“On it!” Hange said cheerily, taking over your position behind the coffee bar while you hurried into the kitchen to help Erwin with whatever he was having trouble with.

Surprisingly, when you came into the kitchen, it didn’t look like he had anything going. And looking over at the glass sliding back doors to the pastry shelves, it looked like everything was appropriately stocked. He didn’t look like he was in the middle of cleaning--everything looked spotless, his supplies neatly organized and filled...so why were you back here?

Erwin turned to face you fully once the kitchen door swung shut behind you, heaving a sigh as he wiped the remnants of flour on his hands off on his apron. “Listen, Y/N, Hange and I have been talking about how to go about this subtly for a while now, and I’m of the opinion that subtlety isn’t going to work, so--”

“You two are dating!” you gasped, interrupting him with a flash of excitement. With all the whispering between the two and the times they would stow away leaving you and Levi alone to do who knew what, it made you start to wonder. Especially with the little glares you caught Levi giving them every now and then, like he knew what they were up to and didn’t approve for some reason--or at least didn’t approve of it during working hours.

Erwin blinked, taken aback for a moment before he regained that unfaltering composure of his. “Ah, no. We’re not. We can discuss where you got that idea later, but right now, we need to keep this quick before another rush comes in. Do you like Levi?”

You let out a startled laugh at his question, for a moment believing he might be messing with you before you saw the serious look in his eyes. “Do I...um...Why, why would you need to know that?” you asked, a blush starting to creep up in your face.

Yes, yes you did like Levi. But you tried not to think too much about it. He was kind of your boss as much as your coworker, and those thoughts, that you didn’t think were returned, would only be distracting if you let them slip through while you were working together. And you two worked well together, like clockwork, perfectly in sync behind the counter no matter how fast paced and complicated business got. You were rather proud of it, actually. And you didn’t want to disrupt that, afraid to cause a ripple, or rather a wave, in the calm waters between you two if the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

And sure, Levi and Erwin owned the place, it was a small privately owned business, not some franchise, so maybe a workplace romance wouldn’t be some big HR mess here, but if something did happen, and then something went wrong, it might ruin the good thing you all had going on here.

“I’m asking because Hange and I are certain that Levi likes you, as well,” Erwin said, clearly deciding based off your reaction that you did like him. Especially after he just outed how Levi felt about you like that, your eyes widening as you stared blankly at him. “But both of you are two shy and stubborn to do anything yourselves, and Levi’s been resistant to any of our nudges to get him to make any kind of move. We’re both at the point of locking you two in a room together until you both come clean, but, this is probably the much more tacit and practical approach. I figured if Levi won’t make a first move, perhaps you should just be told up front, so maybe you will.”

What you were not aware of, was that a few feet away from where Erwin and you were having your conversation, Hange was doing something similar with Levi as the two of them made coffees and teas, speaking around the moments where she had to pause and shout out an order or dash off to take a table their drinks to have a much more...to the point conversation with Levi.

“Levi, you’re stubborn, and lovestruck, and it’s too painful to watch you two awkward love birds waddle around blindly like this anymore. You’re worse than children.”

“Hange, we’ve already talked about this, it’s none of your business, stay out of it,” Levi grumbled under his breath, at least taking pains to keep his voice lowered while talking about personal matters at work, even if it was to try and keep Hange quiet.

Hange didn’t care, though, and apparently she wasn’t messing around today, either.

“If you don’t tell her yourself soon, Shorty, I’m going to tell her.”

Levi set down the empty cup he’d just grabbed for another tea a little harder, glaring at Hange with a sharp look. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. You like her, Levi, and she likes you--it’s obvious. Just ask her to go do something with you, it’s not that hard,” Hange stressed to him, assembling some of the teacups that had Levi’s freshly made tea in them to take out to some of the customers that were sitting in and not grabbing their drinks to go.

“Talk to her,” Hange stressed before taking off with the drinks, a big smile and playful laughter for the guests she entertained along the way.

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his eyes down on the tea he was making as he thought of the ultimatum Hange just gave him. As much as he kept hesitating and doubting himself when it came to confessing how he felt about you, and as much as he struggled to even think of what to say, he did want to finally say something. Every time he tried, though, the words got stuck in his throat, or what he planned to say turned into something else entirely at the last second, something that had nothing to do with telling you how he felt. However, he did /not/ want someone else confessing his feelings to you for him, even if it was meant to push him to act. He wanted to do that himself. So Hange threatening to tell you herself was actually a pretty smart move. He hated how pressured he felt to say something, now, though.

But he really had been taking far too long to get this out between the two of you. It was time he did something about it. Now he just had to do it...even though he had no idea what he was doing. What to say. What they should do. What it would mean. If it would impact the two of you negatively, if it would even work out.

He was getting far too deep into his own head over this. He just needed to...rip the band aid off. Get it out and between the two of you. As soon as Erwin returned you to the front, he would ask...ask...well, he was going to try and ask you out. First he had to make sure you had time, though.

As if on cue, you came out of the kitchen with lightly flushed cheeks, looking preoccupied with your own thoughts as you robotically took your usual spot next to him at the coffee bar. For a minutes, Levi kept glancing at you, suddenly hesitating because of the look on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything, it didn’t look like you were open to conversation even right now. And you seemed a little closed off to him, like you were keeping to yourself for some reason.

Ah, fuck, but if he didn’t do it now, he might chicken out. Or Hange might get impatient and spit it out anyway.

Levi scowled into the cup in front of him as he tried to figure out what to do before he just blurted out the sentence without even looking at you, ironically at the same time you tried to speak to him.

“Levi, can I ask you some--”

“Are you doing anything this week?”

Levi realized he’d just talked right over you, and he immediately started kicking himself, keeping his eyes glued to the tea instead of you as his cheeks started to color and betray his embarrassment as he scrambled for words. Did he apologize? Keep talking? Explain himself? You weren’t saying anything. Wait, were you confused? He knew your schedule--well, your work schedule, he was your boss.

“I mean, besides work--I know when you work, obviously, I just meant--mean...shit...I’m sorry, I interrupted you, um...What did you want to ask?” he said, hating himself more and more as he stumbled through the awkward words, closing his eyes and cursing himself.

“I, um...I was going to ask if you...if you liked...” Levi looked up sharply at you in surprise, heart skipping a beat as he met your gaze. You stuttered at the eye contact, a strange little noise coming out of your throat as your cheeks burned a brilliant shade with the intensity of your blush. “...would like to do something this week, actually. Maybe see a movie, or grab something to eat together or...or go to the library.”

Levi stared at you. “The library?”

Your gaze flickered up at him, appearing to scream ‘I don’t know, I panicked!’ so loud that he didn’t even need to ask.

You were both complete messes, weren’t you?

“We can. Just...just pick a day, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Saturday night?”

“I can do that.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

A silence settled over the two of you, and you both went back to what you were doing, butterflies in your stomachs as you snuck glances at each other from the corners of your eyes, Levi trying to hide a subtle, pleased smile, and you brightly beaming but chewing on your lip as if you were trying to rein yourself in and have at least some decency. It didn’t work of course.

Was that entire conversation...really that easy? After all this time?

Hange was leaning against the wall next to Erwin’s little window, both of them staring at the two awkward lovebirds in a mixture of satisfaction and bewilderment.

It was Hange who spoke up.

“I don’t know the bigger pair of idiots are--those two who took so damn long just to say something so simple to each other...or the two of us that didn’t realize that it was as simple as telling them to talk to each other.”

“...You should probably put those beans back before Levi figures out what happened to them.”

“Shut up, you’re the one who wanted to lock them in a cooler,” Hange grumbled, quickly slinking away to try and sneak the decaf espresso beans back into the back storage without Levi noticing.

An endeavor doomed to fail from the start, but at least when he did catch her sneaking back inside with the decaf espresso beans in her arms it was quite a bit of entertainment for the regular customers who knew about Levi’s stricter, surlier attitude and Hange’s antics.

Levi Tags: @clary-quinn @humanitys-hottestsoldier @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds

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dameafterdark · 4 years ago

Text

Fanning the Flames [Roy Mustang x Black Femme Reader]

CW: workplace sex, oral sex, vaginal penetration, blow job, body worship, pubic hair, making out, light femdom, tickling, enthusiastic consent, boss/employee relationship, semi-public sex, porn with plot, BBW reader

WARNING! The contents of this fic are NSFW! Read at your own risk!

word count: 5769

summary: After transferring to Central Command, you’re determined not to let a certain smooth-talking colonel distract you from your job duties.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never could have imagined meeting a man like him when you walked through the doors of Central Command. But then again, trivial things like infatuation and love making were the last thing on your mind. Bright eyed and eager to impress, what mattered most to you were your ambitions. You didn’t have time to fool around with romance; a cushy job in Central was everything you could have hoped for as a fairly new recruit. And besides, the higher ups didn’t look too kindly upon fraternizing.

You had heard of the twenty-something aspiring general long before you sent in your letter of acceptance, but didn't think much of him. You learned long ago not to get involved with military gossip, especially the kind that involved sleazeballs like him. You know, the type of man that flirted with anything on two legs with a pretty face. You barely liked guys on a good day, so you were certain you’d have no trouble rejecting his advances. Lay low and work hard was the motto you repeated to yourself every morning as you ironed your uniform.

Unfortunately, your name was on everyone’s lips before you had the chance to introduce yourself. It couldn’t have been avoided, and you were naive to think it could. Being the only non-native Amestrian in the Central forces was mostly to blame, but you figured your looks also had something to do with your sudden popularity. After all, you were below average height, and your round curves rivaled the thin waifish figures of most Amestrian women. It definitely wasn’t the “ideal” body of a soldier, but that never stopped you in the past. Your brown skin, head full of tight curls, and full lips were impossible for others to ignore. You demanded attention whenever you entered a room, whether you wanted it or not.

And as soon as the two of you made acquaintances, you knew something was bound to happen eventually.

From the moment he uttered that first sultry “Hello” and took your gloved hand in his, kissing the back of it like he was some sort of prince out of a fairy tale, your heart decided on its feelings faster than your brain could process. He pushed the knife in deeper with a little coy smirk that made your breath hitch and your stomach tighten.

“(Y/N), at your service,” you stated, doing your best to hide the tremor in your voice. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Colonel Mustang.”

“Please,” he said as he let go of your hand, his eyes never leaving your own. “Call me Roy.”

Those four little words sparked the first ember, and from then on you walked with fire in your chest and heat pressed against your cheeks. And no matter how often you dampened those flames, they always reignited into an inferno.

You weren't the one to give into your primal urges, though. You were a professional, for God’s sake, and after clawing your way up through the ranks you’d be damned to throw away years of hard work for a pair of bedroom eyes. Especially when so many others only saw your job offer as an Affirmative Action-esque handout.

It’s not worth it, you’d mumble under your breath while sorting through piles of paperwork, doing your best to avoid meeting the colonel’s gaze as he sat across the room from you. Knowing what might transpire if you did. For weeks you daydreamed about making that connection with those steely grey eyes that followed your shapely figure wherever you walked, most likely imagining what was underneath. Truthfully, you wanted him to want you. You desired to be desired by the man that tossed out flirtatious remarks right after another, remarks you pretended to hate yet secretly made you giddy. Steely eyed with a boyish charm, he was 100% your type. And you had no idea what to do about it.

At first, you resisted him under the pretense of “work professionalism” and your “commitment to duty”. Sure, you'd play with him a little every now and then just to watch him squirm. Pursing your lips in the shape of a kiss whenever you caught him staring, bending over with the right side showing after “accidentally” dropping something in front of him, giving him a peek at the black skin tight crop top you wore in lieu of a bra whenever you stretched your arms.

And he'd respond by taking every opportunity to get close to you. Like placing a hand on your waist whenever he moved past you and letting it linger a few seconds longer than it should have, or coming up behind you to whisper something in your ear until goosebumps lined your spine.

“Your uniform is looking pristine today, (Y/N),” he complimented you one day after you dropped off another pile of urgent documents on his desk. “But I know something that will look better on you.”

You rolled your eyes in response, but decided to humor him.

“And what would that be, sir?”

“Me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you made your leave. Sure, it was predictable, but it was earnest, and the more desperate he got the more it amused you.

It was all in good fun, at least in the beginning. But after the first couple months, you could sense his growing agitation as each day passed. His movements became strained, his eyes hungrier, his muscles more tense. One day, as you sat at the edge of his desk with your ass just inches away from his hand, you could visibly see him clench his fist as if fighting against an insatiable urge. The sight gave you a rush of power unlike any other.

By the end of your three month mark, the entire department was making bets on when the two of you would finally hook up. Which became a nuisance in the eyes of one person in particular.

That’s right, it wasn’t just your position you had to worry about. Although most of the other military members were quite welcoming to you on that first day, First Lieutenant Hawkeye was the exception. She gave meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill”. Sure, you pretended not to notice the daggers she shot in your direction every time you dared to banter with the roguishly handsome colonel, but that didn’t make it any less intimidating. However, you were no stranger to workplace rivalry, especially in the military. No blondie was going to run you out, not after you worked your ass off to get there.

All of your resolve, however, was put to the test one fateful Friday evening.

Central Command was nearly empty. The rest of the officers had gone home for the day (or were sent home, in Hawkeye’s case, but you didn’t find that out until much later). Apart from a few stragglers hanging around in the hallways, you were pretty much the only one left… apart from him, of course. You’d only been there for a few months, so you had taken every opportunity to build your reputation as a workaholic, refusing to go home unless ordered to. You were hoping it would show your diligence and dedication to the right people. You could practically taste the promotion, you just had to hang in there a little longer. If you could resist the colonel for another few months, you’d be a shoe in. You just knew it.

You headed towards his office to drop off one last pile of paperwork. One he was certain to ignore until the following week, but at least it would’ve been out of your hands and his responsibility. You gave the door a quiet, yet firm knock with the back of your knuckles and waited for permission to enter.

“Come in,” he crooned, his voice sounding more alluring than authoritative.

You opened the door slowly, clutching the thick pile against your chest before heading inside. When it closed behind you, you clicked your ankles together and gave your colonel a firm salute.

“At ease,” He said off-handedly, placing the file he had in hand onto his desk. You heard him crunching on something, most likely one of those peppermints he always kept by the phone. He focused his rigid eyes onto you, clasping his hands together to form a small tent for his chin to rest on.

“The paperwork you requested, sir,” You gave a staunch reply, hoping to hide the nervous butterflies that suddenly began to flutter about in your belly. Ah, what was it about that look in his eye that made you feel so skittish? It wasn’t so intimidating when there were people around, but now that you were finally alone...

“I told you, there’s no need for these formalities when it’s just the two of us.”

“With all due respect, this was how I was trained. Sir,” You put extra emphasis on that last title and flashed him a cheeky grin, knowing how much he loved hearing you call him that. It did something to you, seeing his breath hitch and his grip tighten. If he was attempting to hide his arousal, he was doing a pretty shoddy job.

“Were you also trained to put in 12 hour days without clearance?”

Welp. He got you there. So much for all that overtime pay. Not like it would've been approved by HR, anyway.

“...No, sir. But you asked to have these forms done by the end of the week, and I promised to follow through.”

The colonel raised an eyebrow in amusement, not bothering to show restraint as he looked you up and down. The way his eyes were devouring you was enough to make you question all your morals.

“Or maybe you were just looking for an excuse to get me alone.”

You felt your face heat up at his comment, which only got worse when he flashed that usual shit eating grin of his.

“And what if I was?”

“Then I’d forbid you from working so hard and offer to take you out instead.”

You blinked a few times in disbelief, unsure how to interpret his words.

“...What?”

“You’re still pretty new to Central, aren’t you? You’ve been working so much, I doubt you’ve gotten the chance to really explore the city. I could be your tour guide.”

“Are you…?”

“Asking you out? Affirmative.”

Your lips parted in shock, then formed into a grin as the corners of your lips crept up.

“Isn’t that a bit inappropriate, colonel?”

“It could be. But only if you wanted that.”

“Sir.”

“Please, (Y/N), I said call me Roy. We’re close enough now, aren’t we?”

“...Roy,” his first name was unfamiliar on your tongue, yet rolled off like smooth silk. It felt odd to call your superior out of his title, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t excite you.

“Yes?”

“Your offer is tempting, but I’ll have to decline. I can’t risk losing my position.”

“Who has to know?”

“People talk, you know.”

“Then let's give them something to talk about.”

It was corny, but genuine. You could tell he was really trying, perhaps as an attempt to live up to his womanizer reputation. It made you wonder if that was all an act.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Why don’t you come here and find out.”

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have hesitated to obey a command from your superior. But hearing him toss aside the suggestive comments for a more direct method of flirting had taken your head for a spin. After months of playful teasing that usually led to nowhere, you suddenly found yourself on a direct course to somewhere.

It was foolish to fall for a man like him, but there wasn’t a single thing stopping you from taking the plunge. You were about to dive in headfirst without bothering to take a breath.

“Alright, then. I guess I’ll have to come to you.”

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back so he could come round the desk and make his way towards you. Your heartbeat steadily increased the closer he got, pounding against your rib cage until it felt like you’d explode. In just a few short seconds, the colonel’s face was inches away from your own and you could practically smell the peppermint candy he had been sucking on just moments ago. You didn’t realize that you’d backed up against the wall until his right arm was suddenly beside your head. He leaned in close until you could smell of his expensive cologne wafting in the air. It reminded you of your dad’s aftershave, with hints of sandalwood and bergamot.

You’d never been so close to the colonel before and hadn’t realized how much height he had on you. He wasn’t anywhere close to being six feet, but you had always been on the shorter side, and the confidence oozing from his aura was making you feel three inches tall.

“(Y/N),” he said with a stern tone. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to give me your honest answer.”

“Sure.”

“That’s an order.”

“... Yes, sir.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes boring holes into you as you waited with stalled breath for him to go on. A few moments passed; you noticed part of his face twitch before he took a big gulp.

Was Roy Mustang… nervous?

“Do you…” He finally spit out after several long seconds. “Do you… want this to go any further?”

You stood there quietly for a moment, wondering if you’d do permanent damage to his ego if you toyed with him any longer. You decided on a mix of genuine honesty and playful taunting, just to keep him on his toes.

“What kind of woman do you take me for, Roy?” you teased, crossing your arms while donning an amused smirk.

“A phenomenal one,” he half-whispered. “One I’d be honored to know more intimately.”

“And once you’ve known me?” you said, meeting his famished gaze. “What will happen?”

“Whatever you want. I could give you space. I could never give you space again. It’s your choice.”

“My superior has handed me the reins,” you goaded gleefully. “What will our colleagues think when they hear of this?”

“I’m serious, (Y/N),” he growled with an unfamiliar sense of urgency. “If you want this… whatever this is, to end here, just say the word and I’ll obey without question. This will never happen again, and everything will go back to the way it was.”

You fell silent, your smile fading away as the conversation began to fall out of your favor.

“But,” he continued, letting out a sharp exhale. “...If you’ll have me. We could m-”

You silenced him with a kiss on the lips, one that left him red faced and dazed. It was a risky move, but one you were more than willing to take. You pulled away after a few seconds and held back a chuckle when you saw his shocked expression; certainly, those long months spent building up tension had paid off. Armed with a silver tongued response, you let your words sink into him like teeth in supple skin. You leaned in close until your breath wisped across his ear.

“Does that answer your question?”

He stared at you with wide eyes and mouth agape for a few moments before pulling you into his embrace once more, kissing you deeply.

His kiss was ravenous, but his hands rivaled that hunger, taking in palmfuls of you as much as he could with all those layers of uniform covering your body. You felt his tongue against your own and relished the sweet peppermint flavor while strong hands slid under the fabric of your outerwear, causing your back to arch further into his grasp. You felt his hands on your back and then again on your hips, groping every curve until his appetite was satiated.

Desperate to get closer, he suddenly pushed you against the wall and grabbed the backs of your thighs as he prepared to lift you up. You let out a tiny yelp a little too late, a weak attempt to warn him of your weight, but your words failed to reach his ears and soon you found yourself in the arms of the Flame Alchemist. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as his hands rested comfortably on your ass, cradling each cheek in his wide palms. You looked down, realizing that your concern for his strength was unfounded. It was as if he was carrying a basket of feathers; there wasn’t any sign of strain to be found in his expression. Your anxiety returned to passion while your hands found their way into the jet black fields of his hair. You found yourself grabbing fistfuls of it as you kissed him deeper and deeper, smiling against his lips every time he moaned from the action.

Abruptly, he pulled away, eyes soft with desire and longing. You opened your mouth to speak, but he silenced you with another wet kiss before carrying you towards the burgundy couch on the other side of the room.

He laid you down carefully on the velvet cushions, as if you were made of delicate porcelain. Your uniform was already in shambles; the hem of your top coat had ridden up, exposing your disheveled black undershirt and your lack of a bra, and your outer apron was practically on backwards. He took in the sight for a moment; his eyes lost in a lustful haze before finally doing something about it. He dug his fingers under the waistband of your pants in search of the buckle, causing you to let out a surprised squeal right before bursting into giggles.

“Stahahap!” You weakly batted his hands away. “It tickles!”

You were doomed as soon as the words escaped your lips. With the narrowing of his eyes and a mischievous grin, he placed his fingers in the same spot you just pushed him away from and dug into your belly with a gentle, yet maddening touch.

“Ticklish?” He asked, already knowing the answer. You would’ve spat back a retort had you not been laughing so hard. Feeling him wriggle around in such a sensitive area was more than you could handle at the moment.

“Aaaaah! Roy!! Nooohoho!”

“Ah, now she calls me Roy. Who knew all I had to do to get you to obey me was to tickle you.”

“Nonononono- AAAH!”

Your little outburst was due to him raking his nails down the length of your now-exposed sides, which made you arch your back and push yourself further into his grasp once again. He quit the unbearable wriggling, trading them for soft and gentle strokes, but even those were enough to make you squirm. Your laughs quieted down to muted giggles, ones you tried to mask by covering your mouth with both hands. He took care of that swiftly, taking both wrists into one of his big hands and pinning them above your head. You could feel the heat radiating from his palm, and it made you sweat even more.

“There will be none of that,” He said with an amused smile, looking you up and down as you laid there at his total mercy. Heat crept up your neck and into your cheeks, and you quietly thanked whatever deity was out there for giving you so much melanin.

“Aaahaha… pleeease…” You half-heartedly begged, not for his hands to leave your skin but to continue touching the rest of you.

His free hand trailed up your side, purposefully tickling your bronze skin every inch of the way up until it reached your chest. Now only protected by a thin layer of dark cotton, he began to caress one of your budding nipples as it poked through the fabric of your undershirt. You let out a small moan, unable to hold yourself back. He gave the same attention to your other nipple, flicking the swollen tip until you began to whine. The gentle stimulation was enough to drive you wild, despite the fact that he had barely touched you.

“Why don’t we remove this troublesome uniform so I can find your other sensitive spots?” He cooed, eager to continue his exploration of your body. He released your wrists momentarily and waited for you to undress. You rolled your eyes but obliged, pulling off your unbuttoned top coat and white gloves while he got to work on his own clothes. You scoffed at him as he fumbled around with his own gloves and pants; you assumed the colonel would be a pro by now, with all the “experience” he bragged about having with the ladies, but seeing him awkwardly stumble around like a preteen about to lose his virginity was enough to make you laugh out loud. He put an end to it quickly, however, with another scurry of fingers up your sides. You shrieked again, curling up into yourself to get away from those torturous touches.

“How dare you mock your superior,” he joked, finally managing to undo his belt buckle. His pants slid off unceremoniously; he kicked them across the room and flinched when they landed on an expensive vase, subsequently knocking it over and shattering into pieces. You covered your mouth again, failing to hide another laugh. However, one look at his dejected expression made you regret poking fun at him.

“This is not exactly how I imagined this going,” He mumbled, furrowing his brows in frustration.

“It’s alright. It’s cute.”

“How dare you call your superior officer cute. I should punish you for that.”

“You’re such a big baby. Stop whining and touch me already.”

“Look who’s giving orders now.”

“Shut up and do as you’re told.”

“As you wish, ma’am,” he teased as he leaned forward, pulling your pants down your thick legs and tossing them aside, this time with a bit more care so as not to break any other valuables in the room. All that was left were your black lace panties and matching undershirt.

He unbuttoned his top coat, removed his white undershirt, and placed both of them on the floor beside the couch, and finally it was your turn to admire his form. You knew the Flame Alchemist was strong after fighting in two different wars, but you had never gotten the chance to see his body in its full glory without the layers of his uniform hiding it away. The muscles in his arms bulged with every movement, complemented by thick veins that ran from the back of his hands to his forearms. He must have been committed to his core workouts as well; he had a well defined six pack that rose and fell with each haggard breath he took. It was enough to make you go feral. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to caress his milky pale skin, which flinched at the sudden contact. It was warm beneath your fingertips, and after a taste you wanted more.

It would have to wait, though, for he was a gentleman and wouldn’t dare come before his lady.

He crouched down and planted a gentle kiss on your stomach as he began his worship of you. Your skin quivered from the tender gesture and you struggled to hold back another tittered reaction for fear of ruining the moment. Biting your lip failed to stifle the giggles bubbling in your throat as he kissed, licked, and sucked every inch of your exposed belly. He flittered his lips along your sides, moving from waist to navel until his tongue dipped into your belly button. Each subtle movement sent electric currents throughout your body, filling you with pleasure as he adored every centimeter of your seldom touched skin.

Moving downwards, his lips grazed your thigh crease as they continued their descent, but when he went to spread your legs you grabbed his shoulders to stop him. He looked up, brows furrowed with worry at your tense expression.

“Wait,” you said as insecurity overcame you. “I don’t… like how I look down there.”

He said nothing, his gaze returning to the empty space between your thighs that he planned to fill himself. He rubbed the tops of your legs with the lightest pressure, making you writhe in place. He looked up at you again with puppy dog eyes, begging for you to let him in.

“May I?”

You hesitated, but nodded in response. He slowly pushed your legs apart, and suddenly you felt more exposed than ever before. The scars that dotted your pantyline were front and center, the ugly browns and bumpy red ridges garnering all the attention from your colonel. Your pubic hair was wild and unkempt, so much that he’d have to sift through the strands like a man on a safari. Surely, seeing these scars, along with the state of your pubic hair, had turned him off completely.

“It’s just… been a while,” you continued your lament. “A long while.”

Still saying nothing, he leaned forward and surprised you with more gentle pecks directly on the scarred skin you had spent years hiding away from the light. He added his tongue, pulling your thin lace panties to the side and carefully spreading your lips so he could begin to feast. That first lick sent your mind soaring to the heavens, causing your hands to clutch the stiff fabric of the couch for leverage. The space between your legs increased as you opened yourself to him, allowing him access to your seldom shared treasure. Your insecurities quickly faded into nothing, and you surrendered to him body and mind.

Admittedly, it took awhile for you to cum. Longer than you wished. But he was dedicated to your pleasure, keeping his face planted between your thighs through every guttural moan or sudden thrash. You made sure to let him know he was doing the job well, your moans growing louder whenever he licked your clit in just the right way. Alternating between sucking and flicking, he finally found the rhythm that suited you best after several long minutes of trial and error. He kept going, refusing to change his pattern until he heard those magic words.

“I’m gonna come,” you cry out in a breathy voice. “I’m gonna come I’m gonna come I’m gonna-”

An explosion of stars in your peripheral, plus the involuntary curling of your toes, told him all he needed to know. Waves of pleasure washed over your body as your mind went fuzzy, like television screens after a long day’s broadcast. Your chest rose and fell in rapid succession, and upon opening your eyes you were greeted by a victorious smirk from your baby-faced superior. He leaned his cheek against your thigh, lazily kissing along your path of scars until he reached your knees.

“You’re amazing,” he uttered in between smooches. His fingers traced constellations in your skin, making you flinch now and then from the ticklish sensations. You tried to grab his hands, but he was faster, and made sure to take advantage of your vulnerability and increased sensitivity by tickling your hips until you screamed.

“And you’re a menace!” You cried out, playfully slapping his cheeks while he laughed at your expense.

Once you regained logical thought, you pushed yourself up and faced your superior officer head on. He had given you a taste of pleasure, but you craved more. You wanted him inside you, and you wanted him your way. It was time for Roy Mustang to take orders.

“Lay down,” You commanded, a sudden authoritativeness washing over you. Roy seemed just as shocked as you, but followed your command willingly. He laid back on the couch across strewn cushions and scattered pillows, allowing you to take full reign over him. He wasn't moving fast enough to your liking, so you pushed him down and wrapped your hand around his throat with enough pressure to hold him in place without affecting his breathing. You kept your thumb and forefinger in the shape of a V, careful not to press down too hard too quickly. Your fingers rested comfortably on the sides of his neck as he looked at you with eyes full of affection.

“(Y/N), I never took you as an aggressive one,” He teased, showing no signs of fighting back.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Roy,” you ran your thumb over his bottom lip and caressed his freshly shaven face as he watched you, holding back from acting on his arousal.

“Well, I’d certainly love to find out.”

You released him from your grasp and carefully stood up on the unstable cushions, lifting your undershirt over your head and sliding your panties down until you were stark naked. Stark naked, in front of your superior officer, who was gaping at you like he’d just discovered the eighth wonder of the world. You crawled on top of him, seizing the waistband of his own briefs before yanking them off unceremoniously. They were discarded next to the couch with the rest of the wrinkled pieces of your uniforms.

Finally, you saw his member in all its glory. It was pale, with a hint of rosy hue, and exactly the right shape for your preferences. If you had to guess, it was at least 8 inches erect. He’d teased you with his dickprint for those long months, aware of how its size and girth demanded your attention every time you were lucky enough to sit next to him in a meeting. How long had you yearned to feel it for yourself?

You took his rock hard penis into your hand, gathering all of the saliva in your mouth before taking it in. You licked the tip with a flicker of your tongue, smiling to yourself when you saw him writhe where he laid. You wrapped your mouth around him as he cried out in pleasure, finally giving him the relief he desired. Your head began to bob up and down as your tongue licked the entirety of his member. You felt it twitch in your mouth every so often as he began to pulsate, grunting every time the tip hit the back of your throat. You suppressed the urge to gag, slowing down whenever that sick feeling arose, then returned to the same deliberate rhythm when the feeling passed. You could tell the ebb and flow was driving him mad. It was time to give him more.

“Do you have a condom?” You asked, ready to go all the way.

He nodded, reaching over the side of the couch in search of his pants. He fumbled around for a bit, letting out a frustrated curse every once in a while before he found what he was looking for. He ripped off the plastic wrapping and pinched the tip as he slid it down over his painfully erect penis.

When he was ready, you climbed on top and spread your legs.

“Do you want me?” you said, pressing the tip of his head into your vagina. He let out a groan and pushed his hips upward, desperate to get deeper inside of you.

“Yes,” he murmured.

“How badly do you want me?”

“I want you so bad,” his pleas became more urgent, almost turning to whimpers. “Please, let me feel you.”

You obliged, taking him into you. You were still quite wet from his masterful oral skills, so his member slid inside easily without much discomfort. The cry of pleasure that came from him almost caused you to stop in place. You lifted yourself up, then back down again, your cheeks making a smacking sound as they slammed against his thighs.

“Fuck,” he sighed with eyes closed, grunting with every long stroke. “You feel so good.”

You silently agree as your body rises and falls in a steady pattern. He feels so good, so unbelievably good inside you, and all you wanted in that moment was to make him feel as good as you did. You bounced around, testing out different angles to see which gave the best reactions, then settled on one and sped up your strokes.

“Tell me you love it,” you demanded, dripping with sweat, seeking affirmation of a job well done.

“I love it. I need it. Please, give me more.”

You could feel him getting close. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutching your hips for dear life as you rode him into dawn and let out more than a few moans of your own.

Finally, he reached his peak. You could feel his warm cum bursting inside you, protected only by the thin lubricated condom. You sat there for some time, delighting in the random pumps and twitches as he continued to burst inside you.

Exhaustion finally hit, and when he pulled you into an embrace you didn’t bother protesting. The two of you laid there for however long, lost in a world of ecstasy. One hand was wrapped around your shoulder while the other stroked your wild curls. You closed your eyes and melted into him, making sure to enjoy the moment as much as possible before it was over.

“Roy,” you spoke up after a long bout of silence. “What happens now?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, continuing to caress your frazzled curls and rubbing the back of your neck every now and then. Seemingly lost in thought.

“I told you,” he spoke up after some time. “You call the shots.”

You clenched your fist as it rested against his chest. You could feel his heart beating rapidly, unwilling to let the excitement go.

“I want more of this. I want more of you.”

He responded by cupping your cheek in one hand, pulling it towards his own face so he could address you properly. For once, you felt shy as you made eye contact with your colonel.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Uh, nothing. I have to tend to my garden, but that won’t take long.”

“Let’s do dinner at 7. Then I’ll tend to your garden afterward.”

He was truly something else. You scoffed at his ridiculous innuendo, gently backhanding him for daring to be so cheesy at such a time. He simply smiled back, pulling you in closer so he could kiss you again, and again, and again.

Work, promotions, envious colleagues… all of that could wait. Right now, you had everything you wanted. You’d figure the rest out later.

After all, you were a phenomenal woman.

#fullmetal alchimist brotherhood #fullmetal alchemist #roy mustang x reader #roy mustang #black reader #black femme reader #reader insert #n/s/f/w #please let me know if i forgot to tag anything!#my first smut #an asexual wrote this please be kind lolol #fmab

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charmingyong · 4 years ago

Text

Wasabi Chocolates

Genre: Ten x reader (gender neutral), co-workers, one-sided hate to love, humour, fluff

Warnings: the number of times I wrote “oh my god,” swear words, somewhat mentally violent reader (’you’re going crazy~’ because of Ten), physical injury, cats (sorry to those allergic)

Abbrev: F/N L/N = first name last name

Word count: 6k

Plot: You were a good child, always being nice to your classmates in elementary school. Unlike Ten who was always a troublemaker. When your family decided to move away during middle school, you were relieved thinking that you weren’t ever going to see him again. But you were wrong a decade later when your new co-worker was none other than the devil himself.

A/N: You’ll see that I watch a lot of cat vlogs. Please let me know if there are any issues in terms of the gender-neutral assignment.

- ❀ -

“Oh my God! Did you hear about the new guy that got hired in our department? I heard he’s super hot!” Sally gushed.

Your colleagues around you continued to gossip while your gaze was fixed onto the word document on your monitor. It didn’t faze you that the workspace next to yours was going to be occupied soon.

“Wow Y/N, aren’t you lucky?”

You rolled your eyes. Who knew how the new employee was going to turn out in terms of work habits? You were always punctual when completing work before deadlines and arriving for work, except for the times when the brutal winter would take forever to heat your car up. You were hardworking and smart, always getting praised by your higher-ups. You were proud of the compliments, but you mainly did it for self discipline. You loved your coworkers. They were all productive like you and adored you back. You were always genuinely nice to them, ready to help them out whenever they needed a helping hand. It made you happy that your workplace was a healthy environment and you looked forward to working there every day.

You hoped the new co-worker would be no exception.

“We’ll see about that when he starts. When is he coming?” you asked.

“Tomorrow.”

- ❀ -

The next morning you arrived a little earlier than usual, wanting to welcome the newbie and give him a tour around the building. You placed your tote bag that had a poorly self-drawn picture of your cat and turned on your desktop monitor, displaying the wallpaper of your sleeping cat on your bed. You smiled, your heart fluttering at how cute Sakura looked. You heard the doors slide open of your department, signaling an arrival. Removing your gaze from the monitor, you stood up ready to greet them warmly.

Only to have your blood turn cold and your face scrunched up ever so slightly when you realized who it was.

An amused smile grew on his face. “Wow! I can’t believe this. The one and only F/N L/N is my work buddy.”

Ten.

He was the new employee that was going to be located beside you.

The same troublemaker from elementary school. The one who’d make fun of the new kids with accents, start fights with other boys, be loud and obnoxious in class, and worst of all, act all high mighty as if he was the most important person in the school.

You scoffed. There went your hope jumping out the tenth-floor window. Hope for your new co-worker to be no exception to the healthy workplace environment. “I feel a headache coming,” you muttered to yourself.

- ❀ -

Ten had settled down at his workspace, and your colleagues gathered around him, asking about himself. He took out something from his bag, a gift for his new coworkers.

“Wow Ten! You’re so cool!” Sally fanned herself as if Ten’s coolness was too much for her to handle.

“I know right.” Ten had a smug smile on his face.

You scoffed from your seat. “Who the fuck brings wine to work?” Ten had brought a red wine bottle as a ‘please take care of me’ gift. Who was even going to drink it during work hours?

“It looks like someone doesn’t know how to have fun,” he threw shade at you.

You glared at him, your blood boiling the more you heard his voice.

“Y/N doesn’t. That’s why she’s still single,” Mina agreed.

You started at her in disbelief. “Excuse me, but I’m living a grand life.”

“Please, I’m tired of hearing your love stories with your cat.”

Ten’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “Woah! You have a cat? That’s so cool!” he gushed.

You rolled your eyes. “I thought you saw my computer screen already.”

He got onto his feet quickly and bent down to hover over your shoulder. The close proximity between you two sent your heart beating erratically. “Wow... What’s her name? She’s so cute,” he cooed, straightening his spine up.

Your heartbeat went back to normal and you heaved out a sigh in relief. “Sakura, and how do you know she’s a female?”

He held up two fingers. “I have two cats. And I love cats so much that I can accurately guess if they’re a he or she.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, a smirk forming on his face. “I beat you. You have one and I have two cats.”

If you weren’t at work, you would have chucked a pencil at him. And you couldn’t believe your ears. You both had one thing in common after all those childhood years when you’d compare your good self to his bad one.

The day went by super slow, all thanks to the devil. You had given him a tour of the building, trying to keep your cool to the best of your ability whenever he made remarks. Once you explained the work for the day, you tried to focus on your work.

It hadn’t been a few seconds when you felt a poke in the shoulder. “Y/N, how do I do this? What is this supposed to mean? Why are we doing this?”

Like the way your hope did, you wanted to jump out the window.

- ❀ -

A couple of days later, Ten had picked up everything that you taught him, even completing his work faster than you. Your pace had only slowed down a bit because of the living distraction next to you. He had changed the desktop wallpaper to a selfie with his two cats. You weren’t ever going to admit this out loud, but he looked just a little bit cute with the adorable furry felines.

Your boss had announced that there was going to be a lunch party happening at the end of the week to welcome the newly hired employees in the company. Parties and such weren’t your thing anymore. Lifestyle habits changed after adopting your beautiful Sakura. But the reason why you kind of looked forward to it was because of a particular someone from another department.

“You know what this means?” Mina wiggled her eyebrows.

“What?”

“Shoot your shot! Who knows someone will catch your eyes at the party?”

“Or a secret admirer of yours finally asks you out,” Joshua added.

“Which is not happening,” you said. “My luck isn’t that great.”

Flashbacks to your previous failed dates haunted you and you didn’t have it in you to try again. You were happy with Sakura and did your best to stay positive, convincing yourself that your love for your cat was enough to be happy in your successful life.

Your last words had Ten staring at you intently.

- ❀ -

Your group walked to the location of the lunch party on the main floor. Your heart wasn’t exactly beating fast, only doing a few somersaults. Upon entering the main hall, you saw many employees from other departments chatting with one another. Your eyes scanned the area to search for a particular boy.

You found him. He wore a black suit with a white-collar shirt. His dark hair neatly styled. Xiaojun, you believed was his name based on that one time he had delivered a speech at a mass conference. You had never talked to him and didn’t find it in you to do so. You could tell he was way younger than you and that stopped you from approaching him. If you talked to him, it would only make you feel like you were talking to your son than your crush.

Ten followed your line of sight and smirked. “Wow, does my Y/N have a crush on someone?”

Your heart stopped and turned to glare at him. “What the fuck do you mean my Y/N?”

He snickered. “So you like him, huh?”

Sally’s ears piqued interest. “Oh my God! Did I just hear that Y/N has a crush?”

“Finally someone other than her cat!” Mina cried. “Who who?” Her head turned in all directions as if she was going to find someone holding a sign saying ‘I’m her crush.’

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Ugh! I don’t! Ten’s just being an asshole.”

“Hey! I only speak the truth!”

Joshua spoke up. “Okay fine Y/N. Let’s say you don’t have a crush. Is there someone in this room that catches your eye?”

Even if someone did, you weren’t going to admit it. But for your colleagues’ sake, you pretended to search the room. “No.”

Before they could force you to go around and show your face, a group of people walked into the hall, carrying various foods for the lunch party and placing them on the white clothed tables lined up near the wall. A guy carried a plate of what looked like chocolates and placed it on the desserts table. You recognized the guy being Yuta, having bumped into him a couple of times when going out for Japanese meals and making small talks. Though you found it weird that he only brought a small box when there were at least two hundred people present.

You remembered Yuta saying that he loved pranking people and if the chocolates were the bait for his next prank, an idea formed in your head.

“Okay guys, I have an idea.”

“Huh?” Mina was bewildered from your sudden declaration.

“I’m going to make your wish come true.”

“Woah what do you mean? You’re gonna ask someone out?” Joshua grew excited by your words.

You nodded. “If someone eats that chocolate Yuta brought without making a reaction, I’ll ask them out on one date.”

Your colleagues showed a mixed reaction of shock and excitement. Ten was silently watching you with his eyes holding a shine.

Yes, you could have been wrong and Yuta may have brought chocolates for people who were lucky to get their hands on it first. But when the first victim when up to take a bite of the chocolate, your theory had turned out right. It was a prank. The woman’s face scrunched up in disgust and turned red.

Ten saw this, trying to think of the possible things that could be inside the chocolates. He could handle spicy things easily, but he didn’t like fruits and hoped those weren’t inside.

He was curious about you, loved annoying you to the point you were pulling your hair. A date sounded like the perfect thing in order to have more fun with you. He knew you’d never agree to one with him, knowing the bad reputation he had as a child. Your reaction to when he first walked into the department on his first day was enough to confirm that you still held onto the ill thoughts of him.

He walked through the crowds before another person would snatch the opportunity. He observed the round chocolates, definitely handcrafted, and were perfectly sealed off without anyone doubting its contents. He picked one up and headed back to you.

You were puzzled to see Ten hold a piece of Yuta’s chocolate. Your brain feared for the possibility of what Ten had in mind.

Mina squealed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to eat the chocolate Y/N was talking about!”

Ten gave you a mischievous smirk while you shook your head. “Don’t you dare,” you breathed out.

“You didn’t put any restrictions.” While holding eye contact with you, he placed the chocolate in his mouth, not biting it right away.

Your heart felt uneasy. You hoped desperately for Ten to lose the challenge.

He slowly bit into the sweet cocoa shell, testing the filling. He felt the heat of the spicy pungent flavour explode in his mouth, immediately figuring out that the filling was wasabi. Good thing he broke the round shell slowly so he could get used to the taste instead of being thrown under the bus and distorting his face.

Ten chewed calmly as you began panicking. If he finished eating the chocolate without making a single face, you were doomed. Why Ten out of everyone? Why would Ten even be interested in going on a date with you?

After a minute, he opened his mouth.

Your heart dropped.

The pungent smell of wasabi hit your nose but nothing was in his mouth. He finished it.

“So Y/N, this means I get to go out with you,” he stated with a triumph smile.

How do you get away with murder without reading books for ideas?

- ❀ -

You unlocked the door to your apartment, gently opening it to find Sakura sitting by the door, waiting for you excitedly.

“Awe my baby!” you cooed and picked her up.

She nuzzled into your cozy sweater and purred.

“Are you hungry, girl?”

A meow as a reply.

You put her down and made your way to the kitchen. As you prepared her meal, you thought back to Ten’s words on his first day.

I have two cats.

Poor cats. You felt bad for their unfortunate fate of having Ten as their owner.

You placed the elevated food bowl on the counter and called her. She jumped effortlessly onto the counter and stuffed her head inside the bowl.

A notification chimed on your phone, followed by another one, and another one. “Huh, who could that be?” you asked to yourself.

3 unread messages: Ten

You groaned upon seeing the devil’s name. This would only mean one thing.

Ten: tmrw’s saturday

Ten: let’s go on that date

Ten: uwu

You cringed at the last message. He was nowhere near uwu in your eyes. You also didn’t want to go out with him this soon, but it was better to get it over with than having to put it off.

Y/N: fine

Y/N: 2pm at the shopping mall

Ten: see you tmrw babe ;)

You gagged.

- ❀ -

It was 1:52 pm and you waited at the entrance of the mall, scrolling through your gallery on the phone. Why did you come early? A habit of yours. And when you were supposed to be on a ‘date’ with a devil that you despised greatly, it was better to arrive early and calm yourself down before you could murder him at first sight. You chose the mall, thinking it was better to walk around than having to sit across him and look at his face the entire time. Plus, you were almost positive that your window shopping was going to be torturous for Ten.

“Boo!”

“Ah!” You whipped around to see the devil laughing his ass off.

“Oh my God Y/N. You should have seen your face.” Ten mimicked your scream, exaggerating it with a funny face.

You puffed. “Shut up!”

“Okay okay. No need to frown. So what are we here for?” He rubbed his palms together excited for the date.

You rolled your eyes. “This is a shopping mall. We’re obviously here to shop.”

“Yeah but anything in particular?”

You shook your head. If anything caught your eye for Sakura, then that was it. Your plan was to walk around window shopping long enough that Ten would start whining and leave you.

And never dare to go out with you again.

You expected him to play it cool if he didn’t like the idea, but his wide grin and sparkling eyes told you otherwise. “Perfect! We can walk around and see if we find something for our cats. I actually have some art supplies to buy too.”

Your heart dropped, not expecting the uno reverse card.

He noticed your fallen face, knowing the reason behind it and cooed. “Awe your so cute!” He pinched your cheek, in which you swatted his hand away.

He laughed with his crinkling eyes while heat rose up to your cheeks.

“Let’s go!” Ten clung onto your arm and pulled you with him. You didn’t have it in you to pull out of his grasp when your heart was hammering in your chest.

- ❀ -

The next time you arrived at work, you were surprised to find Ten already at his desk. He usually arrived after you.

“Morning Y/N!” he chirped.

You never realized how handsome he really was when sweetly smiling at you.

Every day your cold heart towards him melted whenever he’d ask if you wanted coffee or needed any help. Whenever he’d leave his workspace with his desktop wallpaper displayed on the monitor, you stared at the selfie picture and your heart picked up its pace at the cute cats and Ten’s smile.

One day, you arrived to work with your heart expecting to see the cute kitten in the form of a human, only to be disappointed by his absence. All your colleagues had arrived on time shortly, except for the one beside you. It was past 10 am, an hour after the expected arrival time, which you thought was weird for Ten to be away from work without informing anyone.

Your phone vibrated beside you, displaying an unknown number. “Weird,” you mumbled but answered in case it had something to do with Ten. “Hello?”

“Hello, am I speaking to Y/N?” An unknown female’s voice was heard over the line.

“Yes?”

“Hello, I’m calling from the hospital regarding a patient named Ten.”

Your body froze. Hospital? Patient? “Oh my God! What happened to Ten?” You didn’t know you were loud for others to hear you. A sick feeling formed in your stomach at the thought of Ten being hurt.

“Not to worry too much. He has a minor injury and he requested for you.”

You grabbed your belongings and sprinted out the office.

- ❀ -

Your eyes scanned the room full of patients sitting on the beds, waiting for either the doctor or their loved ones.

“Y/N! Over here!” Your head snapped in his direction, where he sat on the bed with a cast on his arm. The boy really only knew how to smile, even when he was injured with his dominant arm.

“Why the fuck are you here? What happened to you?” you yelled full of anger.

A nurse attending another patient hushed you, and you muttered a sheepish apology.

“I was on my way to work and on the crosswalk-”

“Ten, why don’t you look both ways before crossing the road? Why do you always do reckless things? How are you going to work now? Even worse, how are you going to take care of yourself and your cats?”

“Woah, easy there tiger. It’s just a small cast. I’ll be fine,” Ten waved his free hand in a dismissive manner. “Everything will be okay.”

You groaned, frustrated with his carefree attitude. “Why do you love causing so much trouble? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He didn’t say anything back, opting to stay mute with pursed lips. Of course you wouldn’t have anything to say, you thought.

A man appeared beside you. “Hello. Are you Ten?” he asked the boy on the bed.

Ten nodded. “Yes I am.”

You gave the man a quick glance who wore a black formal suit. He couldn’t be working at the hospital with that kind of attire.

“Hi, I’m Taeyong. I want to sincerely apologize and thank you with all my heart for this morning.”

Wait what? “What happened this morning?” you asked him utterly confused. Why was this man saying thank you and sorry to Ten?

“My son was crossing the road and wasn’t paying attention to the pedestrian lights, almost getting hit by a car.”

You gasped audibly. “Oh no! Is he alright?”

He smiled at you. “Yes he is. All thanks to Ten for jumping into the traffic and saving him.”

Ten? Ten saved a child? Ten risked his safety to save someone? Your heart fluttered as you gaped at the one you’d always call the devil, for once having done an angelic deed to save a child’s life.

Ten avoided your eyes and looked at Taeyong. “It’s not a problem at all. I hope he’s okay.”

Taeyong nodded. “Yes he is. As a form of gratitude, I’d like to pay for your hospital bills.”

“Oh there’s no need-”

“I insist. Please,” Taeyong pleaded, not willing to back down.

Ten let out a deep sigh. “Okay. If you really don’t mind.”

Taeyong smiled warmly. “It’s the least I can do. I’ll take your leave and pay at the front. Take care, Ten.” With that, Taeyong left.

You huffed. “So you were just to leave me in the dark and not tell me?”

He shrugged. “You cut me off before I could explain.”

Oh right. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

He nodded. “Apology accepted... under one condition.”

You rapidly blinked a few times. Condition? “Okay what is it?” You still felt guilty for jumping to conclusion and you were ready to take him on another date if that was what he wanted. But you were still confused that Ten even wanted to go on a date with you earlier.

An innocent smile formed on his face. “I’m going to need help now that my one arm isn’t working.”

You nodded, agreeing to his words, and expected that much. “How can I help?”

“Live with me.”

“WHAT?” You earned another hush from the nearby nurse and apologized again. “I am not living with you. I have Sakura to take care of and she has a problem adjusting to new environments,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Then I’ll come live with you. Louis and Leon have no problem with that,” he stated seriously.

“That doesn’t solve anything. You know our cats have to get used to each other first. Otherwise they’ll just be hissing at each other every day.”

“Anything to do with cats, leave it to me. I’ll fix all the problems.” He smirked for the nth time. “So that means you’re okay with me living with you, huh?”

If he didn’t have a cast on him, you would have grabbed the pillow off the bed and chucked it at his face.

- ❀ -

“Your place is pretty cute. Like you,” Ten said while his eyes wandered around your small apartment. You heard him say the last part but chose to ignore it, assuming that he was either lying or joking.

The old you would have never agreed to let Ten live with you. But your feelings were slowly developing for the devil and you wanted to slap yourself for that. Why Ten out of anyone? And even though you went out with Ten, why was he okay with you?

Oh yes, you both had cats.

All your previous dates had made a dash towards the exit upon hearing your love for your cat. It was only three dates, but it was enough for you to pull the brakes on dating. You couldn’t figure why they had a problem with that. Wasn’t it normal to have a pet? Maybe yours was taking it a little too far and it seemed more like an obsession. You only ever thought about Sakura, bringing every little thing to connect to Sakura during the conservations. Every time you looked at your date, your mind went on overdrive thinking about what Sakura was up to. You had a security camera set up in the living room to check on her through the phone app.

Needless to say, you were more concerned about your cat than your dates, and that made you never hear back from them again.

Upon entry of the strangers in her home, Sakura ran up to the highest tier of the cat tower, hissing as her little furs stood up.

“Sakura don’t worry. They won’t hurt you,” you spoke softly while patting her backside.

Ten chuckled. “Sakura is feisty, just like you.”

You glared at him. “I never show my feisty side.”

He scoffed. “Please, it’s literally written all over your face.” He smirked and added, “It’s quite entertaining.”

You scowled.

Sakura continued hissing in the direction of the other cats. Louis and Leon were still in their carriers, looking around curiously through the windows.

“Meow?”

“Yes Leon, we’re staying here until I get better.” Ten took out a blanket from one of his bags and spread it out in the living room. He unzipped Leon’s carrier and waited for the cat to courageously come out. After a few seconds of popping his head out and looking around, Leon hopped out and nuzzled against the familiar blanket, not minding the hissing from the top of the tower.

Louis was next, and unlike Leon, Louis began his tour around his temporary home.

“When do you have to take your pain medication?” you asked.

“Before dinner. What should we eat?”

“You’re the patient. You should decide.”

He hummed for a bit. “How about ramen? I’m craving for those instant ramen noodles.”

Wow. You could really start tallying up all the similarities that you both had, and the thought of it made your heart skip a beat.

“Perfect. I have a stash of it,” you replied.

He grinned at you and you looked away from his eyes, coughing out of nervousness. “Um, for bed you can either take my room or sleep on this pull-out daybed here.” You were grateful for your selection of a furniture that came three-in-one for your living room. Sofa, additional storage, and bed. It was wiser to go for a multifunctional product when living in an apartment.

Ten’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “Wow is F/N L/N really giving up the bedroom for me?”

You froze. You didn’t think of it beforehand and worried if your heart was going to get caught. He was injured and you didn’t have it in you to force him on the daybed when he could feel better on your queen-sized bed. But if he was going to pull your leg, then you were going to take back the offer. “Fine, be in the living room.”

He smiled kindly. “I wouldn’t take your room even if you insisted. But I really appreciate the thought, Y/N,” he spoke softly.

The way his eyes brightened when fixed on you had your heart ready to jump out the window.

- ❀ -

Sakura’s bed was usually in the living room. But because of the strangers that hijacked there, she moved into your bedroom. It didn’t really make a big difference to you as she sometimes slept next to you in bed. Meanwhile, you were surprised that Louis and Leon had adjusted fairly quickly to both the new home and its owners.

You got out of the bathroom after taking your bedtime shower, cuing Ten to go in next. Walking into the kitchen, you prepared a glass of warm milk for yourself. Leon and Louis began meowing and purring at your drink and so you decided to prepare three bowls of it. You placed the bowls for Leon and Louis down on the floor, in which they began sipping immediately, while keeping Sakura’s on the counter, her preferred location for meals and away from the ‘intruders.’ You picked her up and transported her to the counter, keeping her far away as possible from the other cats.

“Y/N, can you help me?”

You headed to the direction of the bathroom and found him standing like a kicked puppy. “What is it?”

“I need help taking my clothes off.”

“WHAT?” You were not going to strip him naked.

He laughed hard, holding his stomach. “Chill I was joking. At least for the bottoms. Can you help me take off my shirt?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, bashful at the request. Well this was what he meant when he said he needed help, you thought.

You moved to stand in front of him. Your fingers hesitated to touch his shirt and Ten watched you with an entertained expression. Taking a deep breath which you smelled your favourite body wash coming from him, you grasped the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it upward. You weren’t trying to look at his abs knowing it was going to freak you out. But when your eyes landed on his six-pack abs, you yelped and accidentally tugged on his injured arm.

“Ow!”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”

He chuckled. “Calm down Y/N. My abs aren’t gonna come to life and bite you. I think you should pull the sleeve out of my arm first and then pull it up.”

You did as he said and eventually got him free of his top. So now you were standing in front of a shirtless Ten, his abs staring at you, your eyes avoiding him, and you felt like your cheeks were on fire.

“It’ll be easier to wear a sleeveless shirt... or no shirt at all. Your reactions are so cute to watch,” he cooed.

“Have some manners at least for Sakura.”

- ❀ -

Before you left for work the next morning, Sakura had surprisingly warmed up to Ten. That was good news because she continued hissing at her new housemates. Having at least one soul at home who she wasn’t afraid of would bring her relief. Louis and Leon didn’t give her much attention and minded their own business.

At work, it felt weird to not have Ten next to you even though he was living at your place. The office environment felt different without him just as it felt different when he first joined the company. You used to be irritated of having him as your work buddy, and it was funny that you recently liked having him around, especially when work got stressful. He’d always add humour to every situation and your colleagues loved him for it, motivating them to work with a calmer mind.

Your colleagues asked you about him and when you filled them in on what happened, you wondered what was going on at home without you. You pulled out your phone and went on the security camera app. A hand flew to your mouth before you could scream.

“What is it, Y/N?” Sally asked and appeared behind you, looking at your screen. “Oh my goodness. This is...”

“What what what?” Mina ran up, followed by Joshua.

“Woah,” he breathed out, upon seeing a shirtless Ten lazing around in the living room.

You should have expected it from his words the previous night. Ten was playing with Sakura and your heart was far from okay seeing the two kittens you had a soft spot for being friendly with one another.

“So did the date happen with Ten yet?” Mina asked.

You nodded. “Yeah it did. We went to the mall.”

“Ooo~ How did it go?” Joshua asked.

“Of course it had to have gone well enough for Ten to be living with Y/N,” Sally winked in your way.

Sally was right in the sense that the date went well. Even though you weren’t a fan of Ten back when the date happened, you couldn’t lie to yourself that the date itself wasn’t fun. It was fun going to the different shops to check out cool outfits that looked jaw-dropping good on Ten, and buy some new toys for the cats. You both went to a Japanese restaurant and had sushi for lunch. The wasabi that was provided with the meal made you think back to the wasabi chocolate that Ten ate to win a date with you.

How did it taste like, you thought.

- ❀ -

One day, a meeting in the morning had bad news broken to your team. The deadline for a particular project was the next day, which meant that your entire team had to work overtime to complete it. You texted Ten of the news and he replied saying to not worry about him or the cats. You felt bad that he was going to have to handled everything on his own with his injured arm and an additional cat on top of his. Even though it was a matter of few seconds to check the security camera and see if everything was all right, your stress kept your brain preoccupied with the urgent assignment at hand and not check on the situation at home.

When you arrived home after eleven at night, you were greeted by three cats waiting for you behind the door. Your tired brain noticed that Sakura wasn’t hissing at Louis and Leon, meaning that she had finally warmed up to her new friends.

“Oh my goodness... Ten! Did you see Sakura-” You went speechless upon your entry into the living room.

Ten stood smiling at you with a canvas sitting on an easel behind him. The canvas was a painting of what looked like flowers and vines in the background that surrounded... your face?

“How did you... your arm?” You were impressed that Ten had painted it with his non-dominant hand.

“Being in here all day, I tried painting with my free hand. I’m sorry if it didn’t turn out good.” He bit his lip nervously.

You were dumbfounded. “Are you kidding me? This is so cool! It’s literally flawless. But what is this supposed to be?”

He smiled genuinely at you. “It’s a painting of you blooming around plants. There’s something I want to confess...” he trailed off nervously scratching his head.

Your heart beated faster, hoping that it was something good that he wanted to confess after showing the painting of you.

“I really like you, Y/N. I know I’m not in your good books, but I promise to be one from now on. So if you’re willing to give me a chance, will you let me be your boyfriend?” he asked with a hopeful expression.

You blinked, not believing your ears that Ten liked you back. “You seriously like me?”

He chuckled anxiously. “Yeah. I did ever since the first time I saw you again at work.”

Woah. “So that’s why you wanted to date me,” you breathed out.

He nodded. You grew silent and so he raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to confess back?”

“What?”

“I know you like me too.” His infamous smirk made a comeback. “It’s so obvious and written all over your face every day.”

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“I see you’re not denying it.”

You pursed your lips but failed to stop the smile from spilling onto your face. “Okay you win. I like you too.” You were ecstatic that you were not only going to live a successful life, but a satisfied one as well.

“Good, because there’s another surprise for you in the kitchen,” he stated.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled innocently.

Walking into the kitchen, you found what Ten was talking about. You brought the heart shaped box wrapped with red gift wrap to the living room, excitedly unwrapping it and opening the box in front of him.

The contents of the box being heart shaped chocolates.

“Awe, this is so cute.” You took a bite without any hesitancy and your face scrunched up miserably.

Wasabi.

Ten’s laughter resonated off the walls of your apartment as you dropped the box on the coffee table and sprinted to the kitchen, spitting it into the trash. You stormed back to Ten and crossed your arms angrily.

“You literally promised!” you yelled.

“Yeah I did. But I never said that these chocolates were for you to eat.”

“You said it was a surprise for me,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah but your surprise is this.” He picked up a piece and popped it in his mouth, chewing it as if there was no spicy filling inside it. Once he swallowed it all, he opened his mouth for proof. You were confused as to why he willingly ate the wasabi chocolate. Though you did slightly swoon over how sexy he looked when he ate the bomb so effortlessly. He closed his mouth and grinned at you.

“You owe me another date.”

#nct #wayv #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #chittaphon fluff #chittaphon x reader #nct ten #wayv ten #nct x reader #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #charm

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tma-more-like-suffering · 4 years ago

Text

How to Successfully Attempt Murder

starring, Elias Bouchard as the murder victim.

A/N: So even though this technically isn’t a reader insert, its still in second person because- uh- because I’m currently stuck writing in second person? Like, okay, I’m having fun, alright? Lemme be.

But hey. For everyone who has repressed feelings of anger towards one Jonah Magnus, this one’s for you.

"Hey Mel- oh. Are you... going somewhere?"

Melanie startles, almost dropping the cup of coffee she has clutched in one hand. You stop just shy of the kitchenette doorway, feeling awkward for have accidentally snuck up on her.

"Jesus- I didn't hear you coming at all."

"Yeah... sorry. What're you doing?"

"I'm-" her expression goes through a series of stages, each somehow more interpretive than the last, "I- I went out to get coffee, that's all. And I thought I'd bring some for Elias..."

You squint at her, suspicious, "Elias?"

You don't know how, but Melanie's expression remains completely smooth beside the slight twitch of her eye, "Yes."

"Riiiight." You know that she can probably tell you don’t believe her. Still, you gesture at the cup, "You're going up to deliver that to him, then?"

Melanie glances down at the beverage, "Ah- yeah." She pauses, seemingly thoughtful, before her eyes settle on you again, "D'you wanna come up with me?"

Frankly, Melanie is acting very suspiciously right now. You know for a fact that this isn't just her 'having' gotten Elias a coffee while she was out. But you don't quite know what she's actually up to, and you have a feeling that something is about to happen.

"Alright, I'll come with."

You're standing beside the door to Elias's office, falling just outside his line of sight. Melanie told you to wait out here as she delivered her 'coffee' but left the door ajar just so that the conversation inside can be easily overheard.

"-I assume you don't believe me, then? That murdering me would also kill you?"

You can only imagine what kind of look must be on Melanie's face, right about now, "I-I-I don't know what you're..."

Despite the topic of conversation, Elias sounds unnervingly calm. You're not even the one who’s tried to kill him and yet you still feel a twinge of annoyance, "Coffee is not as good for disguising tastes as you might think. And it's even worse at disguising texture. Dissolved pills always leave such a- hm- chalky residue."

Melanie bristles, "Look, Elias, I never-"

"I assume this is your first time attempting to poison someone." You silently shake your head. Poor Melanie, Elias doesn't even sound fazed, talking about an attempt on his life like he's just scolding her for coming into work late, "Do you actually know how many painkillers it takes to kill someone, or were you just hoping I'd take enough to get sick, and you could finish the job... manually?"

Melanie takes a deep breath, but even from here you can hear the fine tremor underneath it, "Why...? Why bother asking then? Why bother if you know everything?"

Elias chuckles, unperturbed, "I don't know everything, Melanie. Do you know how exhausting that would be?

"I'll tell you one thing I don't know," he continues, "and that's how to convince you that I'm trying to help. Honestly, you're one of the lucky ones. But not if we're all dead thanks to an... overzealous-" you wince, "-attempt at independence."

Melanie sounds like she's gearing up for a fight, like a toy with its key turned too many times, "I don't need you to-"

Elias interrupts, speaking with an infuriating condescendence, like he's just turning down Melanie's request for a promotion the third time this month, "Let's have no more clumsy assassination attempts, alright? And we'll say no more about it. Consider this your first warning." His voice swoops lower, quieter, dangerous, "Next time I shall have to escalate matters, and that won't be a pleasant process for anybody."

A pause for dramatics. "Understood?"

Melanie grits out her own assent, "Yes."

Melanie seems now to be a problem neatly taken care of and filed away, never to be considered again except maybe for his own occasional amusement. There's an audible smile in Elias's voice, "Good."

Next thing you know, Melanie storms out of the office and straight past you, looking too angry to have remembered that she left you standing there. You blankly watch her go, mind spinning in lazy circles while considering the conversation you overheard.

"Will you close the door before you leave, Alex?"

You don't bother to stop long enough in his office for a chat of your own.

It’s curious, really.

He said, 'I don't know everything. Do you know how exhausting that would be?'

He's some form of omniscient, that's for sure. Maybe like a maid working in a Victorian household, always on top of the gossip. Whether that be creating the gossip himself, or simply being the agent who spreads it, that depended on the time of day.

But he can't know everything, all the time. Because that would be too much.

Which means there are loopholes.

"Hey Rosie."

Little nosy Rosie looks up, smiling politely as you stop by to say hello. It's not a very comfortable smile, because anyone who's anyone knows to stay well away from the Archives and their staff. Not Rosie though, little Rosie has quite the fine palette for juicy bits of gossip, reason why she bothers talking to the lot of you, "Hello Alex. Everything well in the Archives?"

You wave your hand dismissively, "We're getting along, I suppose. Lot of excitement with all that murder business, you know how it is."

There's that gleam in her eyes now, that 'oh, what's this?' gleam of curiosity, "Not quite, no. Listen, did I hear it straight that Jon's back? Even after being accused of murder?”

You shift, getting yourself comfortable leaning against Rosie's desk, "Well, they dropped the charges, right? Turns out they had it all wrong, Jon wasn't the one who took a pipe to some old man's head. I mean, look at him? D'you think he'd do it?"

Rosie squirms under your gaze, looking distinctly guilty, "I suppose not. He's a bit of an arse sometimes but- maybe not murder."

"Oh, it's all right Rosie, if my body ever turns up dead you know where to look." You wink. Her lips quirk up in a smile. It's just a spot of joking you two are doing here, really. You turn your head then, just slightly, pretending to look around a bit when you spy a tea kettle boiling away in the corner. "Having a cuppa?"

"What?" She follows your gaze and startles, "Oh! No, no, that's for Mr. Bouchard. He takes his tea this time of day."

You make a low noise in the back of your throat, casually interested but not obviously, "That so. You deliver his tea all times of the day, then?"

Rosie gives you a bemused look, as if she suspects you're trying to turn your nose up on the fact that part of her job is to bring tea to her boss. "It's only twice a day. He's never broken from schedule, doesn't bother me for it otherwise."

You hum an empty agreement, "Seems like the kind of man to keep on schedule."

"I should get to that actually," She pushes away from her desk and starts to her feet, "The water's probably done."

"Yeah, alright." You push off of her desk, giving her nod as you wander over to the door of her office, "Nice chatting with you Rosie. You should come down to visit the Archives sometime."

The last thing you see is her indulgent smile, the kind you give someone when you're only putting up with them until they're gone. In this case specifically, it's a -I don’t want to get caught up in whatever goes down there in the Archives, no thank you- kind of smile.

Oh well. You got what you came for anyways.

It's rather easy after that.

A month of seeing neither hide nor hair of him, Jon comes back. He looks remarkably harried, and you don't think you'd have even noticed him coming into work had you not been in the reception area during that time. As such, you watch him rush straight past you and for the stairs, and you can make a guess for where he's headed with a single-minded focus like that. It seems like Elias has a lot to do with the nonsense that occurs down in the Archives, and people can't be happier having someone to blame.

You pop down in the Archives and tell Martin that Jon's back. He sighs in relief. Even before becoming scarce at his own workplace, it was always Martin that Jon kept the most contacts with, only to completely drop off the grid these last few weeks. Somewhere in the midst of your conversation Melanie comes marching in, a crazed look in her eye, and you know what she's planning too.

I mean, what better time than when the boss-bossman is distracted, eh?

An uncomfortable few seconds of watching Melanie stomp about before she leaves, the door closing behind her with a bang. Martin sighs tiredly and you know that he wishes she would just stop with all of this. These days, he’s more and more like a tired father of two toddler who has accepted his horrible lot in life, and yet still his children continue to insist on making it worse.

You give him a comforting little pat on the back. As far as you’re concerned, it's their loss if they insist on putting their heads in the lion's mouth.

Heading upstairs, you find Rosie's office empty. It must be if she’s settling the little dispute going on up in research. The kettle is however turned on, because Mr. Bouchard has always been a man of schedule.

It's easy, to slip in something into the water.

Elias can't know everything, all the time.

He knows he needs to keep an eye on his Archivist's development. The brunt of his gaze has always rested on Jon and it’s obvious that none of you Assistants can ever hope to stand in the same regard, not really.

Elias keeps an eye on Melanie. Melanie is unstable. She doesn't like her actions being controlled; she doesn't like being trapped here in this place. Never mind that she agreed to join the Institute on her own violation, it's her free will that matters to her now, or at least the illusion of it. Melanie is the kind of person who isn't afraid to fight for what she wants.

Elias keeps an eye on Tim too, though he pretends he doesn’t. It just makes sense. Tim is almost like Melanie, but he's been beaten down too much too soon, and won't take it out on Elias. His target is instead Jon, who seems to be at the center of most of his problems and is a much easiertarget. As long as that continues to be true, Tim is content on simply being indirectly snide towards Elias.

Elias doesn't really keep an eye on Martin. Oh, he knows that Martin is just as angry with him as any of others, but Martin has never been the kind of person to do anything about it.

Elias doesn't really keep an eye on you. You know what people think of you. That you're kind of an airhead. Always lost in your head, can't be bothered with the world outside it half the time. You're the kind of person that likes keeping their head down and quietly working away at your desk, and that hasn't much changed since... well, everything.

Nah. The murder thing isn't even on the top of your list. You'd just like some peace and quiet down here, for once. And, well, Elias seems to be the root of everyone's problems, including yours...

Still, there's no point in doing anything without at least enjoying the results. You researched extensively on what kind of poison to buy, taking into mind Elias’ oh-so-kind lecture to Melanie about picking your poison. It wouldn’t have done for him to taste something off about his tea the moment he took the first sip.

So, after exactly the time it would take for his tea to kick into effect, if you compensate for the time he would take to drink enough of it, you check in on Elias.

The first thing you see is the man collapsed onto his desk, eyes wide open and mouth frothing. The second you see is Jon, staring at the now dead body in front of him with surprise.

"Oh. It worked."

Jon's eyes snap toward you, "Wh- Alex? Did you do this?!"

You rub at your ears at the pitch of Jon's voice, an octave or two higher with hysteria, "I didn't know it'd work, you know?"

"You killed him!"

You shrug, slipping inside the room. "Sure." You can't be bothered to close the door behind you as cross over to the desk. Jon scampers out of his own seat, edging warily to the other side of the room. He can do whatever he wants as long as he doesn't call the cops immediately.

You check for a pulse on the body and find it missing.

From the furthest corner of the room, Jon stutters, "Y-you're insane."

You can't be bothered with an answer.

Fascinatingly enough though, Elias's eyes are still moving. They rove around wildly in his sockets, almost like they're the only way he can convey his surprise at being got. It's still unnatural though, and you have the strangest surety that it's an important detail.

Jon by this point has left the office, and you should really clean up here before someone comes in. Still, it almost feels like things aren't finished here. You have the strangest sense when it’s obvious that a story hasn't reached its conclusion.

You cast about the room and stop at the pen stand, holding fancy fountain pens that look like they cost more than your entire salary. You grab onto one, sliding the cap off by neatly jamming your thumb nail into the line where the cap meets the body of the pen, and look down contemplatively at the eyes that have stopped pinballing wildly, fixed on you. They almost look scared.

Well. This is going to get messy. At least you know that Melanie will be willing to help you clean up the body.

Tip of the pen poised; you get to work.

#original character #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #tma podcast #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #melanie king #elias bouchard #brief mention of eye trauma #murder #attempted murder #poisoning #my writing

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imaginesandideas · 4 years ago

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humid

roughly 4k words, originally posted on my A3O account. a late summer memoir; NSFW. reblogs, comments, suggestions and all kinds of support are more than welcome ✨

[whispers] y’all should really play Hozier’s “Work song” or “NFWMB” for this one 🖤

It’s been a tough couple weeks. Well, months. And it’s especially hard cause you’re living together, you’re married and yet you’re passing each other by. Not willingly for goodness sake, but you’ve been barely finding time for each other lately and it’s killing you. He’s not dealing great with it either, but he keeps the facade to avoid worrying you more. He’s learnt that at work obviously. The same work that has been keeping him away from you for so long.

You’re not better though. Everything has changed after you finally got your degree. The studying was hell, you were mostly tired and overworked. But Flip? He was by your side through highs and lows and was always super supportive. If not for him you probably wouldn’t have done it at all.

But after that you were met with another bunch of obstacles. Cause despite your earnest efforts, finding a decent job in the Colorado Springs area was a rather difficult task.

You went through successive stages of education but it never meant that someone would be willing to give you a chance. And again Flip was the most supportive husband - he would drive you to your interviews insisting that it’s „no big deal” and that he won’t be late for work, cause the work will wait for him anyway. You found his presence by your side in those moments extremely comforting. As you were driving around town he would reach out for your hand to hold it and place a kiss at the back of it. Such a simple gesture but for you it meant more than words. You knew that it was an affirmation, it was him reminding you that you’re strong, that you’re capable and that no matter what happens he’ll be there. For you and with you.

And you simply couldn’t help but glance at him lovingly as he was entirely focused on the road, making sure you get there safe and on time.

And finally, after many unsuccessful attempts, you got the job. It wasn’t a job of your dreams, but it was good for a start. You were earning enough to support your household budget and to take some of the worries off Flip’s shoulders. It was the independence you’ve been seeking, but it also meant that you’d have to get used to your lives continuously not coinciding.

You didn’t even realize when 6-hour shifts have turned into 10 hours. And then those 10 hours turned into a lot of paperwork you’d do during the weekends. But that’s okay, you thought, Flip was also busy at the station or going on missions so you couldn’t really be mad at yourself for doing all this extra work, right? And it was also pretty rewarding cause soon enough you got promoted and had even more complicated tasks to execute. It also came with bigger money, but all of a sudden you realized that you don’t even have the time to go and spend it on something.

Soon enough it dawned to you how little time together with Flip you were actually getting and the thought itself made you feel sick. Cause if you were to count all the moments you two had for each other during the week, it would have to be all the hours asleep and alarming amount of rushed goodbyes and kisses as you pass each other by in the hallway of your home.

Passing each other by - that’s what you were actually doing and it was driving you insane. But what could you do, you were trapped between the current project and all the upcoming ones. You were trapped between Flip’s and your own work schedule. Separated by the obligations that lay with your shoulders.

„That’s wonderful, I’m so proud of you!” His voice is heavy with exhaustion but you can sense that he’s smiling as you’re talking on the phone.

The manager position was more than you could’ve dreamed of, especially after such a long time in your current job, but the offer was so generous and unexpected that it took you a moment to process it. But first, you needed to call Flip. Partially because you wanted to know his opinion but also just so you could hear his voice.

„Well I have yet to agree but yeah I’m pretty excited.” You smile to yourself. „I mean, it’s a big step and I’ll have to get used to the new workplace but yeah…”

„You’ll do great baby. You’ll handle it like a fighter, I’m sure of it.” He’s really so proud of you and no distance could ever hide it. You can practically see his eyes shining with pride. „I love you.”

You sigh sadly.

„I love you too baby.”

„… and miss you.” He adds in a hushed tone.

„I know, I do too, you have no idea how much.” Suddenly you feel glad that you got to talk now, during your break with none of your coworkers around. It’s not like you’re ashamed or anything but you just don’t want people gossiping about the state of your marriage or you in general. It’s your moment, one out of very few you get to spend with your husband, even if it’s on the phone. And you’re just sad, your voice almost breaks as you’re speaking. „I know it’s probably just all the work and stress but I think I’m going crazy sometimes.”

„That bad?” He chuckles and you roll your eyes but you know he’s only teasing. „I know baby, I’m sorry, it’s my fault. All this paperwork from the last case got us locked up here for days. Even Ron had enough of it and left earlier today. Promised he’ll be back tomorrow morning but I wouldn’t bet my money on it.”

You nod mindlessly. Gnawing on your bottom lip you decide to take your shot.

„How much of it do you guys have left?”

„The case data? Uhh, for at least a day or two I think. Why?” You smirk but keep your voice on the same note.

„I might be wrong but I remember that chief once mentioned that you still have that overdue leave?”

He pauses for a moment, most likely trying to recall that conversation but soon enough he’s back on the line.

„Yeah I think there was something. I’ll ask him again but I believe there was a week or two.”

„Okay so, uhm, how about you get the paperwork done and we both take some time off? Just you and me, no work, no phonecalls, no distractions.” At this point you can barely hide the excitement in your voice and you don’t even care. This may be your last chance so you just hope he agrees.

„God yes, that’d be perfect!” He smiles widely and you can’t help but smile too. „What about your new job though?”

„I’ll handle that, don’t worry.”

„That’s my girl.” The smile he has at that moment will stay with him for the rest of the day, he has no doubt about it.

Time flies when you’ve got loads of work and things to look forward to. Those days flied by like a rocket and there you are, all giddy and excited as you walk towards your home. You decided to buy some groceries on the way and grab your order of italian takeaway from that restaurant you used to visit quite often when you were still only dating. Despite the tiredness and the overwhelming heat of the day you try to keep your mood uplift, the thought of well deserved time off with your husband is making all the work worth it. Cause he is worth, and you know that both of you deserve this more than ever.

The late-summer sun is setting low over the city and the woods and you stop in your tracks to catch that last glimpse of golden light. Who would’ve thought that one day you’d miss small things like this - slowly walking home, admiring the view. But you promise yourself to care more from now on. It’s a brand new chapter of your life and you decide not to waste a single moment that’s worth remembering. And you want to remember this, remember this day.

You set your purchase on the kitchen counter and drop your bag on the couch. Flip did not set the hour precisely but you guessed that he’ll be late, the usual.

After you put the food in the fridge - you specifically ordered pasta to be semi-raw so you could reheat it at home when the right time comes - you grab the bottle of leftover wine that you intentionally didn’t finish the last time. Now that you’ve got a couple days off it won’t matter if it’s not the weekend yet, you’re starting yours early. Besides, it should help you relax a bit, loosen tense muscles. And that icy liquid just feels so right as it reaches your tongue, perfect for a hot evening like this one. With a glass in one hand you step out on the porch but the air is still way too heavy with heat and you return inside.

After yet another sip you set the glass on the table and choose to change into something more comfortable. Ideally something thin, cause even back inside the air was pretty humid. Barefoot, you step inside your wardrobe and the coolness of it makes you close your eyes in bliss. The summers here were great, you loved the sun and the nature flourishing, but if you could trade one thing it would have to be the heat, especially during the night.

By the time you come into your bedroom you don’t even know what time it is, you’re too drowsy to care. Maybe you’d just wait in here, lay on these silky sheets you just recently bought for the summertime sleeps. You’ll keep one eye open in case if he comes back soon. You won’t fall asleep no way. No way…

Jolting awake you notice that the light is turned off, the whole room is dark and aired but still pretty humid as if someone left the window open. And it’s almost completely silent, except for the steady breathing beside you. There’s warmth spreading over your waist where his arm rests protectively and you smile. Once your vision accommodates to the darkness you see his sprawled out form, so pale in the night shades of your bedroom. He even got rid of the tank top he’s normally wearing to bed and you assume he must have felt just as hot as you.

You also realize that you must have fallen asleep before he even came back, cause you can’t seem to remember anything after changing your clothes in the wardrobe.

His embrace feels better than anything else in the world and you wish you could’ve stayed like that forever but your throat feels so dry that you decide to gently slip out. It’s no surprise that you still feel dizzy as you stand up, suddenly remembering the alcohol and the fatigue of workday. As quietly and carefully as possible you sneak out of the bed and then out of the bedroom, leaving Flip alone underneath the sheets.

One glass of water isn’t enough so you pour yourself another one. It’s been hours since dusk yet the air feels so heavy and hot as if during the day. Your skin feels sticky, like it’s covered in some sort of sweet syrup.

„You minx.”

His raspy voice coming from behind startles you at first, but his hands swiftly sneak around your waist before you get a word out. And you don’t even mind the warmth radiating off his body onto your back, engulfing you as he closes the distance between you both, that closeness is almost relieving. You haven’t been this close in a very long time.

„I thought you were asleep.” You say softly as you reach out to caress his face and he nuzzles his cheek into the crease between your shoulder and neck, kissing along your tense muscles.

„Can’t sleep without you. I need to know where you are.” He mumbles and you smile.

It’s true, even when away on a mission or an investigation - he always calls. He knows when you’ll be back from work and wants to make sure you got home safe. That’s the protective side of his that you’ve learnt to adore, even if one could consider it an annoying trait.

With his vast work experience, the things he’s seen over the years but also the love he had for you from the very first day, he couldn’t just simply overlook your safety. You were that one string keeping him grounded and sane thorough all the madness in his life, he wouldn’t have forgiven himself if he’d lost you. It was almost like a ritual at this point. Him calling you from the station before you head for bed, sometimes you calling him at the hotel when you know his workday on a mission is over. Not only does it calm both of you down, it’s also a chance to have that much needed time to talk about ordinary things.

„I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. I had some wine, I don’t even remember when I passed out…”

„It’s okay. You work so hard, you deserve some rest.” His voice is soothing in your ears, almost as soothing as his soft lips traveling up along your pulse point. „And I was tired too.”

„Was? Past tense?” You whisper chuckling and his grasp on you tightens, he’s pulling you in even closer almost inhaling you whole. His hands run up your sides, gently cupping your breasts before they retreat, then climb up again, this time underneath your shirt. Ever so slowly, teasingly his fingertips dance over your skin, over your slowly hardening nipples. And despite his bodily warmth it still sends shiver down your back.

He whispers but it feels like a thunder echoing along your neck.

„You already know.”

Your bodies move in unison as you turn around to face him. His face glows of late summer sweat in the dim light and it only accentuates his rough features, from cheekbones to jaw. He gives you a few seconds, enough to get a good look at his shadow-toned figure - arms, thighs, collarbones, stomach and that strong chest - at your Flip, before he pulls you in once again. This time his hands are even greedier, his movements are more desperate. But you’re right there to reciprocate, bringing your own needy hands to his dark, sweat-tangled locks. And when his lips finally meet with yours it’s like breathing. It’s natural, it feels necessary. It’s like magic but better, cause there’s nothing realer than this.

„I missed you. So so much. I missed this.” He whispers in between kisses hastily. His voice is hushed but deep, like in a tantric prayer. Like a spell.

„Flip.” You call out quietly, a whisper echoing in the darkness. He hoists you up, you watch his arms flex in the corner of your eyes, hands clutching on your thighs for dear life as he places you ever so gently on the counter. Safe yet so close to the edge.

His movements are sensually slow, so different from the way you’ve remembered him. With lips parted you let him kiss away the tension from your shoulders, arms, neck, wrists…

„Let me.” He half asks half states as he sinks low on his knees. Your eyelids grow heavy with each touch of his plump, warm lips on your ankles, calves, below your knees, along your thighs. „My love, my queen.”

You don’t remember him him like this and you’re hypnotized. He’s like a drug flowing through your veins, heating you from underneath the skin. Like he’s controlling your whole body, its motions, you.

„Baby please.” You’re begging. Flip likes that, a lot.

„Say it again.” It’s the depth of his voice, the booming of it that wakes you up from this trance you’ve been stuck in. And he’s looking at you with those cinnamon-spiced honey eyes of his. The eyes that are now locked with your own hazy gaze.

He kisses your ankle without even looking away and it’s like fire burning you from underneath and that icy breath tingling on your skin.

„Please.” A whine.

„Again.”

„Please…”

It comes out nearly a whimper, but he’s relentless, his face stoical like a cliff. Proud, patient, waiting.

He’s tempting you, testing you as if it is the devil himself kneeling beneath your feet. Encouragingly grazing his fangs along the luscious skin of your thighs. Awaiting your surrender. Your submission.

„Say it like you mean it.”

Your heart is shaking in anticipation. It feels so wrong and yet you give in.

„Phillip, please. I need you.”

And he bites in, sucks in, leaves blooming marks like petals scattered around a bouquet of fresh wild peonies.

He devours you entirely, completely. Trembling, you’re losing control, in fact you’re giving it away, right into his eager hands, lips, hungry eyes.

By the time his mouth reaches your clit you’re already blissed out, encouraging him with the motion of your hips, quietly gasping, begging for air, begging for more. Begging for no air at all.

It’s like you’re breaking apart, your body and mind conflicted yet something, someone, keeps them tied together, seals them with each caress. Your nerves are tingling but at the same time are so numb, like he’s crawled inside you, slick as a snake. He’s controlling you, the rhythm of your breathing, of your heart.

And your heart feels like a volcano, hot and ready to explode from your heaving chest.

„Y-yes, there, please.”

Your slick and his spit are one. Your inhales are synchronized with his lips. Perfect harmony, only it’s not quiet, it’s loud on his tongue, loud as the gasps leaving your mouth and even louder in your brain.

With your vision clouded you gaze down and that’s when it hits you.

Your limbs involuntarily shake, wave after wave crashing over you and within seconds you can barely breathe. Your mind is filled with light, like sun setting over beach, the sounds of ocean rustling. You’re divided, both here and out there, not even sure which one is which cause all of these sensations feel so real.

There’s this immense hot heaviness climbing up your torso. It covers your ribs, moves swiftly over your cleavage, rests below your breast, on your heart. His hand reaching out to touch you even more. So gentle and loving yet so delightfully demanding.

„Yours.” You whisper even though he doesn’t question it verbally. It’s in the air and you just repeat it like echo, like a mantra.

Fingers dig into the counter, seeking support. He knows you’re almost there, he can feel it through your uncontrolled trembling, your spasming cunt. And so he catches you, holds you grounded, holds your thighs firmly apart with his strong hands. Somehow it doesn’t even matter that it’s the middle of a hot night, it doesn’t matter where did your underwear go, if the sun is about to hit your faces within the next few minutes, cause all you care about is him. And you keep chanting his name with that haunting promise.

„Yours Flip, yours. Yours.”

If only you could see these honey eyes as they drown in the sound of your voice, the eyes that can’t speak but still reflect his love for you - selfless, filled with adoration and respect. In his eyes you’re a statue, carved and perfected thorough the years, and now he’s bringing it to life.

Your body goes tense one more time, from head to toes, from the crown of your head and along your spine. He slows down, he wants it to last, he wants to feast on you for the rest of his days and even more, but he needs you to be fed.

And gods, he’s feeding you with everything he has, with the twirls of his tongue, with his own spit sticking to your sweat covered body, the tiny bites and that gloriously filthy loud sucking.

It’s your arms that give in first and you lean back on the counter covered in sweaty bliss. His hands that kept your your thighs apart loosen the pressure, though you’re fairly sure of the bruising that will come out of it. The beauty of pleasure and pain.

Slowly he pushes himself up from his knees. And- fuck, he’s so in love with you he would propose to you the very next day if only that didn’t already belong to the past.

That’s when your eyes open. You catch him staring but he’s staring at you the way no other person ever did. Not like a prize, a plaything, no, he’s fucking mesmerized. All he sees is a goddess and the look in his eyes, his face says it all. It’s that tiny smirk on his stupid-beautiful face that cracks your heart open. You wonder how dare he tongue-fuck you into oblivion just to be so puppy looking seconds later. It’s like he’s testing you again.

„I fucking love you, y’know that right.”

„Phillip Zimmerman, how dare you. I should be the one saying that right now.” You chuckle but soon enough he gently grabs you, sitting you upright, his arms wrap around your waist yet again, eyes glossy with love. You’re speechless cause it feels like falling in love for the first time, this moment, him holding you close like this. You know this, you two have been like this in the past but you thought you’ve lost it somewhere along the way. Life can be rough, can be painful and sometimes just utterly normal, boring even. But here you are, gazing at each other longingly, maybe more in love than ever before because it’s no puppy love anymore, it’s a full-grown one.

His eyes follow the lines he draws with his fingers along your cheekbone, cheek, jaw before stopping at your chin. And he stares. Stares into your eyes.

He’s thinking how perfect you are, your face carved with determination, struggles but also beauty, and this immense love. He’s thinking how fortune must have helped his blind senses in catching you. And how he never wants to let you go.

He’s so lost in thought and so you take over finishing the sentence he meant to make. You seal the confession with your own lips, deepening it, making the words mean something beyond their definition.

With your eyes closed your hands glide over his face. You feel the softness of his skin, but also each of the tiny scars, the moles, the small imperfections that make Flip the person you know. Your person.

Your lips detach and you already miss their fullness, you miss the way they belong together.

„I meant that, you vixen.” He exclaims half-teasingly, but you know he’s sincere. You know him well enough to recognize it, so you just smile.

„I know. And I do love you too, so much. I really missed us.” As you speak he cups your face yet again but allows you to continue, not wanting to interrupt your thoughts. You were always better with words than him. „And I’m so proud of us, super-proud of you. How you grew over the years, how you’ve gotten better at everything you were already great at. And, like, grateful. For everything you do, for being so supportive and for being there for me an-”

„You better cut this sugary bullshit or you’ll make me so soft ’m not gonna be able to fuck you later.”

„Cutting it right now!” You pretty much cry it out and he chuckles flashing that full-blown smile of his, the one that’s reserved only for you.

„Good girl.” He says and you half-expect him to run off with you to the bedroom, but instead he kisses your forehead and pulls your arms over his shoulders. „But first, sleep.”

„What? No, no nonono. Babe, Flip, no, put me down. I can’t leave you hanging like this, let me-”

„No. Sleep. We need some more sleep first. Besides - I caught that small yawn you did 5 minutes ago, and you tried to freakin’ hide it from me so you’re not getting away with this one.”

„B-but…”

„I promise, we’ll catch up after a nap. Look, we woke up in the middle of the night and now it’s almost dawn.”

His words make your head spin in direction of window and you can’t believe he’s right as the first beams of sunlight hit your eyes. And of course you yawn on the spot, cause he’s really just has all the points.

So you just nuzzle your head in the crook of his marble neck as he carefully hoists you up. You stay there, wrapped in his love through the finishing moments of night, and through couple more hours as both of your bodies rest covered in silky sheets, with limbs tangled together, breathing steady. Even when the air gets humid again covering your bodies with another layer of sweat, you don’t mind. You’re no longer against the heat, not if it’s the heat he covers you with, not if it’s the heat of you together.

#flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman #detective zimmerman #flip zimmerman fanfic #flip zimmerman smut #blackkklansman fic #blackkklansman au #blackkklansman fanfic #my fics #full fic #phillip zimmerman

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likelightningafterthethunder · 4 years ago

Text

Like Lightning After the Thunder: Chapter Three: Message from the Shadows

Fic Summary:

His breath wavered as he stared into Katsuki’s eyes. He knew he could get out if he tried. He could knock Katsuki out, hope that no one else would find them, and run back into the shadows where he belonged. Katsuki may have had him pinned down but he was in Denki’s range now and it would take little effort to send a charge through Katsuki to paralyze him temporarily.

It would take barely any additional effort to kill Katsuki.

As the sparks began to charge, lighting up the air around him, Katsuki refused to back down.

–

Katsuki always knew he was destined for great things.

He didn’t think he’d have to turn his back on all he’s ever known to get there.

Rating: T

Warnings: Eventual major character death, implied/referenced child abuse, psychological trauma

Other Tags: Bakugou Katsuki/Kaminari Denki, slow burn, alternate universe - canon divergence

Read on Ao3 (links to corresponding chapter) or read below

Previous Chapter | Fic navigation to read the fic on tumblr

–

As the reunion approached, it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that everything was fine.

Katsuki had been added back to the group text with Eijirou, Mina, and Hanta; he wasn’t sure if Eijirou had told them or if they had figured it out on their own, but almost all of the pictures sent after he was added back in lacked a certain pair of amber eyes. He appreciated their attempt to make things less stressful for him, but it just made him think about how the rest of the class might not share the same sentiment and that there was a non-zero chance of having to see those eyes― or worse, that damned smile― during the reunion. He didn’t say anything about it, of course, but the idea of suddenly canceling and saying he was sick was looking more and more tempting.

Ochako and Katsuki had met up a few more times at Takeshi’s, but to Katsuki’s frustration, their sparring sessions seemed to do little to help prevent his mind from wandering off to that damned smile and digging its claws in. The most recent session, his guard had slipped enough that Ochako even dared to repeat his own words against him, even if the threat of him wasting her time was empty. Despite that, she still didn’t ask what was keeping him up at night, a small blessing Katsuki was thankful for.

Work was the one aspect of his life where he had a bit of normalcy, and no one could ask about the telltale sign of sleepless nights when his mask was on to hide them. He didn’t interact with anyone else at the agency often enough for them to note any potential changes in his behavior caused by the recent hauntings and there certainly wasn’t enough time for his mind to wander off in the middle of a battle with higher stakes than an ongoing scoreboard and bragging rights. His work didn’t suffer so he was certain that he would be able to get through this… thing, without anyone at work noticing, and if he was lucky, maybe the big red bow his mind needed to finally tie the memory up and shelve it away was the upcoming reunion and he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone noticing, period.

Except his boss knew about what happened too.

It was hard for her not to know. Shion had been there that day, and while she hadn’t arrived early enough to stop Katsuki’s anger from kicking in, she had definitely seen the toll the fight had taken on the surrounding area. She had definitely seen the still smoking singes of clothing, seen the furniture and paperwork that were strewn across the room, heard the cackling of flames, of his palms, of the remnant electricity in the air, seen the―

Katsuki inhaled sharply, shaking the memory from his mind.

He’d like to assume that the main reason why Shion offered him a position at her agency was his hard work both at UA and on the field. He’d like to say that maybe it was because she saw a similarity between his explosive fighting style and her own, or maybe she noticed the quick calculations hidden behind seemingly impulsive actions. Hell, Katsuki would even be willing to say that she found some sort of sick twisted pleasure in watching his fuse burn.

Still, he couldn’t shake the idea that maybe it was out of pity.

That maybe all she saw when she looked at him was the teenage boy from that day ten years ago. That maybe he was some sort of passion project, an attempt to see if she could “fix” him. That maybe she thought that one day, Katsuki might break, and that it was best if she was nearby to take care of it.

That maybe, just maybe, Katsuki was stuck standing in that damned shadow.

Katsuki could normally easily avoid Shion asking him about his life outside of work. She only ever seemed interested in forcing him into having a life outside of work, but always left the details of what that entailed up to him and rarely pried past ensuring that Katsuki hadn’t secretly been doing paperwork or something when he was supposed to have the day off. She seemed to do the same to everyone else who worked at the agency though, so there was very little room to complain― though that didn’t stop him from taking every inch he got when he found the chance. (Not that it seemed to stop her either, especially when everyone else was more than happy to talk about their personal lives.)

But, between her knowing about Katsuki’s past and about the upcoming reunion, Katsuki was not surprised when Shion started being curious about his personal life “out of nowhere.” She asked if the reunion had some sort of plus one system and if so, if there was a lucky person Katsuki would be taking with him to formally introduce them to his former classmates; if there was a lucky person, how come she didn’t know of them yet; if Katsuki would introduce her to them so that she could get them on “Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation”; maybe if he took a vacation there would actually be a lucky someone; and a seemingly endless list of other questions every single time he saw Shion, even if it was in passing and there was no time to respond to it before they were out of earshot from each other.

He knew the worst of it was coming when he saw that he was scheduled to patrol with her in the afternoon. She left him alone during the morning― a small but welcomed blessing― and unlike every other time they had been scheduled to patrol together, she wasn’t waiting for him after his lunch break either. Katsuki wondered if maybe she was trying to give him space before she brought up the inevitable, or if maybe he had misread the schedule and he was going on patrol alone.

When he saw her in the agency lobby, standing at his approach, he held back a curse.

The walk exiting the building was uncharacteristically quiet, the only noises between them being the sound of Katsuki’s footsteps and Shion’s skates. Katsuki wasn’t sure what he dreaded more― the idea of a silent Shion for the entirety of patrol or the fact that when she did start speaking, it would immediately be about his personal life.

Thankfully (or not?) after a failed attempt at getting Katsuki to let her hook onto his arm and make him do the “hard work” of walking (“Fuck off, you’ve got legs,” “You walk too fast, I should be saving my energy for fighting villains, not trying to keep up with your rocket legs,” “Sucks to be you then,”), Shion started talking. It started off normally enough― Shion mentioned some workplace gossip that Katsuki didn’t particularly care about, some information about a new sponsor that was supposed to reach out later that week, how her roller derby match had gone the past weekend― but even though he was expecting something different, it didn’t prepare him for what she said next.

“The Commission’s looking into the Acolyte.”

Katsuki stopped in his tracks, Shion rolling to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Katsuki felt his throat tighten, like there was something trying to suffocate him from the inside out, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold back something between a laugh of desperation and a scream of frustration.

The Acolyte. The fucking Acolyte.

For once, Shion didn’t speak. Katsuki wished she would, even if it was an insult, even if she picked away at his shell and attacked the part of him that was still just a scared, lost teenage boy that was in over his head, anything so he didn’t have to deal with the deafening silence. Anything to jump in and distract him from the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts rushing at him, to redirect his thoughts away from the dark corner of his memory, to keep him here, in that moment, in reality.

He let out a shaky exhale as he forced the uneasy feeling back down, trying to shake it off. “Thought the Acolyte was taken care of.”

“I thought so too,” Shion paused, giving Katsuki a look over that he knew could see right through him. He forced himself to hold his resolve, waiting for her to continue. “Rumor is that someone on the outside has been in contact with Mother and is trying to prepare for her return. Recruit new members, spread their message, and find someone called the Son,”

Katsuki scoffed. “The bastards at the prison aren’t doing their job if the bitch managed to make contact with the outside,”

Shion laughed, moving closer to give him a playful slap on the arm, “I knew you’d see it my way. That’s what I said at the Commission meeting― well, in a more poetic way, of course. Those Commission workers wanted none of it though, even though it’s obvious that heroes aren’t to blame for this particular mess up. Now, come on, let’s keep walking while we talk,”

He hesitated briefly, brows furrowed as Shion started to skate ahead. Were they really going to continue patrol while talking about something like this? “Shouldn’t we be discussing this back at the agency?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Shion waved a hand dismissively as Katsuki caught up to her, ignoring the glare sent her way at her phrasing. “Besides, the agency is full of gossips,”

“You’re the biggest gossip there.”

“How do you think I know?” She gave Katsuki a wink and a nudge in his side, laughing when it was met with a scowl. “It’s fine. That was the most confidential part of the conversation I had to tell you.”

“Why did you tell me, anyway?”

Shion looked up at him, amused. “I’ve been asked to help find someone for their task force. You’re on the short list, Katsuki. Well, correction, you are the short list. Though, you do have the right to decline, in which case you and Hibiki will be in charge of keeping the agency in one piece whenever the Commission drags me away. Or, you know, as close to one piece as possible, so our public relations people don’t try to have our heads on a platter.” If she noticed the hesitance in Katsuki’s face, she didn’t comment on it. “You don’t have to give me your answer now. In fact, I encourage you to take your time― since the Commission’s being so rude about who’s to blame for this whole ordeal, I say we let them wait a few days before I tell them which one of us will be working with them. They have other things to do while they wait for my decision anyway― like actually finding the prison leak and getting information that heroes can actually act on, instead of acting like we’re all Divine Prophet and can find people in the blink of an eye. You know, kind of surprising that they haven’t dragged Divine Prophet into this yet either actually. They weren’t at the meeting and no one mentioned them, so I guess they’re busy doing something else for the Commission or something.”

Katsuki let her ramble on for a while longer, thinking back to the Acolyte. He had hoped he had heard the last of them, years ago when a raid on an Acolyte base resulted in Mother’s capture and the destruction of their intel. Some members had died but enough had lived and been captured that through the combined work of the police force, heroes, and the Commission, every Acolyte member had been imprisoned.

Almost, Katsuki corrected. Someone must’ve slipped past and hid until they could get a message to Mother. He could only hope that the leak had been found early enough before Mother could weave another web of misery.

Even if the Acolyte hadn’t gotten the chance to rebuild itself back up, helping take it back down would be a pretty important achievement to put on Katsuki’s hero resume. The original downfall of the Acolyte and capture of their information had resulted in the downfall of several smaller villain groups and prevented some large scale villain attacks from occurring, so while it was unlikely that whatever the Commission wanted the task force to do would be flashy and public, it was also likely the Commission would take the potential damage prevented into account when calculating the next Billboards rankings.

Yet…

Katsuki was dragged out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his arm, his hand already gripped tight around Shion’s wrist before he realized it was her and let go.

She smiled softly, giving Katsuki a moment to reorient himself. “Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to say yes, but I know you’re the right man for the job.”

“Of fucking course I am,”

“Glad to know that you know. Anyway, let’s talk about that reunion of yours! You never did answer me about if you were bringing a special someone.”

Katsuki groaned.

Katsuki was half considering taking the last week before the reunion off just to avoid Shion’s questions by the time he finally made it back home. While the questions about the reunion had helped keep his mind off of the Acolyte shit, it took maybe half an hour before Katsuki was wishing they were talking about the Acolyte instead. There was only so long that Katsuki could deal with questions about his supposed love life (both present day and anything that might have happened back in high school) and the type of clothes he planned on wearing to show off his “post graduation glow up”, whatever the fuck that meant.

He cursed under his breath when his phone started going off while he was preparing dinner, not really feeling like talking to anyone. He let it keep ringing, focusing on chopping the vegetables instead and sighing in relief when the ringing finally stopped― until it started back up. He ignored it one more time, only giving in and checking his phone after he heard a few text ringtones.

Shitty Hair

Missed Call (2)

Well shit. Probably shouldn’t ignore him if it was important enough to call instead of text.

Shitty Hair: Katsuki!!!

Shitty Hair: Are you free bro??

Shitty Hair: I need your help for this project

Shitty Hair: I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong and I don’t know how to put it into words so I can ask the internet

Katsuki: If you can’t put it into words, how the fuck am I supposed to help?

Katsuki: I’m cooking right now but I’m free otherwise.

Shitty Hair: Can you video call??? I’ll just show it to you

Katsuki: Sure.

Katsuki propped his phone up on the counter, making sure that it wouldn’t get in the way of his cooking and that he’d still be in frame when the call connected. He scowled a little when the call connected and the only thing he could see was Eijirou’s eyes and forehead.

“Back the fuck up from the camera, Shitty Hair, I can’t see anything. Unless you’re calling to see if there’s an eyelash in your eye, then the answer is no.”

“Just give me a sec! I dropped my phone while it was ringing.” Katsuki waited as Eijirou readjusted himself and propped the phone up. “Okay, it’s not great, but ta-da! Not bad for an amateur, huh?”

“Are you knitting?”

“Yeah!” Eijirou grinned brightly. “There’s this group near my work that’s doing like, an auction of knitted and crocheted and other handmade things for charity, and I asked if I could try making some stuff for the auction. I’m not great at it but I figure some people would love to buy something that a hero made, and the money’s going to a good cause, so why not? And I thought, maybe I could knit on the train over to Musutafu, except it’s doing this twisty thing around my needles and I don’t know why, and I need to know what’s going wrong so I know if I have to buy new yarn before the reunion or if this is salvageable,”

Katsuki paused. “What makes you think I know what the fuck is going on with your knitting?”

“Dude, I know you’re the one who knits all of the knitted gifts you’ve given me, Mina, and Hanta. I figured it out years ago.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me that you knew?”

Eijirou shrugged. “You never said it yourself so I figured you were just waiting for the right moment to tell us or something,”

Katsuki huffed and shrugged it off. Eijirou wasn’t completely wrong, after all. “It’s salvageable. Look up ‘frogging’ to undo everything. Make sure the row’s straight on the needle before you start and that you’re not accidentally holding it in a way that makes it twist on the needle either.”

“Cool, cool. And what about these random holes, like this one?”

“Probably wrapped the yarn an extra time before you made a new stitch. Count your stitches, I bet you’ve got more than you started off with.”

“Thanks Kats! Mind if we stay on the call while I try to figure out this whole knitting thing?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Eijirou laughed and started talking about his day while he worked on his knitting, stopping here and there to ask Katsuki to see if he was doing things right. After he was done with his update, he asked Katsuki how his day had gone.

“Shitty,” Katsuki grumbled. “Damned Four Eyes kept asking me shit about the reunion, the entire fucking afternoon. While we were on patrol! I fucking swear, she enjoys pushing my buttons.”

“Oh come on, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

Katsuki paused cooking to stare at his phone camera directly, silently daring Eijirou to contradict him again.

“Okaaaaay maybe it was. Do you think maybe she’ll leave you alone about getting your ‘special someone’ to join the ‘Team Make Katsuki Bakugou Take a Vacation’ team if I officially joined the team?”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Katsuki pointed his knife at the camera, ignoring the laughter that came from the other end. “It’ll probably plant the wrong fucking idea in her head and make all this shit worse.”

“Okay okay, I won’t join behind your back or anything, but if you skip out on Hanta, Mina, and me for the reunion or the squad hangout the day after, not only will I join the team, but I will get Hanta and Mina to join too. Maybe even Midoriya and Uraraka.”

“I already said I’m going, you damned Shitty Hair! Back the fuck off already.”

“Just checking! Are we still good for rooming together?”

“Yeah. Cheeky and I should be arriving in Musutafu around one, unless shit runs late.”

“All right, I should be there around eleven, so I’ll go ahead and check in first and text you the room number―” Katsuki barely caught Eijirou’s hand suddenly reaching out towards the screen, knocking the phone over onto the ground. He heard the sounds of Eijirou fumbling with something off screen before a faint voice that sounded like a news reporter came on.

“What the fuck, Shitty Hair?”

Katsuki briefly got a screenful of Eijirou’s eyebrows again as picked the phone up, frowning when he noticed the panic in Eijirou’s eyes. “Look,” was all he said before the camera flipped to show his TV screen, turning up the volume.

It was a live broadcast, with the banner indicating that the reporter was standing in Miyazaki. In the background, dozens of police cars and firetrucks surrounded a tall fence, officers and firefighters rushing in towards what looked like a large hole in the side of a building. A few of the heroes stationed in Miyazaki were rushing in as well, all of them escorted by people who looked like―

Prison guards.

Katsuki put down his cooking utensils, hands moving to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turned white in an attempt to ground himself. He could almost feel the thick tar build in the back of his throat and it took all his self control to force his breathing to steady. He could barely focus on what the reporter was saying, nearly missing Eijirou’s hesitant, quiet voice.

“Isn’t that…”

“...Yeah.”

“Shit.”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #kaminari denki #bakukami #kamibaku #katsuki bakugou #denki kaminari #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #story #from the creator

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

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Something Just Like This - CH36

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, a dash of angst

WC: 3386

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean never thought they could talk things out in such a short time. He thought it might take days but all it took was some cuddles and a warm bath. He should have known though, because Y/N ticks the same way he does. She’s simple, says what’s on her mind, asks the hard questions even if she doesn’t really want to know the answer.

She’s shaking as he dries her off and carries her to the bed to help her dress in a fresh pair of pj pants, a shirt and one of his oversized sweater before he tucks her in. He threw a shirt over his own head, wears some fresh underwear and walks out to get her pills. He comes in, asks if she’s hungry but she wasn’t. It’s still a couple of hours until dinner time anyway. He slips into bed with her after, can’t really spoon her because of her ankle but he gets as close as possible, lays his head on her good shoulder and noses at her neck.

He breathes in her scent and whispers, “You smell good again.”

Y/N laughs at that, “Thanks?”

He has to laugh too because he didn’t mean for it to come out like it did. “No, I mean, you smell like you again. I missed that.”

She has her hand in his hair, scratches his head and he can hear her steady heartbeat.

“There’s something I want you to see.” He says, rolls on the bed and gets his phone off the charger, hands it to her wordlessly.

She takes it, a frown on her face.

“Look at it.” He urges her and she pushes at the button, making the phone light up in the dark.

It’s still the picture of her and Cuddles on his home screen.

“Dean,” She whispers, “I—”

“0502” He says simply and she looks at him perplexed, frowns when she realizes what the numbers are for.

She thumbs over the digits, punches in the code and when she unlocks it, she sees a picture of her which he once took while she was still sleeping. Hair a mess, mouth open. He thinks it’s cute but she wouldn’t agree. She doesn’t say anything though.

“Open my call activities.” He whispers and she does, opens it and looks through it, he doesn’t have a lot of callers on there, so it’s not hard to see that there are 3,212 calls he made to her old number.

Y/N has tears in her eyes and Dean brushes his thumb against her cheek before he goes on. He’s not going to stop now, wants to get it over with because he wants her to know.

“Look at my messages.”

She thumbs around on his phone, and opens the texting app. Her hands fly to her mouth, covering it.

He nuzzles his nose against her shoulder as she looks through it. There are messages he sent to her old number, and it starts from the moment she walked out. She can’t possibly go through them all because the last one was only sent three days ago. He never stopped texting her, if sometimes only for him to say hi and that he’s missing her.

She opens her mouth, “I’m—”

“—it’s okay.” He interrupts her.

He’s told her everything she wanted to know. Everything he thought was important anyway. And everything he told her was the truth either. He wished he knew about the FBI thing sooner though, but what good would that have been? If he could go back, he wouldn’t have changed a thing. Would still have loved her. Would have wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

Dean takes his phone from her hands and moves up a little, lays his head next to hers on the pillow instead, rests his forehead on her temple. “Are you staying?” His heart is beating fast as he asks the question, and is kind of prepared if she’d say no, although it would kill him but he’s not the one who wouldn’t let her go if that’s what she really wants.

“If you want me to?” She asks, and it’s like music to his ears.

“Yeah,” He smiles, “I’d like that.”

***

Dean’s in the living room making breakfast when Sam knocks at his door.

Dean let’s Sam in and immediately Sam senses that something’s different, because he grins so fucking idiotic and it makes Dean nauseous. That big ass sasquatch always knows when something’s up.

“How did your night go, huh? Wink wink nudge nudge.”

“Sammy, stop being so fucking creepy.”

“I see a pair of women's shoes at the door that’s obviously not your size, Dean, of course I have to be creepy!”

Sam walks in further and takes the cup of coffee out of Dean’s hand before he steals a strip of bacon from a plate. “You’re making breakfast for two, too! Guess she performed really well, that you let her stay.”

“Sam,” Dean growls, it’s a warning.

“I hope you used protection.” Sam’s taking another mouthful of bacon and washes it down with the coffee, “I don’t think you shouldn’t let people sue you for child support.”

“Sammy!” Dean didn’t mean to be so loud, placing his fingers to his lips as a way to warn himself. And then, softer, he says, “Y/N’s here.”

“What?” Sam shouts.

“You’re being loud!” Dean hisses.

“Sorry, okay,” Sam says and then he hisses too, “What? Where did you find her?”

“She was in a car accident. Messed up her ankle real bad. Long story short—”

“—Too late.”

“Oh, haha — shut up.” Dean mocks grumpily and goes on, “I was still her emergency contact on her phone and that leads us here.”

“Okay, fine, she’s here but have you talked it through? I hate to see you sad again, man.”

Dean smirks, “Don’t worry we talked plenty. She explained everything and I had my closure. I feel good. Haven’t felt this good in what?”

“A year.” Sam says drily.

“Yeah. She needs a lawyer to sue that son of a bitch who crashed into her car. You in?”

“Sure, send me the details because I gotta go now,” Sam knocks at the counter twice, “Was only on the way to the office, wanted to see how you’re doing. Is Y/N staying?”

“I think so, why?”

“Bring her around for dinner?”

Dean grins, “Sure.”

“Oh, that Lambo? Yours?”

“Cas. You wanna drive it?” Dean lifts his eyebrows in question.

Sam’s sending him a bitchface. “Nah, my dick’s way too big.”

***

A couple of days later, Dean got Sergei to check up on Y/N. The doctor still lives in one of his apartments, even though he too, got more money than he probably will need in his life. But Sergei’s always been a one weird creature of habit, maybe that’s why he didn’t want to move. And maybe it’s also because Dean lets him live here rent free. It’s the least he can do since Sergei helped save Y/N’s life.

She’s doing much better and they can now lower her pain meds intake. Which probably also means that she’s gonna be awake more and Dean considers that a win. It’s still going to be a little over five weeks until she can take her cast off, though.

Y/N’s workplace had called in to lay her off. She was a little sad about that. It’s not really like she needed the money because Dean has plenty. He could give her half and would still have more than enough left to last him a whole lifetime. He thinks it’s more because she really likes to work, likes to have a purpose in life and he gets that. He tried to cheer her up, telling her that if she wants, she can pick up drawing again and he can fund her own art gallery. His idea wasn’t well received. And by mentioning the art, she suddenly remembers the drawing she left on her bedside table and asked him where it was. He said it’s in a safe place because he doesn’t want to tell her yet, but the truth is, that he framed it and took it to the new house, hung it up right at the entrance so every time he would go in there, he’d see and be reminded what he’s doing it for. Never actually gave up on the idea of finding her again one day and showing her the house, even if at that time he wouldn’t be in the picture of her new future anymore.

One day, he’d tell her. But it’s still too early now.

Cas came by last night to exchange his Baby against the hideous Lamborghini. Thank fucking god because Dean was starting to feel very awkward driving a Lambo around town to do the simplest of things. Cas had asked to see Y/N but she was already sleeping. He promised to take her around once she’s better. Maybe Dean should start to make a list of all the people who want to see Y/N to keep track and not to miss anyone.

Gabe called too, Sam had been talking, like the gossip girl he is, and Gabe is overly excited that she’s found. Gabe was the one who helped Dean search for her because he hated to see Dean in the state he was in. He said to Dean that it’s worse than after the time their camp had been destroyed in Afghanistan. Dean owes Gabe a lot and Gabe’s also the only one who still lives nearby. He never needed much and only took enough money from Dean to tie him over until he can find another job. More than money, Gabe needs distraction, he once told Dean. He doesn’t need money because money would bring him back to the habit that he wants to shake off. So, now, if Dean needs anything, he’ll contact Gabe. Gabe actually insists on it.

Y/N comes out of the bedroom, wearing one of his shirts. Dean doesn’t know why she raids his side of the closet when she has enough clothes herself. But he doesn’t really mind. She’s wearing a skirt because it’s easier to get it over the cast. Dean absolutely hates how cute she looks with the oversized shirt and the frilly skirt. Hates it because it makes him want her in a way he doesn’t allow himself to want her. Not yet.

“I’m ready.”

“Good.” Dean says and it came out grumpy but he’s really not. It’s just that her outfit does things to him and he absolutely hates that he likes it.

He takes the key and gives her a hand to walk to the door. She clutches one crutch on the other side.

“Jesus, this will take forever.” He mutters under his breath and sweeps her off her feel, carries her over his shoulder while she’s holding the crutch.

“Dean!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I’d like to get back by tonight and not still be here by then.”

She’s still over his shoulder when they get into the elevator and he sees their reflection in the mirror. He has his hand on her thigh and her skirt almost rides up to her ass. He turns his gaze down, doesn’t look. He carries her over to his car and they get in.

They’re driving to her apartment, moving things back to his place. Because it’s final. She’s staying. She really fucking stays.

Yesterday morning when he brought her a coffee to bed she looked at him and just smiled. Nothing else, just a smile. And her smile lasted an awful long while until he had to ask what’s wrong.

“I’m staying.” She said. Nothing less, nothing more. But it’s enough for him to sit down and kiss her. He wanted to ask if she really meant it. If she really thought it through because if she stays this time, there’s no running away and he had made it clear that he’s not letting her go anyway. He didn’t ask though, didn’t feel the need to because he’s sure that she knows.

She lived in a rundown building. It's a studio apartment and it’s nothing like her last one. The staircase smells of piss and he’s sure that he saw some kids selling drugs at the corner of the street. It’s surely not a nice neighborhood. Her apartment is small, cozy and it’s a stark contrast to the outside world around the building. Still, it makes Dean mad. He’s angry that she had to live here for so long without him knowing. But he guesses that if the circumstances would have been different, if Dean would have come knocking, she wouldn’t have wanted to come home with him anyway.

Sometimes, things need time to fall into place and letting her come back on her own might have been the best for the both of them.

He brought a big duffel because she said that there’s not a lot to take back anyway. There’s notebooks where she keeps her drawings. Some books, a laptop. She packs only the clothes she really likes and that’s it. It doesn’t even fill the whole duffel he brought with him. Gabe is going to come around to clear and throw things out sometimes later in the week.

Dean carries her and the duffel down the stairs, breathes relief that his Baby was still standing and waiting for him at the curb where he left her.

She rolls her eyes when she sees him talking to the car, telling Baby how happy he was to see her still here and ready to roll.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad around here.”

“Yeah, right. I saw someone exchanging his own grandma for drugs. It’s clearly not that bad.” Dean snorts and tells her to get in.

They get home in time for dinner and pills. It’s only one pill now and it doesn’t make her mind as foggy as the ones before. She can even stay around and watch TV with him. He has his legs propped up on the coffee table, she’s leaning into him on the side and he wraps his arm around her.

It’s easy, Dean thinks. He welcomes the good feeling back into his heart.

One step at a time.

She falls asleep against him, so Dean scoops her up and walks her to the bed. He tucks her in and slips in next to her. And he’s able to spoon her now, her ankle isn’t hurting as much anymore. He breathes in, the familiar scent makes him light headed.

“Thank you.” She whispers.

“You’re welcome?” He replies but doesn’t really know for what. Not that it matters.

She chuckles at that and Dean listens as her breathing evens out.

***

They’re almost at half time now and the skin underneath her cast starts to itch. She’s on the couch drawing when Dean walks in after he went out for errands. He looks over to see her poking around inside of her cast with a pencil.

“Stop that!” He shouts with his boss voice. It’s low and loud and she jumps up, almost dropping the pencil into the cast.

“It itches!” She whines and fucking pouts at him.

Dean unpacks the groceries, “I know but you’re gonna make it worse.”

Y/N lets out a frustrating groan and lets herself fall back on the sofa, her back hitting the leather with a thud. “This is ridiculous! This stupid cast is driving me nuts!”

“You’re driving me nuts!” Dean’s laughing. It’s easy how quick things progress with the two of them. How quickly they become comfortable with each other again. As if there was not a whole fucking year which separated them. He really missed that. Miss the silly arguments, the petty fights, miss someone who understands his humor.

He pulls out a container of ice cream he just bought, gets out a spoon and walks over to where she's lying with her arm thrown dramatically over her face.

Dean sits down, digs into the ice cream — chocolate chip cookie dough, because it’s the one they both like and can compromise on. He’d rather have anything with peanut butter in it and she’s more of a coconut girl — and holds out a spoonful of ice cream out, waves it in front of her face. She still doesn’t see anything because of her arm.

“Y/N, come on, open your mouth.”

She doesn’t stir, “This better not be your dick, Dean, I’m angry.”

“What’s wrong with my dick?”

“It just doesn’t really make me feel better.”

Dean frowns and shoves the spoon into his own mouth, smacks his lips loudly as he eats it. “You contradict yourself because you used to say, and I quote, your dick always makes me feel so good.”

He actually wouldn’t know if it would still make her feel good because they haven’t done anything yet since she’s back. Just little kisses here and there and a lot of cuddling. Dean’s quite okay with that but it’s fucking hard to really stay away and he anticipates the day the cast will be off because maybe then she’ll be in the mood. He waited one year, what’s a couple of weeks longer, really. He just knows that it’ll be worth it and besides, he enjoys the thing they have as it is. It’s not just about sex, he once told Sam, and it’s still true.

She opens her eyes when Dean takes another spoonful. “What are you? Oh my god I want ice cream!” She sits up, and moves closer, pushing her head through his arm that’s holding the container, so she basically headlocks herself.

“What? I just told you to open your mouth but you didn’t want to.”

“Please?”

“Yeah, beg for it.” Dean smirks, digs into the container, scoops up a spoonful.

She pouts then and it’s not fair that it still manages to make him weak. He feeds her the ice cream and she smirks around the spoon.

They’re sitting and eating together when she suddenly asks, “Can I ask you something? I need advice from a friend.”

He smiles because he likes that. “Sure.”

“So, you remember my ex-boyfriend?” She starts and the mention of the word ex hits him.

“Yeah, faintly.” He plays along.

“Yeah, do you think if I would try to get together with him again it would work out?”

Dean’s heart is racing stupidly fast. “I don’t know. Do you wanna?”

“I kind of do.”

“Does he want to?”

“I think so. He’s been taking care of me since my accident.”

Dean takes a spoonful of ice cream, an attempt to cool down his face. “Do you still love him?”

“I do.” It comes out fast. She didn’t even have to think about it.

Okay, now his heart is doing the weird flip thing.

And then she adds, “I just don’t know if he still loves me like he used to. Or if he’ll be able to love me like that again. He’s been a great friend the last couple of weeks, though. I just don’t really know where we stand yet. I wanna try it again. Maybe if we try we could make it work? Taking one day at a time?”

Dean sets the ice cream down, pulls her against his chest, he’s sure she can feel how fast his heart is beating but he doesn’t even care.

He kisses the top of her head, “Baby, I never stopped loving you. I would love you in any shape, any form, with any past and present, never doubt that.”

It’s the first time he dares to say baby in front of her so she’d hear it, didn’t feel like it’s his place when they still haven’t figured out what’s next. But being able to say it again feels good. It actually feels great. Like it’s a word only fitting for her, apart from his car, obviously.

She cries into his chest, and it’s good, apart from the crying of course. It’s good to feel her close again. It’s good to be able to work towards what they were. It’s good to work towards what they will be.

CH37

#something just like this #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean x reader #dean x you #nathalie writes

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qvid-pro-qvo · 5 years ago

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fuck, marry, kill

aos!leonard mccoy x female!reader, who’s a nurse on the starship enterprise.

word count: 5885

rating: explicit (workplace sex, at the end, for fun.)

part one of more than a game, you and me.

A silly game from your academy days gets interrupted, leaving you to think over how you really feel about the great Dr. McCoy.

“Goddammit, bastard, son of a fucking bitch,” you hissed, shaking your hand after yanking it back from the control panel next to your shower. It had the gall to shock you, one that rippled down your arm and almost made your other hand drop the towel you clung to for decency. Somehow the same steady hands that could wield a pair of hypodermics and a tricorder without thinking about it managed to break every other piece of equipment on the Enterprise.

A year since you got transferred, a year since the last major headache, and you had managed to build up a routine. Waking up to beta shifts until the six-month mark when you transferred to alpha shifts that gave you more to do without the headaches of fighting artificial daylight. Crew physicals and routine exams for viruses carried onboard from earth until all the crew had been cleared. Lunches six hours in, dinner six hours after that, followed by a jog, some yoga, a shower, and then… repeat.

It was a good routine. One that made you friends with other nurses in blue and engineers in red and a few on the captain track who came in more often because of their proximity to the action. You could now say “hello” to Sulu and “good morning” to Chekov and other niceties to a couple other officers. And they’d smile back, and all in all nothing was disrupted. Your routine kept you going.

But now, that routine was stopped in its tracks.

With a little huff, you shook your head. Fortunately for you, your connections through routine hypos and the occasional healing after a scuffle gave you one particularly good friend. One who was very good at fixing up the Enterprise in any state she was in. And because of your clumsiness and tendency to get shocked, that friend was simply a comm unit away. Decency first, of course.

“Y/N to Scotty.”

“Aye, lass, Scotty here.”

A sigh of relief that he wasn’t on break, or worse, sleeping. That’d been a bear you wouldn’t want to disturb more than once. Your fingers tapped away, allowing his voice to fill the room rather than sound tinny coming from the communicator and your hands to hunt for a shirt.

“Yeah, we’ve got a situation. My shower isn’t working?”

“Is that right,” the chief engineer replied, and you could tell by his voice that under the amusement there was distraction. Your problem was not the only one on his plate, then. Or at the very least, not his main focus.

“Yeah, that’s right. Shocked me, as a matter of fact, when I tried to get it going.”

“Mmm.” Make that a lot of distraction.

“Scotty?”

“Yeah, lass?”

“Can you come fix it?”

“Fix what?”

With a soft sigh you pulled your shirt over your head, shaking out your hair before pulling it up into something passable for company.

“My shower, Scott. Y’know, again, the one that shocked me. That’s not turning on. That shower.”

“Shocked you? Well, this is the first I’m hearing about it,” he scoffed, indignant, and your eyes went wide with disbelief before you heard his chuckle.

“Oh, so I’m the entertainment for this evening, then,” you muttered with a scowl, scrounging around for the pants you just had on and the regulation zip-up you could walk around the halls in.

“Of course, Y/L/N,” he retorted. “I was wondering when the next time you’d call was. After all, it’s been, what, almost a week since our last incident with the replicator, hasn’t it been?”

“Two weeks, thank you,” you snapped, the pants snatched off the floor and shaken out with a vengeance. One foot began making its way inside the leg of the pants, the other hopping on the floor. “Monty, please, I just got off shift, I’m tired, and I’m sweaty, and there were three cases of Takarian bronchiolitis that we had to treat with airborne precautions. Never mind next week’s also Christine’s birthday, who I love with all of my heart but the party I got roped into planning for, of fucking – agh!”

“Y/N!”

Bouncing on one leg could only last for so long, of course. Your head thankfully did not contact anything with a hard surface. Your ass, however, got the brunt of the blow, specifically your tailbone.

“Y/N?”

When you groaned, you heard the relief, as well as the stifled laughter.

“Can you just please come fix my shower? I think there’s an analgesic hypo with my name on it back in the med bay.”

Of course, you weren’t one to completely bypass the rules. The Enterprise had enough of that in places other than the medical unit, and your chief medical officer, Dr. McCoy, was a stickler for right and wrong and lines that shouldn’t be crossed. So, your hypodermic needle was checked out by Christine, administered by her, and all logged and dated with a note about the situation. And, because your appointment didn’t technically end for another fifteen minutes, there was enough time for a little bit of gossip.

Your type of news always was the kind of shit that got the whole crew talking. The next adventure, who was sleeping with who, the drama that came out of confessions when the ship was falling apart. Anything to work through the monotony. But Christine’s favorite topic was almost always you, much to your chagrin.

“You know I don’t have a love life,” you said with a roll of your eyes, sitting up on the biobed and letting your feet dangle off of the edge. “That hasn’t changed in the three days since you asked me last.”

“I do know you’re at the very least no fun about it,” she responded with an eye roll, fingers tracing over your vitals the bed collected and reported. “There’s hundreds of people on this ship, and you’re telling me that none of them catch your eye? What about the chief engineer?”

Immediately your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the laugh that left you. “Scotty? No. No, no, we’re just friends, aggressively friends. He keeps me around because I’m the only one who gives him stuff to do during the night shifts. Without me breaking lightbulbs it’d be too dull.”

Of course, her eyebrow crept up in suspicion, but when your gaze held steady, she dropped her eyes, waving a hand like the idea was preposterous anyway.

“All right. So, no Scotty. Any ensigns?”

“No.”

“Lieutenants?”

“No.”

“Cadets?”

“Oh, my god, Christine,” you gasped out with a laugh, jumping off of the biobed, smacking her on the arm. “Stop it.” Your eyes glanced around the med bay, but just like every beta shift began, it was pretty damn quiet. Not a soul in sight besides the two of you. “There’s no one.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” she sighed, pushing off of the wall to meet you nose to nose. “But there’s gotta be someone who at least catches your eye, right?”

“Chris…”

“Someone on this ship you’d be willing to fuck – “

“No, we’re not – “

“- marry, maybe – “

“Christine, I swear to god – “

“- or kill?”

Again, your eyes darted around, but at that point the game had been called. A throwback to your time in the academy, when your classmates would find the local bars and a booth to heckle each other in. When passersby would be unknowingly subjected to a game based on nothing but good fun, and usually a whole lot of booze.

Simple premise. Three names called out. Each gets a label, and the rounds continue until the players decide they’ve had enough. Called anywhere, at any time, and Christine had thrown the gauntlet.

“You’re on duty,” you pointed out, but you leaned back on the biobed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And if there’s a patient I’ll tend to them. But you’ve got nowhere to be, and if I have a say we’re finding someone on this ship for you,” she pointed out, before swiping your scans away from the vicinity and joining you on the bed. “Three rounds. I bet you I can do it in three rounds.”

With an eye roll you proceeded to glare at her, but her grin did not budge once, and with a sigh you just nodded.

“Perfect. Why don’t we start with a throwback? Old classmates? Harrison, Twyla, and Betty.”

Your smile crept up on your face, and without a second thought you rattled it off. “Fuck Twyla, marry Harrison, kill Betty. Obviously.” Considering that two of the three weren’t even on the ship, you knew that it was more a warmup than anything. Lots of pretty people at the Starfleet Academy.

“All right. And then… oh, what about the bridge crew?”

“Christine,” you groaned, hand smacking over your face. “We’re in public.”

“There’s no one here, and you can’t chicken out of the second round! Look, we’ll do… Lieutenant Sulu, Lieutenant Uhura, and Ensign Chekov.”

Your jaw clenched. Forget about saying hi to Sulu ever again.

“I would… I would…”

“C’mon. You can say it, Y/N.”

“Fine, fine!” But you couldn’t help your laughter as you shoved Christine’s arm again. “I would… I would fuck Uhura, marry Sulu, and – “

“And kill Chekov? He’s got a baby face! You’re gonna kill him where he stands!”

“Christine, this is not real life,” you reminded her with a hiss, shaking your head before beginning to walk towards the door. “I’m leaving before I end up having to resign.”

“Oh, no! We’ve got one more go.”

“I’m walking. My tailbone doesn’t even hurt anymore. The miracle of modern medicine.”

“Y/N!”

“What?”

“Captain Kirk.”

“No, Christine.”

“Commander Spock.”

“Stop!”

“And Dr. Mccoy!”

“What about me?”

Your heart stopped.

“Nurse Y/L/N, is that right?” Dr. McCoy, the man himself, stated, raising a brow as he moved into the med bay, boxes stacked up in his hand. Christine did the smart thing, moving forward to help the doctor carry them inside, but your feet were cemented to the floor, mouth a little agape, color flooding your cheeks.

“Y-Yes! Hello, sir, I was just – uh, I was just –“ you stammered, turning to follow them both with your eyes as their load was dropped on one of the biobeds. “Well. I was just leaving, really.”

“She had an appointment,” Christine offered, her best and most polite smile on for your shared boss, who seemed too tired to do more than nod. “And we were just discussing… shifts?”

“Shifts.” Again, Dr. McCoy’s brow raised, and with skilled fingers he reached to slide them along the seam, a hiss sounding out as they opened up, bearing unloaded hypodermics, some bandaging supplies.

“Shifts.” Your voice was weak as you confirmed it, but while his eyes were down Christine gave you a subtle nod, winking even as you scowled at her. “You see, I was just – I was just wondering if I could take the beta shift next week, and… well. That’s a change I need you to sign off on. Dr. M’Benga and dr. Olson didn’t have a preference when I asked them.”

“Uh-huh,” was the gruff response, and as his fingers reached up to scratch at his chin, something like amusement seemed to play in his eyes. Although, thinking about it, you reasoned it was probably just the exhaustion and the lights in the med bay you saw instead. “So, you scheduled an appointment with Christine and my medbay, takin’ up one of the biobeds here, to talk about shift changes?”

“No. No, no, it wasn’t just about that,” you got out, more heat rising to your cheeks, and thankfully your feet were moving backwards, towards the door, as their hands slid into gloves and prepped the new cargo for treatment.

“She… took a spill in her quarters. Needed an analgesic. I did a scan to make sure it wasn’t anything more than a bruised tailbone and then gave her a dose of lidocaine for the area and acetaminophen for the pain.” Of course, Christine could chime in, sounding composed, while you had just managed to regain motor functioning.

“I see,” McCoy responded, and there was a brief moment where you were sure he was gonna call your bluff. You didn’t even remember right away that there was a hypo-stick in the first place, and the lidocaine definitely did not happen, right? But then, something, almost like a smirk washed over his features. They relaxed, and those eyes lit up again, deep and dark and warm. It was like taking a shot of whiskey, the sour leaving behind something that made your breath catch.

“You know you could just say you fell on your ass, Nurse Y/L/N.”

The stories about Dr. McCoy in a nutshell. No southern charm, just a sweet Georgian gut punch. Humor hiding in the comment, of course, but at that point your embarrassment made it taste pretty damn bitter.

Thankfully, though, the moment was gone. The smirk vanished, the exhaustion seemed to settle over him like a blanket, and his eyes glanced toward you once again before shrugging. “beta shift works for me. Just don’t let it screw with your head too much and find someone who’s willing to trade.”

“That’s… yes. Well - good night, sir,” you got out, biting your lower lip, bowing your head before shooting another glare at Christine. “Good night, Nurse Chapel, and I’ll see you both… when I see you.”

“Good night, Y/N,” Christine called out, and the good doctor managed a hum of acknowledgement, his attention already pulled away from your retreating form. And if there was a second glance at you, it was nothing more than confirmation that the night was back to peace and quiet.

“I am never going to recover from this.”

“Mmm,” Scotty ground out, his arm elbow deep into the guts of the Enterprise.

“I mean it, Monty!” You cried out, back flat on your bed, arm thrown across your face but leaving your mouth wide open to complain. “Jesus Christ and now I’ve gotten myself roped into beta shifts, ready to be bored out of my skull for a whole damn week. He thinks I’m an idiot. An idiot and insane!”

“D’you think?” Was the reply, but the lack of attention didn’t bother you one bit. You were barely paying attention.

No, your head was running wild, with the fear that the greatest job you had, the job you were best at, was now at risk because of some dumb game you played with Christine. What if Dr. McCoy had heard all of it? What if he had just walked in because he had heard enough, and then you’d get called into his office, not a smirk in sight, and request your resignation? Could he do that? Off of a conversation?

“Y/N!” Scotty called out, and that’s what finally broke your spiral downward, your body shooting up to a sitting position, looking up to see Scotty staring out of the bathroom at you. Your water was running, you could hear it, and Scott was grinning from ear to ear, some kind of tool tucked behind his ear.

“All fixed,” he crowed with joy, brushing his hands off on his uniform. When he leaned on the doorway, his eyes were gazing around the rest of the place, as if it was just waiting to break on him, too. “computer, shut down the shower. Now, what were you saying, lassie? Somethin’ about our chief medical officer, yes?”

And as Scott smiled at you, no recognition of your crisis in him, you just smiled back, standing up to give him a hug. Even without saying anything, he had the best ideas.

“Nothing, Monty. Thanks for the fix.”

He was hustled out a few moments later, after a playful argument taking bets on what piece of machinery in this poor room would fall apart next (he was a fan of the faulty replicator, but you had a gut feeling it’d be the temperature control). But soon he was out of the room, and you knew that ignoring the whole thing would be the best option.

Except with Christine, ignorance was never an option for bliss. When your padd beeped, and then your communicator, you were forced to answer the message, looking to see a little smiley face emoticon with a message that left your heart falling to the floor.

“Your answer? :)”

Your answer? For the game? After all of that and Christine had the gall? But you could see her smile, even from this far, a smile that made you smirk.

But they were the rules, and so the question was left in your head. What was your answer? What were the options?

You thought about it as you started to get ready for bed, t-shirt set on the counter in the bathroom, hot shower started. Your hair was put up before you stripped, your face splashed with water and a towel as steam began to fill the room.

“Captain Kirk.” No personal experience with him, but you, like everyone on the ship, had seen him around. Had heard the legends. There wasn’t a soul who didn’t seem stricken by the love bug when it came to him, blond hair perfect, smile bright, blue eyes startlingly, well, blue. Friendly, quick, brave. He was the perfect man. But not everyone knew Christine. Christine, who’d had the lovely interaction with Cadet Kirk, at the time, who ended up kicking him out of your shared dorm room after a bad argument gone bad. The air was cleared enough that he managed to get polite smiles from her, but after that captain kirk never had the appeal. He was a playboy. His nature, his right, you supposed. But not for you.

“Commander Spock.” Tall, handsome. But very Vulcan, and very taken. Now, you knew he had to have some kind of sweet side, and there was something, you guessed, about the confidence that his reliance on logic seemed to convey. After all, you’d heard him lecture a few times, and if you were honest that would’ve been when you were most attracted to him – using his knowledge and logic and proud spirit to lead others on the path toward serving the federation. But there was only so far that logic and a lack of emotion could go, and even though you’d heard of outbursts occurring where his emotion made their mark? No. Arguments aplenty.

And who did that leave?

“Dr. McCoy.”

At that point, you still hadn’t entered the shower, and the computer was telling you that the water was about to automatically turn off to preserve the function of the ship’s supply, but your head was no longer in your bedtime ritual, instead thinking about the mysterious Dr. Mccoy, the infamous Dr. McCoy.

The Dr. McCoy that made nurses cry every so often from his outbursts – never violent but fierce, always due to the protectiveness he had for his patients. The Dr. McCoy who was a doctor before he even became a cadet, with enough knowledge to fill a few books. The Dr. McCoy who had smirked at you with those dark and deep eyes, brown and full with some kind of life as he... Well, teased, southern accent lilting just a bit, maybe? That Dr. McCoy? The Dr. McCoy who saved lives and healed and always, always, always fought for more healthcare, for more hypos, for more protections for the nurses who somehow, even in the 24th century, managed to get pushed to the wayside?

When you stepped in the shower, it took a second for your fingers to bang at the control panel, your legs held together, and with a quick setting manipulation the steam quickly cleared, the water’s temperature dropping to ice cold. You were in, and you were out, but by the time you had dressed and brushed your teeth color had crept on your cheeks again.

All you could see were those eyes.

“Fuck.”

“Ah, Nurse Y/L/N,” the doctor said, eyes barely looking up from the singed hands of the red-shirt in front of him. “I need dermatological regen started here and a full body scan initiated on the biobed two over.”

Like nothing had even happened. Like your nightmare interaction two weeks ago hadn’t resulted in you unintentionally taking night shifts, resulting in a fucked up circadian rhythm and bags under your eyes, not to mention hours bored out of your skull.

Christine wasn’t here, and for once you were grateful. The last thing you needed was her eyes on you as you maneuvered around the doctor for a new shift while exhaustion lingered in the back of your mind. But it also meant that there was no one to offer a united front. Just you.

“Nurse Y/L/N?”

And you just spent the past minute mulling all of that in your mind. Making yourself look like a dumbass in front of the doc and his patient. The patient hadn’t noticed, staring at his own hands in horror, but Dr. McCoy seemed like he was regretting letting you back on to handle days.

Shit.

“You got it, doc,” you managed with a kind smile at the engineer, whose face you could now see as you walked past him toward the wall. Your hands expertly manipulated to storage system, and with the tricorder kept at your waist you gathered the necessities.

The great thing – you were damn good at what you did. Especially when you could focus on it. Your face was bright, uniform neat (until it wasn’t due to fluids of some kind), and your hands were steady. And no complicated patients came in that day, especially since no away missions were sent out and nothing malfunctioned horribly deep within the ship’s bowels.

And yet, no matter what you did, no matter how competent you showed you were, no matter how many laughs or smiles or even nods from the most stubborn of usual patients? Eyes were on you. Dark, deep eyes. The whole day, no matter where you went, a furrowed brow and focused tailed you, watching your interactions.

All in all, a good day. A great day, even, as you injected your last hypo and the padd reported a normal set of vitals, no reaction to the medication after fifteen minutes.

The shift was over, now. It was a good shift, one that required no personal defense. You gave report to the next nurse, said goodbye to the others on-duty. Your jacket put on, your hair pulled down and back up after the frizz of the day had ruined it. Nothing really to note.

So why did the doctor not let you out of his sight?

The rest of the week, the same routine. The flow you had gotten into on alpha shifts returned, and your week of off nights was left behind in favor of much better mornings. Back on track, the same old, same old. And yet with every shift there was a new weight, those eyes on you. It felt like if he wasn’t tending to a patient, and he wasn’t in his office in the back of the bay, he was watching you. Critical of every injection and admission. You were starting to go a little crazy with it, your mind going a million miles an hour, second guessing the simplest stuff just so you wouldn’t fuck up in front of the CMO.

But after a while, the fear of failure turned into anger.

What right did the doctor have to analyze like that? You were a great nurse! You treated your patients and coworkers fairly, with respect and compassion. What was there to complain about? You knew your shit, and here was McCoy, looking like the Enterprise regretted your assignment there in the first place. By the end of the week, that anger had built up, and once the weekend rolled around, and your two off days in a row loomed, you decided you were done.

“Is there something on my uniform, Dr. McCoy?” You asked, terse as you organized the vaccine cart, the new year meaning new yearly injections to follow up on.

His fingers had been steadily scrolling through files of crew members, but their nimble work paused at your question. His eyes had taken a break from tearing you apart, but now they were focused on you once again.

“Excuse me, Nurse Y/L/N?” He asked, his face looking almost pinched.

“I was just wondering if there was something on my uniform. Or in my teeth, perhaps. Something in my hair, maybe, too.” Your hands kept chugging along, automatically rearranging the colored liquids, but there was a tightness you couldn’t shake, a tension.

“Something in your hair?” The doctor repeated, and at his tone, somewhat amused, you finally turned to face him, your brow raised in a mimic of his.

“Well, there’s gotta be something, considering that you haven’t gone five minutes without staring at me like I’m your least favorite sight in the world. So, what is it? Uniform out of regs? Did I administer a medication wrong? Did a patient complain?”

At that point, the amusement had turned to indignation, maybe even anger. His jaw was clenched, and the padd in his hands had been abandoned on the desk in favor of crossed arms over his chest.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, nurse,” he ground out, eyes flicking around the med bay. But there was no one to look at. No one to distract or overhear.

You couldn’t help your laugh. “Oh, I think you do,” you snapped, and almost mocking him, your arms crossed as well, a hip cocked, your eyes like daggers. “Ever since I came back on alpha shift, you’ve been doing all you can to catch me in a fuck-up. Well, it’s not happening! I’m damn good at what I do, and no amount of posturing, even from the CMO, would ever change that!”

His scoff was hard, arms uncrossing so a hand could pull through his hair in disbelief. “darlin’,” he said, slowly, as if you were dense, “There’s no posturing going on. Your abilities aren’t being doubted. Hell, I don’t even know your first name. Whatever story you’ve got going on in your head? It’s a story!”

His frustration showed through his accent, a southern drawl that got thicker as his sentences rambled on. But that couldn’t distract you from calling him out on his bullshit, no matter his position.

“I’m not senile,” you huffed, eyes rolling hard, and your steps closer were unconscious, crowding him against the desk he was leaning on now. “And I’m definitely not blind. So, tell me what your problem is with me, so I can go back to focusing on my job, and you can go back to focusing on yours!”

“There’s no damn problem!” His voice was almost a yell now, but you had no fear, and you sure as hell weren’t backing down. “It’s nothing. Hell, there isn’t anything to be nothing.”

And then it clicked, it clicked, as you stared into brown eyes that wavered for a second, that scanned you top to bottom in a split second. A break, a tell, whatever it was, the pieces were put together, and you stood tall, not letting his height on you intimidate.

“You overheard me and Christine, didn’t you?” It was low. “Is that what it is?”

“Overheard.” The clench in his jaw hadn’t loosened, but you watched that brow tick upwards again, his arms uncrossing so his hands could rest on the desk.

“When you walked in on us, last week,” you clarified. “You overheard our game.”

The anger was gone now. Now that everything had slotted into place, you weren’t angry. A little bit embarrassed maybe, but not angry. Frustration felt like it was leaking out of you, but the tension wasn’t gone. The standoff wasn’t broken. And after all of what, you had just yelled at your superior officer.

“Dr. McCoy,” you started, uncrossing your arms, and holding them up to offer a truce. “I apologize. For yelling. That… well, it shouldn’t have been my first move. But. I can explain, if you want me to.”

There was no verbal reply, but his exasperation came through with a huff, and he simply lifted a hand, gesturing for you to go on.

“It’s just a game we’ve played since the academy. It was inappropriate to play while Christine was on shift. I apologize for that as well,” you told him pulling back to glance once more at the sliding doors, which mercifully stayed closed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Just a game,” he repeated, and at first you didn’t catch the shift in his tone. Didn’t connect it with the glance toward the doors, or the way he stood from the desk, so that you were almost close enough to brush against him. “Just a game… using the names of your captain, commander, and chief medical officer?”

“Yes,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m sorry for that, as well, that definitely won’t be happening again.”

“A game talkin’ about who you’d rather have in your bed.”

Your eyes shot back to him, color flooding your cheeks.

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

“Well, that’s the game, isn’t it?” He said with a shrug, and as he leaned forward you could feel your breath catch in your throat, looking up into a face you imagined in your own quarters in the dead of night, as you let steaming water hit your skin. His jaw wasn’t clenched anymore, and his voice was a low rumble.

It wasn’t a threat. But it gave you goosebumps all the same, that the bass of his words, and you managed to nod, swallowing even as you kept your chin lifted.

“That’s the game. Is there a problem?”

And God, there was that smirk. Warm like whisky, it made your hands clench, your legs shift as that warmth rushed through you.

“No problem at all,” he hummed, and as he leaned close those lips brushed past your cheek. You could smell his cologne now, spice flooding your nose, the antiseptic of the day fading away. The chill in the air that always seemed to linger was gone, nothing but heat on your mind. Right in your ear you heard him, after a low chuckle that made you want to scream, beg him to get on with it. “I guess I’ve just been wondering what you would’ve answered, had I not… interrupted.”

Lunchtimes were surely coming to an end. Any second a patient could come in, could see the both of you crowded against the desk and know exactly why the whole place felt like an oven. But something possessed you, then, to bring one of your hands to his shoulder, the other to his hip, and lean just as close, almost pushing up on your toes to whisper right back.

“Give you one guess.”

Matches. That’s what that kiss felt like, a box of matches all lighting at once – the spark and the flash and explosion of heat as Dr. McCoy pulled back just enough to press his lips against yours. Nothing gentle, nothing kind, just a ferocity that made you moan against his mouth. His hands, broad and hot, began to roam on your back, settling just enough to pull you ever closer, so that your bodies were flush against each other. Your hand ended up twisted in his hair, the other fisted in his shirt. And just like matches, it was the start of a fire, one that had you both stumbling towards his office, the door sliding behind you with a quiet hiss.

“You were teasing me,” he ground out, directing you between kisses until the back of your thighs were against his desk. His hands gripped you then, around the waist, lifting you so you could sit. “And you didn’t even know it. Your voice over and over in my head, thinking about how it’d sound with my name.”

“So, you stare at my ass instead of asking me, hmm? What a southern gentleman,” you laughed, and for that you got teeth against your neck, a hand shoving your skirt up. The tips of his fingers seemed to skate over your skin, tickling your inner thigh. But those slow circles never quite got where you wanted, just left burning trails in their wake. “Talk about teasing.”

“At’s what you get for having a smart mouth,” he chuckled, face still against your neck. But soon he was back to kissing you, making your head spin.

“That I know how to use,” you shot back, once again between presses of lips and gasps of air. “I’m – I’m not just a pretty face.”

“Never said you were,” he purred, and this time both hands lifted your skirt high, reaching for the panties that did a poor job of hiding anything. “But why don’t you let me use my mouth first?”

“What an offer.” One you certainly wouldn’t refuse, especially since he looked hungry for it, for you.

There was a brief moment’s hesitation, his finger curled around the elastic and so close to ripping them off. But while his body was begging for it, his pants more than a little tight, his eyes met yours.

“Is that a yes?” He asked, his tongue running along his lips as he got to his knees.

Your gaze didn’t waver, a grin coming over you. “That’s a fucking yes, sir.”

His grin matched yours, sharp and wily as he rid you of your underwear, hands on your knees so he could pull them apart. You were bare to the cool air, and your teeth caught your lower lip as he leaned forward with a hot gasp on your inner thigh.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

The first thing you felt was the swipe of his tongue, a furious push against where you were wettest. A taste, almost, before he licked a line through your folds until his mouth enveloped your clit. You were swollen, desperate for it, and your gasp was thick as fingers once again tangled in his hair. If you said anything, it was a “please,” a “yes,” a “god, right there” as he worked.

He took you apart with his mouth, no hesitation as his tongue worked you over, swirling around your clit as a finger began to tease your entrance. It was with a gasp you came, his hand spreading you open with two fingers inside of you, and when you were able to see straight you saw that grin again, his chin wet, his lips red.

“Holy shit, Doc,” you huffed, your hand falling from his hair to his chin, thumb swiping across the mess and bringing it up to your mouth so you could get a taste of yourself. He did you one better, leaning forward to kiss you again, and the taste of him and you made you smile.

“Leonard.”

“Leonard,” you repeated, and when you pulled back his smile was softer. Almost… vulnerable. “Suits you.”

“Well, I hope so,” he laughed. “It is my name.”

“And it’s my turn,” you pointed out, reaching for his waistband. “I think you should move to the chair.”

#reader-insert #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy #christine chapel #montgomery scott #scotty #bones #fanfic #my fic #star trek: aos

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emma-nation · 5 years ago

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Unfinished Business - F!Sam x MC Fanfiction

Summary: When Sam Dalton is caught in a scandal, Anna Schuyler is the only one who can help her. But will her former nanny be able to leave the past behind?

"Samantha Dalton was like one of good dreams you don't want to wake up from. You close your eyes, you force your brain to remember every minor detail, you begin to imagine what comes next... hoping to be in control. You want to fall asleep again. You want it to continue, but it's too late now. You're wide awake."

Genre: Angst, Romance

Notes: Hell yeah, three ongoing multichapter fics. I'm so screwed 😎

Tag List: If you wish to be tagged in future chapters and fics of this pairing, let me know.

"I can't do this anymore, Sam," Anna did the best to avoid her eyes. With the right look, they could melt the ice that had formed around her heart for the last few weeks. One look could make things warm again, but only for some time. Time enough for her to open up and fall in love once more, immediately followed by the realization all of that was nothing more than an illusion. She'd be fooling herself again.

This time she just had enough. It was the end.

"Anna, I'm sorry," the CEO didn't know very well what to say. Despite her usual calm voice tone, Anna could sense the nervousness in her words. "But Sofia is my wife."

"And I'm only the nanny."

"This is not what I meant. We just... we allowed ourselves to get too carried away. It was good while it lasted but now, we must face reality."

It was just a dream. Samantha Dalton was like one of good dreams you don't want to wake up from. You close your eyes, you force your brain to remember every minor detail, you begin to imagine what comes next... hoping to be in control. You want to fall asleep again. You want it to continue, but it's too late now. You're wide awake.

----------

Anna collected her stuff from the desk, giving one last emotional glance to the classroom in front of her. Before leaving for Summer, her fourth grade students had prepared her a small surprise. A little party with cake, snacks and a "Thank You, Ms. Schuyler" sign hanging in the back of the room. They also drew her some cards, which she saved for when she got home. It could become very emotional for her workplace.

"Anna," the principal appeared at the door, catching her attention, "I came here to congratulate you. It was your first year as a Science teacher in our school and you captivated all the kids, as well as their parents."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Rockwell," Anna smiled. "I love working with children and now I see I made the right decision taking this job. This year was the most rewarding experience of my life."

"So we can expect you to return next year? I'm sorry, the parents keep me asking this question all the time."

"Absolutely!"

"They'll be glad to hear that. Have a nice Summer, Ms. Schuyler."

After living in New York for the last two years, Anna was finally ready to drive to her mother's home in Rhode Island. They both had saved enough money for a road trip across the country. Her mom deserved to live that dream after caring for her ill step-dad for some long months, until his recovery.

When she arrived at her apartment, her best friend, Jenny, was still at work. What meant she'd have enough time to finish packing without having to stop to hear the latest gossip about the company she worked for, or unsolicited dating advice.

"But first," Anna pulled the small pile of cards from inside her purse, "let me cry my eyeballs out."

And she did. She learned how to love and connect to each one of her students. Those cards need to be kept in a special place, where she'd always be able to read them and remember the sweet moments she shared with those children.

Grabbing a box in her closet, Anna accidentally came across a picture of the Dalton twins. She didn't even remember where she had placed it, when she was getting rid of everything related to that family. All she wanted was to keep those boys' memory out of sight. She missed them too much for words. They were the reason why she accepted that job as a teacher in first place.

"I wonder how different they must look now," she thought. "They're already nine."

With a tightness in her chest, Anna placed the picture back in its secret spot.

"I still can't believe you're really going!" Later that evening, Jenny complained in the living room, where she divided her attention between painting her nails and watch TV.

"Well, it's time for you to come with terms with that. I'm only returning by the end of Summer," Anna responded from the kitchen, while she finished washing the dishes.

"Anna, we could have the Summer of our lives. Think about all the hot men and women you could meet, all the parties we could attend..."

"I promised my mom, okay? We've been planning this trip since I finished college."

Jenny was suddenly teleported back to her side, wrapping her arms around her like a clingy teddy bear.

"But I'm gonna miss you," she spoke with a mournful voice.

"I'll miss you too," Anna assured her. "I'll keep you updated on every detail. Don't worry."

"I know your mom is going with you but... Anna, it's time for you to find someone. Even if it's only a one night stand."

"This is not the main purpose of this trip. This isn't about my sex life, I want my mom to relax."

"It has been two years, for god's sake."

"I know. And I'm glad I've set my priorities straight, I live with my best friend in a nice apartment, I got this amazing job and I love my students. I don't need anyone else in my life to be happy. I am happy."

Jenny rolled her eyes, crawling back to the couch. She should know it was useless to bring up this subject. Anna's heart was indefinitely closed for balance. If that was one thing she learned from her last experience was that shouldn't open up so easily.

"Shut the hell up!"

Jenny yelling so loud in the living room, made Anna almost drop the plate she was holding.

"You need to come here right now and watch this," she added.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. You're not getting me into that steamy TV show you're always obsessing about."

"It's a really good TV show, okay? But it doesn't matter at the moment. You need to watch the latest news!"

Jenny was actually watching the news. Nothing good could've happened to spark that sudden interest. That had to be something stupid or celebrity gossip. Against her best judgment, Anna approached the TV.

"If that's something silly, I'll kill you for interrupting my tasks!" Anna's mouth suddenly dropped when she read the headline on her screen. "Oh."

"Dalton Enterprises Scandal: CEO Sam Dalton accused of insider trading."

Images of police officers closing the company and carrying out boxes and computers for further investigation appeared on the screen. As well as Sam being conducted to the officer's car while journalists and photographers chased after her.

"Karma's a bitch, huh?! Mrs. Perfect is going down!"

Anna didn't answer to her best friend. She was still trying to process what her eyes were watching. Her heart seemed to stop for a second as the camera focused on Sam's face. In just a few seconds, her eyes had the desperate need to capture every detail. She wanted to know if she looked any different, if she had changed her hair or even her clothes. She wanted to know if some make-up was trying to hide the bags under her eyes for lack of sleep, or if she had been so happy with her marriage she was appearing even younger. Any minor signs that would make her mind create a possible scenario of what Sam's life could be right now.

She hadn't seen or heard of Samantha since quitting her nanny job. Though it was difficult, she managed to avoid any news related to the Dalton Enterprises CEO. They didn't part in good terms, yet one thing she was sure about, Sam was a decent person. She would never get involved in such a scandal. She had a reputation to keep.

"I... I don't know what to say," Anna was finally able to mumble some words. "Honestly I don't think she'd do that. There must be a misunderstanding."

"Anna! Are you seriously defending her?! After everything she's done to you?"

"No. I just..." Two years had passed since the wedding. Anna realized a lot could've changed. Sam could've changed. She had changed. "Maybe you're right."

As she lied in bed, millions of thoughts started running through her mind. What would be of the boys? Who would have their custody in case Sam went to jail, her parents or Sofia? Could Sofia or Robin have any involvement in that scandal?

Anna didn't get any sleep that night. When she woke up in the morning she was still exhausted.

The apartment was silent and peaceful. Jenny had already left to work. She was alone. No one would witness or even judge her next action. After preparing herself some coffee she sat down and started to research more about the insider trading scandal.

"I'm not interested, only curious," she mentally assured herself as thousands of articles started showing on her laptop screen.

Not only Sam was being accused to cheat on Sofia with another woman, but she tried to cover up the affair by giving her mistress a check to purchase Dalton Enterprises stocks. The launch of a new and revolutionary product in the coming weeks would surely grant her some cash. In the following days of the launch, the woman and her husband made millions of dollars.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Sam?"

The trials were scheduled for the next few weeks, and in case of conviction, the CEO could spend over 20 years in prison.

Only a couple of days later, Anna was in the garage placing all her luggage inside the trunk. She had to leave immediately, for her own sanity. The scandal was a great reason to stay away from New York City. The television wouldn't stop talking about that subject, or show the face of the woman she once loved.

"Dammit," entering the car, Anna noticed she had forgotten her cell phone upstairs. The latest events had impacted her more than they should. She was constantly distracted and anxious, secretly following the last developments of the case.

She picked up her phone, returned to the car and turned on the radio. Playing some loud music always helped her to relax. The crowded streets and the buildings slowly started to stay behind as the road approached.

"And I'm here, to remind you of the mess you left..."

Anna sang aloud, completely involved by the song. And then, her eyes almost missed it. Through the rearview mirror she saw a blur moving on the back seat.

"What the..." she needed to remain calm and act cautiously. The roads were impressively calm and deserted, a perfect scenario for murder, like in every horror movie. She slowly slipped her hand into her purse, grabbing the pepper spray. "I'm not one of those chicks who die so easily."

In one sudden fast move, she stomped on the breaks and turned around, spraying whoever was hiding behind her seat.

"Anna!" She was able to take a better look. The figure was wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. "Stop, please!"

She was able to recognize that voice even among millions of people. The years hadn't erased it from her memories.

"S-Sam..." Anna pulled the disguise, confirming her suspicions, "what are doing here? In my back seat?"

"I can explain."

"You better."

She returned to the driver's seat, attempting to relax. Samantha Dalton was inside her car, for some very screwed up reason.

"I know it's strange," and now she had moved to the passenger seat, being at a short distance from her. Close enough to notice how her presence was making her nervous. Close enough to notice she wasn't breathing. Close enough to see her hands shaking. "But I needed you to hear me."

"You could've called, Samantha. Or even showed up at my door! You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You wouldn't answer. Would you?"

And that was it. One look and all the walls melted away. Her heart started beating faster, reminding her of the moments they shared two years before.

"No," Anna answered, fighting those feelings. "I wouldn't."

"I need your help, Anna," Sam touched her arm briefly, but enough to know she'd cause impact. "I'm in serious trouble and you're the only one that can help me."

#playchoices #the nanny affair #sam dalton #sam dalton x mc #sam x mc #f!sam dalton x mc #f!sam x mc #the nanny affair fanfiction #tna fanfiction #unfinished business #choices stories you play

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randombtsprincessa · 5 years ago

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Behind the Stick

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 7k

Genre: Smut

Summary: Your bartender for the night and you take an interest in one another.

Warning: Drinking, Bartender! Yoongi, Wings Era Yoongi, Dom! Yoongi, flirting, kissing, nipple play, groping, fingering, oral (both receiving), deep throating, protected sex, public sex, something very close to subspace, yeah, someone knows you had sex.

You crossed your legs, the fabric of your sinfully tight dress stretching across the knees at the movement.

The dress was armor, worn to seamlessly blend through the type of ambience the bar you’d visited had going on. It was fiery red, not a color you wore a lot, but it matched well with the vermillion of the décor. The dress hid you amongst the frequenters of this particular establishment, chatting and very much unaware that you were not here to drink yourself dizzy and go home to sleep.

You were working.

And so, you needed to be left alone so you could do it. Dressed in your working attire of practical jackets and shoes, you doubted you’d get what you wanted. So, you’d shirked off your normal blouses, pulled off trousers and loafers and donned on that dress and the heels.

The heels…

You swore to god, the heels were a work of the Devil’s hands. Sinewy yet sleek, they latched onto the palm of your feet, held up by shimmering ribbons that had taken you the better part of the evening to figure out.

They added a stature that made you taller than you were, straighter in your slouch and you felt like a goddess, sitting at a corner of the bar top, idling over a simple gimlet.

You let out an exhale, taking a sip when a tiny, imperceptible change zipped through the business side of the counter. The man who’d been wiping the glasses exchanged a look with the one who checked the bottles and headed to the other far side.

You watched, interested, the process of the Shift; when one batch of workers went home and the second batch took over. It was like clockwork, each piece working near flawlessly – once routine had been perfected, of course.

You glanced down; eyeing the lime garnish and chewing into it, lifting your eyes back up to watch the bartenders. Now, there were additions. Two other men had joined the ones who had been present when you’d walked in.

One of them was laughing, a bubbly laughter barely echoing through to you but the other, slighter man stood some space away, his back to you as he listened intently to what was being discussed.

You felt rather see the solidification of a decision. It seemed to come from the man whose face you couldn’t see. Nodding and gesticulating with his hand, he sent the first two men off on their way. The man who’d been laughing had sobered by now, nodding as the man set out what seemed liked instructions, nodding while the man pointed to different directions. When he was done, the taller man went to the main area when the man you’d been eyeing finally turned, entering the bar.

You kept chewing on the lime wedge, absent mindedly keeping your eyes on the man. He rolled up the sleeves of his simple white shirt and turned to check the bottles before picking a few up, taking whiffs from them. Placing the bottles back, he checked under the counters, too thoroughly to miss anything and nodded to himself.

Raising his head, his elfin features settled into a professional mask; blank and a little off from approachable. Shrugging off your interest, your eyes soon drifted back to the subject you needed to study for your piece: What People were like when Inhibitions weren’t a problem.

Idol Magazine was on its way to becoming a people’s choice magazine and part of that problem came from the fact that people were actually reading what was in it. It wasn’t just a magazine that shopaholics picked up on the way to the checkout counter or people brushed by for the quick gossip. Each month, a reader survey the office itself conducted showed just what the people loved and or wanted from your magazine.

No, it was a people’s magazine and writers in your magazine worked hard to cater to a variety of tastes.

Your particular area was an in-depth representation of the people who surrounded your readers. Armed with a Psychology and English degree, you’d stepped through the building of your workplace, eager to start and you’d worked diligently.

You loved your job, absolutely.

The thing with writing was that you couldn’t just give your readers whatever general idea a layman would have. No, you had to watch, examine, understand and give examples. If you did not, some moron quoting Aristotle was bound to come over, barging for you to be taken down.

No, you wrote a column worthy of a college thesis and you gave it your all.

Hence, why it was necessary for you to put down your intrigue for the new bartender and turn to your material subjects. You owed your loyal readers that, after all.

You spent the next few minutes deep in your study, taking notes down in your phone on the pretext of texting.

You’d just focused on a particular couple. The man was red faced, probably trying hard to control his liquor while the woman he was with looked torn between amusement and annoyance. You’d have wondered if you should maybe get someone to interrupt but it didn’t look like a first date; the girl kept patting his hand, speaking in a familiar soft voice to soothe the nearly gagging man.

You put down a few more notes.

“Lady; what’ll it be?”

Starting at the sudden question along with the shadow that fell over you, your fingers fumbled and sent the phone clattering on to the melamine counter. You looked up like a frightened rabbit.

It was the bartender, bearing down on you with raised eyebrows at your reaction to him.

“What?” You asked, gaining some composure back.

“I was going to take your order.” The man said. His lips twitched, eyes flickering between your own before flitting down to your phone. “Also, I’m going to have to ask if you’re doing anything illegal, just in case your reaction had something to do with it.”

You snorted at the passable joke. Never mind the fact that it was actually wrong of you to be observing his clientele like this but well…you needed something to write about.

You weren’t breaking any laws, of course. Ok, maybe some code ethics but you never took any oaths.

“I’ll take another gimlet, and no, I’m not; I just got way too much into my phone. It’s bad habit.” You sidetracked him easily and he was probably more interested in working anyway.

He nodded at you, going to the center to mix the drink while you finished the note, shutting down the app. You had enough for a five hundred to thousand word column.

With nothing better to do anymore, you indulged in your earlier fascination with the bartender, who had currently moved on to making three drinks at once.

You were right about him not seeming like the usual bartender. The level of precision with which he poured, stirred, garnished the three different glasses in front of him with no pause, no hesitation spoke volumes as to his experience.

What was it about bartenders anyway? They worked with alcohol all day, almost every day, were more than likely to be privy to the shadiness of any town but there was just something so…alluring about them. The knowledge, the street smarts and unexpected wisdom was almost never shown. Of course, the outside was just as charming to the species.

Tattoos, piercings, too tight shirts showcasing forearms and chest…you couldn’t go wrong with that packaging.

Your bartender didn’t have any of that.

His pale skin was unmarked, smooth like porcelain and his white shirt didn’t emphasize his physique. You also couldn’t see any piercings on him. The unbidden thought of seeing all of him just so you could see if he had any ink or metal hidden away from public view made you blush, looking away.

No, you couldn’t harbor feelings like that for a complete stranger. He was working and so were you, albeit that you were done. He still had a whole shift ahead of him. You doubted he would be very much interested in being distracted by you when he was trying to pay his bills.

You certainly wouldn’t appreciate that.

He was good looking though…

With groomed black hair, a button nose and pouty, perfect small lips, he would’ve passed off for a life size doll. Yet the expression of focus, eyes sharp and lips pursed as he worked fast and efficient…

You couldn’t help imagining that look as he worked just as efficiently on you. You wondered if he would wear the same expression when he pounded into you…

You slapped a hand to your forehead, trying to force out the image of the young bartender sliding himself in you. You were getting drunk, it had to be it. Even if you had been nursing the gimlet as slowly as you could, it had to be the alcohol.

And you had just ordered another one…

You glanced at the bartender again, watching him serve up the drink and grabbing yours.

Oh no…here he comes…

You managed to school your features in a mask of polite disinterest just as the man stopped in front of you, glass in hand.

“A gimlet, ma’am; would you like something else?” He asked, equally polite.

You quickly shook your head, taking the drink from him and taking a huge gulp. He immediately raised his hand.

“Whoa, you don’t have to take it down in one go.” He said.

He was right, the liquid throttled on its way down and you nearly spat it back out again. “I’m sorry, I know,” You coughed out.

He placed his hands down flat on the counter top, leaning his weight on them before he did a quick scan of the room, returning to you.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You blinked up at him. Your name…? Why did he want your name? Your name wasn’t anything important…

“What’s yours?” You countered.

Something shifted in his gaze. “Well, that tells me you’re not a regular.” He snickered.

You took another gulp from your drink, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing, nothing; just saying that if you were a regular we’d probably be very familiar by now.” He said.

The edges of his mouth hitched up into a smirk, as if he was amused by a private joke, his eyes – pitch black, reflecting the star like lights of the bar.

“That’s very cryptic of you. Are you trying to hint that you’re a star employee and I should tip you more?” The tart in your voice could’ve put the lime garnish to shame but it only made your attractive bartender grin broadly.

“Nice, let me guess; you’re a speaker? No, most of those people use that prompter shit, reading out other people’s words. So, definitely not political,” He mused, tilting his head.

You laughed. “That’s very…liberal of you.” You teased.

“I am a leftist at heart. So, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” He continued probing.

You sighed, resigned to giving in. “Yes, I’m a magazine columnist for Idol. My name is Y/N.”

The man smiled. “Columnist Y/N…it’s got a ring to it. I’m Min Yoongi, I’m,” he paused, “just a lowly bar worker.”

You gave him a knowing smile, sipping at your drink. “You don’t seem like one.” You murmured.

Yoongi’s eyes popped open, “Why do you say that?”

You shrugged, swirling the little toothpick in your drink. “I don’t know, you don’t seem too…lowly, if you know what I mean.”

He leaned forward, elbows angled towards you. “I don’t indeed. Do explain,”

You continued to stare down, trying to get your thoughts into order, as per what you’d seen of him for the evening.

“You just…you’re dominating, you feel powerful and you have this aura. When you were taking your shift, I saw how you gave out instructions and they got followed. You mixed three drink and I didn’t see one mistake – you didn’t even slow down, and there were no complaints. This gimlet is much better than the one the other bartender made – don’t tell him I said that. You’re just…more. Which either makes me think you’re way more experienced behind a bar; or you know, that you’re a wine god or something,”

Yoongi listened to your barely audible rant with an intrigued look on his face. He placed his face on his palm eyeing you.

“So, you think I’m too qualified to be a bartender, is that it?”

“Not really no; you could run this place for all I know…but then again, appearances are deceptive.”

“Yes they are,” He said suddenly and you eyed him, surprised at his proclamation.

“Uh, listen…this is going to sound really unprofessional but the place is winding down and I’m going to close in half an hour or so. If you want, you can sit at the back and we can…chat for a bit. I’ll let you out the back.” He offered.

You froze, considering what he was saying. There was no way he was actually offering just a ‘chat’. He had plans and you didn’t know if you were equipped to handle whatever he was going to dish out.

But then again, you did want to see if he had any tattoos or piercings…

A slow Cheshire grin spread across your lips. Yoongi’s eyes dropped down to your lips and sure enough, his own split, revealing a swipe of his tongue as he lapped at his drying bottom lip.

“Deal,” You whispered, only for him to hear.

Yoongi had been right. As the minutes passed, even the most inebriated of the patrons started to take their leave. They respectfully parted ways with their tables, the glasses and some even cheerfully greeted the second bartender, who’d already begun to clear the tables. You watched, now seated comfortably within the plush leather booth at the far back, as they stumbled on out. The booth was meant for the VIPs, you were told but since it was closing time, Yoongi didn’t think anyone would mind.

Now empty, the bar had a different atmosphere.

It was silent for now, aside from the small clinking of glass as the man who had been walking around the bar checked the bottles and cleaned and put away the glasses.

A light song rung out in the background, Yoongi walked back down from wherever it was that he had vanished to. At his appearance, the other man quietly slipped towards the back, letting Yoongi man the bar enough to make himself a drink. You watched him carry it to where you were sitting.

For now you were feeling sober enough to know what was going to happen sooner or later, and you were not one bit jittery about it. In any case, you could feel the tell tale pin pricks of excitement coat your arms and the back of your neck.

Yoongi sat down right next to you, setting a respectable distance between you while you watched him with hooded eyes.

You watched as Yoongi took a swig – the whiskey slipping past his pouty lips, coating them in a shiny glisten as he rushed his tongue out just after. His Adams apple bobbed, drawing your gaze to the slender, smooth column of his throat.

“So,” he spoke, your eyes flitting back to meet him as he turned, angling his body towards yours. “What does a job for a magazine columnist entail? I suppose it’s something to do with what you were doing with your phone before?” He asked.

You chortled at his inquisitiveness. “Yes, I was people watching. I can’t just give my readers some general idea about life. I’d be fired for treating our magazine for anything less than the first rate art that it is.”

Yoongi smirked. “You don’t think it is?” He asked.

You stopped, looking down at your glass, nearly empty now. “I think it’s wonderful. We’re open. We’re diverse. There’s a severe lack of good civic opinion out there and we offer that. I love my job. I love what I have to do to write my pieces.”

Yoongi was staring at you, deep thoughts lurking behind his too black eyes. “You’re making me want to get a subscription.” He teased and you laughed, finishing the drink and placing your now empty glass on the black table top. “What about you, what is your life like?” You returned his question.

Yoongi hummed, pensive as he continued to gaze at you. However, he didn’t look at you, as if he was far away in thought even while keeping his eyes on you.

“I don’t know what to say, I think. I get up in the morning; do what stuff that needs to be done, some leftover paperwork then come to work. I stay here till closing time then go back home. That’s pretty much it.”

“You make it sound so mundane.”

“It is but…it’s what I like. I love my job, like you. It’s a good routine.”

You nodded, looking around the bar again. “How long have you worked here?”

That took him a pause to answer, thinking his answer. “I’ve been here since it was opened.” He said.

Your eyes widened. “How long has that been?”

His lips twitched, hiding the growing smile behind the rim of his glass. “A good while, maybe five to six years; I’ve watched it grow.” He admitted.

“Wow,” you said awed. “That’s always a good thing to see, watching things grow.”

“It is; I had to start work pretty early in life. I didn’t get much of a college education or anything but well, you can still make something of yourself and this establishment is the peak of my existence.” He cast a small, fond smile around.

You smiled too, only at him. It was obvious, watching him and he adored this bar. The gleam of true appreciation made your belly flop.

“I admire you, Yoongi. There are always people who think that you can’t be anything without a degree and then there are people who achieve things in their life without it. It’s horrible how they are looked down upon. Between you and me, I think it’s the people who make something of their own lives without anyone’s help who are the best.”

You stopped, noticing Yoongi shift, leaning forward to put his glass down as well. He let his arm rest on the back of the booth, essentially caging you in.

“You’re probably the most intriguing person to walk through this bar, Y/N.” He placed a delectable point upon your name. It made you want to curl up.

“Are you going to do anything about that?” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered over you, taking in the sin of a dress that you had on, trailing down to your legs to rest on the heels.

“I’m going to kiss you, if that’s okay.” He murmured.

You took a quick breath. Heat was already settling in your stomach, roiling when you managed to say, “Go ahead.”

Yoongi didn’t waste much time. Leaning all the way in, he left barely a breath’s distance away, letting his hot mouth hover just over yours, enticing you with the possibilities of everything he could do with it.

You let him complete the action, barely breathing yourself as he engulfed your mouth in his. The acrid taste of the alcohol rested on both of you, intermingling on your taste buds as you slipped him your tongue. It was a bold move but you thrilled when he reacted eagerly to it. Cupping one cheek in his hand, he moved over completely, all traces of space gone between you two.

He sucked in your tongue in his mouth, delicately embracing it with his own, engaging in a daring dance. You let your hands wind around his neck, inching towards the soft mass of hair at the base of his head. Yoongi parted from you for air, hair falling into his face, shading his eyes. His cheeks burned red and you could feel him radiating heat.

You shifted, maneuvering in the small space. Hiking a leg over his waist, you towered over him momentarily. Yoongi’s eyes were still half covered with his hair and you had no intention of brushing them out. He looked so sexy; you could already feel the seep of arousal from your core.

And the way he bit his lips while staring up at you, swollen lips open, you knew you’d have trouble walking tomorrow…

Yoongi placed his palms flat on your legs, letting them slide up. The fabric of your skirt hitched with his touch while your skin seared everywhere that he exposed. Reaching up till he was barely brushing the hem of your panties, he paused, letting you sit down exactly on to where he had been hardening.

You let out a soft whimper, Yoongi’s grip making sure you grinded on him, relieving pressure for him. He remained stoic – content to watch you fragment from his ministrations.

“I don’t know what you were expecting out of wearing this dress tonight, Y/N, but I can hope I can do it justice.” He growled finally.

You shook your head, rising back on to your knees again. “I didn’t expect anything. A girl just likes to look good once in a while,” You pointed out.

“And the shoes…?”

“Makes me feel like a goddess,” You muttered, distracted with the way he was blowing cool air onto your scorched skin.

“You do feel like one.” Yoongi agreed and you close your eyes, feeling him press a smirk to your skin. Laving a tongue across your collarbone, he reached the strap of your dress.

Yoongi allowed you to sit down once again, giving him further access as he dipped into the cleavage the dress generously offered you. Soft nibbles accompanied his fingers fiddling with the strap, tugging it off and down from your skin. He removed his mouth, watching you as you slid the other one off as well.

The dress was zipped at the back and you felt his hands trail over the fabric, squeezing the back of your neck lazily, grinning when you moaned.

“You like that, do you?” He asked, nodding to himself when you gave an appreciative hum.

He squeezed again, harder, letting you feel his nails rake the soft skin there barely before the other joined in the back, tugging at the zip tab.

“Wait,” you said, suddenly remembering that you were doing this in public – at a bar, no less. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

As hot as Yoongi was and as much as you were enjoying the feel of him against you, you didn’t want to be an unwitting subject to being caught having sex in his workplace. It would mean Yoongi being fired from his job that he loved so much.

Yoongi had already stopped, looking up at you in question. Your concern made him smile, genuinely, pressing softer, tender kisses to your jaw line.

“Yes, baby,” The endearment made you shiver in his hold. He angled your neck for his teeth next, grazing at the pulse point. “We’re alone. I sent Hoseok off to home.”

“You’re sure no bouncers or anything is going to come by?” You asked.

“The guard might come, but trust me; we’re not getting in any trouble.” He assured you, pulling away from you to look at you seriously.

You looked at him curiously. “Unless, you want to be…we can do something about that.” He suggested.

You laughed, his hands gripping onto your hips to buck you against him, trying to get the mood back. He returned to the zipper, pulling it all the way down to the small of your back, where his hand stayed – warm and calming.

You let your arms rest loosely, the front of the dress pooling around your chest, held up by nothing as it fell, baring you to Yoongi’s ravenous eyes.

“Fuck, they’re perfect.” He said, on the very edge of a growl as his hands shot out to grab onto the soft flesh. The sudden press made you keen, arching your back into his hands.

Yoongi’s touch was relentless, kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, tracing the sensitive underside before he was taking them in his mouth. His teeth – you noticed, he liked using them – were the first to meet the tender skin. His palms groped at your wildly while he suckled.

Your head fell back, hips rolling against his. Your underwear had become uncomfortable. The fabric was skimpy at best, and the flow of your juices had absolutely destroyed them. You were almost sure Yoongi could feel your wetness soaking through by now.

Yoongi released your nipple from his mouth with a lewd ‘pop’, mouth open as he pulled you into a messy kiss, wet and teeth clashing. You allowed him to delve fully into your mouth, reaching wildly for his hand. He gave it to you, still engrossed in kissing you, not pushing away until he felt you place it along the exposed skin of your thighs. He looked down, then back up at you; understanding the silent plea reflected in your blown out eyes.

“Ah, you want me to touch you, baby?”

You nodded haplessly, whimpering when Yoongi trailed his hand up, resting it right against your soaked panties, cupping you gently.

“You’ve ruined your panties.” He murmured, pushing the dress away to look at the tiny thing. “And such pretty ones too, I almost feel bad.” He gave you a wicked grin before he was dipping his hand in them, the material stretching around his wrist.

A long, finger entered you so abruptly, a long whine escaped you with no barriers. You had to grip on to Yoongi’s shoulders for support, unable to keep from buckling when he curled the digit.

“Such a wet, dirty girl; you lose it on only one finger?” Yoongi teased your entrance with another finger, his thumb barely grazing against the pulsating bud of nerves that cried for attention.

“Yoongi, please…I’m going to explode.” You were about near to screaming for him to help you but he shook his head.

“Not just yet,” He pulled away, leaving you gasping from the emptiness before lifting you onto the table. He let you sit, moving the glasses from before onto the next table before returning to sit in front of you again, eyes fixed to your core.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him, panting as he raised the dress up as far as it would go, bunching around your waist and then pulled you to his mouth.

The loud moan that followed when Yoongi’s lip encircled and sucked onto your clit was so obscene, it would’ve caused a nun to curl her toes. Your previous fascination as to what Yoongi’s mouth could do was well rewarded while he lapped and laved around your pussy as if he was drinking directly from a fountain.

Two fingers stroked into your walls, in tandem to the slurping cause by his tongue, lapping away the traces of your arousal as fast as it came. Your hands moved, cupping your own breasts, playing with yourself when you saw his eyes fixed on your face. You smirked at him, unable to help yourself when you let your hand trail down to his head, fingers twining with his hair.

Your nails raked along his scalp, scratching lightly. That caused Yoongi’s eyes to close; tongue pressing into your entrance as he let out the filthiest moan you’d head, muffled by your wetness. You dropped to the table, both hands clutching Yoongi’s hair, keeping his mouth against you, riding out your high. It came in waves, rising and then crashing against you, drowning you in ecstasy. You ended in pants, eyes blinking away spots.

Hands ran up your legs, rubbing away tightened muscles and sore spots.

Yoongi got to his feet, leaning over you. Hands splayed on the either side of your waist he eyed you ferociously. His hair was stragglier; no doubt the result of your tugging and stuck up. But you could see his face now, especially his eyes, which were almost fully blown out.

“You,” he said lowly, color flaming high in his cheeks and voice barely controlled, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever come across.” He placed a hand on your sensitive flesh, a finger parting the lips as he studied you, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“You’ve made a mess, baby. Gushed out your sweet juices all across my table,” He commented, swiping the finger straight into his mouth. He groaned, eyes narrowing but staying steady on your face. You watched, entranced, each shift in his face before he was popping the finger out.

“You taste so good, Y/N. I’m going to have your taste on my tongue all night.” He told you.

You didn’t know if it was the high of the orgasm or just the basic Yoongi effect but you reached for him, sliding forward till he was standing between your parted legs.

Yoongi let you fumble with his pants, pulling his belt free from the loops, letting it fall free as you unzipped him. While sitting on him you had fairly anticipated his size but by god you were so curious, you had to see him naked.

And you told him as such…

“Take my clothes off?” He asked, snickering at you.

“Yes, come on, I want to see you naked.” You ordered firmly, already shoving his pants down to his ankles.

Yoongi obliged.

Taking a single step back, he gave you a final heated look before he was hooking his fingers under the hem line of his shirt, lifting it. He was teasing you, you knew, by the slowness and the distinct air of stripping in the air. He let the fabric caress each inch of his torso. His stomach, tightening from the flex, the chest, much broader than you had guessed.

His shoulders and arms weren’t muscled, showing the lack of strenuous exercise but while there were no muscles, there wasn’t flab either. Yoongi was a fit fucking god and you drooled.

Of course, there were no tattoos or piercings, anywhere…you even looked at his back as he turned to discard away his shirt and the rest of his clothes – underwear included.

Yoongi stood before you, gloriously naked and godly. He turned to look at you with full knowledge of your ogling and he reveled in it. Lips pulled into a smirk, eyes on the narrow side to make his pretty face look like it could cut steel.

Under the pretty packaging, Min Yoongi was a lethal man.

And you had never wanted a man so damn much in your whole life…

You grasped onto his hair, pulling him down into a kiss that made him stumble from its force. His hands wrapped around your waist, tugging you tighter against him.

A chill from the night air had seeped into the empty bar, making the heat radiating off your bodies and from your exertions all the more tantalizing. He panted against you, hot puffs of air landing on your own lips when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Let me suck you off.” You said.

Yoongi grinned, nodding his acceptance before gently helping you off the table to stand in front of you. He wrapped a hand in your hair, a murmured ‘my turn’ making you tremble in his hold as you kissed down his body. You suckled near his navel, letting your mark bloom lavender against his pale skin.

He held your hand to help you kneel, the hardwood flooring under your knees sharpening your focus on the magnificent manhood in front of you.

Both of Yoongi’s hands were now in your hair, wrapping and pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Go on then, baby,” he encouraged.

You sighed, gripping onto his hips to nuzzle along his length. He smelled like citrus, maybe from the drinks he’d handled and garnished or his body wash but it was mouth watering. You wrapped your lips around his tip, sucking gently, getting used to the feel of his thick weight on your tongue.

Gradually, you moved further, widening your mouth and taking in more of his velvet hardness. You rubbed his skin, one hand stroking along the rest of his length. You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath before going all the way, holding yourself as you felt him breach your gag reflex.

Above you Yoongi cursed, a string of incoherent words following when you repeated the motion, finding joy when Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, holding you where you had stopped.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that? I might not let you go.” He warned, drawing your attention to look up at him.

Yoongi in this angle was heavenly. His hair was back to falling in his eyes but he was consciously blinking or shaking the strands away now, trying to look at you sucking him off. Color had drained from his face, probably aiding his erection but his lips were raw from being bitten and chewed upon. His chest heaved stomach tense and you had never felt more powerful kneeling in front of a man.

You could very possibly end him at this very moment and he would more than likely be happy about it.

So you stayed there, kneeling in front of him, watching him crumble with the suction you created around his hot length. You sent him a wink when you caught his eye and just as you had anticipated – he broke.

“Up, up, get on the table,” Yoongi had finally reached the point of growling. The hair he held, he used as reins to tug you up roughly and yet you relished in it, feeling him turn you around and push you to bend over the black table.

“You little minx, you enjoyed watching me nearly blow my brains down your throat.” He accused in a grunt and you could only laugh.

Your giggles continued in his search for a condom, rifling through his pockets till he found one; the sound of the packet ripping making your anticipation rise.

Interrupted with moans when he grabbed and squeezed with abandon; all the parts of you that he could reach – your tits, your hips, and the curve of your ass. He took full advantage, shoving the dress down till it was only circling your waistline.

“We’re keeping the shoes on.” He grunted in your ear.

He leaned back down, hand travelling down the outside of your thigh, pressing kisses down your spine, one at the edge of your rear, the inside of your thighs and one at the curve of your ankle. You groaned when you felt him part your folds again, his tongue running over the cooling flesh, igniting flames again.

He gripped onto your leg, admiring the trails of ribbons that held it up before pulling it up along with him as he stood.

He kept a tight hold on you, watching you teetering on the single shoe. He pushed your knee to brace on the table, still keeping his hands on you, balancing you before pressing up right against you.

His body stabilized yours, your hands using the table to anchor yourself against it. It was hard to stand on the single heel but Yoongi was soon pulling you back on to him, holding up most of your weight.

“So fucking hot,” He mumbled against the back of your neck just as you felt him push the head of his cock into your entrance.

The stretch of his cock burned so good, you didn’t even try to hide or curb the moan that fell from your lips. Back arching, your fingers clawed into the wood of the table and it was only just the first thrust.

Yoongi reared back, thrusting shallow, the angle making him rub tightly against your walls. His hands gripped on to the cheeks of your butt, holding you open so he could slide inside of you easily.

“It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” He asked and even with your eyes closed, you could tell the edge he was tight lining on.

He sounded strained, almost at the brink of control.

“Yes, but you can go rougher.” You prodded, eager to feel him more.

“I can, indeed.”

In a split second, Yoongi was no longer considerate. An arm wrapped around your torso, palm at the base of your throat and fingers around your neck. His other hand snaked to the front, resting at your mound.

He still held up your weight but his pace went from shallow to deep, fast – brutal. Skin slapped against skin, his fingers strummed your clit mercilessly, playing a tune to match his rough rhythm.

You cried out, his name falling from you incessantly; as if a prayer, a call for retribution…you couldn’t tell. Very gently, you felt pressure increase near your windpipe.

You might have frozen, might have asked him what he was doing, but the uncontrollable coil in your core, his length battering into your cove and the harsh pressure on your nerves made you delirious with pleasure.

The lack of air made your eyes haze over and then, unbidden, floating in some sense of hypnotic plane. Only pleasure and the giver of it existed as you turned literal putty into his hands.

Then came, unbidden, Yoongi’s voice, a command: “Come for me, Y/N.”

You obeyed.

You couldn’t even scream. You couldn’t make any sound. You only came for Yoongi.

Body quivering and writhing in his hold, you arced against him, his head burying into your neck as he grunted, his own orgasm following as you clamped down on him. Impossibly tight and unable to stop himself further, Yoongi emptied himself into the rubber, sighing against your skin as if you were his only salvation.

You lay spread out on Yoongi’s table for how long, you had no idea. When you came down, Yoongi’s weight was still on you, warm and bracing. He was massaging your back, blowing warm air near your ear. You hummed, letting him know of your consciousness.

Yoongi craned his head, watching you blink twice to gain some semblance of composure. You could feel droplets collecting at the corners of your eyes and Yoongi quickly swiped them away with his thumb.

“Y/N, baby, how do you feel?” He asked voice calm and close to you.

You asked yourself the same question and smiled to yourself. “Fantastic, just fantastic…did I pass out?” You hedged.

Yoongi chuckled. “No, floated off a little…maybe a little like subspace but you were very much here. You were beautiful and brilliant.” He kissed your cheek.

You let him nuzzle into your skin, indulging in the aftercare.

Yoongi soon migrated to the seats, pulling you upright so he could pull the dress down your legs and up your chest properly. He leaned you against him, zipping you up before he got dressed himself.

You sat on the leather, watching him buckle his belt when the sound of approaching footsteps and keys made you both freeze.

The guard was here and you had just obviously had sex with Yoongi. There was no denying it. The scent of sex was palpable, the table was questionably messed up and both of you looked…well, fucked.

It took Yoongi only a second to recover and you prayed that his assurance for his job security was legitimate before the man walked in. Dressed in a grey uniform, he stopped, stuttering in his steps when he caught sight of Yoongi at one of the tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Then –

“Boss,” the man said, surprised. “What are you still doing here?” He asked.

You flinched at the question before realizing something. Huh…boss…?

Yoongi carded a hand calmly through his hair, looking unconcerned. “I was just checking the stocks, Jungkook. It took me a long while so my…um, girlfriend came over to pick me up. I’ll be leaving now. Make sure to lock up behind us.”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook mused, taking a look around before shrugging, apparently deciding it was none of his business. “I always do sir; have a nice night sir, ma’am.” He bowed politely and Yoongi grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the seat and quickly ushering you out of the back staff exit.

Yoongi and you emerged out into the parking lot, walking quietly till you had reached your car.

“You’re…the boss? You own this bar?” You broke the silence first, turning to Yoongi.

He nodded, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. I was going to tell you though, but Jungkook interrupted.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? You were making all those cryptic remarks.” You said, wrapping your arms around you. Why did you have to forget brining a jacket?

Yoongi moved closer to you, his closeness providing you some extra warmth. “I, well, you see, people behave differently to what you appear to be. I was short a tender today. It’s a lady, and her sister gave birth. She needed the day off and I worked her shift. You just…you caught my eye and you said all those things you don’t expect people to say. I just wanted to see if you would feel the same attraction to a bartender that most people feel for the Bar owner.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry, it sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No, not really, its fine, I understand. What about inside, about the girlfriend, why would you say that?”

Yoongi snorted. “Well, I’m hardly going to say you’re a customer, am I? He’s a good cop, Y/N; he knew we just had sex in there. I’ll bet you anything he spends the night out or inside the staff room tonight.”

“Right, I hope he won’t be expecting to see me around on the regular then.” You turned to unlock your car.

“I was hoping you’d become one.” Yoongi said.

You smiled slyly. “For you or your bar…?”

Yoongi shrugged. “It’d be a double offer. Be mine and the bar’s going to be a regular anyway. Be a regular here and you’re bound to run into me.” He returned my smile.

You pretended to think about it. “Well, then, I’d say that first option sounds better.” You dropped a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, then.”

You slid into the driver’s seat, with Yoongi leaning in through the window.

“It’s a date.” He winked.

This work is a gift for the precious @yoonmochiiii !! Happy Holidays, lovely.

It was an amazing experience, being your (not so secret) Santa and getting to know you! I hope you enjoyed yourself and that you like your present! I hope we can be friends in the future as well and stay in touch!

Have a beautiful Christmas, and have a glorious, safe and bountiful New Year sweets!

#secretsanta2019 #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #yoonmochiiii #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi scenario #bts scenarios #yoongi #min yoongi #bts suga #bts #suga

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