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vistovii · 5 days ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓… 𝐘𝐎𝐔. (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏.)

🥀hey there! the joy of meeting Aventurine in the latest quest inspired me to write this little story for you<3 (check my profile for part 2)

𝐩.𝐬. english isn’t my first language, the translation of this text may not be accurate.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 & 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ only, fem!reader x boss Aventurine, smut! (cunnilingus, fingering, squirt)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,3k

𝐢𝐟 𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐭: darling, my muse lives in your eyes as they read these words... until our paths cross again ♥️

Your path within the Interastral Peace Corporation was like navigating an asteroid field - fraught with peril, demanding surgical precision and ice-cold calculation. You soared not on the wings of luck, but on backbreaking labor, a mind sharp as a scalpel, and an almost manic drive for perfection. Your reports were hymns to efficiency, your strategies - audacious gambits in the corporate wars, your execution - flawless. And then, one day, his gaze, sharp and calculating, lingered on you.

Aventurine. The name itself was a promise of dizzying heights and fathomless depths. He personally invited you to become his right hand in the high offices and shadowed corridors of power. Working with Aventurine meant living in perpetual high-stakes tension under the sweet yoke of his expectations. He demanded the impossible and got it, often with your aid. You became this man's indispensable instrument, honed to a razor's edge, anticipating moves, reading between the lines of his curt commands. His "shadow"? No, more like a reflection in a perfectly polished mirror - just as cold and dangerous.

But within that danger lay an intoxicating drug. The adrenaline rush of a deal closed, the triumph of an outmaneuvered rival, the barely-there nod of approval from him - it became your oxygen. And his attention... it was like the most exquisite dessert after a long fast. A gaze lingering on your new dress, an offhand compliment murmured during report analysis.

"Your insight is particularly sharp today," Aventurine's hand brushed your back, lower than etiquette allowed. Each such touch left an invisible brand on your skin, smoldering beneath layers of professional restraint.

Tonight, you stood before the door to his private penthouse - not the corporate apartment, but his personal sanctuary, a place you'd been invited to for the first time. The pretext was formal: discussing a corporate takeover demanding absolute confidentiality. But formality crumbled to dust the moment the door slid open silently, revealing your boss.

Aventurine stood in the doorway, bathed in soft, golden light. Gone was his usual impeccable suit. Dark, almost black trousers hung loosely, paired with a deep wine-colored silk shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal his collarbones and a hint of chest muscle. His blond hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run a hand through it. In his multicolored eyes, reminiscent of a peacock feather's pattern, burned the familiar fire of ambition, but softened, more... intimate.

"Punctual as clockwork. Come in," his voice was low, velvety. Aventurine stepped aside, letting you pass. The scent of expensive liquor, leather, and something subtly spicy - his own signature scent - hit you like a wave.

The penthouse interior was the embodiment of Aventurine's aesthetic: luxury distilled. Cold marble, polished metal, vast floor-to-ceiling windows framing the night cityscape, glittering like scattered jewels. Nothing superfluous, nothing accidental. Like the man himself.

Discussion of the deal began immediately at a low table by the bio-fireplace. You were flawless: numbers, risks, strategies - laid out with crystal clarity. Aventurine listened, reclined in his chair, fingers slowly tracing the rim of a crystal glass filled with dark ruby liquid. But his gaze wasn't fixed on the tablet's graphs. It studied you. Your lips forming words, your hands gesturing with familiar precision, the line of your neck and décolletage revealed by your perfectly fitted dress.

"Exhaustive, as always," Aventurine finally spoke when you finished, "You turn chaos into symphony. A rare gift." He rose, moving towards the bar, his movements fluid like a great predator's, "Wine? Or something stronger?"

"Whiskey. Thank you," your voice sounded steadier than you felt. Inside, everything was colled into a tight, trembling knot of anticipation.

Aventurine poured two glasses. Instead of sitting opposite, he lowered himself onto the wide arm of your chair, so close the silk of his shirt almost brushed your shoulder. As he handed you the crystal tumbler, his fingers lightly grazed yours. A spark shot through your skin.

"You know..." he began, "I've always admired that core of steel within you. Under pressure, amidst entropy, you don't bend; you make circumstances bend to your will." Aventurine took a sip, his eyes sliding from your face to your lips, "It's incredibly alluring."

"Resilience is part of the job, Director," heat flooded your cheeks, spreading lower.

"Aventurine. Just Aventurine," he corrected softly, yet insistently, "It's just us here... and that incredibly dull project we've just successfully buried." He smiled, and this smile held none of his usual mockery. There was warmth, mingled with the same ambition burning in his eyes, "I'm weary of projects, reports... and masks."

He slowly raised his hand. You froze. Aventurine's long, elegant fingers touched your cheek, a feather-light caress brushing aside a stray strand of hair. The touch was searingly tender, a stark contrast to the strength you knew he possessed. Then he tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"I want to see what lies behind that perfection," Aventurine whispered, the words sweet and intoxicating, "I want to taste the fire that burns inside you. The one you control so meticulously." The distance between you vanished, but he didn't kiss you immediately. His palm slid down to your neck, his thumb tracing the pulse point throbbing beneath your skin. It was simultaneously a declaration of power and an inexpressible caress.

"Say 'no' and I stop. Right now."

But you couldn't. Didn't want to. Years of admiration, fear, desire fused into one blinding flash. Without a word, your body shifted a millimeter forward, bringing your mouths together at last.

It was like falling and soaring simultaneously. The blond man's lips were softer than you expected, yet no less demanding than he was. The sharp tang of whiskey and the essence of Aventurine himself flooded your senses.

He broke the kiss as suddenly as he'd begun: "Not here," in one fluid motion he lifted you into his arms, forcing a sharp gasp from you as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck.

Gently settling you onto the soft leather sofa, Aventurine leaned over you, bracing one arm on the backrest behind. His free hand slid to your thigh as his lips left searing, wet kisses along the sensitive column of your neck, making you shudder.

"Aventurine.." your voice was foreign, breathless with desire.

"Say my name again," he demanded, his hand sliding higher under the hem of your dress. Then his fingers found the zipper at your back. Slowly, without taking his burning eyes off you, the man drew it down. The fabric parted, revealing skin that shimmered in the half-light. Aventurine's gaze grew heavy, appraising, as if unveiling the most priceless lot at auction.

Leaving you clad only in delicate lace, he knelt before you, his hands beginning a tender exploration of your stomach and ribs. His lips touched the hollow between your breasts, then kisses and light nips trailed slowly downwards. When his tongue traced your navel, a soft moan escaped you, your fingers tangling in his silky blond hair.

"You're exquisite," Aventurine's voice was husky, "Every line... every curve..."

Without breaking eye contact for a second, he continued his devastating descent to the edge of your underwear. Skilled fingers hooked into the last barrier, and a kiss touched the most sensitive, intimate part of you. The scene felt like an indecently sweet dream. Aventurine, high-ranking executive of the IPC's Strategic Investment Department, one of the Ten Stonehearts, was on his knees before you, hungrily devouring every inch of your slick cunt.

His tongue was a precision weapon, knowing your vulnerabilities better than any foe. Every flat stroke over your clit, every deep plunge within, made your body arch in a silent scream. You tried to breathe, but the air burned, turning into ragged moans he immediately caught with his mouth, amplifying the vibration. And then, just as waves of pleasure began to crest over you, his hand - the very one that signed million-credit contracts and shattered careers - slid down.

Two of Aventurine's long fingers found your entrance with ease, making torturous circles, gathering wetness, stretching, preparing. You cried out as the first finger plunged deep and sure, finding that spot inside that made the world narrow to bursts of light behind your eyelids. He gave you no respite, adding a second. The deep, measured rhythm of his fingers inside perfectly synced with the work of his tongue and lips outside. It was the highest mathematics of pleasure - every movement calculated, every flex of his finger serving one goal: to bring you to the edge and hold you there, teetering on the precipice. In those multicolored eyes, still lifted to your face, you read not just desire, but admiration for his own mastery and power over you. Look at me, that gaze seemed to say. Look how you come undone. And you looked, powerless to turn away, feeling the tension coil low in your belly, becoming unbearable until…

Climax hit like a shockwave, shattering every barrier of self-control. Your body convulsed in the pure, unfiltered ecstasy of release, a gushing torrent of sweet, colorless nectar flooding around him. Aventurine didn't stop for a second, his fingers relentless, his tongue drawing out every last drop of pleasure, prolonging the spasms to the razor's edge between pain and bliss. Only when your body went limp, utterly spent, did he slowly, with a barely audible sound of satisfaction, withdraw, his fingers slipping free. His face glistened, slick with your essence.

Aventurine rose from his knees, his dominant frame blocking the light. A different fire burned in his eyes now - impatient, predatory.

"Damn, you drive me wild, Y/N," he rasped, running a hand through his hair before lifting you to your trembling feet. You melted into a kiss, demanding, full of your taste and his unwavering intent. Then, stripping away the last shreds of your lingerie, he turned and sat back on the wide sofa.

"On me," his voice was low, rough with passion, brooking no argument, "Facing me. I want to see everything."

Guiding you astride him, Aventurine helped you position yourself, your knees bent wide on either side of his hips. He was still fully dressed, only his fly undone, freeing an impressive, straining erection. His hands gripping your waist lifted you, positioning you over his cock. The head, slick with your arousal and his pre-cum, nudged your entrance.

"Take me," the command was intoxicating, "Take all of me. Completely."

And you obeyed, craving your final surrender. He entered you, relentlessly stretching and filling every fold, every corner. The sensation was overwhelming - the pain of unfamiliar fullness and size instantly transmuting into indescribable bliss. You threw your head back, a guttural moan tearing from your throat as Aventurine sheathed himself to the hilt, pulsing deep within you in time with your frantic heartbeat.

"Aeons... You're scorching," he hissed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the skin of your waist, "And impossibly tight... even after."

Even after he'd brought you to climax with his mouth, your body accepted him with resistance, with an inner trembling that drove him mad.

"Move," Aventurine's voice was guttural, "Show me how much you've wanted this. All this time."

At first hesitantly, shyly, you began to move, lifting yourself on trembling thighs just a centimeter before sinking back down, feeling him glide within you. Then the hands on your waist began to assist, guiding your rhythm, pulling you down harder, forcing you to take him deeper.

"Yes... just like that..." Aventurine watched you like the most captivating spectacle in the world. Eyes full of hunger roamed your flushed face, your breasts heaving with your movements, lingering on the place where you joined, where his cock disappeared into you and emerged again, glistening with your mingled wetness, "You were made for this. To take me. To be mine."

His words spurred you on. Now you moved faster, bolder, finding the angle where the friction became unbearably sweet. Your fingers dug into the silk of his shirt at his shoulders, then into his blond hair. Leaning forward, you pressed your forehead to his, your breaths mingling - hot, ragged.

"Aventurine….. I.." you couldn't form the words, couldn't say you felt the peak building again.

He understood. One hand shot down between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen, hypersensitive clit and pressing hard.

"Come for me, Y/N," the words were a gunshot, "Come on my cock. Right now. I want to feel it."

The wave you'd been holding back with your last strength crashed over you with savage force. Your body clenched around him in a series of convulsive, uncontrollable spasms, far stronger than the first. You cried out, clutching him, feeling your own release soak his trousers.

At the same moment, his arms locked around you like steel bands, crushing you against him so you couldn't move a millimeter. His hips jerked upwards, driving into you with renewed force, and you felt the hot rush of his seed filling you deep inside. Two peaks merged into one in a vortex of mutual destruction and rebirth.

Gradually, the convulsions subsided. Breathing evened out, turning into heavy, ragged sighs. You slumped against him, utterly spent, hearing the frantic beat of his heart matching your own.

Aventurine was silent. Only his fingers traced slow patterns along the line of your spine. Lips, damp and hot, brushed your temple.

"Y/N," name was almost a whisper, "Stay with me. At least tonight." His voice held a note of vulnerability you'd never heard before.

The man stood, holding your naked body tightly against his, and carried you towards the bathroom. Beyond the glass windows, immobile and glittering, the city continued its endless dance of lights. A blind witness to this night where the walls between boss and subordinate had finally crumbled.

Amidst the penthouse luxury, only the warmth of skin, the salty taste of sweat on lips, the heavy, synchronized breathing, and the silent question remained: What awaited this story, now that the mirror of perfection lay shattered, and the dessert had been served?..

#fanfiction #fanfic #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr fanfiction #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr smut #new writers on tumblr

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cosmowgyral · 5 months ago

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𝙑𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙈𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙍𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝘼𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙮: "𝙔𝙤𝙪" 𝙞𝙣 𝙀𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 0

This is a fan translation so it's not 100% accurate. Expect grammatical inaccuracies. All media used here belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated and hope you enjoy!

The journey to trace the fragments of your memories begins--

The sound of a music box resonates. A scene from your distant past, a memory that has almost been forgotten, lingers faintly.

The sparkling music box is reflected in your tear-distorted vision.

The beautiful melody reaches your ears, and with the tears receeding, you lift your face.

You don't remember who played the music box for you and wiped your tears away.

𝙀𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 1 - 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘿𝙖𝙮 𝙄 𝙁𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙏𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝

After losing your beloved cat, you go to the church to pray so that your cat can rest in heaven.

As you were crying and praying, a man called out to you.

???: Why are you crying?

Option 1: Your tears won't stop and you can't look up.

Kate: It's nothing.

He gently touched your shoulder and then seemed to walk away.

???: I'll be watching over you until the day I can see your smile again.

--the end--

Option 2: Talk about the situation

Kate: My cat died.

With his jewel-like eyes, night-colored hair, and beautiful clothes, he looked like a prince from some place.

He sat next to you and listened to you, nodding occasionally, but the more you talked, the sadder you became and the tears welled up. Alone in the church, it was the sound of a music box that stopped your tears.

???: See, you play it like this.

In your faded memories, that person's eyes shone like jewels.

𝙀𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 2 - 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 ''𝘼𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝘾𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙝''

You are now a postman working at the post-office. One day, you receive a notice stating that a church is looking for someone to help with their volunteer work.

You feel a sense of nostalgia once you see the name of the church.

Option 1: Join the volunteer work.

Kate: It's been a while since I've been there.

You played with the kids, helped out at the bazaar, and gradually became friends with an orphan boy you looked after for a day. The distance between you both closed, and you sat next to each other, smiling.

It was now time to go home.

Option 1: Hurry Home

Kate: If I don't hurry, all the eggs will be sold out!

???: I'm relieved to see you're alive and happy. I'll always be watching over you.

--the end--

Option 2: Return home with a detour

Kate: I think I'll stop by the bakery I was interested in while on the way back home.

???: May your everyday life be filled with ordinary happiness.

--the end--

Option 3: Go home after praying

Kate: I hope these children have a happy tomorrow.

Just after praying for that, a deafening noise was heard, and smoke covered your vision instantly.

Option 3A : Run Away

Kate: (I have to run away quickly!)

You manage to escape safely.

???: I hope today's events do not leave any scars on your heart. Stay safe. Your place is under the sun.

--the end--

Option 3B: You can't move because of fear

Kate: (What should I do? I can't move.)

???: Stand up! Let's run!

You didn't know the face or name of the person who held your hand.

But that big hand was the only thing that gave you comfort in the church that had been engulfed in the explosion.

Option B: You won't join the volunteer work

Kate: There's a show I want to see that day! So I'll skip this.

???: If we don't meet, that must also be fate. But what if---

???: If somewhere along the line you choose to share your fate with me, the darkness will gladly welcome you.

𝙀𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙙𝙚 3- 𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙛 "𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙁𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩"

You work at the post office as a postman everyday. One day, the postmaster asks you to do a job. It seems there was a requirement for a staff in the night delivery.

Option 2: Refuse the job

Kate: I am sorry. I don't want to work overtime.

???: You are wonderful for being able to say 'no'. Enjoy your limited time to the fullest.

--the end--

Option 1: Accept the job

You are headed to--

Option 2: Kingsley Books bookstore

Kate: (There is no one here. Guess I'll just have to come back tomorrow.)

There are books scattered carelessly at your feet.

Option 2A: You were about to pick up the book...

Kate: (What is this book?)

Just then, someone appeared next to you, picked up the book and left.

???: You shouldn't pick up this book just yet.

???: Please live freely.

--the end--

Option 2B: Pick up the book

Kate: (There's a book here--)

As if drawn by something, you opened the untitled book. A gust of wind swirled up, enveloping you in a dazzling light--

???: Welcome to the distorted world of fairy tales! We have a guest, please come in---yay!

And so, you set out on a journey to find "the missing thing" in this distorted fairy world.

???: Hey Kate, the first one you got is my story.

Option 1: A splendid mansion

Kate: (Huh? This mansion doesn't have a mailbox.)

You gently touched the gate, and with a faint creaking sound, it slid open inwards.

And so, you are just a little bit away from a love that fate has led you to, a love you can never return from.

??? Come now, just like this I will continue to reach out to you from the brink of death.

#ikevil victor #ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #ikemen villains victor #d: enchanthings

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/ozzgin/751732947596541952/yanmonster-who-is-a-famous-author-of-human?source=share

Oh, oh, oh, what if he suddenly has a strange reader? Apparently, his ordinary readers are just as humanefucker as he is, and this is noticeable, but in this particular reader such interest is almost unnoticeable. But he's full of interesting observations and ideas about his stories and delicious, quirky, strangely specific and deep interactions with people. With them you can reflect on interactions with people and this is always interesting. And that’s how they start a kind of pen pal friendship. This unknown friend slowly thawed and began asking strange questions about monsters. And I didn’t come up with anything further, and as you guessed, this unknown friend was a human with a strange and quite possibly sexual interest in monster’s works. Monster, of course, does not know that he is corresponding with a human.

Scratch the hiking encounter, this is so much better! Bless you, anon. 😭 Monster Author Concept here.

The human fan is obsessed with monster author’s works, but for completely opposite reasons. You like to self insert as the human protagonist.

So you begin to write him letters, praising his talent, and asking questions about the monsters featured in the books. Are they an accurate depiction? Is this how it really works with monster mating? The beastly writer, in return, is somewhat confused: he would’ve guessed you want to know more about the humans, not the plain, cardboard characters he threw in just for the sake of a spicy plot. What do you mean you want to know more about monsters in heat? Surely you know yourself better than he does.

And then, another peculiarity: you’re shockingly knowledgeable about human lore. He’ll occasionally try to prove you wrong, only to receive a flawless argument in the next letter. He’ll click his tongue in annoyance, envious of your creative endeavor. Where do you get your sources from? How do you come up with these ideas? He’s rather confident that hardly anyone in the monster realm can match his literature on the topic. He’s been researching humans for decades.

Who exactly are you? He insists on a meeting, curious to see this potential rival with his own eyes. Similarly, you’d like to confirm that he is indeed a monster as he claims.

You knock on the door to his office, and he demands to know who’s visiting.

“It’s the human you’ve been corresponding with”, you state with a cheeky grin.

#monster author #yandere #yandere x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucker #yandere monster

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rainkays · 1 year ago

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CRUSH | LEE HARKER x READER 𖥔 ࣪

(SUMMARY) in the summer of 1991, you are assigned a missing persons case in northern washington with special agent lee harker. lee had garnered the reputation of being an exceptional agent in the field, but no one truly knew anything about her, and you wanted to change that.

(WARNINGS) mentions of drugs/smoking, alcohol. weapons, kidnapping, blood/violence.

(NOTES) this is going to be ooc and will not follow the plot of longlegs but i’m going to try and write lee as accurate as possible to her canon characterization in the film !! (reader is fem as this will be a wlw series !i this ended up being a lot longer than anticipated but i hope u guys enjoy this, and there will definitely more of lee to come very soon <3

CAN YOU READ MY MIND?

I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU…

JUNE 21st, 1991.

the halls of quantico were bustling with bodies and chatter of partner assignments as the fresh group of agents filtered into the meeting room. the wooden walls and orange carpeting did nothing to hide the fact that funding at the bureau had been tight these past few years, and the bright eyed recruits had no idea what they were walking into. you’d been your entrance years at the academy working bottom of the barrel assignments, ones that allowed you a glimpse at lee whenever provided. it wasn’t hard to notice her if you knew where to look. it the low hum of the radio was the only sound that filled the car, lee’s hands draped over the wheel as she drove the two of you down the long, vacant stretch of country road. it was hours of nearly empty road and faded farmhouses until you finally reached the town. the sun had began to set, the streets quiet as lee pulled into the parking lot of one of the few motels in the town. the orange lights of the sign reflected on the windshield of the car as lee pulled your suitcases from the trunk, tossing you the keys.

“thanks.”

you spoke, head nodding to lee as you slung your bag over your shoulder, the girl humming a quiet response as the two of you neared the front desk office. lee pushed the door open, a quiet bell jingling to alert the woman at the desk of your presences. you were sure it was a quiet business, not many coming in or out of the town, especially in the wake of the recent disappearance. much to your surprise, lee spoke up as you leaned on your elbow against the counter.

“we have a reservation under harker.”

the woman hummed, keys clicking on the computer as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“mm, yes, right here. single queen for the next week?”

you nearly laughed at the words out of her mouth, lee’s face paling as she raked a hand through her hair, sputtering her words out. this is what you got for allowing the bureau to make your arrangements. lee took the keys from the woman, turning on her heel to hold the door open for you as you followed behind. lucky for lee, there was a couch in your room that she’d immediately settled herself on as you closed the door behind you.

“lee, you should take the bed i can-”

your bag slid against the nightstand, toying with the rings on your fingers as lee spoke before you could finish your sentence.

“no, i’d rather you take it, i’ll be fine.”

you took a seat at the edge of the bed, kicking off your boots as you looked over at lee. it was rare to see her like this, jacket shrugged off, hair down as she rested against the arm of the couch. you wondered if she was dreading this next week. having to spend most of her days confined to this room, with you. you wondered how she felt about you. if she’d rather be working with another agent. you pushed down the thought as you laid back against the mattress. you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly at night knowing lee had to spend her nights on the old velvet couch in the corner of your shared room. you unbuttoned the long sleeve you’d been wearing all day, nearly forgetting about lee’s presence in front of you as she turned her head away from you.

she was a sweetheart, and you didn’t need to know her to know that. she was more caring and attentive than most people would ever recognize, something you’d picked up from your quiet observations of her. did she think the same of you?

you were left in a tank top, buttons undone as a gold locket laid on your chest. you rested against the pillows as you caught lee’s gaze lingering on you for a moment.

“why don’t we share?”

a beat passed before lee turned her body to look at you.

“what?”

“the bed, i mean.”

you saw the wheels turning in her head, weighing her options before she spoke again.

“do we have to?”

you laughed quietly, stifling it quickly as you caught the blank expression on lee’s face.

“we don’t have to, but i figure the bed is better than needing a spine adjustment when we leave next week.”

you retorted, hand resting in your palm as your hair fell over your shoulder. lee got up wordlessly, walking to the bathroom as you heard the sound of water running. it wasn’t long before she came back, retrieving a change of clothes and settling herself on the bed, opposite of you. she was tense, shoulders stiff even while she was lying down, the muscles in her jaw tightening for a moment as you tried not to stare. you leaned over to the nightstand, switching off the light as you turned away from her, hoping to give her the space she needed.

“how do you think it’ll go tomorrow?”

lee spoke unexpectedly, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over the two of you. tomorrow, you’d have to interview the parents of the missing girl and the witnesses that had last seen your suspect.

“we’ll do just fine. besides, we’ve put in more field work than half the class so, i’d like to think we’re qualified.”

she hummed, turning on her side to face you as you could just barely make out her features in the darkness of the room. the moonlight seeped through the cracks in the blinds, a strange feeling settling itself in the back of your mind. in any other situation, you wouldn’t have been so calm in your current position. sure, it may have been slightly inappropriate to be sharing a bed with your co worker, but something felt natural when it came to lee. you didn’t have to flaunt your qualifications at every given opportunity when you were around her. you didn’t have to pretend to be someone you weren’t, and maybe, neither did she. her hand brushed against yours for a brief moment before you both pulled away, settling against your pillows.

“goodnight.”

she spoke, hands resting in the fabric of the thin sheets.

“goodnight, lee.”

you answered, hoping she didn’t notice the way you smiled to yourself in the darkness. she did.

SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE WORKS WITH HER HANDS

AND SMELLS LIKE MARLBORO REDS…

it had been a long day of going door to door, getting half answers from people who clearly didn’t have anything real to give you. lee was burnt out by the time you’d driven the two of you back to the hotel, excusing herself to the balcony outside while she lit a cigarette. night had finally fallen over the town as you slid off your blazer and changed into a t shirt. you made your way outside to settle in next to her, the dim light of her cigarette allowing you to admire her.

“didn’t get much out of the family today, hm?”

you spoke, sipping on the cheap, overpriced shooters that were left on the hotel room.

“we’ll get something tomorrow.”

she spoke, so sure of herself. that was something you’d noticed over the short time you’d spent with lee. it was like she had some voice in the back of her mind that told her where to find just what you were looking for.

“good.”

you spoke, pausing as you extended your hand toward lee. she looked over at you, your head cocked at her cigarette. she understood, slowly handing it to you as you took a drag. you half expected her to say no, so there was no doubt she noticed the failed attempt of hiding the smile on your face. you exhaled, the smoke visible in the cold air as you leaned your head back. for the first time, you felt her eyes on you. burning a hole into the side of your head. you couldn’t help but like it.

“you seem to be good with people.”

she spoke, body angled towards yours as you finally worked up the courage to look at her. you laughed quietly, shaking your head.

“not really, y’know. i just try to be less of a fed and more of a human.”

you sighed softly, tapping your cigarette against the ledge as you handed back to lee. she took it, hesitating for a brief moment before bringing it to her lips. there was a quiet tension that hung over the two of you, your hand brushing against hers, the way you couldn’t stop staring at her. you almost thought she’d tell you to stop, or get up and leave. but instead, her hand rested atop of yours.

“lee.”

you spoke, a quiet whisper that hung in the air. she looked at you, down at your intertwined fingers. this was the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that she’d allowed herself to feel this way. feel anything.

“you can tell me to leave right now, and i’ll go. i’ll fuck off and we can forget this happened, but i just-”

“just what?”

she cocked her head slightly, strands of her hair falling in her face after she’d finally removed the ponytail from her hair. you sighed, the words nearly dying in your throat before you finally spoke.

“i just really wanna kiss you.”

you watched the way her chest rose and fell at a faster pace. you saw the flicker of something that flashed in her eyes. her thumb traced a pattern atop your hand, before she looked back at you once more, humming quietly.

“kiss me, then.”

you could’ve laughed, cried even. never would you have thought that you’d be here, in the arms of lee harker. never would you have thought that you’d know the feeling of her lips against your own. as your foreheads rested against one another, her hand flattened against the small of your back, yours in her hair. your chests rose and fell against one another. she tilted her head slightly, looking down at you.

“come on.”

you got up, pulling her with you as the two of you finally stood up. you slid open the glass door, leaving it open as she trailed in behind you. you walked backwards towards the bed, leaning back against the pillows as your shirt rose slightly. lee stood above you, eyes dark with some unidentifiable want. she leaned down, lips pressed against the juncture of your neck before moving lower. you closed your eyes, hoping this wasn’t just a dream.

I ONLY WANT HER

IF SHE SAYS IT FIRST TO ME…

you woke the next morning, lees arms slung loosely around your waist as your head rested against her shoulder. the alarm went off, lee groaning as you rolled over to turn it off. her hands were cold against your warm skin, hands smoothing out the knots between your shoulder blades as you leaned back against her.

“we should get ready.”

you half heartedly spoke as her chin came to rest on your shoulder. you tilted your head back, getting a good look at her. she smiled softly, a rare sight, one that you could certainly get used to. her hands rested beneath the gray fabric of your old t shirt as you slowly slid out of bed. you felt her eyes on you as you stood, brushing your hair out of your face. you padded towards the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as she still sat at the edge of your bed.

“you coming?”

you spoke, smile on your face as you turned on your heel into the bathroom, the sound of running water catching lee’s attention.

“what?”

COULDN’T FIGHT TO SAVE YOUR LIFE

BUT YOU LOOK SO COOL…

it took longer than expected for the pair of you to get ready, finally going back into town to speak with other possible witnesses to the crime you were investigating.

you looked out the window, passing by countless empty acres of land, a few stray cats wandering through the fields. lee’s fingers toyed with the rings on your hand as she looked over at your for a moment. the roads were nearly empty as you finally neared the address you’d been given by the local police. it was a quiet home, small, but still had its charm. a porch that wrapped around its sun bleached edges, an old dog that barked softly as the car pulled up onto the gravel.

the two of you got out, badged on display as you shut the doors to the old plymouth as you walked toward the front porch. you followed behind lee, the old wooden staircase creaking as you neared the front door. lee stopped dead in her tracks as you nearly ran into her, hand resting on her shoulder.

“what is it?”

you asked as she finally looked behind her shoulder to meet your eyes.

“he’s here.”

everything happened in a flash, almost like time stopped and had been waiting for you to arrive to finally resume again. the front door swung open so hard you would’ve sworn you saw splintered wood fly off into the humid summer air. lee’s arm reached back to grab you, quickly bringing the two of you behind the car as the barrel of a shotgun pointed itself at the pair of you. her chest heaved, as did yours. you looked over at her, the words how? on your lips, but now wasn’t the time to question her newfound clairvoyance.

“now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

a man’s voice spoke, the same steps you’d just been standing on moments ago creaking as you watched his old boots slowly make their way over to the car. you both moved as quietly as you could to the other side of the car, lee pulling out her gun while you stayed pressed against her side. your hand remained on your holster, the eery silence falling over you. you were almost glad he’d made it easy. given himself up so fast. the other part of you was wishing you never made your way here today, out in the middle of nowhere. it would take at least half an hour to get back up, maybe even more knowing the competence of the local police. lee gestured to the side of the house, ready to make a move before the situation could escalate further.

you grabbed a rock from beneath the car, trying to make sure the suspect didn’t see you as you threw it toward the opposite side of the house when he wasn’t looking.

“go, go.”

you whispered, you and lee moving as quiet as possible as you pressed yourselves against the side of the house. you slowly moved behind her, making your way behind the house to try and disarm the suspect as quickly as you could. you could hear his footsteps, the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. you tried to avoid any branches on the ground as you finally neared the corner.

lee raised her gun, aimed at the suspect as you pointed yours to the ground next to her.

“my name is special agent harker with the fbi, please drop your weapon now and get down on the ground.”

the man turned around, gun pointed directly at lee as you began to move in front of her. she reached out, stopping you, as he looked between the two of you.

“i’m not letting the fucking feds take me down for this.”

he shouted, moving closer as the two of you took a step back.

“put the gun down now and no one has to get hurt.”

you spoke, earning a scoff from the man as he shook his head.

“no one has to get hurt? do you think i’m fucking stupid? i know how this works. you guys turn me in and i get the fucking chair.”

you and lee shared a look, sweat forming on your hairline as you cocked your gun.

“listen, all you have to do is drop the gun and we’ll make sure you’re treated fairly at the penitentiary.”

you spoke once more, watching as lee’s grip tightened on her weapon. it was a lie, of course. once he was arrested and processed, the two of you had no part in his sentencing, where he’d be sent. all you had control over was this very moment. but a convincing lie was the difference between making it back to the bureau to tell the story or not.

you watched as he hesitated, eyes twitching and jaw clenching as his knuckles turned white against the metal of the gun. it was almost slow motion as he turned the gun at lee, raising it as his fingers inched toward the trigger. you both sensed what would come next as you grabbed lee, the two of you tumbling to the ground as a shot echoed through the air. birds were sent flying off the fence as he missed, you rolling off of lee as she leaned up on her elbows, disheveled.

you took your opportunity before he thought about redeeming himself, shooting the suspect in the knee as he fell to the ground. you made your way over to his side, kicking the gun away from him as lee finally stood and walked toward you. you pushed your hair out of your face, standing up as you looked over at lee.

“we can lock him in the car until backup comes. i’ll radio it in-”

“we should search the house.”

lee spoke, unnerving tone as he looked at the back door. the black screen made it nearly impossible to see inside, but even you felt the chill that ran up your spine.

GOOD MEN DIE TOO

SO I’D RATHER BE WITH YOU.

after the long processing, giving your statements to the local police and assessing the reports down at the station, the two of you finally made your way into the cheap sheets of the hotel bed.

lee’s head tilted back against the headboard as she exhaled, the low crackle of her cigarette and the quiet sound of the tv filling your senses. her fingers rested on your forearm, tracing delicate patterns while your head rested against her chest. you felt the rise and fall of her breathing, the way she toyed with the strands of your hair. you were still a bit shaken, sure, but it put your mind at ease to be able to have this. have her.

the drapes were opened slightly in your room, just enough so that you could see the sunset. you looked up at her, hand holding the fabric of the white tank top lee had changed into.

“see that?”

you spoke, hands softly holding her jaw to turn toward the door. she hummed, looking out at the sky before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“yeah, i do.”

you smiled softly, leaning back to press a kiss to her jaw, her hand against your ribcage. this was all you’d ever need.

#lee harker x reader #lee harker x fem reader #lee harker #wlw #longlegs 2024 #longlegs #longlegs movie #maika monroe #my special agent gf <333 #she’s so ethel coded

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changbunnies · 10 months ago

Text

Suit Dance (18+)

♡ Pairing: CEO!Changbin x Office Siren!Reader

♡ Genre: office au, smut, porn with some plot, rich & sexy ceo trope but make him Subby™

♡ Word Count: 7.8k

♡ Summary: In which you discover that your ever strong and stoic looking boss wears dainty, pretty lingerie underneath his tailored suits.

♡ Warnings: hyunjin featured briefly as reader's office bestie, mild play fighting and 1 joke about strangling him

♡ Smut Warnings: uneven power dynamics (due to boss x employee relationship), power play, dom/sub dynamics, sub!bin, dom!reader, vaguely plus size reader, semi-public sex, slight exhibitionism, marking (with lipstick), mommy kink, nipple play, anal plug use, referenced masturbation, spit kink, praise kink, finger sucking, fingering (m rec), tiny bit of oral (m rec) and handjob, spit as lube, teensy tiny bit of edging. this is so unrealistic lmao but it's fiction so. just take it for what it is gdfsgdf

♡ Notes: back at it again with a self indulgent bin fic! written purely because i saw these pics on twitter and was immediately struck with the vision of changbin wearing it instead lmao and while i read a lot of fics involving anal play, this is my first foray into writing it myself so sorry if it isn't the best :')

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Throwing your hands up and over your head, you let out a soft noise of relief as you stretch, eager to return home and relax after a stressful week at the office.

Your manager has been on your ass the entire week about making sure your quarterly finance report is without flaw. “Mr. Seo has business ventures lined up that require an accurate reflection of the company’s spending and receiving of funds,” she repeatedly drilled into you– as if that isn’t always the case.

You don’t know what all goes into striking a deal and fostering a successful business partnership, really– you’re just paid to reflect the numbers, so that’s what you do; and you’ve never submitted a flawed report. Still, while you’re used enough to staring at numbers on a screen and inputting them into a balance sheet, scanning them extra carefully all week has really put a strain on your eyes.

You remove your glasses, toss them next to your keyboard and close your eyes as another sigh passes your lips. You slouch in your chair, rolling away from your desk ever so slightly as your legs stretch out. You can’t wait to sink into a bath once you get back to your apartment, maybe have a glass of wine to unwind while watching some trashy reality tv over dinner.

“Uh– Y/N?” a voice calls, and you shoot up in your seat, stiffening your posture– you relax when your brain finishes registering that it’s just Hyunjin. If it was your manager, Mrs. Kim, she surely would’ve ripped you a new one for slouching at work, the strict harpy that she is.

“Hey, sorry! Were you waiting up for me?” you ask as you scoot back over to your desk and grab your glasses to put back on. Hyunjin was one of the few coworkers you got along with beyond the expected professional level, so the two of you often chatted on your way out of the building. He was also Mr. Seo’s personal receptionist, and you envied that he got to stare at such perfection all day.

Mr. Seo is hot– really hot. All professionalism and sex appeal, with his perfectly styled dark hair and expertly tailored suits hugging his thick arms. You don’t cross paths with him as often as you'd like, stuck to your cubicle as you are, but God, the glimpse you got of him this morning was divine.

Dressed in a dark blue suit you were certain was designer, a circular silver pin stuck in the left lapel– the company’s logo, which he always wore proudly. He had on two chains– one a pretty, mixed gold-silver resting on his collarbones, probably worth more than you make in an entire year. His other chain is pure silver and long, hung low on his chest, ending just above the first button of his stupidly beautiful suit.

There’s no button-up or other such dress shirt worn underneath the suit– just purely bare, tanned skin. The small glimpses you got of his bare chest nearly made you drool– and when he rounded the corner to get to his office, and you got a glimpse of his tight slacks hugging his thick thighs and ass, Christ, you don’t know how you managed to keep yourself together.

You loved looking at Mr. Seo, but it was probably best for your sanity, and your work performance, that you didn’t have too much exposure to him. And it was most certainly a good thing that you weren’t his receptionist– you don’t think you’d get through the myriad of phone answering and appointment scheduling successfully if you had such eye candy in front of you for hours a day, 5 days a week.

“No, I’m just supposed to tell you that Mr. Seo wants to see you,” Hyunjin says, and you blink– once, twice, brain struggling to process what you’ve been told. Mr. Seo wants to see you? You think you’re going to combust on the spot from just the thought alone of having a personal meeting with him.

“D-Do you know why?” you question with an embarrassing stutter that you hope Hyunjin will ignore. “Nope, he just asked me to let you know to see him before I leave for the weekend,” he replies and you swallow, nerves suddenly threatening to eat you alive.

And it's not just because you’ll be alone with someone you’ve been thirsting after for months. The most pressing issue is that even putting your attraction to Mr. Seo aside, he is still very much your boss, even if he doesn't often personally oversee your work.

You emailed him your report just moments ago, so surely he hasn’t had the chance to look through the whole thing yet.. Fuck, what if there’s a mistake right at the start? You’d be mortified– and surely it’d be grounds enough to fire you given how vital this report is to his upcoming business plans.

Hyunjin sees the apprehension and can’t help but giggle as he reassures you. “Relax! He seemed like he was in a good mood, I’m sure it’s nothing bad. Trust me, I’ve seen Mr. Seo angry, and he’s definitely not right now. Maybe you’re finally getting that raise you’ve been gunning for.”

You appreciate Hyunjin’s positive input, but you doubt that– if it was a raise, you’d be having a discussion about it with HR and your manager, as you have every time before; someone as high brass as Mr. Seo simply doesn’t have the time to talk to every person receiving a raise individually. A promotion..? Same situation– the decision for you to receive one is his, but you doubted he would see you personally over it.

That’s what your manager is for, after all– Mrs. Kim is essentially his mouthpiece, having discussions about these things with you and overseeing your duties herself so that Mr. Seo can put more of his focus on keeping the business going in the direction he wants. Still, Hyunjin said he doesn’t seem to be upset, so..

Maybe it is something good! Maybe your manager and the head of HR have been called to his office too, and you’ll all discuss an appropriate reward for all the effort you’ve been putting in. Maybe you can squeeze in a deal for more vacation time too, if you’re lucky.

"Or maybe he found out about all your dirty fantasies about him, and now he's calling you to his office to–” Hyunjin starts, and you bolt up from your chair, swiftly shutting him up with a smack to the arm. “Oh my god, stop! Shut up!” you cry as he simply laughs, swatting away the hand you slap him with.

“Should I still wait for you?” he asks when the giggling subsides, and you quickly shake your head as you turn back to your desk to start shoveling your belongings in your bag. “Nah, I don’t wanna keep you waiting if the talk goes on long. I’ll see you on Monday! ..hopefully,” you mutter the last word as you pick up your bag, still not entirely sold that this abrupt meeting is a positive one.

Hyunjin, being a menace to your nerves, shoots you a wink and a “good luck!” after you wish him a good weekend. You think you’ll strangle him when you see him on Monday– if you’re still lucky enough to have a job here, that is. You walk out of your cubicle block, swallowing as you step past your fellow coworkers who are all similarly readying to leave, and up to Mr. Seo’s large office door.

It’s glass, and typically he’d be able to see you apprehensively standing there waiting, but the blinds are currently pulled closed. Should you knock? He’s expecting you, but all of a sudden you aren’t sure how to act– the last thing you want to do is be impolite. Still, maybe it’d be worse to keep him waiting– his time is extremely valuable, after all. So tentatively, you knock on the black frame of the door.

“Come in,” you hear him call out, and with one more breath to steel your nerves, you take the knob into your hands and open the door. And fuck, he’s alone– your manager and the head of HR are nowhere in sight. You’re going to have a solo meeting with Mr. Seo. God, please help me, you cry internally as you take a careful step inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” you do your best to keep your voice steady as you look at him, pensively standing no more than a few inches away from the door. You’ve never been more nervous in your entire life– and when he looks up from the papers on his desk to address you, your heart nearly stops; he’s just too gorgeous.

“Don’t just stay by the door, please, come in,” he reiterates, motioning for you to come further into the room and take a seat at his desk with his hand. Again you swallow, taking small steps away from the glass door, your heels clacking on the sleek wood with each step.

His office is so luxurious– and you’re certain it’s bigger than your entire apartment. Floor to ceiling windows that take up the entire wall behind him and show the impressive expanse of the city, the sky turning a darker shade of blue as the sun disappears behind the other skyscrapers. Impressive bookshelves full top to bottom, with not just books but awards he's won throughout his life, as well as decorative art pieces.

He has well cared for plants in every corner, two sofas for additional seating, and a chandelier that rivals any you’ve ever seen in its extravagance. There’s a large rug underneath his desk and the opposite chairs, and your heels quiet as you step on it, carefully pulling one of the chairs back to sit.

It’s comfortable, the same shade of rich mahogany as his desk, and you practically sink into it. Despite that, you do your best to keep a good posture after setting your bag on the opposite chair; sitting up straight, hands folded in your lap as you cross one leg over the other.

Your skirt squeezes against your thighs in this position, but you’d rather be caught dead than have an informal posture in front of the CEO of your company. He’s looking at his papers again, and heat, as well as apprehension, spreads through your body when he looks up at you once more– but mostly, it’s heat; how and why is he so attractive?

You’re so rarely given the opportunity to be this close to Mr. Seo– and there’s still a large desk between you that gives you a fair amount of distance, but you’re able to drink him in much more than you usually can. His eyes, that normally appear quite piercing and stern, are always much softer up close– all of his features are soft, really.

Round cheeks, soft nose, defined chin that somehow isn’t harsh in appearance despite how sculpted he is. His lips are so pink, look so soft and plush, in the prettiest pouty shape. Cute, handsome, pretty, sexy– he’s all of it in one package. You want him bad.

Mr. Seo has expensive-looking round earrings on that you realize you failed to notice earlier, perfectly matching his necklaces. A ring too, you note as he turns back to his papers to flip a page– gem black as his hair, but with the same silver as the rest of his jewelry encircling it. He’s so stylish– it’s almost enough to make you salivate with desire.

It’s almost astonishing how you can still thirst for him while this concerned over your livelihood– but he’s so undeniably handsome and perfect that you just can’t seem to help it. If this ends up being your last day here, you don’t think it’s the money you’ll miss the most– it’ll most definitely be seeing Mr. Seo in all his impressive glory.

Finally, he holds out the tiny, stapled stack of papers in his hand to you, gesturing for you to take them to look at. “Mrs. Kim went over this with you, correct? You recognize it?” he asks, watching you carefully as you run your eyes over the top page. “This is my review from last quarter..?” you say, an air of uncertainty in your voice. Fuck. You really are getting fired.

“Did I make a mistake since then? Do something wrong?” you question, doing your best not to fall into your anxious habit of chewing on your bottom lip. It’s also taking everything in you not to start unloading a string of apologies over the finance report you emailed him, convinced by this point that you suffered a major performance dip and sent him a report chock full of mistakes.

Even at his angriest, Mr. Seo never grilled or chewed out his employees– but you almost think the look of sincere disappointment he’d give you before firing you would be worse than the anger. “No, don't worry! The opposite, actually,” he reassures you, so sweetly and genuinely that it sends you reeling.

The relief that should come with realizing you aren't being fired or scolded doesn't even hit you, because all your brain latches on to is how beautiful his smile is. Negative or positive, you come to the conclusion that this will be the most difficult meeting of your life– he’s just too stunning; your poor heart can’t take it.

“I realized that a mistake was made in regards to your raise– you actually should’ve been given more. It is not my intent to undercut the value of my employees, and I sincerely apologize for the error,” Mr. Seo stands to bow to you, and the axis of your world tilts further off balance. Mr. Seo, the most successful man you’ve ever known, whose net worth is easily millions upon millions of won, is bowing to you?

“Your work is always done diligently and accurately, and it keeps my business going smoothly– and to make up for the error, I’d also like to offer you a bonus on top of immediately rectifying your salary. A sum that is equal to what you would’ve received these past few months had your raise been accurately relayed and processed sooner.”

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. It’s true that you were upset when your raise was only a few measly cents, but you assumed that was intentional, that you just needed to work harder– and surely, the mistake isn’t Mr. Seo’s fault. If anything, it’s definitely your harpy of a manager Mrs. Kim's doing– she should be the one groveling at your feet. The fact that he’s even apologizing to you for it is insane. In what world does it make sense for him to grovel to and appease you?

You suppose it isn’t just his business smarts that make him such a good CEO, but his ability to take responsibility like this, and his genuine care for the members of his team. But that’s not even what’s at the forefront of your mind anymore– what has really captured your focus is the glimpse of pretty, white lace you see peeking out under his suit, deliciously hugging his pecs.

Surely this isn’t real– you must’ve fallen asleep at your desk, and are having a fever dream from the stress of the week. Surely Mr. Seo isn’t actually wearing lingerie underneath his suit, right? That would be crazy– not even in your wildest fantasies would you ever be met with such a sinfully delectable sight.

He doesn’t smooth out or adjust his suit nearly enough when he rises back up, and the edges of the intricate lace continue to peek out from behind his lapels. Your eyes stay transfixed on it, the urge to drool over Mr. Seo the strongest it’s ever been as every subsequent word he says goes straight through one ear and out the other.

You lick over your drying lips, swallow thickly, unable to focus on anything but the entrancing visage of pure white lace squeezing his muscles. Your body was already running hot just from being in his presence, but now it feels like a furnace, mind racing as you consider how much more lace there is beneath his suit.

How much skin does it cover? How little? And maybe if you were paying more attention to literally any part of him besides the lace on his pecs, you would’ve noticed the shiver that traveled through his body after he stood back up right, or the slight flush to his cheeks.

He thinks you did notice from the way you stare at him, but then he realizes your gaze is focused solely on one specific place– his chest. Even without glancing down at himself, he realizes what caught your attention– it causes his cheeks to flush a deeper pink, an awkward cough leaving him as he finally rights his suit, and obscures the lace beneath it.

Lace out of sight, your trance is broken, and your eyes return to Mr. Seo’s face. You’ve never, absolutely never, seen him so red and timid. “Uh, I–” he starts, but for perhaps the first time in his professional life, he is left at an utter loss for words. “J-Just– pretend you didn’t see that, please,” he quickly mumbles a moment later as he returns to sitting in his chair, hoping you once again fail to notice the way he shivers when he’s sat.

You’re both professionals– surely you can move on from this and go on as if nothing happened without making things around the office awkward. No, you think immediately– you know you’ll never be able to scrub the delectable image of lace over his toned, honeyed skin out of your brain; it’s already rooted itself much too deeply.

Except when you watch his eyes widen before his brows furrow, you realize you accidentally said “no” audibly. “..No?” he questions, and you already know you’ve dug yourself into a hole; but you can’t take it back now that it’s been said, so you may as well commit. “I mean– it was very pretty, Sir. You’re very pretty. I don’t think I can forget about it.”

He blinks, blush slowly crawling its way to his ears as the information soaks in. And though it’s certainly grounds for a swift and stern dismissal in ordinary circumstances, he entertains the compliment, workplace code of conduct be damned. “You think I’m pretty?” he questions, and it almost makes you laugh. Is water wet? Is the sky blue? Is grass green? Yes, he’s pretty!

“With all due respect, I thought that was obvious, Sir,” you answer, surprising even yourself with how forward a statement it is– never in a million years did you think you’d admit how attractive you think Mr. Seo is to his face. “Obvious that I’m pretty, or obvious that you think so?” he tilts his head as he asks, and smiles– one that is as shy as it is devastatingly charming.

To see him smile at you in such a way sends a whirlwind of emotions through you, the most potent of them being desire. There’s an eager glint in his eyes, one that you’re sure you match– maybe even surpass. You’re self aware enough to realize your ogling of him when he walks in a room is noticeable– it wouldn’t surprise you if he’d been aware of it all this time.

And maybe, just maybe, he too has been waiting for an opportunity like this to present itself. Maybe he likes the way you stare at him with pure, unfiltered want. Maybe the tight blouses and skirts you wear make him crazy, always hugging your curves just right. Maybe his skin runs hot when he sees red lipstick stains lingering behind on your coffee mug, imagining that same mark covering every inch of his body.

He shouldn’t feel this way, he knows, he’s your boss for God’s sake– but he’s also only human; and he can’t keep resisting the call of you, the veritable siren in his office. How many more of those dark gazes of lust behind your thick, rectangular glasses is he supposed to be able to take? How many more times is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t notice the way you bite your lip as you look him over?

Truthfully, it was an accident that you saw the lace decorating him beneath his suit– but he can’t find it within himself to complain about it. Unintentional though it certainly was, he finds himself eager to take this opportunity to pursue you. Reason and responsibility lost, he follows his deepest, most base desires– he wants to indulge your hunger for him, wants to let you consume him, body and soul.

“Can’t both be true?” you ask as you toss the report he handed you aside and inch yourself closer to the desk, all sense of timidity within you evaporating now that he’s entertaining your blatant desire for him. “I think you’re well aware you’re pretty. I think you know you make everyone crazy,” you rest your elbows on the desk, leaning forward as you speak, “I think you know everyone wants you.”

You offer Mr. Seo your prettiest grin as you watch him swallow, his eyes traveling down to your blouse, where the top most buttons lie undone and offer him an enticing view of your cleavage. “A-And you– you want me?” he asks, slowly directing his gaze back up to your eyes; a question that is perhaps silly at this point, but that he wants the verbal confirmation of regardless.

“May I be forward, Sir?” you ask, gauging how deep his interest in you really runs, how honest you’re truly allowed to be about your desire. Your smile grows when he utters a rather meek yet eager “yes” in response. “I’ve always wanted you, from the very first moment I saw you,” you tell him candidly, “I want to kiss you, I want to touch you, and I want to see what other pretty things you have underneath your suit.”

“I-I see,” he says shakily, very nearly squirming in his seat from how intently you stare at him, the burning desire you have for him palpable. The tension is strong, and now it’s up to him to release it– with just a word, the dam holding you both back will break, the fervorous flood of lust all consuming; and despite how much he shouldn’t, it’s all he wants.

“Kiss me, please,” his plea comes out in an airy lilt; conceding to his desires, he surrenders all of himself to the irresistible temptation. You rise from your chair, round the desk to approach him, and he watches in breathless anticipation. The few steps it takes to reach him feel so impossibly slow, and his heart feels like it’s thundering in his chest; he can even feel the sweat building on his brow as he waits for you to finally touch him after all this time.

Placing your hand on the top of his chair, you push it, making him swivel to face you. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at you, eyes swimming with need. Your fingertips just barely brush over the bit of bare chest peeking through the v-line of his lapels, but it’s enough to send goosebumps over his heated skin.

You hook your finger into his long, silver chain, tug on it just enough to urge him to lean up to meet you. He shivers as he shifts in his seat, has to suppress the whine that threatens to rise from his throat when your lips just barely touch his, a phantom of a feeling left behind. And make no mistake, you want him bad– but you don’t want to rush; you’ve wanted this for too long to do anything but relish in having him in your grasp.

When you return to him, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth instead of kissing him directly, leaving the prettiest trace of lipstick behind. And even despite the ardency he feels to have you, he makes no move to hurry you along; because when you finally kiss him, full and deep, it makes all the build up worth it– it’s true bliss, countless butterflies dancing in his stomach.

And truly, you intended to keep kissing him slowly– but now that you’ve felt his perfectly soft and full lips against your own, your restraint begins to evaporate. You wanted to take your time, to indulge in the sensation– but when you lick over his lips, and he eagerly allows you entrance into his mouth, you get the impression that he can’t hold himself back from his desires either.

The kisses quickly grow messy, your hands urgently popping open the buttons of his suit. You’re trying to be careful to not rip the buttons off, knowing very well how expensive his clothes must be– but even if you did completely ruin it, he wouldn’t have found it within himself to care. He can buy a new suit, doesn’t give a shit about how much it’d cost– your lips and hands on him are far more important.

Buttons successfully undone, you push the suit off his shoulders, and he quickly pulls his arms out of the sleeves, freeing himself from the fabric. You pull away from the kiss, bring your hand to his face, trace your thumb over your lipstick lingering on his lips and further smear it over his skin. It’s a dark red, pretty mess, starkly contrasting the dainty elegance of white lace hugging his body below.

“You’re beautiful, Mr. Seo,” you breathe, utterly mesmerized by the sight of him. You trace your fingers over the scalloped edges of the lace on his chest, follow it down until it stops just above his stomach. It covers his arms as well, up to the edges of his deltoids. The bulk of muscle beneath looks so tantalizing– it’s positively mouth watering.

“Changbin,” he speaks up, and you look at him curiously, a slight smile playing on your lips. Of course, you know it's his name– it’d be astonishing if you didn’t know your boss’ full name; you’re just pleasantly surprised he wants to drop the formalities. “Call me Changbin, please– o-or Bin, or Binnie! I– I’d like that more.”

“Of course, Binnie,” you smile sweetly as you call his name, and though it’s such a simple indulgence, it makes his cock throb in his slacks. You can see it, hard and straining against the tight fabric– you’re positive it’s uncomfortable, thick as he seems to be. You run your fingers over his belt, tracing the buckle. He watches with labored breaths, trying not to squirm in his seat from the anticipation.

“What’s my name?” you suddenly ask him, and he says it in a question, brows slightly furrowing– do you think he doesn’t remember it? He pouts as he waits for you to speak again, and you giggle ever so slightly before you do. “Mhm, but what do you want it to be?” you ask and oh, fuck– you’re asking what title he wants to call you by, he realizes.

“A-Ahh, uhm–” Changbin hesitates, swallows the lump in his throat, face burning as you look him over expectantly. Fuck, everything about this situation is so unreal– but if he’s already come this far with you, why shouldn’t he allow himself further indulgences? Why not give in to what his deepest desires are?

“M-Mommy, you’re– you’re my mommy,” he finally forces the words out, face and ears positively on fire as he waits for your reaction. Oh, that’s what he likes? Your smile grows, and you sweetly caress his face, enjoying the feeling of heat radiating off his cheeks.

“Binnie needs his mommy to take care of him, doesn’t he?” your question makes him whine, nodding his head in a shameless, eager display. He’s so unbearably hot, his erection strains against his tight pants, his skin tingles as you trail your hand back down to his chest– he wants and wants and wants. Touch him everywhere, kiss him everywhere, talk to him sweetly as you go– he needs it.

Very little lipstick remains on your lips after all the kissing you’ve done, but the last traces of it end up on his neck, trailing downwards as you kiss and lick every inch of skin you come in contact with. You run your hands over his torso, squeezing him from the bulk of his arms to the soft edges of his waist, delighting in the soft, breathy whines and moans you pull from him.

You return to his lips at the same time your fingers find his nipples, and he mewls into your mouth as he squirms, the sensation of your tugs and pinches through the lace almost overwhelming. No, it is overwhelming– but he likes it too much to ask you to do any different. And the more you play with his nipples, the squirmier he gets, his hands harshly gripping the armrest of his chair in an effort to ground himself.

You fall to your knees, and he watches breathlessly as you press kisses over his pecs until you eventually reach one of his perked nipples. He keens when you take it in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it over the lace. He gasps when you suck on it, his nails trying their best to dig into the unyielding leather cushioning his armrest.

“Does my Binnie like having his nipples played with like this?” you ask before you run your tongue over this other one. He whines, writhing in place as you resume pinching and tugging on the one that was just in your mouth, the lace now soaked with your saliva adding even more to the delicious friction.

“L-Like it– like it so much, mama,” he finally answers in a shudder, voice squeaky and high pitched. He gasps when you graze your teeth over his nipple, head falling back and another loud moan drawing out of him when you gently bite it. He’s so sensitive, can’t stop himself from shivering and squirming under your diligent touch.

He moans again when you lean up to kiss him, your hand traveling down and down, until your hand reaches his belt again. “Will you take these off for me?” you ask, tugging ever so slightly on the buckle. You could do it yourself, of course, but you like the idea of watching him undress himself for you– and from the way he eagerly nods, you conclude that he likes the idea too.

You smile at him before you rise back up to your feet and you take a step away from him, resting yourself comfortably against his desk while you wait for him to start. He glances at his door first– he knows it’s unlocked, but the blinds are drawn closed, at least; even if someone heard him, they hadn’t seen anything happening in the room.

He looks at his windows next– tall and expansive, not a single curtain in sight; the view it affords him is normally well worth the lack of privacy curtains would provide, but when he considers how naked he’s about to be in front of them, it makes his heart race faster. But you’re so high up– surely, no one from the street will see anything.

And if someone from the skyscrapers sitting opposite of his building happens to see, well.. He supposes he’ll just have to hope they enjoy the show they’ll be receiving. Changbin rises from his chair, and with trembling hands he fumbles with his belt, doing his best to unbuckle it quickly. Once done, he proceeds with undoing the button of his slacks and pulling down the zipper.

Given how tight his slacks are, they don’t fall down his legs just because the button has been undone and the zipper has been pulled down– he has to make a purposeful effort to remove them. He glances at you, notes how intently you watch him, ready and eager to see all of him– and that desire you harbor for him encourages him to go beyond the shyness that grips him.

Pulling them down over the swell of his ass, the first sight you’re met with is more white lace, perfectly matching the top he still has on. Your heart feels like it’s positively going to burst from the view of his cock– short but impossibly thick, pressed down by dainty lace, leaking pre-cum and turning the otherwise pure white translucent.

Your breathing grows more labored just looking at it, and God, as if you weren’t already on the brink of drooling over him before– you absolutely need his cock in your mouth. But still, there’s more for you to see– so you sit patiently, swallowing as you wait for him to keep undressing himself for you.

He has to bend over to pull his pants down his thighs, and his blush darkens when he notices you quite blatantly leaning to the side to look at his ass from his peripheral. There’s a glimpse of something shiny between his cheeks under the lace, and it makes you gasp with surprised delight. Changbin himself closes his eyes, trying not to let out a flustered whine when he realizes you’ve noticed it.

A plug rests inside him, shiny steel with a pretty pink gem in the center in the shape of a heart. Has he had it inside all day? The thought makes you dizzy– and suddenly all the times he’d shivered after moving makes sense. “Gosh, wearing this to work– you’re so dirty Binnie,” you muse happily, and he whines, wishing for nothing more than to cover his face behind his hands.

Though it’s obvious by this point that you like it, he’s hesitant to meet your gaze after stepping out of his slacks and standing back upright. But you can’t have that– so you grab his face, making him turn to you. “You’re so sexy, it’s unbelievable,” you tell him before you kiss him again, and he easily melts into it, nerves evaporating with your lips back on his.

Changbin can’t help being shy, but your desire for him makes it more bearable to push through– and the more you kiss him, the more floaty he feels. You reach behind, blindly and hastily shove everything off his desk before you turn him around, and guide him to sit on it. Neither of you pay any mind to the loud clatter the objects make hitting the floor, or of how mixed up any unstapled papers he had there will become– you’re much too absorbed in the feeling of one another.

You instruct him to lean back when you pull away from kissing him, and he listens in a heartbeat, tipping himself back on his desk. He props himself on his elbows, watches as you bring your hand to his cock, still contained by lace panties. He gasps when you squeeze it through the fabric, whines when you trail your fingers further down and press on the plug still nestled between his cheeks.

“What were you prepping for, hmm? Tell mommy about it,” you say, and again he squirms as he tries to speak, the blush on his face flaring. “I-I– Binnie was gonna–” he stumbles on his words, voice quivering, and he has to close his eyes to try to focus on getting what he wants to say out effectively.

Waking up this morning feeling naughty, he knew he wanted to fuck himself– got himself ready bright and early, so that by the time he got home tonight he’d be nicely stretched and ready for his favorite dildo. He was going to suction it to the floor, ride it while he fisted his cock with one hand and tug on his nipples with the other, close his eyes and imagine it was someone else sweetly playing with him.

The lingerie was to make him feel pretty– and looking at himself in the mirror before pulling his suit on, he really felt he was; he was giddy with the feeling of being sexy and cute simultaneously. He liked knowing it was there under his suit, liked feeling the lace against his skin, liked how much it contrasted the rest of his physique.

He’s trying to tell you as much, knows even without seeing your face how expectantly you’re waiting to hear it– but he struggles embarrassingly, because he can feel your hand stroking his cock over his panties. All he can do with his eyes closed is focus on the sensation your hand grants him– so he opens his eyes again, forcing himself to keep eye contact with you as he speaks.

“A-Ahh– Binnie was gonna– gonna fuck himself,” he admits, trying not to whine from the way you pleasantly coo and smile at him. “Mommy can fuck you,” you tell him sweetly, and God, he feels like he could cum from the words alone. “Would you like that? Want my fingers to fill you up?” you ask, and he nods so fast it almost makes him dizzy.

“Yes! Please, please, fuck me, need it so bad, please–” he begs, and you coo at him as your fingers slip under his panties, once again finding the plug he has nestled inside. He lifts his legs, holds himself under the knees to make your task easier– and it’s effort on his muscles, but what has he spent so much time building them up for if not this?

“You’re ready for me to take it out?” you ask, watching him carefully– he certainly seems eager enough, but you don’t want there to be any unpleasant surprises. “Ready, ‘m ready, do it please,” Changbin pleads, desperate to feel you inside– he wants it, needs it, more than he feels he can vocalize; but he’d certainly try his best if you asked him to.

You kiss him sweetly, shove his lace panties to the side as much as you can manage too and swallow his whines as you slowly and carefully pull the plug out of his hole. You put it on his desk, but it rolls right off, hitting the floor with a dull thud– not that he cares about it right now; he’ll retrieve it later. All he can think about is how empty he feels now, but how deliciously your fingers will replace the feeling, and make him full again.

He prepped himself well, was diligent in his use of lube– but you still want to get your fingers plenty wet and slick before you try to slide them in. He watches you bring two of your fingers to your mouth, utterly mesmerized by the way they disappear into your mouth, how shiny they are with your saliva when you pull them out.

You spit on them too for good measure when you’re finished coating them, and he licks his lips as he stares at your fingers– again, he wants, wants, wants. You notice it, of course you do– the blatant yearning in his gaze, how he licks his parted lips once more, how he practically drools as he stares.

“Want to help me get them wet, sweet boy? Want them in your mouth?” you smile as you ask, amusedly tilting your head. “Or was it me spitting on them that you liked? Should I spit on you too?” “Both, please, want both,” he answers in a hurry, utterly shameless. “Is that so?” you ask with a grin that sends a shiver down the length of his spine.

“Open your mouth for me Binnie, show me your tongue,” you instruct, and he complies obediently, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue for you. He moans when you spit on it, and again when you press your wet fingers into his mouth. He closes his lips around them, diligently swirls his tongue around your digits before he sucks.

He gags when you press them in further, the tips of your fingers brushing against the back of his throat. His eyes water, saliva pools in his mouth and dribbles down the corners, and it’s so utterly entrancing that you just have to praise him. “So good for me, Binnie’s such a good boy,” you coo, and he keens as he quickly nods his head, as if to say ‘I am! I’m a good boy for you!’

Changbin almost wants to whine when you slip your fingers out of his mouth, but then you slide your slicked fingers over his waiting hole, and all he can do is gasp and whimper. “Mommy’s gonna fuck you now,” you tell him, voice so saccharine it makes his head spin– he still can’t believe this is really happening, but he’s so happy that it is.

He jolts when you easily slide two of your fingers inside, his cock twitching against the lace panties still holding it down. There’s very little resistance thanks to the plug that was in prior and how slick he and your fingers are, but you still take it slow, carefully watching him for discomfort. Ultimately, you sense none– all he feels his pleasure, licking over every inch of his body.

“Look at you, you take it so well,” you praise as you watch your fingers disappear into his hole, and he whines as he watches with you. He whimpers loud and pretty when you curl your fingers into his spot, his head falling back as he bites his lip. He’s trembling all over, he’s seeing stars behind his closed eyes, he can hardly breathe when you start to thrust your fingers expertly in and out.

“Feels good, Binnie?” you ask him, and God, it’s so hard to speak like this, but he does his best for you. “F-Feels so– so good, mama, Binnie feels so good,” he cries, jolting again when you spit on his hole, adding more to the wetness so you can easily add a third finger. His breath catches in his throat when it’s fully inside, his eyes rolling back as he gasps and moans.

Your eyes travel to his cock, twitching and throbbing where it lies neglected, pre-cum still steadily leaking from the tip. You stop moving your fingers for just a moment, sink to your knees and lick at his cock over the lace still containing it. “O-Oh, mommy– oh my God–” he gasps as he lifts his head back up to look at you.

It’s such a dirty sight, and he can hardly handle the way you stare back at him through your glasses. His back bows off the desk when you start moving your fingers again, that moan that follows obscenely pornographic. He feels so hot, body trembling, thighs twitching– he’s already so, so close. “‘m gonna cum,” he whines his warning, his hands desperately grabbing at his desk as he feels his orgasm build deep in his stomach, “Please, can I? L-Let me cum, please mama–”

He whines when you stop, his impending orgasm ebbing away as you rise back to your feet. You grab his face, make him look at you before you resume the motion of your fingers– and when you squeeze his cheeks, he knows what to do. He opens his mouth for you, sticks out his tongue, obedient and eager.

He moans when you spit on it, swallows it like the good boy he is and opens his mouth for more after. “You’re so dirty,” you comment, letting go of his face to slip your hand into his panties, and wrap your hand around his cock. You spit in his mouth once more, now fisting his cock to the same rhythm of your fingers thrusting inside and hitting his spot.

His eyes roll back as he swallows it all, a steady stream of whimpers leaving as his toes curl. “Mommy, I-I’m–” he trembles, release so close he isn’t sure he can hold it back; he'll try if you tell him to, but– “cum, gonna– gonna cum, please, I can’t– mama, please–”

“Let go, sweet boy, cum for me,” you urge him, and he wants to thank you– but it hits him so hard, all he can do is cry. You can continue to stroke him through it, his cum releases in thick spurts, coating your hand and soiling his panties. You don’t stop until he starts to writhe from the oversensitivity, gently releasing his cock and sliding your fingers out of him as he lies breathless against the desk.

His eyes are closed, heart racing as he lies limp, utterly exhausted from the intensity of his orgasm. You look to the floor, find the tissue box that previously rested on his desk and grab a few to clean your hand up with, as well as gently wipe away the cum that seeps out of his panties.

Changbin smiles at you sheepishly when you wipe the sweat from his brow, and kisses you after you help him sit back up. “Are you thirsty?” you ask him, rounding the desk to retrieve your bag from your chair. You pull out a water bottle, and he accepts it graciously, thanking you after he takes a few big sips. You both giggle when he tries to stand, but quickly realizes he’s still wobbly in the legs, so you help him get dressed too.

He can't help but give you another shy smile as you help him smooth over suit, giggling happily when you kiss him afterwards. He knows he’s still fairly debauched– after all, his face is still impossibly flushed, his skin is still running hot, and there’s lipstick marks all over him that can’t easily be wiped off with a few tissues; but he likes it.

He just hopes that no one made the decision to pull some over time– it’d save him a lot of embarrassment leaving the building if you’re the only two left. But speaking of leaving.. “Uhm– Y/N,” he calls you timidly just as you both finish re-tidying his office, and tilt your head as you hum in question, giving him your full attention. “Will you– will you have dinner with me?” he asks, the faded blush returning when you beam a smile at him.

“For business or pleasure?” you tease him, and he huffs as you giggle. “Pleasure,” he replies meekly, hoping you’ll come home with him after; he’ll return the favor then, do everything he possibly can to make you feel as good as you made him feel. “I’d love to, Changbin,” you tell him, giving him one more kiss before you link your hand in his; and he smiles at you before you leave the building together hand in hand, with the night still young and so much more fun still to be had.

network tags: @ksmutsociety

#ksmutsociety #skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #sub!skz #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #pls ignore the fact that i started and finished a new fic instead of working on all the wips i've had for months fdgfdgdf #also in case you missed it my posts may be even more sporadic than usual cause i'm dealing with health issues rn // sorry in advance!

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lqveharrington · 25 days ago

Note

PLEASE I BEG OF YOU! I love your work on Aaron Warner, could you do a fanfic where we’re in Juliette’s position in the first book? where he’s keeping us in sector 45, but we keep noticing his small acts of kindness towards us, even if it’s covered by his mask of authority?

Chocolate Cookies | A.W.

Summary: aka Warner isn’t as bad as he seems.

Pairing: aaron warner x fem!reader

Includes: mainly fluff, reader was in the asylum, thoughts of murder, tension 🫠

a/n: i got back into the flow of writing ✍️

When you were younger, your mother would tell you stories about princesses and how they were saved by their charming princes. Your particular favorite was Rapunzel’s story. Although she never knew she was a princess until the very end, you loved that she yearned for something more than her simple life. And rather than a prince coming to save her, it was a thief who agreed to take her to see the beautiful lanterns on her 18th birthday.

You used to think it was a dream to live like her. But as you sat in a perfectly polished room that belonged to the Chief Commander of Sector 45—still dressed in the rags they gave you at the asylum, you weren’t sure if the story your mother told you was completely accurate.

“I have a change of clothes for you in the closet.” Warner said as he adjusted the cuff links he adorned, looking over at you when you said nothing in return. He nodded his head to the right, “You may shower if you wish. The bathroom is to the right, connected to the said closet.”

“Why?” You ask softly, earning a raised brow from the blonde, making you instant retract your words. “Not the shower or anything, but why did you take me from the cell?”

“Would you rather live there for the rest of your life?” He smoothed the lapels of his jackets down and picked a piece of lint off, huffing at the smallest bit of dirt.

You instantly shake your head, fingers fiddling with the ends of the soft comforter in anticipation. “No, but—“

“I’ll be back later to check in on you. You may leave the room, but only with one of my men with you.” Warner cut you off before exiting the room, the door locking behind him.

You pursed your lips at the notion and looked around the room, pushing yourself off the bed and letting your eyes wander the huge space of his bedroom. It was definitely better here than the asylum.

The creme walls were decorated with a touch of modern art, the shelves held multiple ceramic vases, and you swore the bedroom was the size of a small house in America. There was even a window that covered the entire part of one wall whole wall.

Sighing to yourself, you made your way to the bathroom and did as asked, finally feeling like all the grime and sweat from all those days being locked away was washed off.

You stood under the shower for as long as you could, thinking about why Aaron Warner chose you out of everyone else in that asylum. Maybe he wanted to redeem himself for being such a tyrant over the years his father let him rule or maybe you were the first one he saw when he entered the place. Whatever the reason was, you weren’t complaining at all.

As you stepped out from the shower and steam filled the bathroom, you wrapped yourself in a warm bathrobe and stared at your reflection, eyes zeroing in on the shelf of lotions, moisturizers, and candles behind you. If you were stuck in one of the buildings that a rich man owned, you would definitely make the most of it.

Warner sat in his office chair, going over details from a previous meeting with his father and some of the other commanders. He knew it was his job, but he was tired and extremely bored of this repetitive schedule. All day, he would sit and listen and write until he finally had enough of his father’s horrid voice. And today seemed to be even worse than usual.

He huffed and leaned back in the leather chair, finger pressing the button on his intercom. He waited for a second as he contemplated his next words, leaving the guards outside his office on the edges of their seat before speaking, his voice clear and steady.

“Where is she?”

Warner heard shuffling from the other side of the device before someone spoke, the voice crackling from the static. “In the kitchens, sir.”

He creased his brows and ran his fingers through his hair. Warner was sure she could get any kind of food she wanted, so why was she in the kitchen herself?

“Was she hungry?”

Another click was heard over the intercom, making Warner curious. He listened closely to the noises in the background, the sounds of metal scraping against metal and an oven beeping caught his attention.

“She’s making cookies, sir.”

Jesus. “Alright, I’m coming down.”

Warner stood from his office chair and spun his jade ring around his pinky before exiting the room, two men flanking his sides. He walked through the pristine halls with confidence, eyes never wavering the path to the kitchen as he thought of why you wanted to make cookies when there was a whole team of cooks ready to prepare anything in a blink of an eye.

Albeit, he didn’t exactly tell you that you had the entire staff to your beck and call, but he thought it was quite obvious considering he brought you to base that offered nearly everything in the world.

When he got to the kitchen, he pushed the swinging doors open and caught you pulling the hot tray of cookies out of the industrial oven, your own body guards standing by the entrance with no particular care for your baking efforts.

He eyed you up and down, noticing that you were—in fact—wearing one of his own sweaters instead of the clothes he specifically pulled out for you. Warner wasn’t going to reprimand you for wearing something of his because you didn’t know, but he was gladly going to watch you burn bright red at the mention of it.

Though he would bring that up after he found out why you were baking cookies.

“What are you doing?” Warner’s voice cut through the kitchen and your thoughts, making you jump in surprise.

You clear your throat and carefully place the tray of cookies down on a mat, removing your mittens as you avoid eye contact with him. “I’m baking cookies.”

Warner's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he surveyed the room, multiple bowls sticky with God knows what and the sink full of various utensils. He did a quick walk around the kitchen, avoiding a mysterious, sticky stain that coated an entire corner.

“I see that.” He murmured and stood in front of you, watching as you fan the baked goods with another metal tray. For a second he contemplated if you were thinking straight before speaking once more, keeping that thought to himself. “And why are you baking cookies?”

“For fun.” You say as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, lightly touching one of the cookies to see if it was cool enough to separate from the pan and serve.

Finding them the perfect temperature, you smile softly to yourself and transfer the cookies onto a floral plate you found tucked away in a cabinet. You hum to yourself for a second before remembering where you were, voice slowly fading before speaking again, glancing at Warner from the corner of your eyes.

“You can't blame me for getting bored after you left me in a bedroom. Besides, you're rich, I think I can make cookies without it harming anyone.” You try justifying your actions, grabbing a napkin and wrapping a chocolate chip cookie in it. Despite his stone-cold, unwelcoming nature, you handed him the baked good, offering a small smile.

“Try it, I promise it’s good.”

Warner tentatively grabbed the cookie from you, keeping his green eyes locked on yours as he pulled open a drawer full of kitchen utensils. “Have you tried it yet?”

You open your mouth and close it, watching him grab a fork and knife, blinking in confusion at what he wanted to achieve with the set. If he was planning to kill you, it would certainly be slow and painful. “Not the… I haven't tried the finished product but the batter— I’m sorry, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying your cookie.” He raised a brow and poked the fork into the cut piece of cookie, a smirk tugging on his lips as your jaw drop ever so slightly.

“Well, I get that, but why are you eating it with a fork?” You frown and stare at him incredulously, a disagreeable feeling settling in your stomach.

Warner put his utensils down gently and stared back at you, voice steady—trained never to waver. “Do you have an issue with the way I eat?”

“No, but baked goods are typically a finger food, Chief Commander Warner.” You clarify with a hint of sass and pick a cookie up for yourself, showing him how a normal person would normally eat a cookie.

“So you do have an issue?” He reinstated and pushed your hand away from his face before looking you up and down, amusement dripping from his voice. He had found the perfect time to bring up your outfit. “Well, my issue is that you’re wearing my clothes and not the clothes I put out for you.”

You furrow your brows together before your eyes widen, looking down and mentally palming your forehead when you saw his initials sewn into the sleeve. You tug at the said sleeve and look up at him in full confidence instead, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

“It looked more comfortable than the dress you put out. Is that such a crime?”

He hummed and leaned back on the counter, careful to not dirty his black suit in any way. Warner crossed his arms and tilted his head, “If you get that sweater dirty, you’re going to personally wash it.”

“I would never get your things dirty.” You say almost offended before looking around the kitchen once he gave you a pointed look. You blink and wave a dismissive hand, “This doesn’t count, it’s a damn kitchen.”

“Whatever you say.” He refrained from rolling his eyes and cleared his throat, adjusting his cuff links for the second time today. “I’ll send people to clean the kitchen while you explore the rest of the base—assuming that's what you'll do after this mess is cleaned up.”

You purse your lips and nod, silently baffled that he knew what your plans for the rest of the day were. You turned away and took the plate of cookies with you, looking back at Warner, seemingly hesitating to speak before finding the confidence.

“I still want to bake.” You point out and nod to yourself, meeting his green eyes with an unplaced emotion. He raised his brow again, urging you to continue your thoughts. “It’s been forever since I’ve been able to do what I want, and your cookie scented candle in the bathroom did not help my impulsiveness.”

With that, you left the kitchen with your own men following behind you, the men sparing no glance toward the mess in the kitchen or their boss' indifferent expression. Warner watched you closely, taking a small bite from the cookie. His eyebrows shot up at how the cookies actually tasted good. Shaking his head with the smallest hint of amusement, he finished the baked good before leaving himself, leaving to go back to his office.

He would never admit it out loud, but you were definitely the spark he needed in his life.

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gosmigenergy · 10 months ago

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KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Two

EDGE PLAY / LOVE BITES / TERATOPHILIA (@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction)

Starring: Benny Miller x F!Reader

Summary: There was only one problem you’d discovered about dating Benny Miller and that was that he loved to give you hickeys.

Rating: Fluff

Warnings: Marking, pet names, no use of Y/N, language, mentions of food/eating.

Word Count: 1.2k

There was only one problem you’d discovered about dating Benny Miller and that was that he loved to give you hickeys.

The act was cute at first, it was like being back in high school, a form of childish affection that proved that someone liked you enough to leave a mark for everyone to see. He would always give you one on the crook of your neck, occasionally on the side and in the summer months, he would place a hickey on your shoulder.

During the colder season, you’d happily allow him to decorate your inner thighs, your hips, your stomach. He’d suckle on your skin with accurate precision and you’d gladly wear them, safe in the knowledge that no one would know.

“Benny, did you have to make it so obvious?”

You angled your head so you could get a better view of the mark developing on your neck, front and centre. Eyebrows furrowing, you questioned whether you’d be able to cover it with your concealer.

“I just want everyone to know you’re mine.”

You grumble as he envelopes you, squeezing at his elbows to bring you closer before planting a soft kiss to your temple. Looking at him in the mirror, you watch as his eyelids grow heavy, the tip of his nose pushing into your hair as he breaths you in.

“I hate you.”

Craning his neck back, he peeks at your reflection.

“No, you don’t,” he swiftly kisses your cheek, unraveling himself from you. “I gotta go.”

Where he was going was obvious, the gym branded logo on his loose vest gave it away. He readjusted his cap as he walked, snatching up the last few things he needed from the bedroom with one last look at you.

“See you tonight,” he called from the hallway as he left.

“Have a good session!”

There was a slam that rattled the living room of your apartment, something light definitely falling over but you focused back on the love bite. Dabbing a bit of concealer, you gently rub it into your skin.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

You spent the day tactfully covering up your mark. At the office, you continuously rested your chin on your palm, your arm strategically placed in front of your neck. The only person to notice was the barista who made your lunchtime latte whose eyebrows quirked when he looked at you for far too long. You snatched your drink from his hand and hightailed it back to work, hiding in your walled cubicle to plot your revenge.

Benny came to find you when he heard the door.

“Hey, baby, how was your day?”

He takes your face in his hands and starts to smother you in kisses.

“Fine,” you say with a sigh, “other than the fact I had to cover the massive hickey on my neck.”

He froze, “You’re mad?”

“A little.”

“Didn’t you tr—“

“Uh-huh.”

“And it didn’t —“

“Nope.”

“Did your boss —“

“No, thank good.”

“I’m sorry,” he ran his thumbs back and forth. “How can I make it up to you?”

You grab his wrists, “Tell me you’ve made dinner.”

He made you his signature loaded fries even though it pained him. Benny had been surviving on meat and veg for what felt like weeks, mostly in preparation for his first fight of the month. You admired his dedication but felt his eyes on you as you delved your fork into every ingredient, moving to the opposite sofa to ensure he resisted.

“I thought you would have saved loaded fries for the weekend.”

“I could have but I’m planning on going to all you can eat.”

“Where’s my invite?”

You pout jokingly.

“You’re quite welcome to join us,” he says, throwing an arm out so you can tuck snuggly into his chest. “We’d love to have you.”

Him and the boys always followed the same post-fight ritual.

Benny chooses the restaurant, Will comes and picks him up, Santiago and Frankie meet them there. The majority of the time, they just have a couple of drinks, eat a load of good food before he returns home. There was once where Will carried Benny through the door because he somehow had too many but you never probed any further.

You didn’t need to.

“I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

He chuckles, the vibration running through his chest underneath your palm.

“I’d move them out the way before you had the chance.”

You smile sweetly up at him, see his free hand move out of the corner of your eye. He brings his index finger and thumb to your chin, craning your neck further so he can inspect the blooming love bite.

When his eyes narrow, a shiver travels quickly down your spine.

“What?”

Your single word query is breathy.

He tilts your head from side to side, honing in on the open canvas.

“Maybe I should give you another one… or two.”

Though you were cursing him for the idea, your pussy was saying something else, clenching helplessly around nothing. You whine as you think about where you put that high neckline top in your wardrobe.

He cocks his head to one side, “Would you like that?”

“Not really,” you answer in a nervous giggle.

His smile curls further, he loved how on edge he could get you when he was playing with you. Your whole body was becoming rigid, your throat bobbing as you swallowed and you looked up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

He had to keep his composure, he couldn’t let you break him.

His tongue flicked over his lips, glossing their pink hue and your heart starts to race. As he begins to lean down, you place a hand to his chest in an attempt to push yourself back. He firmly locks his hand around your jaw, slowly coming closer to the right side and you put as much effort as you can to get away.

“No, Benny!”

You manage to get your legs out from underneath you but when you place your feet on the floor, he uses his weight to bring your back to the couch. You release a sweet grunt as he gently pins your legs down with one of his, squeezing your face slightly tighter.

“Stay still,” he growls.

Immediately, you swat his chest repeatedly as a last stitched attempt to get him away from you, it doesn’t even hurt. What hurt was when you stuck your palm right in his face, your fingernails grazing his nostrils as he battled against you.

His other hand flies to your wrists and holds them steady, moving them a fraction so he can get to you.

You mewl as his hot breath trickles down the slope of your neck, his slicked back hair falling onto your delicate cheek.

His next move is swift, the sudden sensation of his lips against your skin, teeth scraping the surface. He soothes with his tongue before he buries himself into the crook of your neck and suckles.

You melt, sinking deeper into the couch with a honeyed sigh.

There was a twitch in his lips where he wanted to smile. Under his grip, he feels your wrist loosen and as he lets go of the other. Your head falls to meet his, your jawline lining his crown, your breath teasing his hair as he goes in for more.

Sure, Benny giving love bites was a problem but it was a good fucking problem to have.

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #benny miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x f!reader #fanfic #short but sweet

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deuteragonists-mismatched-socks · 9 months ago

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Living Mirage - Gregory House x Amputee!Reader

Warnings: Amputee reader, possible medical inaccuracy, angst, arguing, House being House, I'm not an amputee so unfortunately I can't accurately convey the experience, symptoms of heart attack described briefly

Word count: 1.5 k

"Why do you choose not to feel anything?" The question is abrupt, out of place, as you open the door to his darkened office. You should be at home right now. Instead of driving, you've spent the last half hour chewing on a hangnail in the break room and thinking. That was always dangerous.

House looks at you quizzically, feet balanced on the desk and magic 8 ball in his hands.

You expect some sort of pithy remark that deflects the question and brings it all back down on your head. You don't care. You didn't ask the question just to be cute.

Instead, he just shakes the ball, eyes locked on the result as he answers. "I'm in pain," he says, which is obvious. "Given the option, most people would choose not to feel that."

You shake your head. You're a rheumatologist, you're no stranger to people in pain. "You're not most people," you argue, starting with a point you knew he couldn't disagree with. "And that's not what I meant."

He gives you a look that says, 'get on with it or get out.'

You take a deep breath. "I meant you run away," you say, and for some stupid reason the words sound small. You can already see him sneering and calling you pathetic.

You had some big speech and some well thought out argument all fleshed out in your head. But just like every discussion you've had with a boyfriend, every fight you've had with your mom, it flies out of your head the moment you open your mouth.

"Every time you get close to feeling something that isn't euphoria or misery, you shut down. You pop another pill. You get high."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Did Wilson recruit you?"

"Believe it or not, there are people beyond Wilson who are capable of caring about you," you say before you can think it through. You fidget with your fake hand—it's starting to feel heavy, and if you had thought of it, you would have taken it off before you came in here.

He levels you with another look. "Well, quit it," he demands; there isn't much fire to be had in the statement. "I already have Cameron's pity, and that's plenty."

"This isn't pity," you correct him. "It's concern. House, like it or not, we've worked together a while. People tend to… Develop attachments in that sort of situation. I've come to see you as a friend. Friends worry about each other."

"I don't worry about you," he shoots back, raised eyebrows challenging your perceptions—trying to hurt your feelings, trying to push you away.

"You're doing it again," you say, your voice becoming less confrontational.

He rolls his head to the side dramatically, rising from his chair. He doesn't reach for his cane. He just stands there. "What? What am I doing?"

He's irritated.

"You're trying to piss me off so I leave and you can wallow," you explain calmly, and you can tell by the flicker in his blue eyes that he knows you're right. "So you can feel guilty instead of reflecting."

"And you're, what? Altruistically trying to help someone who so desperately needs it but won't ask because they're embarrassed? What's in it for you? Am I gonna run into your arms for comfort and understanding?" He spits.

You fold your eyebrows at him. You want to tell him that yes, you will be there for him. You will help him. You will stand by him. But you know he'll twist it. "I'm not Cameron," you remind him.

At that, he does head for you. But he must not plan on leaving—his cane is still left balanced on the edge of his desk. He stops an foot away from you, right leg just barely trembling. If you weren't looking, you wouldn't notice.

"I don't pop pills because it's fun," he grates out, and you notice the way his hand discreetly kneads his thigh. "If I didn't, my patients would die. You know that. You saw it."

"You refuse to let yourself be anything but miserable," you insist, stepping closer. "And this self-pity is fake and a poor excuse. You and I both know it's because you're afraid," you say, emboldened and a little angry.

"Sure, you are genuinely addicted. That week was hell for you and everyone around you," you admit. "You almost killed your patient because you couldn't stop sweating and being an irritable piece of crap."

Maybe you were more angry than you thought.

"But you refuse to wean yourself off with the proper assistance because then what? Your withdrawal symptoms are lessened, and one day you might actually do it," you say surely. "You might actually, physically, be able to live without those stupid little tablets that control your whole life.

"But mentally?" You ask, taking another step towards him. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You'd be forced to be happy, God forbid. You'd be forced to confront the miserable emptiness of your life and realize it's a sham. Because we care about you. Me, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, we care about you. Probably as much as you care about us," you remind him. "Don't think we all just forgot how you were ready to burn this hospital to the ground if it meant saving Foreman's life. Don't think we all just forgot that you just about let your heart get crushed just so you could have Cameron back at work. Don't think that I forgot that you spent weeks reading literature on phantom pains after I complained," you say more softly, flexing your elbow where your prosthetic attached. You massage it for a moment—it seems to be aching in sympathy with his leg.

"And for some reason that I can't wrap my head around, you don't want to know that all those gaping voids in your life aren't there at all," you huff. "Because then you're just boring. You're just experiencing life like a person who has friends that care what happens to him. You're miserable and in pain because you're numb," you conclude. "Not the other way around."

He's had his eyes on the floor while you talk at him. The anger in you has faded, but your heartbeat stays quick. You breathe quietly, waiting for him to say anything.

"Being happy makes me a bad doctor," he says conclusively when he finally looks up at you. His hands are clenched, but he doesn't sound angry. "And love," he says derisively. "Ain't gonna fix my leg."

You sigh in defeat. He shuffles away from you, back to his chair, back to his ball, back to his wallowing. You can't… damn it, you can't make him believe you just because you want him to so badly.

The thought makes a tear fall from your eye. You try to swipe it away before he notices.

"And that," he points at your face. "Is why feelings make you a bad doctor," he says, and you know he's trying to hurt you. He's trying to push you away, again. You wonder if it'll work this time. "What if you have a patient next week that you can't crack? Are you gonna bring him to me and save his life? Or are you gonna stubbornly refuse because you're trying to teach me a lesson, because you just care so much," he pouts at you. "And let him die?"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. Suddenly, you can't remember why you tried. Why you stayed. Why you aren't at home in bed right now with a bowl of mac n cheese.

"You are… The worst," you say, your voice reedy and thin. You can feel your chin trembling and figure there's no point in stopping it.

"I'm the worst? Or I'm misunderstood and in a deep cycle of self-destruction that I need help for?" He questions sarcastically. "Can't have it both ways, sweetheart."

"You won't help yourself or let anyone else do it," you make your logical, rational argument for your conclusion. "It's both."

"That's sweet," he says drily. "Thanks for taking the time to let me know all that."

You don't want to turn around and head for the door. But you have nothing left to say, and he's wanted you gone since you showed up.

The thought makes a dull pain overcome you, like the emotional hurt has become physical. "If I have a patient I can't help, you'll be the first to know," you promise, finally moving to leave. "I won't bother you again."

You hope he'll feel a little guilty at that, but you hardly expect him to do anything about it. He'd die before admitting he did something wrong.

You have one foot past the glass wall when it happens.

It's as if your legs are taken out from under you, your lungs are wrung out, the lights above go from dim to strobing.

House calls your last name. When you don't respond, you think you might hear his cane and your first name.

Well, then, it must be bad.

You want to say something, but your mouth clamps shut and your arm grasps at your chest instead. It isn't long before House's blue eyes fade into nothingness.

#house md #gregory house #gregory house x reader #doctor!reader #amputee!reader #amputee woman #arm amputee #greg house #greg house x reader #house x reader #house md x reader

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makeyoumine69 · 11 months ago

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Flesh n' Bones | Hospital AU (INTRO)

PAIRING: Doctor!Patrick Bateman x gn!Nurse!Reader

SUMMARY: My name is Patrick Bateman. I'm 27 years old. I live in the American Gardens building on West 81st Street in New York City. I work as a surgeon at St. Pierce's Hospital—one of the most upscale medical centers in Manhattan—which happens to be owned by my father. And even though I hate my job, sometimes I can find a little bit of fun in making the experience of my patients in the hospital really unforgettable. Not to mention the dozens of missing nurses who definitely regretted crossing the threshold of St. Pierce's Hospital, but who cares—I was the best thing that ever happened to them.

CONTAINS: Swearing, medical procedures, evil plans, gaslighting, pain, blood and injury, interns & internships, power dynamics, flirting, perversion, pet names, Patrick Bateman's POV.

WORDS: 2.4k

A/N: Hello my dears! This story is based on Hospital AU by @peepoo79! Since the first day I saw her Hospital AU comic I was obsessed with this idea so I decided to write it! Since I am not a doctor myself, some things might not be that accurate to medical standards, but I am always open to critique. As always, I hope you enjoy it! Also, many thanks to @mothhmannn for the amazing Patrick art!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

October 28, 1987.

Today started so shitty that I didn't even want to go to work, but how could I? I was a fucking surgeon who was supposed to save lives, and when I finally arrived at St. Pierce's Hospital, several nurses crowded around me and started bitching about some shitty stuff I didn't even care about.

"Dr. Bateman, your intern has arrived and is waiting for you in your office," one of the nurses said, handing me a folder of papers. "They seem to be very shy, so please treat them right."

Scowling, I took the papers and nodded. "Uh…Thank you."

Without further ado, I walked past another nurse and down the long corridors, avoiding all of my coworkers as I tried to concentrate on the music blaring from my Walkman headphones. Stopping at the door to my office, I made sure my hair was neatly slicked back before opening the door and stepping inside to see a beautiful person sitting in the chair. The blue medical uniform fit them so well that I even wanted to compliment them, but I stopped myself and just offered them a handshake instead.

"Well, hello there, my name is Dr. Bateman," I smiled and continued to examine my new plaything. "It's...uh...nice to see some young blood in our hospital these days."

You were embarrassed so quickly, probably from such a warm welcome, which was more of an exception for me than a regular thing.

"Thank you, Dr. Bateman...it's an honor to be your intern," you replied politely, trying to hide your nervousness as your hands visibly shook. "This hospital is so...amazing! Literally everything I have seen so far is amazing...including this office!"

The office did look luxurious. Everything screamed wealth and prestige, including the wooden desk and a high-end clock on it, the way you looked at the white leather couch in the corner of the room probably sent shivers down your spine, and somehow I really hoped it did.

"So...when can we start?" You asked as you watched me flip through your portfolio, my face stoic, blank, and absolutely unreadable.

As I stopped flipping through the documents and frowned to add some tension between us, I looked at you stealthily out of the corners of my eyes, and when I saw you chewing on your lower lip, I smiled in wicked satisfaction, but that smile never reached my eyes.

"It's very inspiring that you're so eager to get started," I said, placing several pages on the desk, then picking up my Montblanc pen to make some notes. "I see you've been studying pretty well...considering your grades."

Another shy chuckle fell from your lips at my words. "Oh, I did my best," you replied, settling more comfortably in your chair. "Although I didn't really want to reflect on my college years."

"Why?" I asked, writing down all the personal information I could get from your file, including your address, phone number, blood type...

"It was..." your voice wavered and you paused, causing me to look up at you again. "...hard as hell."

"As it should be. Our jobs require hard work as we carry a huge responsibility on our shoulders," I grinned, closing the folder before I could see the name of the college. "So where did you study exactly?"

Just as you were about to answer, a loud knock on the door rang through the office and I couldn't help but grumble in anger.

Can I have a break, for fuck's sake!

"Come in," I almost barked, my attention shifting away from you as I saw a nurse - one of the hottest hardbodies in our hospital - walk in. "Courtney? What happened?"

"Dr. Bateman..." She walked over to my desk, completely ignoring your presence.

"Yes, Courtney?" My patience was about to explode if she didn't answer right away.

"I know you told us not to bother you with non-emergent cases, but other surgeons are busy," she stammered as our gazes met, her blue eyes seeming to brighten even more. "We have a girl whose hand is so full of broken glass, can you please examine her?"

I sighed before glancing quickly at you, a little impressed that you still hadn't said a word. "Does she have insurance? How old is she?"

"Uh," Courtney hiccuped, looking at the patient's medical card. "I checked her insurance, it's valid and... she's nineteen."

"Nineteen?" I replied, suddenly feeling excited. "Well, I think this can be a good start for your internship. What do you think?"

Courtney seemed to finally notice that we were not alone, her plump lips pursed back into a thin line, and I really wanted to laugh at her reaction, but I told myself to stay professional.

"I'm ready when you are, Dr. Bateman," your suddenly confident voice sounded so challenging that it struck a chord in my chest and brought back a long forgotten feeling of thrill. "I'm sure we'd make a great team under your guidance."

How sweet.

I managed to hold back puke at such a silly, saccharine statement. It reminded me of the cliché every doctor used whenever someone asked them why they chose to work in a hospital.

'Oh, we want to save people's lives! And we're not doing it because doctors have almost the highest salaries in the country!'

I grinned insistently, reveling in my own sense of superiority. "All right then," I stood up and put on my doctor's coat over my custom-made scrubs with my initials on them. "Courtney, give the medical card to the intern."

The woman froze in shock. "But...but I thought I would assist you..."

I rolled my eyes as I checked myself in the mirror, adjusting the collar of my scrubs and pulling up the sleeves a bit to reveal my Rolex. "I think I made it very clear that your help won't be needed this time.”

If we were alone, I would probably just boff her before doing my work and that would help me get rid of her until the next time, but hell no, now I had a pain in the ass. And why should I have to teach an intern when I didn't even ask for one?

Meanwhile, you were waiting for me at the door, holding a medical card to your chest as if Courtney or I were about to snatch it from your hands. After I was completely satisfied with my appearance, I pinned my ID badge to my chest and walked to the door, trying not to stare too much at Courtney's ass while she was doing something at my desk that I never really bothered to know.

"You know what," I stopped suddenly before leaving. "Wait for me here," the blonde nurse turned to look at me, still bent over the table. "We'll discuss your new assignment."

A few minutes later, we finally entered the Surgery Division, and since you were a newbie here, I had to guide you all the way, telling you some things from time to time, and at some point I realized that I didn't really hate it, because I could blather on about being a super professional surgeon, and this whole place being mine.

Just like the whole hospital.

"I think this is our ward," I muttered and opened the door to let you in. " C'mon, don't be shy." I pushed you forward a bit before closing the door behind you.

The patient—a young red-haired girl with big green eyes whose tight top stuck to her chest so that her nipples poked out—looked at us the moment we entered the ward.

"Oh, finally," she mumbled in sheer annoyance, her right hand covered in blood-stained bandages. "I was beginning to think everyone had forgotten about me."

Still nervous, you cleared your throat and quickly looked down at the medical card. "Sorry for the long wait, Miss...Miss Ray," you managed to smile, even though you looked like a patient who was afraid to get treatment, but not her, "My name is (y/n) and this is Dr. Bateman, he's one of the best surgeons in this hospital."

One of the best?

Your slightly incorrect comment made me furrow my brow, but in the next second I was smiling seductively at the girl whose scrutinizing look I couldn't miss. She was pretty attractive, hell, just the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra made her attractive.

With practiced ease, I put on medical gloves after washing my hands very meticulously. Then I glanced at the patient's medical card, not taking it in my hands, but letting you hold it for me.

"Can I take a look?" I finally asked, taking a seat next to the examination table and putting the mask on. Carefully I began to unfold the bandages, the little whimpering the girl made gave me undeniable pleasure. "Well, that doesn't look too bad," I said when I could finally see the wound, and several pieces of glass had sunk quite deep into her flesh. "How did you manage that?"

The girl blushed as I began to examine her forearm, moving higher up to her shoulder, though it wasn't really necessary. I just loved how soft her skin was, as much as I could tell by feeling it through the elastic material of my gloves.

"I...I accidentally broke the mirror." She replied, her breathing uneven and her pulse quickening as I took a moment to check her. "My name is Liza, by the way."

I chuckled charmingly before turning to look at you, as you stood behind my back, watching my work very intently. "Can you bring me forceps? And...a scalpel?"

"Scalpel?" You replied a little confused.

"Yes," I confirmed and repositioned Liza's arm for better access. "And I'll also need a suture kit."

The girl tensed at my words that I would need a scalpel. "Is it...necessary?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, asking her a silent question while you busied yourself with preparing the instruments.

"A scalpel...are you going to make an incision?" Liza asked, giving me a pleading glare, her fear was palpable in the air and I couldn't help but savor it.

"I just want all the instruments to be close by in case I have a need for them, that's all. Now please relax." I murmured this with fake sympathy before resuming the examination, pressing down on one of the shards and making Liza whimper. "Shh, it's okay."

The redhead frowned in pain. "It hurts...doctor...it hurts so much!"

When I heard you return, I removed my fingers from the wound. "All right, no nerve damage and that's good." I smiled, obviously lying, my hand was already extended, ready to take the forceps.

"Your forceps, doctor," the way you said 'doctor' made my eyes glow with a mischievous spark. "Clean and sterilized, just like the scalpel and suture kit."

"Very well," I replied, feeling a chill in the metal in my hand. "Put them here," I tapped the spot on the examination table, wondering how you would do that. "And where's your mask?"

Confused, you stuttered. "Oh...yeah...sorry," you mumbled in embarrassment before putting on a mask. "I'm still a little nervous."

Liza knitted her eyebrows in a skeptical way that almost made me burst out laughing.

Okay, now I'm really starting to like this.

"Don't worry, my pill fairy," I watched you place a metal tray with instruments on the spot I showed you. "It's your first day in the hospital...it's...always a little nerve wracking."

As soon as I said it, you stopped in your tracks, and even though your face was covered by the mask, I was pretty sure you were so damn embarrassed that I was going to burn my finger off your cheek. You didn't make any comments though, which made me a little frustrated, but I didn't show it, I took the forceps more comfortably in my hand and began to remove the broken glass from Liza's shaky arm. The way I used the instruments was always mesmerizing - a work of art - as some nurses said, including Courtney, but today I was trying my best because I wanted to impress you. Shard by shard, I took them all out without causing any pain, something I usually couldn't find anything to be proud of.

"Done," I muttered, throwing the last piece of glass into the steel bow. "You took it so bravely."

The redhead smiled tiredly, trying not to look down at her hand. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You're welcome, sweetheart," I allowed you to clean the wound with the antiseptic and dab it with a swab. "It's my job, after all. Now, (y/n), can you please show me how you were taught to make stitches?"

"Of course, Dr. Bateman," you replied without hesitation, and this kind of obedience seemed to become my personal drug.

Standing up, I took a moment to admire how your uniform accentuated all of your curves, especially the roundness of your ass and the arch of your hips.

Shit, maybe I shouldn't have let Courtney stay in my office?

With these thoughts I leaned against the white wall and took off my mask as I suddenly felt a strong urge to smoke, luckily I still had the box of cigars my father had brought me from Cuba. I imagined inhaling the sharp scent of snuff when Liza's sudden whimper pulled me out of my trance.

"Can I have an anesthetic?" She asked, squirming in her place as she watched you prepare a suture kit.

"Just a local one," I muttered, a bit annoyed. "That will be enough. (Y/n), what should you do before using anesthesia?"

My question made you freeze. "Ask the patient about any allergies?"

"Right, but in this case you can find all the information on the medical card," I took off the gloves and took the card in my hands. "Well, I don't see anything that would prevent us from using bupivacaine."

As Liza sighed with relief and I watched you take a syringe, I had to admit that I was amazed at how carefully and attentively you worked.

Maybe you're not gonna get kicked out of the hospital as fast as I thought.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader

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elden-shame · 2 months ago

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Perfect Evening || Morgott x Reader - Gender Neutral (fluff oneshot)

Morgott spending his evening with you. It’s been a while since I’ve written so I’m very rusty and it may not be the best, but I’ll do my best for sure and hope you enjoy it. Please be sure to reblog as you please and leave any comments in tags or just enjoy and share!

Requested tags: @blackbladesimp @prismatic-starstuff @weepingheads @georgemarfington @thedevilsrosee @crypticmushroom @presidentstarscream @entillum @pkbth @thenightmarelibrarian @someblueyearning @jack-o-cel @funky-insanitear @valkyrie-of-the-light @nerds-of-the-random-fandoms @bedeviledbeing @cheesey-rat @anahyll @quinnqueens @knotted-yarn @atticusse @sunnidaydreamer @winterelf94 @muspellssynir @rxzorbladekiss

It had been a long day, being a ruler wasn’t easy. Both the Lord and their consort were deep in matters of Leyndell’s affairs. The sun began to dip below the horizon when you realise Morgott had slipped off somewhere. The usually focused and over working King was nowhere to be seen in the court as you organise the papers into a neat stack. Looking around confused, your omen lover was nowhere in sight, so you bid the Courtiers good evening and soon leave the hall.

Moving through the halls you make your way to your shared office, again there was no sign of Morgott. Confused and worried you place the papers down on your desk and catch the attention of a servant. It took talking to five different servants before you manage to track down your king and soon you make your way to the inner gardens.

It was a beautiful and well kept garden filled with a variety of golden blooms, from sunflowers to Altus blooms and erdleaf flowers. There was a grand marble fountain with intricate designs representing Marika and the Erdtree, of which it’s golden light shine down illuminating the courtyard in a warm golden light. It was there another grand figure stood, your lover in all his glory stood fingers dipped into the fountain, tracing shapes in the water which rippled in response.

You watch him for the moment, silence reigning over you both, as he didn’t notice you at first. A smile curled onto your lips as you couldn’t help but admire him as to you he seemed just as grand as the rest. It had taken a while to encourage him into taking care of himself, trimming fur, cleaning and maintaining horns, regular bathing, and clipping nails. But it was worth it. He was in actual clothes thanks to the royal seamiest Boc, they were black with golden intricate golden trimming and details, it fit well and made room for his tail, beautiful robes for a beautiful man.

Slowly you approach him, padding softly with your sandles, “ What future do you see in your reflection? ” You ask teasingly, to which he twitches in surprise of your presence but smiled at the sight of you.

“ Tis a kiss from thyself. ” He rumbled to which you can’t help but laugh and oblige, as you reach up with both your hands to cup his face as he leans down. Leaning up on your tiptoes you tilt your head to carefully avoid his horns and kiss him warmly. His hands come around you to settle on your back to pull you close as he returns your kiss in turn.

The kiss lasts for a while, it tastes sweet and is warm and full of love, there is no doubt of that. As it breaks you are a little breathless, but by the way he breathed a little heavier you realised he was too. You can’t help but laugh a little, “ An accurate prediction my love. ” You remark, “ Your skill ever impress me. ” You can’t help but tease him as he huffs and gives you a stern look. He always did that, but his true feelings were betrayed by how his tail wagged slowly behind him.

“ Thou are full of mischief today it seems. ” He remarked before all but snatching you up from the ground, scooping you up into his arms and lifting you as he straightened up. You squeak in surprise before laughing with a broad smile as you lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You can’t help but shift and pepper his jaw and cheek cheek with kisses whilst he raises a brow and looks down at you.

“ Thou are full of affection today art thee? ” He asked amused by your antics as he pads over to a large golden tree with a great hollow in its roots. The hollow was stuffed full of padding with blankets and pillows over the top, the canopy of the tree was enough to shield it from any rain and the staff kept it clean during the day. He eased himself down holding you tight and plopped down onto the pillows and blankets, bending his knees he set you down but kept his arms around you. Pulling a blanket up he wrapped it around his legs and you so you were comfortable and shielded from the evening nip in the air.

The sun had fully set now, a blanket of darkness brought over the capital, but the golden glow of the Erdtree and the light of the celestial bodies above gateway for a clear night. The flowers of the neatly kept garden glowed and bugs danced around around the blooms. It was a perfect evening. You watched the garden in its splendid for a moment before you turn your attention to what was a more beautiful sight in your eyes, your sun, your lover, your king. “ I love you, my sun. ” You whisper softly, resting your head upon his shoulder.

Morgott paused his admiration of the gardener’s work and the thoughts of a raise at your words to turn his head and look at you instead. “ I love thou too, mine sunflower. But what troubles thee? ” He asks, a strong worry he did something wrong looming over him. To which you blink and look confused, did you sound as if something was wrong? It took a moment for you to recognise that look on his face and so you gently press a hand over his heart and smile brightly up at him.

“ There’s nothing wrong Morgott, I just want to express my love for you. You haven’t done anything wrong okay? ” You try to ease his anxieties gently, to which he looks relieved and just shifts you to hold you against his chest. He leans down and kisses your forehead softly, warmly even, before taking a breath to try and relax. He had you, it was a perfect evening, there was no noise of the courtiers arguing or demanding change, no feeling of pressure or need to do work. It was a perfect time, all because he had you with him.

It really was a perfect evening.

#elden ring #morgott the omen king #margit the fell omen #morgott x tarnished #morgott x reader #elden ring fanfic

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anlian-aishang · 2 years ago

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SNK Men - Masturbation Habits - Levi, Erwin, Eren, Armin, Jean, Reiner, Zeke [nsfw]

Levi

Masturbates in the shower. Levi deems it as a way to save time, to keep his sheets and clothes from getting too dirty. He hates to admit it, but something about sex makes him sweat easily. Even more shameful, he is weak to the flow of scalding water on his skin and the way it melts his reserves, inhibitions down the drain. The echo of tile walls amplifies the smacks of his hand around his cock, making it easier to imagine it's your pussy around him instead. Feigning the priority of cleanliness, he grants himself an excuse to be filthy. Levi sees masturbation as a last resort, something to rely on when he can’t have the real thing. As such, when by himself, he finishes fast. Three minutes of ferocity, white-knuckle holds of the shower bar and his erection. Toes curl tight against slippery tile. Soap trickles down his bangs and into his eyes. Squeezing them shut, he relies on imagined scenes to get him there. Strives to stay silent, but especially when it's been too long, not even Ackerman can prevent the grunts and swears from escaping. At the sound of his own succumbing, his ears, cheeks, chest flush red. On comedown, he deliberately jerks the metal handle to cold with hopes that, by the time he steps out and sees the mirror’s reflection, his fucked-out state will not stare him back.

Erwin

Gets off at his desk. It’s always the end of the quarter that his sex drive surges. Though it’s inconvenient at best and incapacitating at worst, he has come to understand why. A cruel chain reaction: work piles up, his mind multitasks to its bitter end, and at that end is a pure, carnal desire for reprieve. His signature grows illegible with the way his hand is shaking. He is making mistakes and making them in ink. Erwin clenched his fist, nails dug into his palm, but neither his erection nor filthy thoughts will die down. His hand is big, but his cock is bigger. The ratio aids his fantasy, trying to pretend it's your grasp wrapped around him instead. Erwin pumps himself a couple palms full of the lotion that others find so innocuously stored on top of his desk, lays a path of tissues on the pad of his office chair, and shuts his blinds as well as his eyes. Left hand works his member tight from tip to base. Right hand undoes his top button and hooks itself on the loop of his tie, allowing his breaths to deepen, and they do. Erwin growls through it. After this many successive nights of overtime, he deserves these minutes of release from those reins. Squeezing so hard that the veins in his biceps rise. Exhales harsh, fogging the oak of his desk top. Toes curl in his leather shoes. Words fail him as he climaxes to the thought of you barging in on him - loud grunts and moans of your name all the man can muster.

Eren

Lays back on the sofa. Unspeakable yearnings have brought him to this point. It was not only that he was unable to make it to the privacy of his bedroom. More accurately, Eren was so caught up in his fantasy that he couldn't care less if he were walked-in on. Lying on his back, his right hand slithers beneath the hem of his shirt and hikes it to his teeth. Abdomen exposed to less stifling air. At the same time, his left hand handles his belt, button, zipper before tugging his waistband to rest at his upper thighs. Eren leans his head back over the armrest, airway straightened, low yet loud vocals fill the room. Running his fingers through his hair, his elastic band snaps and lets his locks flow freely. Even with his eyes closed, his thumb lands right atop the lotion bottle - an old habit - and pumps a couple ounces into his hand. The unexpected cold draws a few hisses and curses, but before long, the fierce friction of his hand has converted it: hot like the rest of him. Even though he is reclined back, Eren is an active masturbator. His left hand has one job, one primary motion, but his right hand plays himself. Palm over his chest, fingertips pinching his jawline. Legs squirm, heels jut - all threatening to rip the leather couch. Instead of damaging the space around him, he takes that tension out on himself: cock sore, nipples bruised, scratches on his abdomen - but nothing that his sweatshirts can’t hide.

Armin

Shuts himself in his closet. An unexpectedly experienced masturbator, yet the shame Armin feels is disproportionately tremendous. Not even his bedroom is private enough, Arlert retreats to his locked closet, barely large enough to fit his clothes, let alone him. The blonde leans back against his wooden, creaky dresser and props his feet on the opposite wall. On the way to grab himself, his arm twitches: do you really need this? He tilts his head back and sighs: yes, you do. Armin dips his fingers into his mouth and pretends that they’re yours. Sucks them deliberately as he aims to keep quiet. As his tugs grow tighter, fuller, that sucking becomes sloppy, though. Overstimulated cries demand his lips fall from a circle to a helpless part. His breaths are brisk on his skin, covered in his own saliva. Soon enough, his tongue is flopping in frantic indecision: keep quiet or cry your name? That tug-of-war results in a submissive symphony for his reddened ears alone. But at least you can’t hear it. But what if you did? For what he lacks in confidence, he makes up for in imagination. Armin softens his grip to match the way he thought you would hold him. First, your fingers. Then, your presence. Now, your contact. Once his walls have weakened past the point of disbelief, and only once he convinces himself that you’re the one working him can he get himself to his toe-curling, back-breaking climax.

Jean

It always starts on his bed. Lazily palming himself on his mattress, Jean is rather carefree. Masturbation is not something he plans, but something he indulges in when he feels like it. It’s just one of those things. It is not something he lets himself anticipate all day, nor is it something he approaches with shame. Before he wakes up or before he drifts to sleep, it will cost only a little energy but help him rest. It’s the lie he tells himself, arousal his most gullible state. Less than a minute after he begins, Jean is panting, drooling, burying himself into his pillow. Swears muffled as he envelops his twitching cock in his similarly trembling hand. In working hours, he keeps his thoughts for you under wraps. When the sun is down, though, so is his façade of composure. Oh, the things he wants to do to you. More than that, what fucks him up is the thought of what you would do to him. Tendons strain and cast shadows on his neck, a desperate attempt to subdue his needy vocals. In this one session, the scenarios he has fantasized over have flashed faster than seconds. In that way, he thinks he must have lasted a while. In reality, everything is skewed. When he goes for days, sometimes weeks, without release, that release is difficult to delay. His pent-up dam demands a break: the uncatchable shot of his warm seed through his fingers and onto his sheets. He always thinks that climax will wind him down, but instead, it gets him up and out of bed, to the laundry machines.

Reiner

Slams himself against the door. Panting hard before he can even unbuckle and unzip himself. He’s ashamed to admit it all: how badly he wants to cum, how badly he needs to. The desperate rasp in his throat and the way it bounces off his bedroom walls turns his blush ablaze. He manages a squint and the sight of his bed, but the stagger in his legs tells him that he won’t make the walk. Reiner leans back against the wooden slate, one hand around his cock, one hand clutching the doorknob for stability. Eyes rolled back into his head. Hair a mess after this many runs of his hand through it. Inhales hiss through his teeth. Exhales shake on their fall past his lips. Looking down at himself, he notices the way his abdomen ripples with blood flow and wonders if you’d like that. He could practically hear you, the way you would dip your fingers into his mouth and pry, beckoning his moans and encouraging their volume. His imagination of what else you would do drives the speed and force of his hand. Pants crumpled at his ankles bind his legs to the perfect spread. His back is soaked with cold sweat, slicking and sticking him to his bedroom door. The flicks of his wrist are automatic now, racing to catch up with the snowball effect in his mind: you you you. With one final, nearly sadistic yank, he brings himself to finish - the sensation just as incoherent as his calls of your name.

Zeke

Tucks himself into bed. To Zeke, masturbation is a ritual, religiously stocked with offerings. From the drawer of his bedside table, he removes fire-and-ice lubrication and a ten-inch fleshlight. Atop the nightstand, a pack of cigarettes and his reflective lighter wait to accompany his comedown. He removes his glasses and sets them aside. By a thumb on his waistband, he peels his briefs down and flings them into the hamper across the room, satisfied with his aim. Zeke deliberately clashes his teeth together, trying to resist the admission of how good the initial sheathe feels. This is his relaxation time and he intends to savor it. His spank bank is rich with both fond memories and colorful fantasies. Playing them back in his mind, he accompanies the scenes with his own vocalizations, beating himself to the rhythm of your ass as it bounced around his cock, or the way your head bobbed back and forth around him. Most men last only a few minutes. Zeke basks in his average time of one hour. Edging himself on and on, chuckling maniacally each time he - to his own surprise - manages to wean himself off at the last second. His arm does not tire. His images are endless. It is only after the friction reaches an unbearable burn and his wrist begins to cramp that Zeke decides to give in, though he didn’t like to phrase it that way. Tilting his head back, his exhale is deceptively cool as his hot cum soaks his sleeve. It takes a couple flicks of his lighter, and many more involuntary twitches, though, until the pleasure truly ends.

// masterlist //

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slinkythecoffeekid · 6 months ago

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Chapter Two || Who's the Goose if I'm the Duck?

Updates Hi again! I didn't expect the first to be super popular, as it's such an introductory chapter. I have a few things planned, and I'm excited to do them, even if no one reads them. With that being said, welcome to chapter two! I am nervous about this chapter ngl...

Chapter Two of "Standing Again" Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader Rating: T for teens word count: 7.8k Warnings: swearing, Talk of injury, Injury-related trauma, PTSD behaviors, Alcohol is mentioned. anxiety

Synopsis:

You've been here a week, and you've been pretty busy. Between keeping track of others and your needs, you reflect on how hectic your first week was. Having a party to wrap up your week isn't a horrible idea, is it? Cheers to new friends.

They say quit if you don't like your job in the first two weeks. But what about a job you're only a few days into?

You'd been here a week and wanted to pull your hair out. How was it difficult to manage a singular aspect of twenty-three adult men's lives? The one aspect that, even then, they had the most input on? The answer was complicated, and honestly, if it wasn't for the lavish pay, you wouldn't still be here, in your office with the lights of your kitchen and office off as you sat in your chair slumped back as far as physically possible. Things couldn't be that bad, could they? Maybe you were overreacting slightly. You sigh, forcing yourself to sit upright, causing the LED auto lights of nightmares to turn on, blinding you.

Groaning, you avert your eyes and dig through your desk for a notebook. It was a simple black leather-bound notebook with your initials etched, a gift from your mom when you started playing. She told you that even the best players have thoughts on improving. That's why they were and are the best at the game. It hasn't been used in three years, but you flipped through the book, looking at what you wanted to improve back then: Plays, strategies, teamwork bonding. Everything was in this little book of yours.

You pull out a pen from your desk, uncapping it. You sit for a moment, thinking about what to improve on in this new role of life. Instead, though, you decide perhaps venting to yourself would be a better use of your time. So, putting pen to paper, you begin to write.

Tuesday: people could not respond to an email. Why am I hunting down grown adults? That's not my job.

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Your morning started just like every morning before. You got up at 5:25 am, ate breakfast, had some tea, got dressed, brushed your teeth, brushed your hair, and left your flat at 6:30, ensuring you locked up. Putting your earbuds on for your morning run and commute to work. Your run takes you through the city proper, past many shops and parks, passing school children playing football in their uniforms before class, and older couples just enjoying their time outside in the nice weather. No difference from the morning before besides the warmth that the morning before didn't have. Your morning commute gets you to the football club at 8:05, in theory, your usual time.

You make it into the building, giving small hellos and nods and heading straight to your office. Pulling out your keys, you unlock the large metal door and unlock it heading into the kitchen. You turn on all the lights before heading into your office, shutting the door behind you, and sitting in your chair. You look around before looking down at the picture to the right of your desk and smile, wishing your former team a good morning and turning on your computer. Most of your morning comprised of double checking the order from the week before would be accurate and seeing what you'd be receiving this week. You also spent a good chunk of the morning filing away any paperwork left behind in your filing system. By the time late morning rolled around, you'd finished most of your morning checklist. You remembered that you needed to check your email to see who had responded to the one thing you told the team to do. The real question was if anyone was paying enough attention to do what you'd asked of them. Logging in, you check your email; to your shock, almost everyone has responded. The first few you saw were those you expected to respond promptly.

Danni Rojas

Jan Maas

Issac McAdoo

Colin Hughes

Roy Fucking Kent (he actually put that as his name on the email)

Looking through most of the responses, you had most of the team on the list Rebecca graciously provided. You decided to look into the responses you received from the team and get an idea of what they enjoyed eating. Between Sam asking for more traditional Nigerian food, Issac asking for a more protein-heavy diet, and Roy essentially sending you a grocery list, you were glad that people took your position seriously and respected the effort you wanted to put into the job. However, there is always one stick in the mud when getting every cow in the barn.

Jamie Fucking Tartt

Of course, he hadn't filled out the only thing you'd asked of him. By nature, Jamie was a prick who only did things if they were convenient for him. Filling out a survey for the new person on something he didn't care about was not on his mind or even remotely in his brain. Of course, you knew you had a hunch this would happen but not right out the gate. Remembering you have an actual task, you pull yourself away from putting the information in the computer and get up to walk out of your office. Jamie could be in only a few places: the pitch, the locker room, or just not there at all. All options are logical places for footballers to be. You decided the first thing to do was check the locker room and then go from there. The locker room was close to your office, so it didn't take too long for you to get there. Knowing it was a locker room and having been raised with some semblance of manners, you knocked before entering. However, upon arrival, the locker room was empty. Not a single soul was in sight; you knew they had not left for any games. So that meant they had to be outside on the pitch… that Higgins never took you to.

A frown crossed your face; this meant they were outside on the pitch, and you didn’t know how to get there from inside the building. However, this presented you with a unique opportunity. Sure, you had been down here just yesterday, but you didn't get to look around, and maybe you'd catch the Kitman and he could walk you to the pitch. You walked in just to look around, observing people's lockers. Everyone's lockers have a touch of them. Jamie's iconic icon hat sat on the top shelf of his cubby. Sam had his photo of the Nigerian National Team. Jan has his little Netherlands flag on his own. Everyone had something to care about in their lockers. You turn to look at the coach's office and catch a glimpse of yellow above the door. The bright yellow sign says ‘BELIEVE’. You smile to yourself knowing this had to be Ted’s doing. He seemed like the kind of guy who, if he could put it everywhere he could, even a tattoo. That brought laughter to yourself, the silly idea of Ted with a ‘believe’ tattoo. Shaking your head you reach up to gently tap the sign above the door and walk back out of the locker room. Standing outside the door you look down the hallway. Trying to figure out how to get to the pitch.

You had three options: ask someone, wander until you find the walkway to the field, or hop the fence.

The first option would save you some time, even if you felt it was embarrassing, the second would take longer but you felt your pride would be saved. The third… well you didn't even entertain as it was foolish. Weighing your options… you decided that you'd wander because there was no way you would ask your boss how to get to the pitch. You walk down a few random corridors before realizing for a small building, they sure have a lot of random hallways here. You sigh in slight defeat, before deciding to head back toward the locker room and try the hall it's attached to. You head back the way you came, heading towards the locker room and rounding the corner before running face-first into someone.

That someone, as you looked up, happened to be none other than one and only Roy fucking Kent; you were able to get out a nervous " "sorry…"

Looking down at you, Roy frowns, as if he had just been run into. It had never occurred to you just how tall Roy was. He wasn't overly tall, but he was tall enough to be intimidating if he were standing over you, like now. He grunts in response. “It's alright; just watch where you’re going.” He brushes his clothing down. “What are you doing down here?”

During this, you decided to check your email on your phone just in the rare chance you had received a reply. Nothing. Hearing the question, you looked up. “Looking for the pitch. Higgins didn't show me the way, and I'm pretty sure that was on purpose.”

Roy nods in understanding before letting out a slightly annoyed grunt. “Right, Gimme a second.” He turns around and briefly walks into the locker room before returning without the bag he brought. Looking down the hall that you had not gone down yet, as the hall was like a t-shaped intersection, he points down, “That hall takes us to the pitch.” with that he turns around and begins walking down that hall, before calling over his shoulder, “Come on then, let's go.”

You nod and follow him down the corridor, keeping up with his faster walking speed. You notice that sometimes if he steps funny, he limps. This reminds you of your leg and how you sometimes had to coddle yourself. It brings you a sense of relief and a small smile.

“Oi, next time fucking ask instead of wandering around like a lost kid.” he slowed his pace down so that you two could be in step together. Mostly so you didn't wander off again. Roy must have had a sixth sense of existent joy, or maybe he was a natural buzzkill you had no idea.

“Yes sir” you grumble stuffing your hands into your pockets, cheeks puffed out, sulking like a little kid.

You two walk in awkward silence down the rest of the hallway. As the two of you reach the end of the hall he opens the door for you letting you walk out first. You thank him politely as you walk out the door. Earning a standard grunt of what you had come to realize translated to you’re welcome

Emerging from the tunnel you had to shield your eyes from the glaring sun that was right in your eyes. Adjusting to the sun's angry beams of light and vitamin C, you look around the pitch. Aside from the players running drills, the pitch was in clean condition. The stadium was of good size and in Richmond colors blue and red and you looked up and behind you, you could see Ms. Welton's office from where you stood. You turn back around to walk over to where the four coaches were huddled up talking about different drills the team would be working on, trying to feign your disinterest you clear your throat to catch the group of men's attention.

“Well, howdy there doc! How are you this morning?” Ted turned around and smiled widely at you hands on his hips, “Mighty fine weather this morning aint that right fellas?” he nudges, Nate to his left and Beard to his right who both nod and give a mixture of ‘yeah, it's nice’ and ‘sure uh huh’ from both.

Roy stands next to them, arms crossed, and looks over to the pitch, where the team is currently scrimmaging. He loses all interest in the conversation behind him.

You snicker at Ted, looking out to the field, “Yes coach, it's good weather for practice. And even better weather for hunting down people who don't follow explicit directions from someone doing their job.” Honestly, you were not even all that mad, frustrated to hunt down someone, sure, but not angry. You look to the pitch, “Where's Tartt?”

Nate looks to Beard who shrugs watching the field, and Nate shakes his head in uncertainty. “Not sure, is there something you need (y/n)? I'm sure we can get it for you later.”

You shake your head. “You're going to get him to respond to an email?” You turn to Nate with a raised eyebrow. Based on how Nate looked at you, he must have realized that this wasn't an issue he could comment on. He seemed to try forming a sentence and moved on, paying attention to the field.

“Right those emails, I did remind everyone to respond to them before we left yesterday. Maybe it just slipped his mind (y/n).” Ted gently pats your shoulder, “But we can have Roy tell him to do it for you if that would help?”

Beard and Roy both scoff from the side.

“More like yell at him to do it,” Beard laughed before yelling out onto the field, “Don't forget the extra pass!!”

Your brow furrowed, arms crossed looking to the pitch, surveying the players, and realizing you hadn't seen Jamie on the field. “Is he even here?” and everyone shakes their head in response. Unannounced to you, every coach takes a step back from you. You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale an annoyed breath. “Right of course why would he be punctual?” you ask out loud.

As you're asking this you feel something, no someone barrel past you, apologizing as they went, causing you to stumble and Ted and Beard try to help you keep your balance and not fall on your face. All of you look up to see one Jamie Tartt running towards the field, throwing a bag off to the side of the field. “Jesus fucking Christ” was all you could manage before standing up feeling somewhat winded from how hard he rushed past you.

“You’re late Tartt!” Issac yells from the far side of the field.

“I know I'm late!” he yells, grabbing one of the scrimmage vests from Will the Kitman and flashing a smile as he puts it on. " Cheers! " He then runs to the field to join his team. His hair is disheveled, and he is clearly out of breath. He probably ran the entire way from the car park, not paying attention that he just barreled through four coaches and a (y/n).

You stand there amazed, astonished, appalled, and probably now fuming. Everyone could sense your frustration more because of the lack of manners, and they all seemed to just ignore your frustration at the young striker. Except for Roy.

Roy doesn't look at you, “Watch the field, (y/n) Captains got it handled,” his response confusing you more before you turn to watch.

From where you stood all you could see was Issac and Jamie talking for a moment before Jamie bowed his head in defeat, took for the outside lines of the pitch and started running. Passing behind you and the other coaches, “Sorry for running into you!” he yelled as he ran by. Causing you to crack a small smile. It wasn't like it was a proper apology, but it was an apology. Looking at the four men, you nod, “It's an apology alright,” you take a deep breath of air seeing that everyone is still practicing as usual. “So someone wants to tell Tartt I need his email?”

The four coaches shrug amongst each other before Beard piped up, “Hey Jamie!!”

Jamie, on the far side of the track still doing laps, stopped and looked over, shielding his eyes so he could locate who yelled his name, “Yeah?!”

“Respond to (y/n) Fucking email!”

They got a very distant thumbs-up, “Got it, Coach!” and he kept it on his lap.

Beard turns around to you, “If he doesn’t, tell Roy, and he will hunt him down”

“The fuck I will,” Roy grumbles in slight annoyance. “I will, Don't let the prick push you around.”

You smile at all four coaches, “Thanks, coaches. Cheers!” You give them all a wave before heading back inside the building towards your office to start your orders for next week.

After you are out of earshot, Ted turns to Beard, “Think they got lost?”

“Yup”

“And Roy found them.”

“Yup”

“Probably got a lecture out of it.”

“Most definitely.”

“Well at least they didn't hop a fence” Ted blew his whistle, “Bring it in guys!”

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Thinking back on your Tuesday, it wasn't horrible, even after that mishap of getting lost. You did get the email from Jamie; he was like most of the younger gents, higher protein, low sugar, and things of that nature. Your afternoon was spent with Keeley, who insisted she couldn't work from her desk and had to spend time with you. Of course, until she had to actually leave. You enjoyed that she wanted to spend time with you; you hadn't spent too much time with friends, had you? When was the last time you called them? All the guilt from unanswered texts and calls started to creep into your thoughts, but you shook it off.

You look at the notebook again before putting pen to paper again. Writing about your Wednesday.

Wednesday: Everyone wants to know how I'm doing. I don't have an answer. But everyone also wants to know me and who I am. I don't know who I am anymore—or if I ever did.

Your morning started just like every morning before. You got up at 5:25 a.m., ate breakfast, had some tea, got dressed, brushed your teeth, brushed your hair, and left your flat at 6:30, ensuring you turned your lights and your flat was locked up. Putting your earbuds on for your morning run and commute to work. Your run takes you through the city proper, past many shops and parks, and past school children playing football in their uniforms. Some of those kids wave and say hello to you. Older couples just enjoy their time outside in the nice weather. No difference from the morning before. Your morning commute gets you to the football club at 8:05.

What had you in such a good mood? Order day. Why did that have you in such a good mood? A day just to yourself. As you had realized, you had to talk to the team about their diet goals and were constantly asked about different things. You didn't just hang out in this windowless box all day.

You hadn't been in your chair more than five seconds before the main door to your office swung open with such force that it hit the door stoppers on the backside of the walls, causing you to jump and look towards the door to see who it was.

You don't know what you expected, but it was not Keeley and Roy. Keely led the charge as she ran inside. “(y/n)! Good morning!” She ran to your office and put a takeaway coffee cup on your desk with the biggest smile. “I got it just the way you like it. I did show them the photo you sent me, so it's as right as it could be, right?” Keeley watched you with anticipation as Roy rolled his eyes.

You stare at Keeley for a second. “I do appreciate that. Thank you, Keeley. You made no effort to grab the cup, but where did you meet Keeley's puppy-dog eyes?”

“She wants you to drink it,” Roy grumbles from the doorway; he looks around your office intently.

Your office was rather bland still; as far as office effects of your own, it wasn't quite up to your character yet. Give you a few weeks, some free time, and a day you drove to work. This room will be screaming that it is your space. You take the cup Keeley brought you with a genuine smile of gratitude and take a sip. It wasn't quite the temperature you were used to, but it was simply because of transportation. Also, it tasted even better because it was free.

Your happiness appeased Keeley, who plopped down in one of the chairs across you, smiled, and pulled out her phone. “So, babes, how are you liking it here? You love it, right? Is this the best job you've ever had? I mean, besides being a pro footballer, right?”

You had just sipped your drink before smiling sheepishly at Keeley, “I've been here not even three days. You gotta give me at least two weeks before I can answer you honestly.” You set your drink down and looked over to Roy, who was now looking at his phone.

Roy let out an annoyed sigh but kissed Keeley on the cheek, “Gotta go cheers, love,” and left promptly.

Keeley smiled and waved him off until she heard the metal doors shut, and she sat up as if possessed by some sort of muppet, “god, he's hot… Oh! So I was thinking, since it's your first full week here, maybe on Friday we should hit the pub with the team for a welcome dinner or something! Since all the boys seem to find you intimidating.”

You take a sip out of your cup with one eyebrow raised before you set the cup down again. " They find me intimidating? Why?” At this point, you were emailing Rebecca about something completely unrelated to work.

Keeley shrugs a bit, “Because you’re fit, built, and don't take anyone's bullshit, Roy told me you came out to the pitch to get Jamie to follow a simple instruction!” she leaned forward in her seat, arms propped up and supporting her chin on the flat backs of her hands. “Honestly, Jamie could use someone like you, I mean, he's got Roy, but like an actual friend, and maybe that could be you.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “Give him enough time, and he will become as callused and jaded as Roy and me.” you hum to yourself. “As far as the pub goes, I dunno, Keleey, I have been here less than three full business days. Don't want to get anyone's hopes up.”

Keeley starts to protest, but there's a knock on the door frame of your office; both of you look over to see Jamie standing in the doorway, wearing his Richmond tracksuit and holding two cups. “Mornin’ doc- morning Keeley. Ah, Doc, I brought you some coffee. I dunno if you drink it, but to apologize for not doing what you asked the other day.” Jamie entered the office, putting the cup next to the one Keeley had brought. “Ah, didn't know you'd already gotten some.”

Are you taking it anyway? Absolutely. " It's the thought that counts. What even is it anyway?” you ask, studying him. The young striker stood with a posture exuding arrogance and well-earned confidence. He was well-kept. His trainers looked like they would cost at least three months' rent these days, but that's what happens when you're the famous Jamie Tartt.

A grin of pride crosses his face when you take the drink, “Just a vanilla latte, and no need for extra stuff in it, you know?” you nod in agreement with him.

“Oh! Jamie, what do you think about the team hitting the pub on Friday to do a welcome dinner for (y/n)?” Ah, yes, the glint in her eye, then I will get my way look many have failed to save themselves from.

Jamie either didn't notice, or he was already sold before she batted her eyelashes at him on the matter; either way, he was sold on the idea the second he heard it. He gasps, and his eyes light up, "“"Oh! That would be wicked! We can go to Crown and Anchor, and they can meet Mae; you've met Mae, right? But hell yeah, I’m in! Think we could get the boss lady to come too and cover the tab?” he asks Keeley leaning into her side and gently elbowing her.

This was it; what you realized was your chaotic sibling dynamic; yeah, sure, they dated, but they seemed to be good friends still, and you could see that they got along wonderfully. So cheers to them, really. You let out a small chuckle. Catching the two's attention. “It's nothing.. If you want to set up a dinner, be my guest. I just don't think it should be about me.” you look up at the clock, “Tartt, you better run, or Roy is going to make you run 30 laps on your own for being late.”

Jamie looked up at the time and sighed in defeat. " Yeah, he will… but yeah, keels, we should do it! Can you text me the info later?” he asked, running backward before turning to run out of the office and to the pitch.

Keeley smiled and looked over at you. " Dinner on Friday, six p.m.; don't be late.” She gave you a mock salute before disappearing to ask Rebecca about paying for her impromptu Friday night team dinner.

You stretch yourself out in your chair before looking at the time. You had nothing better to do for the rest of your morning since nothing important was until the afternoon. Getting up, you head outside, deciding to wander to the pitch so you can sit in the stands to watch the team practice.

“(y/n)!!”

Hearing your name being called behind you, you turn around to see Rebbeca power walking towards you.

“I'm glad I caught you. Where are you headed?” Rebbecca looked out of breath as if she had been running in her heels for half a kilometer, but she put herself back together quite quickly.

You turn and point towards the hall to the pitch. “Heading out to watch them practice since I've got time to kill until the afternoon.”

Rebecca nods, “I see. Shall we go together? So we can see how the team is?” She was polite, but you knew she was telling you that you had no say in the matter. You nod, receiving a smile that could only be described as devious. Rebecca starts walking away, and you follow shortly after her to keep up with her Gazelle-like gait. The two of you sit in the top row of the stands, and the team's therapist is not too far ahead of you. But she seems to pay you, and Rebecca has no mind as you sit down.

Adjusting in her seat, Rebecca clears her throat to mostly catch your attention. “So, how are you adjusting? I know it's been a while since you've been near football. Hopefully, you're settling in, well, yeah? " She doesn't look at you, but you can feel you have her full attention now.

Glancing at her before looking back towards the pitch, your eyes on the 11v11 practice they are doing. Seeing how Isaac and Sam can keep the ball moving so Dani can score brings a smile. " I'm doing alright. I can’t complain about it, mostly because if I did complain, it wouldn't help anyone, would it? But no, I'm adjusting just fine.”

Rebecca nods in understanding, the two of you in silence before she speaks up again. “When I started running the club, I considered making a women's team. Since all the other clubs have one, why couldn't we? Rupert said it was in poor taste, but I still hang onto that idea.”

You nod, leaning back in your seat. " That sounds stellar. It would work well if we could get back to premiere status.”

“Yes, well, maybe one day. I mentioned it because you were one of my draft picks if we could have—” you cut her off.

“The shot was clear from half the field away! Zoreaux should have seen that and probably could have seen it! At the very least, predict where the damn ball was headed! Why was he on the off side of the box?” you lean forward in your seat, annoyed; even if it was just practice, an unprotected goal is a point for the other team, whoever you ask. You frown, watching the goalkeeper before looking back at Rebecca, “I'm so sorry- you were saying?”

She smiles at you, shaking her head. " It's good to see that the love for the sport doesn't die when you leave the pitch.”

You nod with a small smile. “Raised in it. I have a brother who plays for Arsenal and another who coaches for Sunderland.” You think about it for a second. “We play Sunderland. In what? Three weeks, right?”

Rebecca thinks momentarily before pulling out her phone to look at her calendar. “Ah yes, three weeks from this Saturday. Why?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no reason. Just curious.”

“Right… Oh! Keeley mentioned a welcome dinner for you this Friday, and I think that would be a wonderful idea to get you to know the team better. I'd love to go, but I have plans with my god-daughter on Friday. But I will cover the tab. I do hope that you have a lot of fun, though.” She gives your shoulder a slight squeeze. Before her phone started buzzing, she let out a deep sigh. “I do have to go now… If you need anything while you're here (y/n), please don't hesitate.” she gives you one last pat on the shoulder before leaving you in the stands with nothing but yourself, your thoughts, and the team's therapist. Who had turned around to look at you at some point?

You give a wave and a slight smile; she only nods back at you before turning around. You sigh, get up, and head back to your office. On your way back in, the team was heading in so they could grab lunch; you stood off to the side so all the gents could get into the locker room. Most gave brief hellos; you got a fistbump from Collin, Danni high-fived you, Isaac dabbed you up, and Jamie greeted you by name. Honestly, you found all of it weird but endearing simultaneously.

“Howdy, howdy, Doc (y/n). How are you doing?” He came and stood beside you, watching everyone head into the locker room.

“Everyone wants to know that, don't they? Do you always have an answer to that question, coach? " You put your hands in your pockets.

Ted also stood there with his hands in his pockets, shaking his head, “Not always. But I think we all mask our feelings by avoiding the question or giving such routine answers that we sometimes forget to talk about what's wrong.”

You nod, “I can see why we have a club therapist.”

“Indeed. Oh, hey, Jamie mentioned a little team dinner for you since it's your first week. I know you're not too keen on it—Jamie told us that too—but I think it would be fun. Get the team out to dinner! Bond with us, share tales of your time on the pitch, and tell people how you got that wicked nickname.” He gently nudges you and smiles, “What do you say? Come to dinner with us on Friday.”

You sigh. Honestly, you wanted to decline. You wanted to remain by yourself, be the person who randomly needed specific updates, and leave at 5 p.m. every day. However, this group wore you down. You nod in response. “Fine, but the lads get me for a pint, and that's it.”

Ted nods with a broader smile, " Sounds good to me,” he heads into the locker room. Hey guys, (y/n) said yes!” You could hear the locker room erupt with yells, hoops, and hollerings as you shook your head and walked back to your office, pulling out your phone.

Unlocking your phone, you scroll down through some of your messages until you land on a familiar name: your brother, Archie, or, in your phone, Brother Sunderland. You stared at his contact photo for a moment. It was of him and his two sons, Jason and Ian. Jason was ten, and Ian was seven the last time you saw either of them. With whatever courage you had, you decided to text Archie before you lost your nerve.

Hey, just me. See you at the Richmond vs Sunderland game.

Quickly pocketing your phone, you head back to your office. For the rest of your day

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of your Wednesday went smoothly, with the order being put away and lunches made for the next day. You never made the team eat whatever you made, but it was always a viable option for them. Labeling everything for everyone. It was relaxing to be alone, and you listened to the Arsenal match vs. Chelsea. And left at 5pm. Just like every day before it. Thursday was also much like the day before, with the same morning routine and work routine. Spent it with others and by yourself and went home at the same time, as normal.

The only thing is that you never received a text back from Archie. It hurt a bit, but you understood. People can't continue to reach out if you can't meet them halfway. You hurt him first.

You sigh, looking down one last time, and write down one previous entry.

Friday: team bonding dinner. Nervous as fuck; what if people don't like me? What if I don't like myself? I shouldn't go.

You think for a second. Standing up, you grab your backpack and your car keys. It had rained most of last night into the morning, so you drove just to be safe. You hear a knock on your office door and turn to see Jamie standing in his puffer vest with a sling bag on and that silly cap that says ICON. You wave, zipping up your bag. “Afternoon, Jamie. Can I help you?”

He shrugs, “Nah, I thought I'd come down and offer to drive you to the pub; I mean since you run every morning.”

You raise an eyebrow at him with a slight smirk, “Paying attention to someone besides yourself, Tartt. Careful people might get the wrong idea.” you pat him on the shoulder, walking past him with your backpack on and the hoodie you wore in. your clothes were nothing special just jeans and a plain black shirt, and a plain hoodie to go with it all. You twirl your car keys in your free hand. “But don't worry, Jamie, I drove.” you head out, shutting your lights off, Jamie trailing behind you.

“Ah yeah, that's good and all… what do you drive?”

You look over at him, “Tartt, is this you trying to be friendly, or are you trying to get something else out of me?” You mostly were teasing him, but you also know yourself well enough to know you could not let this go anywhere.

He shrugs, “Friends, I guess, I mean, you're fucking fit, but I got a career to focus on right now.” stuffing his hands in his pockets, he refuses to look over at you.

You shrug, “Don't worry about it. I get it. Dating as a footballer is not for the weak.”

“You had many boyfriends when you played?” You had his full attention now if you hadn't already.

“Nah, I don't have—I didn't have time for that.” As you approach the car park, you smile at him and pat him on the shoulder. “Riveting as this conversation is, I'll see you at the pub. Cheers, " you say, heading towards your car.

“Wait, you never answered my question!!” Jamie yelled after you, but you had already settled into your car, turning over the engine. You don't know what he thought you drove, but his eyes went a bit wide when he saw you in a 2016 Jaguar F-Type in white. You had to pull in front of him to turn out of the car park, and you rolled down your window and peeked your head out.

“Does this answer your question?”

He nods and smirks at you as you pull out of the park and head towards the pub, leaving not only him but a few of the other players standing in awe.

“Mate, was that (y/n)?” Isaac asks in awe.

“Sure was, mate.” Jamie nods.

“Think they’d give us a ride sometime?” Sam pipes up from beside Isaac.

“Beats me bruv. Come on, let's get out of here." Jamie and the others walked towards their own cars.

The Crown and Anchor was busy by the time you arrived. Since a lot of people had gotten off to start their weekends. You'd never been in here before, so you quietly made your way to the bar, where an older woman was pouring pints for a group of three lads while watching the corner tele. The woman looks over at you with a smile, “What can I get you love?”

You shrug, “Just some water, please.” you push your hoodie sleeves up and watch the window, waiting for your coworkers to enter. Here, you were nervous about a group of twenty men wanting to hang out with you. You hadn't been so anxious since you first started primary school. You come to your senses when the woman sets some sparkling water before you. “Thanks… Mae, right?”

She smiles and gives you a wink, “The one and only. Welcome to Richmond, love. I hope you enjoy it here.” And she leaves you with that.

You smile, taking a sip of your water, but nearly choked by the firm arm wrapped around your shoulder; looking up, you see Isaac and Sam on either side of you. “Jesus Christ scared the shit out of me!”

“Coach said you'd stick around for one pint; water doesn't count even if it is a pint,” Isaac spoke so seriously that you could never tell if it was a joke or not. But he does crack a smile, “Mae! Three pints!” he lets go of your shoulder and nods as if inspecting if you are cool. “The f-type yours?”

You nod, “Yep, that's the first car I ever purchased on my own. I don't drive it much.” You smile at Sam, “Are the others coming, or did they cancel at the last second?”

“Oh, they are very much coming. We would not miss a chance to drink on the club's money. Besides, everyone wants to get to know you!” Sam's smile was infectious. During this, Mae had put down the three beers, and Sam and Isaac started drinking.

You go to say something, and the pub door swings open, and an absolute marching line of A.F.C Richmond players come into the pub chatting with each other, and Isaac and Sam wave everyone down to where the three of you sat. Everyone exchanged greetings. Everyone was there, well, besides Rebecca. Keeley, Roy, all the other coaches, and every team member were there. You managed to sneak off to a quieter part of the pub during this. Just sipping on your water, watching everyone chat, and have a good go at it. Eventually, people started to ‘settle’ in with their food and drink.

You watched them all from afar but turned to hear someone coming to sit next to you. Jamie.

“Come to seek me out?” you ask, eating a chip from your fish and chips.

“You disappeared, and the party is about you, bruv.” He takes a sip from his beer and attempts to steal an unguarded chip. But he receives a firm smack on the back of his palm, earning a pout from him. “Come on (y/n), one?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “We are not friends enough to warrant chip stealing. However, I don't do parties. They make me nervous like my heart is in my mouth and my brain is in my stomach, and I'm never happy after them.” you state pretty bluntly. “I agreed to show up for a pint, not to socialize.” you take a bite out of a chip and lock eyes with Jamie, who nods at you before snatching your entire plate.

“Hey now! Give that back!” you try to grab it, but he's holding it over your head.

“Nah mate, you gotta eat with us.” he carries your plate to the group of your team and sets down the plate next to his own. Forcing you to join the team. “May I present unlucky 13!” This announcement has caused the team to start hooping and hollering at your arrival as you grumpily sit beside Jamie, arms crossed and slouched in your seat.

“You're a prick,” you mutter at him, getting a wink in response.

The rowdiness stopped as Ted stood up with his pint, “A toast to having (y/n) join our team, even if they are just making sure none of you boys starve.” This earned a laugh from the group. “I hope you find the same love for your career off the pitch as you probably did on the pitch. To (y/n)!!”

“To (y/n)!!” Everyone cheered and went back to their prior conversations. You didn't attempt to run away this time, but you did look to Jamie. “Get me a pint?”

He nods and gets up to the bar to get a drink. In his absence, Roy sits in the chair Jamie left. “I didn't think you'd get back in the game, did you?”

You nod, eating another chip. “Im fucking terrified. I know I'm not in the box, but being this close… it's nerve-wracking. What if I want to play again?” you look over at Roy. You'd known Roy a long time. Roy was a Sunderland academy product, and Archie played with him there.

He shrugs at your response, “then you fucking play the game. You can't be scared of your own fucking shadow (y/n). It's not like you're out on the fucking pitch anyways. You can't hurt your leg by making shit protein pasta with shit sauce.” he turns and looks you dead in the eye. “You're closer than you were before. Give it time.”

You scoff, “ill have. You know it's not fucking shit, and you know that if you fucking ate it.” you look up at him with a small smile. “Yeah, you're right. Don't ever expect me to want to run drills with you guys. Zoreaux needs to keep a better line of sight of the ball from further back. He miscalculated Wednesday's trajectory from the near half pitch.” you look over, seeing Jamie returning with your pint and take it with open arms, “Thank you, Jamie.” You take a sip of your beer. Even if you didn't like beer, it was just a good old tradition to tolerate at least one.

Roy gives you a pat on the shoulder, rolling his eyes. “Good night (y/n),” and he walks away to spend time with Keeley.

Jamie watches before sitting down. " Hanging out with grandad? You need better taste.” He takes a sip from his cup.

You shrug, “He's a friend.” you smile as the chat has turned into some stories of team members' youths and adventures they've been on. Even the coaches get involved. You learn more about Kansas than you'd ever thought you'd need to and the American school system. That was more terrifying than anything else. Everyone swapping stories. You listen but don't get too involved in sharing; your brothers are both footballers, but nothing too personal. The end of the night dawns closer, and you get up, grabbing your keys. You had only drunk one pint, and it had been a few hours. So you raise your hand, catching the team's attention.

“Good night, boys; I'll see you all tomorrow.” most of them remembered that they had a home game tomorrow against Derby County. And with that, you head out the door to your car. Hearing your phone ding from your pocket, you check it to see you have three missed texts. One was from Rebbeca, and I hope you enjoyed dinner and free drinks with her. Another was from Keeley telling you that she and Roy had to leave early for personal reasons; this text was followed by several crying emojis and made you laugh. The last one was from Jamie.

Jamie Fucking Tartt

Have a good night, hope ya had fun. Drive safe

You look up and back through the window, making eye contact with him. He smiles and waves at you as you wave back and climb into your car. Sitting in your seat, you slide down as far as you physically can, holding your face in your hands, “fuckkkkk,” you force yourself upright in the driver's seat and turn over your engine before buckling up.

Your drive was quiet and fast enough. You parked your car in the garage connected to your building. And head into your building. Heading to your flat on the first floor. Entering, you kicked off your shoes and dropped your bag in the kitchen. Heading to your bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. Your nighttime routine is uninterrupted. You plug in your phone, watch, and headphones. Everything that you would need for in the morning. Getting changed into your PJs, you collapse into your bed. Curling up in on yourself and looking at the ceiling. Thinking about how much you enjoyed the team here. This team was going to get even better. It didn't take too long before you drifted off with a smile on your face. Richmond was a good move for you.

You'd fallen asleep by this point, and your phone lit up with a notification.

Brother Sunderland

We need to talk. See you in three weeks.

#slinkywrites #jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #reader insert #roy fucking kent #roy kent #ted lasso #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso series #afc richmond #Spotify

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arthenaa · 2 years ago

Text

ikaw at ikaw (only you) — mizu x f!reader

synopsis: 4 times your team lead chose you and 1 time you chose her.

content: modern!au, office romance, you and mizu are creatives, specifically in the character and concept design department in a very very famous gaming company (take a guess), she is your creative director and lead designer and you are the concept artist, 4+1 format, FLUFF, work relations, dynamic, and position might not be accurate, forgive me, this is basically just me projecting yet again.

a/n: this is requested by @andieperrie18 ! the answer shit isn't letting me edit my answer so ill be @-ing you here. TYSM FOR ENJOYING MY WORKS !! means a lot ... u also chose pasilyo 🥹🥹🥹🥹 sunkissed lola is the best

Being part of the creatives team was a nightmare.

To tell you the truth, the position for a Concept Artist with a specialty in 2D design wasn't actually all that bad. The monthly benefits and wage were something you're quite lucky to receive considering the constant side eye other departments have with the admin's treatment of the artist employees. This was also your dream job—having had to play their games, specifically, VALORANT, left you in awe and gearing to apply once you were ready for an Internship. After your OJT course, you were accepted for a position in Character and Concept Design and are considered one of the team's most beloved artists (Your followers on Twitter reckon so).

In short, the work environment was great. A solid 15/10 experience—I mean how can you beat a company that caters not only to you as an artist but also as a player? Nothing can beat that feeling of satisfaction once you see your work displayed on various monitors all around the world.

It was more of ... the relationships and interactions with that work space environment that left you grasping at a chance to breathe.

People think you're overreacting but you think it's completely reasonable.

"Yes, you are overreacting."

Your face falls at Taigen's words—watching as he plays a round of unrated in the company's leisure space decked with state of the art PC builds that could definitely beat your poor touchscreen fridge with just a move of its mouse. You could hear the familiar voicelines of Jett from VALORANT as he uses the character's abilities to swiftly enter the site and take a hold of the defenders' positions.

Taigen is part of the Gaming Development Department in the VALORANT Team. He often does routine user gameplay checks and one of its perks is that you literally just have to play the game and get paid for it. You think its unfair but then again, its Taigen. He's always unfair.

"I think you're just saying that to be mean," You frowned, eyes trained on his face—the lights reflecting back on his stupid, stupid, clear-skinned face. Taigen rolls his eyes but not an ounce of his focus leaves the game.

"Being honest equals to being mean, got it." Taigen's voice comes out in a sarcastic tone. You kick a speck of dust on the cement floor, twirling in the gaming chair you're seated on.

"I just think its a reasonable thing to complain about!" You throw your hands in the air in an attempt to get him to look at your side of things. "You're completely unfazed because your team lead has the patience of a mother with 7 kids."

You hear the familiar cue of an ACE kill as Taigen hits a headshot on the last player. The game's interface shifts to the winner screen and finally, he turns to you, pulling his headphones off and giving his best deadpan stare.

"You're freaking out over Mizu sighing over your concept design proposal for Neon and overanalyzed even the way she drank her coffee because you're obsessed with her like that." Taigen arches his eyebrow to make the situation all the more ridiculous. Your mouth closes and opens like a fish out of water. "Am I right? Wait no, don't answer that. I know I am."

"What the fuck?" Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt of self-defence but it ultimately just sounds defeated. Taigen chuckles as he turns back to his monitor to take a look at the game stats.

"Look," Taigen tries to be empathetic but you're pretty sure this is just to get you off his back. The queue for competitive is already up and running. "As your friend, I say this with the love that I have for you and your works but please, Mizu is just one woman. If my mind process went like yours, I would've assumed Akemi hated my very existence and this is coming from someone who IS dating Akemi."

You purse your lips in thought as he raises his eyebrows in exaggeration. You're not exactly sure why you approached Taigen with this problem but he was the only familiar face that you saw after walking out of the meeting room in a hurry.

But then the question in this situation is who exactly is Mizu?

Well, there were a lot of things you could associate with the familiar blue-eyed director. Mizu is your boss—the creative director for Concept and Character design for the VALORANT team. She oversees character ideas, map visuals, detailing, and the final approval for character and asset ideation before it's sent for building in the 3D and VFX departments. She is your employer but you can also consider her your friend, albeit a highly respected one (she did the character design for Jett and Yoru).

It's not that you were obsessed—Taigen is wrong, he's always wrong—it was definitely because you respected her very much. Being a Riot Design Lead is basically fucking God. You create and give life to ideas. She's part of the original team that worked on the pre-release of VALORANT during its early stages and got to see the whole thing unfold. Something you wished to see back then but glad that you were able to become part of the journey despite being a few patches late.

You respected her enough to always want to be on her good side. I mean, who wouldn't? She's talented and very... youthful-looking and one of Riot's youngest leads, you honestly think that being worried over her approval like this is just a matter of respect and definitely NOT obsession.

"You're doing that thing where you space out and I have to assume that it's probably because of Mizu, yeah?" Taigen's voice intercepts your reprieve and suddenly, a curl of your eyebrows creates a look of annoyance on your face.

"I am not obssesed with Mizu," You reiterate, but this time with your mouth. "I just... respect her."

Taigen leans back on his gaming chair, nodding as if you just told him that he didn't need to double double-click everything.

"That's the most unbelievable shit I've heard today," Taigen finally replies with a scrunch of his nose. Your jaw falls open.

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too!"

"Do fucking not—Stop it."

Taigen purses his lips, and makes a motion of zipping his mouth and shaking his head. You huff in anger. Taigen was never going to believe you.

Just as you were about to chastise him again for being mistaken, a knock on the glass doors notifies you of a new presence. You turn by instinct and your eyes widen in shock and probably, dread—who knows.

"There you are," Mizu's voice filters through your ears like classical music on a good Friday evening. You stammer slightly as she enters the area, eyes trained on you through those tinted orange specs. Mizu momentarily greets Taigen who only raises his hand in greeting before turning towards the screen (only you can see through your peripheral vision that this motherfucker is laughing). "I've been looking for you."

"You did?" Your voice comes off quiet. Mizu furrows her eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah?" She replies with a confused tone. "I had your concept design for Neon approved, it was more direct compared to Matt's. I wanted to tell you in person since you just bolted from the meeting room."

You fall silent at her words. She looks a bit concerned as you try to make sense of the information.

"You seem in shock—Are you okay?" Mizu asks, eyes glancing towards Taigen who looks at her before shrugging.

You feel your heart speed up. You momentarily calm yourself before finally responding. "Y-Yeah, sorry. Just didn't think that you'd approve it."

Mizu tilts her head like a fucking cat and you're quite sure you would drop dead then and there. "Why not? It's your work."

You're not sure what she means by that but a sudden shiver runs through your veins at her praise and suddenly your cheeks are flushing.

"Ah," You're voice fills in the silence, awkward and quiet. "Thank you?"

There's a pause of silence before Mizu chuckles. She heaves a breath before pulling the glass door open.

"I'll see you at my office, Y/N." She smiles. "Great work."

The silence further pushes you into the void as you and Taigen watch her exit and disappear into another hallway through the glass windows. Just as you were a few minutes ago, you lean forward to slouch over your knees, hands on your face as you meltdown from what just happened. You hear Taigen chuckle beside you.

"Give it a few more months and she'll give you a ring on your finger with a bent knee on the ground."

You sob into your hands as Taigen erupts in heaps of laughter.

Oh my fucking God.

The release for Neon was a hit. An all-time new duelist originating from the Philippines, your concept design took off without a hitch. It's safe to say that your hard work paid off as you stood over the central common room—leisure areas decked with your coworkers trying out and celebrating the release. A sense of satisfaction fills you.

"I hear you spearheaded the design concept for Neon," A voice infiltrates your sense like a lure. You can't help but smile at its familiarity. Akemi wraps her arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder as she continues. "Marketing was thrilled with the positive response. Good job."

You turn around, her arms loosely accommodating you. "Akemi," you coo.

The girl grins wide and pulls you into a hug. You return the affection in a grander gesture of squeezing her tight against you.

Akemi's part of the Marketing Department for Riot. While she often creates publication material for VALORANT, she also has cross work with League of Legends for its various strategic releases (ie. KDA).

"I just want to say that I already predicted Neon would be a sure hit, it's your work after all," Akemi pulls away from the hug with a smug smile. She grabs your hands in hers, swinging them slowly. "Marketing it was like a breeze in the park."

You laugh softly at her enthusiasm. "You give me way too much credit."

Akemi rolls her eyes affectionately. "Humility is a disease—live a little."

You shake your head at her quips, opting to smile in response. A member of your team passes by, eyes widening in recognition of you before giving you a thumbs up. Akemi watches the interaction—eyes trained on that person's figure as they walked towards Mizu who was busy talking to other creative team leads. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion at her prolonged silence.

"Who are you—?" Your words trail off as you turn to look at what she's so focused on before turning back at the sight of Mizu. "Nevermind."

Akemi raises her eyebrow with an amused look on her face. "Taigen always has a penchant for exaggerating but I didn't think it was this bad?"

Your face falls at the information. "Taigen told you?"

Akemi gives you a 'duh' look—eyebrows raised and eyes half-lidded. "Taigen's a loose lock if you pry hard enough. He basically can never keep a secret."

You give her a deadpan stare before shifting in your position. Akemi crosses her arms over her chest as she eyes you up and down—filled to the brim with amusement. "I'm fine, stop making a big deal out of it."

"Uh huh," Akemi squints her eyes playfully. You could only glare back in response.

The loud cheering at the front catches your attention as resident workers, interns, and newbies alike begin to tune in at the commotion. Akemi and you move to the sidelines, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you tried to find out what's happening.

"What's happening?" You ask the person to your front. He turns, eyes beaming with excitement.

"The creative director for C&C got pulled in a 1v1. They're playing against Beckham."

Your breath hitches at the information. Akemi nudges you with her elbow, overhearing the conversation. The two of you move to the side, finally getting a glimpse of the two team leads focused on a custom game of VALORANT. Your eyes zone in on familiar raven locks seated on the right monitor.

A live stream of their game is projected on the monitor up front and suddenly you feel sick from the amount of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

She's playing Neon. The character you designed.

Oh God. You watched her take kill after kill, headshot after headshot as she sprinted across the map—zapping characters with Neon's electric abilities. You've never seen someone look so fucking hot playing an FPS game before. It's doing things to your brain.

Just as you expected, the winning banner appears on Mizu's screen and the C&C Team erupts in cheers. You become entranced at the sight—a few of your co-workers patting her on the back before she erupts in smiles and laughs. This is not healthy for your heart.

And just as you think the night couldn't get any better, one of the people from the Marketing departments begins stirring up an interview.

"What made you choose Neon on the character pick? You usually go for Sentinels, no?"

Your eyes meet and suddenly you could feel your heart skip a few beats. Mizu chuckles.

"Wanted to do a duelist around for a spin," Mizu replies. "The design and character visuals for Neon was amazing and I ought to pay the artist who did it a homage."

Suddenly all eyes are on you—some of them even "ooh-ing" for being praised by Mizu. You pale at the attention before doing a hesitant bow in gratitude.

Mizu pulls the headphones off her head and smiles. "Congrats, Y/N. Hope you liked the win."

You feel Akemi stir up beside you, chuckling at the interaction.

You're going to die. You can feel it and its all because of your boss.

Okay, maybe admitting that you were a little bit obsessed and crushing over your employer was a bit overdue. You weren't exactly the type to parade your feelings around the office but if people were to zone in on you acting sheepish and awkward around Mizu, there was a 55% chance that you could tell based on that alone.

It wasn't like your admiration for Mizu started on a whim. As said countless and countless times, it had a foundation of respect until Mizu started trying to get to know and interact with you and those same feelings of admiration started to change. What else were you supposed to do? Mizu is a fucking all-in-one holiday basket—you didn't have it in you to resist the charms.

It also didn't help that over the past few days, Mizu seems to have her undivided attention on you. Showering you with praises, asking if you wanna spearhead a certain project, revel in your work—all that shit. It's messing with your productivity and mindset and that's not a good idea.

The Head Director for the VALORANT Team had decided to call a night out for drinking to reward the team for the positive feedback for the latest patch. You were quite thankful for the opportunity as this was a way for you to get a moment of rest from Mizu's constant attention. Not that you were complaining, it's just a little... too much.

You were seated at the far right booth of the restaurant, keeping to yourself as you watched Ringo and Taigen begin to have a debate about team composition. Akemi grumbles beside you, clearly not enjoying whatever the fuck these two were talking about.

"Look," Taigen holds his hands out in front of him, trying to make a point. "All I'm saying is if you keep putting DPS builds on your team comp, how in the hell will you be able to maximize their kit? Supports are there for a reason."

Ringo rolls his eyes. "It's called enjoying the game, Taigen. So what if I want to put dick 1, dick 2, and dick 3, together?"

Taigen's jaw drops. "Do you know how much skill point dependent they are? I'm even surprised you could bust a skill out." The raven haired man pauses before continuing with a face contorted in disgust. "And stop calling them dick 1,2,3? It's Dan Heng, Blade, and Jing Yuan."

"Of course you'd police that as well. You look like that fucking emoji." Ringo raises his prosthetic hand, imitating pushing up a pair of glasses. "Um, actually—"

"You are as annoying as my grandmother, do you know that?" Taigen snarls, eyes pulled into a glare. Your tall huggable co-worker only grins and bats his eyelashes.

You begin to tune out the two as Akemi excuses herself to take a cigarette break—already having enough of their banter. You eye the glass of beer in front of you, watching as the liquid sloshes around with each twirl of your wrist.

You had hoped to end the night with silence but alas, you can never get everything that you wanted. You feel a pair of eyes on you—direct and unashamed. Already having a feeling on who this was, you looked up and met the reflection of the ocean.

'You okay?' She mouths, concern overflowing her features. It's subtle enough for people to not notice her sudden shift of attention but enough for you to understand her. Your cheeks flush as you nod back with the same softness that she had thrown your way.

She nods in understanding, sending a soft smile your way before turning back towards her conversation with the Head. You hang your head down, wishing that the night would end faster so that you can finally have the moment of peace you have been wanting ever since this morning.

It was as if the world decided to cast hell upon you and revoked you of your rights to peace at the arrival of yet another problem.

"L/N!" The Head Director's voice encompassed the whole area—eyes turning towards him then at you in amusement. "You're one of the star employees and yet you haven't touched a single speck on that glass of yours!"

His hearty laughter follows—giggles and cheering from you co-workers following suite. You sweat drop, eyes darting to Taigen and Ringo who both looked away at your glare before turning towards the window where Akemi sends you a gracious thumbs up, a cigarette hanging from her lips. You groan.

"I-I'm fine," You wave your hand, laughing it off. Your eyes connect with Mizu, an unreadable look on her face as she takes a sip of her chosen beverage.

God decides to punish you more as the team lead beside Mizu chimes in. "Oh c'mon! You're a great asset to the company! I suggest drink up!"

One of your team members passes a full pint of beer as the others begin to urge you to drink up. You hadn't felt the intensity of peer pressure ever since your dance recital on 10th grade and that wasn't even as half bad as this. You weren't feeling on drinking yourself to death as well so trying to down a full pint of beer was a ticket for you to the afterlife (ie. you on your bed with puke all over the floors). The previous pint you had was enough.

You tried to decline as humbly as you could, afraid that this might be the instance that you could finally be fired off from Riot. You knew that if they kept pushing a 3rd more of their attempts that you'd probably give in for the sake of never doing this again but while the need hasn't yet arisen, you'll try fighting off the urge to be a people-pleaser.

Just as you finally begin to decline for the nth time, a hand emerges to your right—pushing the pint of beer in your co-worker's hands. The table falls silent. Your breath falters as the familiar scent of lavender and probably a hint of sunlight begins to seep in from behind you.

"Stop pressuring her like that," Mizu's voice sounds so close —your heart hammering off your chest. Your co-worker gives Mizu a sheepish smile.

"C'mon Mizu, let your team live a little!" The Head laughs once more before leaning forward with a smug smirk. "Unless you'll save this one yet again?"

There's a pause of silence as your co-workers darted between them—back and forth. You feel Mizu sigh behind you before her arms encase you against the table, one arm placed on the beside you each. Your breath hitches.

"Sorry," She mutters as she reaches for the pint. You stammer, turning towards her as you reach out to her wrist by instinct. Mizu blinks with her eyes wide open, suddenly surprised by your actions.

"Y-you don't have to!" You murmured, trying to keep your voice low. Mizu's eyes are unreadable. "You don't drink—!"

The woman chuckles before patting your hand and gently pulling herself off your grasp. "It's okay." She says.

You watch with stammering breath as she gulps the pint in one go, others cheering as she did. The Head claps.

"Didn't expect to see Mizu downing a beer today but here we are," The man bellows in laughter. Mizu chuckles, wiping the residue off her lips. You could only stare at her in shock.

Mizu glances down at you with a smile before patting your head then walking off. Your gaze trails on her and somehow the hammering within you becomes all the more intense.

Oh, Lord.

It was supposed to just be a little game—a past time that the others decided to force you along. You really had no qualms joining games like this but if it concerns the people around you, especially in your work place, somehow you feel the risk of being outed for liking someone in you work space.

"If you guys wanted to date someone in the office, who'd you pick?" Ise leans forward, eyes squinted as she gives you and Akemi a smirk. The three of you were currently lounging in the cafeteria during you lunch break. There weren't many people present due an event going on in one of the building's sectors, so having a conversation like this somehow was less anxiety inducing.

"Taigen, unfortunately," Akemi deadpans. Ise rolls her eyes.

"I mean! Besides him," Ise whispers excitedly. "There's a newbie from marketing that looks cute but kinda quiet, maybe he's nice."

"You mean Takayoshi?" Akemi raises an eyebrow as she takes a sip of her tea. You glance back and forth between them.

"Is that his name?" Ise watches Akemi nod in response. "Well, I'll just have to go get his number then."

Akemi shakes her head at Ise's musings and you had hoped that the conversation would end there, but Ise suddenly turns to you with that mischievous look in her eye.

"What?" You whisper out, eyebrows furrowed in innocence. Akemi side glances you, the corners of her lips upturned in a smile. God, she was enjoying this too.

"What about you, Y/N?" Ise props her arm on the table, placing her cheek on her palm. "Got someone you're interested in?"

You avoid eye contact. "No."

Ise leans forward with a gasp. "You do!"

"I don't!" You reiterate with urgency. You turn to Akemi with a frantic stare. "Tell her I don't."

Ise turns to Akemi who smiles. "She doesn't."

"Bullshit." Ise deadpans. "The moment I'd believe Akemi with a smile on her face is the moment I'd die," Akemi flashes her middle finger at her to which Ise returns generously. Finally, the girl turns to you—chair scooted over to your right as she flashes you her doe eyes. "So? Who is it?"

You Akemi chuckle against her cup as you stammer in front of Ise. "I don't really like someone though?"

"Lies," Ise declares. "We might not be that close but you got that twitch in your eye that already tells me something. Who is it?"

"Ise," You plead, eyes darting around the space. Somehow, saying it out loud meant that you're solidifying the fact that you liked Mizu—an occurrence you'd like to keep to yourself as much as possible. You loved Ise, you really do. You worked with her hand in hand in bringing Neon to life (You worked on her design while she worked on the 3D build) and have become tremendously grateful for her critique and contributions to your work. But this, this was something else. You could feel your heart speed up as she started listing some names.

"Is it Beckham? That piece of shit always too full himself." Ise places a hand on her chin in thought. "Or Ringo? Nah, he's way too focused on content map-building."

There's a pause of silence before an 'aha!' look spreads through her face. You prayed that she would get it wrong but this is Ise we're talking about.

"Is it perhaps," Ise pauses, eyes darting all over your face. "Mizu—"

"What about me?"

The three of you tense, eyes darting behind you as you turn to find the familiar stance of your boss. She leans forward, a hand on the back of your chair as she gives the three of you a curious glance. You hadn't heard her at all, and something about Ise's frantic glance towards you says she didn't expect the same thing as well.

"W-we we're just listing people we found attractive," Ise laughs uncomfortably under Mizu's stare. The creative director glances at Akemi who raises an eyebrow at her. Somehow there was a silent conversation going on between the two that left you confused.

"Really?" Mizu asks, the ends of her words trailing off as she glances back at Ise. "Who said I was attractive?"

"It was Y/—"

"NO ONE!" You exclaimed, cutting Ise off with a jump. You flush under Mizu's wide gazed, surprised at your interference. Somehow, the way you said it implied that no one found her attractive at all, and that was way too wrong so you caught yourself before you delved into a pit of despair. "I mean, w-we haven't started and was just listing people off."

Mizu nods slowly in understanding, eyes examining your face for any slip-ups. You looked away from the intensity.

Ise finally saves your ass. "Yeah. What she said."

"What about you, Director?" Akemi chimes in from your left and both you and Ise turn to her with wide gazes. She simply smiles over her cup, face contorted in a mischievous look. You couldn't read Mizu at all. You had expected Akemi to drop it—after all, she wasn't even joining in on Ise's incessant need to know everything about everyone. "Who do you find the most attractive in this office, hm?"

You can feel Mizu shifting behind you before a chuckle pulls out from her lips. You turn towards her in curiosity as she flashes a smile towards you.

"I'd pick Y/N, of course,"

Huh?

Akemi rolls her eyes, somehow already expecting the answer. Your jaw drops at her response as Mizu turns to Ise who already has a knowing look on her face.

"She's just that reliable," Mizu looks back down towards you, those shades of blue peeking from her tinted glasses. She pinches your cheek in a flash before pulling away. "Cute too."

You turn away, afraid that the flush on your cheeks might've given you away.

"Anyways, I just dropped by to see what's happening outside the event," Mizu sighs, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "I'll see you girls around."

Your interactions always end up one sided somehow. She gives and then leaves—resulting in you malfunctioning from whatever she's left for you to deal with.

Ise turns to you with a mischievous grin when Mizu finally turns the corner. "You and the Director huh?"

"Shut up, oh my God."

"Why do you always do stuff like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're not leaving me any room to process the shit you do?"

Mizu lets out quiet laughs from beside you. 10:47 pm. Normally, work hours in the office end at about 9 but you've learned that staying late is where the good things happen.

"I literally just told you 'good job' the other day and you malfunctioned in front of me," Mizu giggles, leaning forward as she tapped you on the nose with the pen to her digital tablet. "And I heard everything by the way. Quite adorable of you to deny everything."

You flush under her affectionate gaze. "Everyone's so gossipy. You can't blame me."

Mizu turns her chair towards you, arms reach out to take a hold of your own before pulling them close to her side. You lean back at her sudden proximity.

"Well you can't blame me either when you're this adorable," Mizu grins. You furrow your eyebrows, finally leaning close as you cupped her cheeks within your palms.

"You even drank beer," You whisper, tone apologetic. "You don't even like alcohol."

Mizu leans into your touch. "And you don't like being pressured into something you don't want to do. I can sacrifice a little bit of something I don't like just for you."

You melt at her words, eyes darting over her softened features. "Thank you," You whisper, grateful.

"Anything for my girlfriend," Mizu teases. You roll your eyes before pulling her into a soft kiss. She kisses back instantly, hands gripping the arm chair as you take lead of the kiss. After a few pecks and chaste kisses here and there, you finally pull back—reveling in the soft flush across Mizu's cheeks.

"Also," You chime in. Mizu raises an eyebrow. "I was the one who pursued, not you. Correct that when they catch on."

Mizu chuckles at your words. "Right on. Akemi threatened me the other day, saying something like, 'I forbid you from dating Y/N Y/L/N, Mizu Tagawa!' Funniest shit, I've heard. If only she knew."

You pinch her cheeks, giggling at her words. "Of course, she's say that."

There's a pause of silence before Mizu turns to her work, a sketch of VALORANT's newest agent displayed on screen.

"Want to help me with the new guy?" She nudges towards the screen. "Heard he's French."

You turn to her monitor, dozens of details sketched on the edges with a version of her idea of the new agent. You grin, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"You could've just asked me to marry you." You tease. "Also, sure."

You turn towards the table and pulled her tablet towards you. Mizu scoffs as you take over her work.

"And if I actually did?"

"Sure, Mizu, sure."

"I'm serious!"

a/n: hey guys!!! this was so fun to write and honestly i was just inspired to do this request bc ive been drafting an office romance for mizu after the roommate thing. hope yall enjoyed ! if yall arent familiar with valorant, here are the agents mentioned or referenced (neon & chamber (french guy)). also mizu's last name is derived from master eiji's va! cary-hiroyuki tagawa!

#arthenaa #mizu x you #mizu x reader #mizu bes #the blue eyed samurai x reader #the blue eyed samurai

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