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muddyorbsblr · 6 months

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no resistance [kinktober 2023: fingering]

See the full Kinktober 2023 Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: President Loki fires his assistant for booking an interview gone horribly sideways and hires you in her place.

Pairing: President Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k [prepare drinkies and snacks accordingly]

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, be gone. i won't ask again); fingering; dirty talk; most likely inaccurate depictions of what a day in the White House looks like; improper use of the Oval Office desk; a handful of cuss words [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: power dynamic (she's his assistant); mentions of Natasha, Bucky, Morgan, and Steve if you squint; bit of a makeover trope towards the middle of the story; Reader is mid to late 20s

Dick-tionary (aka smut guide): smut starts at "He worked his hand back under" and ends at "When he pulled his digits"

"I uhh…I think that's all the questions I have for this interview. Thank you so much for your time, President Loki, and I wish you the best of luck with your re-election campaign."

The journalist, if she could even be called that, fidgeted the slightest in her seat, her discomfort evident from both the motion and the expression on her face. As if she knew that the god-president was now quite cross with her, and much deservedly so.

As if she knew she spoke out of turn in this interview that was so graciously granted to her.

"My security will see you off the premises. Good day, madam."

He exited the room with a slight swish of his coattails, striding down the halls with a fury now directed at his assistant rather than the would-be journalist. Once the offending individual had been located, there was a meek, fearful look on her face as well.

"Boss," her voice wavered. "Your forehead vein's making an appearance again…"

"Clear your desk. Today is your final day on my team." His voice rang out and echoed all over the floor of the campaign headquarters, most of the staff raising their heads and peering from awkward angles to have a view of the commotion.

"But Boss, you said you wanted to connect with the younger adult audience and capture their votes. Miss Lewis has an audience right smack in that demographic, her videos get millions of views, I don't understand--" She let out a frustrated huff. "An interview with her could secure you a good few million votes in your re-election. From fresh voters who've just registered and are undecided. She could bridge the gap that makes you seem so unrelatable with the digital age--"

"That woman that should never dare call herself a journalist asked me to confirm the measurements of my phallus because it appears that that is the dominating question her audience had for me," he snapped, rendering the former assistant quiet.

"I--I'm sorry, Boss. I didn't know--"

"No. No you did not. It is clear that you did not do ample research on how this Miss Lewis conducted her behavior and what type of a strategy she would likely use to bridge this so called gap of relatability. I have let a good few shortcomings of yours slide since the beginning of this campaign season in hopes that you simply needed to find your footing. But time is running short and frankly so is my patience. I no longer have leniency to spare for incompetence, especially from people that work too closely with me. Pack your belongings, I expect you out within the hour. Security will triple check for any information you may try to smuggle out of the premises, so I suggest you do not even attempt it."

She let out a sound of utter disbelief. "And how exactly do you expect to replace me on such short notice? The press will see when I'm not in your entourage at the briefing tomorrow morning."

"I assure you, it will not be such an impossible feat to replace the likes of you. Now if I were in your shoes, I'd hasten my movements. The hour will tick by before you know it."

Members of Loki's security kept a close watch on her to ensure that she only vacated her desk of her personal belongings. Checking every item she placed into her purse if there were scribbled secrets or supporters' contact information that might give the opposition some sort of an advantage over him.

Once they were positive that there was nothing she held on her person that could even remotely sabotage his re-election campaign, he had her escorted out of the building.

Now on to finding his new assistant. Preferably someone with a sensible enough head on their shoulders that they would at least do a rudimentary background check on who would be conducting the interview before writing them a gate pass and allowing them into such a private space.

Loki took a glance at the small pile of papers that his former assistant left behind. One had numerous strikethroughs and comments scratched on so harshly there were indents on the paper from whoever was wielding the bright fuchsia-inked pen.

Boring as all fuck, this isn't the aesthetic that we're going for. Try again, Y/N, the feedback read. The suggestion held the name of a creator whose content focused on documentaries centered on powerful individuals that have leveraged their platform in a negative manner. That perhaps this journalist could interview him and ask questions that touched on his past before he arrived on Earth and even some of the myths that surrounded his time on Asgard.

The president snapped his fingers at the nearest staff member, beckoning him over with an impatient flick of his fingers. "Which one of your colleagues is Y/N? Point her out to me."

The staff member raised a shaking hand, pointing in the direction of your desk. "O-Over there, Mi--Mister President, Sir," he stammered, mentioning your full name before Loki motioned for him to return to his seat. He took a good look at you, phone clipped between your ear and shoulder while you wrote something down on paper, the concentration written all over your face as you proceeded with your work.

"Yes I'll be sure to keep your contact information on file and forward your request for interview. You'll hear from us soon about schedules and logistics," you told the other person on the line with a smile stretched across your face that was so obviously strained, he could imagine your cheeks were beginning to smart from holding it.

He watched you work for a few more moments, your side of the conversation giving enough away for him to figure out you were speaking with a representative from Stark Industries. Something about a partnership to provide free sustainable energy to the impoverished communities throughout the country.

"We're very much looking forward to speaking with you in more detail about your proposals, Miss Stark. Thank you so so much for taking the time to answer my call, we'll be in touch soon." You took your little pencil and used it to twist your hair out of your face, your strained smile finally dropping. "Sorry I probably won't be able to call though because the president's PA is a complete ditz that'll reject my request because it doesn't go with the aesthetic," you grumbled, imitating his former assistant's tone toward the end and bringing an amused smile to the god's face.

"Miss Y/L/N," he called out to you, his tone uncharacteristically soft. Despite it, however, the sound of his voice still caused you to start in your seat.

Your expression morphed into a grimace, sucking in air between your teeth, looking defeated. "Good afternoon, Sir," you spoke, your words shaking with obvious fear. "You…heard me mocking your assistant, I apologize nobody was meant to hear that. I'll uhm…I'll clear my desk, it was an honor getting to work--"

"Hold on a moment there, darling, you're not in any trouble." He approached you with his hands held out and open in an attempt to tell you you had nothing to fear. "It was…quite an accurate depiction, if we're being honest. Hardly a mockery. I've erm…I've actually come here to speak with you about some of the interview requests you'd sent in prior to today."

He held up some of the scraps of paper in his hand, each of them containing your handwriting and his previous assistant's caustic feedback in the obnoxious fuchsia ink she insisted on using. "They were all rejected," you offered lamely, grimacing again as you squirmed in your seat.

"They're also quite clever. Intelligent, even." Your head snapped up at the compliment, a mixture of shock and satisfaction on your face as you looked at him. Your grimace had given way to a tiny endearing smile, a tinge of pink now in your cheeks. "Had my itinerary been comprised of these instead, today might have turned out to be more productive."

Your eyes widened to the point he worried they might pop out of your head. "The Lewis interview pushed through today?" He nodded once, a look of pity now painting your features. "I am so terribly sorry I sent over my research on her content but--"

"My former assistant likely shredded your findings," he finished, sitting slightly at the edge of your desk. "It's alright, Y/N, I don't hold you responsible for any of today's shortcomings. I see the efforts you've taken to enrich this campaign. Shamefully quite late, but I see them now. Hopefully moving forward we could work together to correct your predecessor's oversights."

"Wait, hold on…former assistant? Predecessor? Sir what--"

"I'd like to offer you a promotion of sorts. I'm in need of a new assistant, seeing as I fired the last one today for organizing an interview so brazenly invasive I might as well have taken the meeting completely nude."

"Well I'm sure Ms Lewis' audience would've loved that--" You stopped your words short, looking as if you'd bit your tongue. "Sorry I shouldn't have--"

"I'm sure they would have," he chuckled, leaning in the slightest to get a better look at you, finding himself surprisingly looking forward to what the next few days would bring, seeing your face more often as well as the potential of a better workflow considering that you seemed to be more focused on substance over appearance. "Take the rest of the day to familiarize yourself with the new workflow, as well as my itinerary. I'll defer to your judgment to rearrange or outright cancel any upcoming interviews as you see fit. I'll meet with you a half-hour before breakfast for a debrief on any changes you've decided on."

He barely gave you any time to nod your head in agreement before he reached for your hand, raising it to his lips and placing a delicate kiss on the back of your hand.

"I look forward to working with you, Y/N."

Your first few days working for President Loki had passed in a blur, working tirelessly to rearrange his schedule and maintaining a correspondence with the content creators that your predecessor had arranged interviews for. Spinning tales of how hectic the president's schedule had become on such short notice and therefore their appointments with him would have to be rescheduled at a later date.

A later date that probably would never come, considering that most if not all of the planned interviews conducted their business similarly to the one that effectively got his former assistant fired within the hour. You made a small note in your own binder that perhaps when he'd secured his re-election, they could be granted access among the crowd of reporters during larger press conferences.

"Maybe if you're among hoards of other reporters, you can keep your thirst in check and actually act like respective, decent human beings. Not asking about dick measurements like you're asking about the weather today. Thirsty idiots…" you grumbled, writing another name into the list.

"If that list gets any longer, you may need to have a rotation schedule, sweetling." You jumped at the sound of the president's voice coming from so close behind you, peering over your shoulder to find that he stood near enough that you could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. "Are these all the ones you'd rescheduled from the prior calendar?"

You mutely nodded, swallowing your nerves before speaking. "All the ones so far," you clarified, clicking away at your computer to show him the packed and borderline overbooked schedule that was formerly planned for him. "I made sure to go for the ones planned in the next few weeks first so that they at least have enough time to reallocate their time somewhat. There's about six more weeks worth to sort out."

"Excellent work," he told you, his voice even closer to your ear now that he was leaning over your shoulder to peer at the schedule on your monitor. "And what does my schedule look like for today, Y/N?"

You clicked to this week's view, taking a cursory look at the calendar. "After the press briefing, you have a lunch meeting with the Department of Defense along with one of the directors of R & B Weaponries, a Mr Barnes, to discuss about a new ammo supplier for the Navy forces and your own personal security detail."

He nodded along with your summary, the citrusy leathery scent of him wafting into your space and making you a touch dizzy from his onslaught of your senses. You just had to smell immaculate on top of looking like sex on legs, you hissed inwardly, biting down hard at the inside of your lip to keep you from saying a word aloud.

"And will you be joining me in this luncheon?"

Your eyes widened at his question. Of course you wouldn't be. The information to be divulged in such meetings should be something heard only by the president or those he deems closest to him. You were his assistant, nothing more. All you needed to know were names, dates, and overall points of discussion.

"I uhm…no. I don't--I don't believe I will be," you stammered, your breath hitching when he turned his head to look at you and suddenly you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. "Personal assistants aren't usually included in the guest list for these events," you offered in a lame attempt at explaining a question he didn't even ask.

"You are now. We'll leave at a quarter to noon." He began to walk out of the office, only halting to look at you over his shoulder when you let out a tiny squeak like you were about to protest. "Are you opposed to this new arrangement, sweet mortal?"

"Uhh--" You took a breath, composing yourself. "No, Sir. I'll call the restaurant to update the head count."

President Loki smirked at you, jerking his head toward the door. "Excellent. Now we should get going. I believe the briefing will commence in a few moments."

While you were on your way to the briefing room, you sent a haphazard text to a stylist friend, a Hail Mary to hopefully get you looking somewhat presentable.

Tasha, massive SOS. I need an outfit to not look like a total clown show next to the President for a lunch thing.

You followed a few steps behind the president, taking a quick look at your watch when you got notified of a reply from your friend, Natasha Romanoff. Is "lunch thing" your way of downplaying "date"? He finally made his move on you after making googly eyes at you all week long?

Her text had you fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you stepped into the briefing room, cameras at the ready and reporters sitting straight and alert, waiting to pounce with their questions once President Loki was situated at his podium.

The hour went on mostly without a hitch, you taking your notes on near everything he'd mentioned in response to the reporters' queries. While your boss was speaking with a few people from Press Relations, your ears perked up at some small talk between two reporters, one of them having a few biting words to say about you.

"I mean at least his last assistant had some sense of fashion. I never thought I'd miss Little Miss looks like she got hired from the red light district, but at least she didn't look like some frumpy ass college student who just rolled out of bed. Honestly she's dragging the whole look down and that's saying so much because Mr President can make anything look hot."

"Except her, apparently," the other reporter shot back in a snippy tone. "Guarantee you he just hired her so that he has less of a distraction in the workplace. She's the kind people look at and they're doing the opposite of mentally undressing her."

"Mentally putting a paper bag over her head," the first reporter capped off with a witchy cackle.

You felt your fury bubbling just under the surface, wanting nothing more than to march over there and give them a piece of your mind for being so catty at someone that they didn't even know. To drag them over their impractical shoes that made their legs wobble if they so much as tried to stand straight or their two sizes too small shirts that had buttons fighting for their life trying to keep their tits covered.

Instead of doing any of that, however, you pulled out your phone to text Tasha. Firstly, no it's not a "date", when are you gonna drop that tin foil hat of yours. And secondly, scratch what I said earlier. You've wanted to give me a makeover since college? Now's your chance, Babes. Gimme the works.

You sidled past the president and his current company, asking one of your closer acquaintances from the staff to accompany him to any impromptu meetings until the lunch meeting later and to inform your boss that you had to attend to a personal matter, but that you would be back before he left for the restaurant.

As the clock kept on ticking closer half past noon, Loki could feel himself getting antsy waiting for your return. He'd noticed how jittery you seemed when you passed him on your way out of the press briefing, and the staff member you'd sent to keep him apprised in your stead gave no satisfactory explanation on what caused you to step out so abruptly.

"Where are you, Y/N…" he grumbled into the empty office, looking on at your desk that he'd moved inside so that calling on you would require less effort. Instead of stepping outside or phoning you, he'd simply have to call your name from wherever he was and you were already there.

And if he was being completely honest with himself, he'd also done it so you would be closer to him and he would see you at all times throughout the day. He found your presence calmed him, the competence you'd more than proven to have over the last few days already easing his day to day.

Just as he was about to reach for his phone and call you to check if you were alright, he heard your voice outside his office, speaking with your reliever in a tone he likened to one that he heard back on Asgard. Whenever Frigga would correct him on any missteps he had throughout his magic lessons.

"I totally get how you can get lost finding the meeting rooms, it's a goddamn maze in here. But if you make any of them lose unnecessary time because of it, not everyone will come at you with understanding. Just make sure that it doesn't happen for next time. I'll draw you up a map for the rooms that are most frequently used. Study it, live it, breathe it. See if someone from security can accompany you while you familiarize yourself with the place, and don't stop until you can navigate the floor with your eyes closed."

"Yes, ma'am," your reliever confirmed, his tone audibly less jittery than when he was speaking with Loki. "Thank you so much, Y/N. Honestly getting you to be in charge of the rest of us might be one of the best things the President ever did. The one before you was so--"

"Harpy?" you finished with a chuckle, the lightness in your tone feeling like a soothing balm to the nerves Loki had had since he saw you exit the White House so hastily earlier this morning. "Remember when I tried to suggest that we should reach out to Greta Thunberg's team?"

He could almost hear the other man shudder from the other side of the door. "Gah, she nearly ripped your throat out that day. Something something not shippable and we need to get 'hot people'. Really lost the plot, that one. Anyways, I'll go work on memorizing that map. Thanks again, Boss."

"Yikes, don't call me that," you shot back, your voice growing closer to the door, prompting Loki to walk back to his desk before you stepped into the office. "That's just for our boss, no one else." Your footsteps sounded different; there was considerably more of a click in each step, and the slightest stumble to them as if you were re-familiarizing yourself with your own legs.

There was a bizarre feeling of the air becoming easier to breathe once he heard the door open. "There you are, darling. I hope your personal matter's been sorted out and you're ready to--" His words halted dead in their tracks once he turned around and got a good look at you, quickly surmising that the 'personal matter' was a complete overhaul of your appearance.

There was an ethereal glow to your face and your hair that had his hands twitching to reach out and touch you, and in place of the slightly oversized sweater and denim you'd worn this morning was a blazer designed to be worn as a dress, set in a shade of green that matched his waistcoat perfectly. To top it all off, the buckle that cinched at your waist as well as the heels that brought your height up by a few inches were set in a gold that matched the horned helmet atop his head.

You looked like the personification of his most far-fetched fantasies whenever he thought of what he wanted in someone that would stand by his side. A confidant. A partner. A lover, even.

Someone radiantly beautiful, brilliant, and completely unafraid to declare themself as his by adorning his colors.

"Too much?" you spoke up, jostling him out of his thoughts. "I-I mean if it is I still have a change of clothes in my bag I can--"

"No, no. It's not too much, little mortal. Not at all." Mentally he was stabbing himself for stumbling over his words so clumsily; he was normally so much more composed than this. "You look…ravishing." Your eyes lit up at his words, betraying the neutral expression you tried to maintain. "Come. We should head to the restaurant."

He offered out his hand to you, confusion plaguing him when the rhythm of his heart stumbled just as his words did once you'd placed your hand in his. He found you such an anomaly, looking at you with utmost curiosity, wondering how someone could simultaneously calm the chaos all around him and yet incite an entirely different type of chaos in his heart. Not to mention his loins.

"You know, darling, had we been in Asgard, your wearing of my colors could be interpreted as a declaration of your allegiance to me," he spoke once you were both situated in the back of the car. You nodded your head slowly, as if ruminating over what he'd just said. He couldn't take his eyes off of you.

"That makes sense," you answered, seeming as if you were thinking aloud. "Seeing as I am your assistant, people should see within seconds that I'm associated with you. The color thing's probably the most tasteful way of doing it rather than a t-shirt with your face printed on it…"

"May I ask you something…a touch more personal, Miss Y/L/N?"

"O-Of course," you stammered, your nodding a touch unsteady, fingers laced together tightly as if you were trying to keep your nerves at bay.

"What made you decide to work for me?"

You blinked rapidly for a moment, seeming to be genuinely taken aback by the question, before composing your answer.

"All the people who held the position before you were horrid…evil men. All they cared about was finessing a kick back. Burying their constituents in debt. You stepped into office and…I was out of debt in less than half a year. My student loans were nowhere to be found. All because you prioritized our right to have an education. Of course I was going to try working on your re-election campaign."

Hearing you talk about his predecessors, describing them the way you did as if they were so starkly different from him, somehow didn't sit right with the god. "But darling, you do know that I, too, am what others would call a…horrid, evil man?"

You shook your head stubbornly, sitting up straighter as if you were about to deliver a lecture. "No. You're not. I've seen evil men. I've worked with them, I've--" The words caught in the back of your throat, making you clear your throat before pushing on. "I've suffered at the hands of evil men."

Your eyes met his, the sincerity in them knocking the air out of his lungs. Had he been up on his feet, he was sure that your next words would have knocked him down on his ass.

"I'm not looking at an evil man."

His next query escaped from his mouth so swiftly, he couldn't have stopped the words even if he wanted to. "Y/N, what prompted all this?" He made a motion from your hair to your feet. "Why the change?" You squirmed in your seat, as if holding the answer in was making you physically uncomfortable. "It's alright, darling, you can tell me."

There was a heaviness in your tone when you answered. Like you were holding back tears from just recounting the events. "This morning…in the briefing room. There were these reporters commenting on how I looked and how it kind of…cheapened the image. Your image. Ruined the aesthetic."

"What is it with these feeble-minded mortals and their absurd fascination about aesthetics?"

"I don't know," you blurted out. "But the thing is, Sir, I don't have to know. The only thing I have to understand is that there are people, voters, who assign a high value to the aesthetic of a candidate. And it won't sit right in my conscience if I have the knowledge that my appearance can jeopardize someone's decision to vote for you, and I do nothing about it. So…I called up a friend of mine and…told her to make me a new person. A pretty one."

You were already beautiful, he thought to himself. It mattered not how you presented yourself.

Before he could suppress the urge, he was reaching over to your side of the backseat, tucking a lock of your hair that fell loose, obstructing his view of your features. "You deserve so much better than this, sweet mortal," he said softly, stroking your cheek with the backs of his fingers, his heart warming when he saw how you leaned into his touch. "You should be working for an honorable man. A decent man."

The next words to come out of your mouth had him just about ready to carve his heart out with his own dagger and serve it to you on a golden platter. "I am."

"Babes, noooooo," Tasha whined from her end of the video call. "Why are you putting your hair up? The whole fit goes better with your hair down."

You mumbled your answer as incoherently as you could, hoping she'd chalk it off to a bad connection as you fiddled with the half of your hair that was put up in a little gold claw clip.

"What was that, Babes? I didn't quite hear you."

Dammit. "Because he told me he likes it when my hair's not blocking my face, okay?" you answered her with an exaggerated sigh. "Now please tell me my makeup meets your standards because I really don't wanna explain that I lost motion in my right arm from blending my eyeshadow."

"Okay first, your makeup's fine. I'm so proud I'm about to quote that little red cartoon dragon. And second, I can't believe you had the audacity to tell me I had a tin foil hat on, I told you the first day you walked into that briefing room with him that that man couldn't stop himself from looking at you and looking like a heart-eyed emoji. Now you're telling me this? Babes, it's time you accept it. The President has it bad for you, and give it eight to ten months, and you're gonna become First Lady Y/N Laufeyson. In fact I'm so sure of it that 'if I'm wrong, I'll dye my hair puke green. Neon, glow in the dark, puke green."

You let out a frustrated sound that echoed throughout your apartment, stepping back from the phone and showing your friend your choice of clothing for the day, just like you had every morning for the last week. Today it was a dress with puff sleeves, a high neckline with a keyhole and ribbon bow detailing, and an a-line skirt. In President Loki's signature shade of green, of course.

"Looks great, Babes. He's gonna love it."

"Doesn't matter if he likes it, Tasha. The viewers just have to not think I'm ruining his look," you grumbled, stepping out of your phone camera's view to change into the dress.

"Mm hmm, keep telling yourself that, Y/N. Have a good day at work. Try not to ride your boss until after office hours, okay?" You waved her off, ending the call and putting your phone on Silent before you headed off to the White House.

When you got to President Loki's office, he was sat at the edge of his table, hands resting on the lux hardwood surface, and legs spread.

The posture put those unfairly sensual muscular thighs on sluttish display, made worse by the way the fabric of his at least one size too tight slacks stretched and strained over his skin. You had to look away before you dared look closer because you could've sworn you also clocked some tenting between his legs.

"Good morning, sweet little mortal," he greeted you, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Your knees nearly buckled from its effect on you, already feeling the familiar pooling between your legs.

"Good morning, Sir," you answered, already feeling flushed, your breathing a bit deeper and causing an uncomfortable pinch from how bra was pinching against your breasts. "You're up early today…"

"I'm still up, darling. I couldn't sleep. Something was…plaguing my mind."

"Oh?"

He gave you a single nod before raising his hand forward, curling his fingers in a motion that had your feet moving of their own accord toward him. Had you not known any better it was like he cast a spell that summoned you to his side.

But you did know better. He didn't need to cast a spell.

"Closer," he breathed when you were standing two feet in front of him, flicking his gaze down at the space between his legs.

Your heart caught in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears and pounding so hard you could swear you felt it even at the tips of your toes. Regardless, you obeyed, stepping closer until you stood less than a foot away from him.

"I want you to know you're free to tell me if you wish for me to stop." His words came out strained, like it hurt to say them. "I would never hold it against you. If you do not feel the same I can drop it and we can both simply pretend this never happened."

There's no way, you kept on stubbornly repeating to yourself. Even as he placed his sinfully large hands at your sides, bringing you even closer, so close that you could feel his breath warming your face.

Even as he reached up to remove the clip holding your hair up, weaving his fingers into your hair to hold you in place while his eyes roamed your features, constantly returning to stare at your lips.

The stubborn voice in the back of your head only got silenced once he closed the remaining distance between you, soft lips pressing against your own in a kiss so delicate it was like he thought you were made of porcelain and you would crack at even the slightest touch.

"You can stop me if you feel I've overstepped," he whispered, still close enough that the movement of his lips still faintly ghosted over your own. "I just simply couldn't go another day without telling you--"

You felt the slightest thrill up your spine at the surprised sound that caught in the back of his throat, when you cut him off by giving him a fleeting kiss of your own.

You barely registered the heavy sound of his helmet hitting the tabletop before he pulled you closer, one hand tugging lightly at your hair, the other roaming down your body and working its way under your dress. He grasped at your thigh, letting out a sinful moan when you parted your lips for him and your tongues met in a frantic tangle.

"Do you trust me?" he rasped, catching his breath. He let out a sharp exhale, sounding relieved when you simply nodded your head. He wrapped his hand around the inside of your knee, his other arm wrapping around your waist to lift you up to straddle his lap, knees resting on the edge of the tabletop.

The precarious position had you grasping at his shoulders, leaning into him to keep yourself from keeling over.

He splayed his hand across your back, holding you steady. "I have you, sweet girl." He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, kissing his way down your neck until you let out a strangled moan once he'd reached a spot between your neck and shoulder.

You had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation for this. You slept in and you were still in your apartment and now you were about to be late for work. Yup, that was it. You tried to dig your nail into your palm, wincing at the sharp pinch you felt but nothing came of it.

"Agh--" Your nail broke skin, a tiny spot of blood blooming on your palm.

"Darling Y/N, what in the Nine are you doing?" He wrapped his hand around your wrist, running his thumb across your palm, seeing the minuscule wound.

"This is a dream," you mumbled, more to yourself. "I have to wake up."

"Little mortal," he cooed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "You think this a dream?" You whimpered at the smirk he gave you when you nodded. "So you've dreamed of this before? Of my kiss? My touch?"

Ah what the hell I'm dreaming anyway. "I have. Every night."

"Oh my sweet little mortal." He pressed a kiss to your palm, the pinprick wound suddenly nowhere to be found when he pulled away. "I can assure you…if this is a dream, it is one we share. The things I've wanted to do to you. With you. Now that I know you've wanted this, too, there is very little that can stop me from turning those dreams into reality."

He worked his hand back under your dress, between your legs, fingertips teasingly trailing up the inside of your thigh. He let out a staggering breath when he met the fabric of your panties, drenched with your arousal.

When you began to whimper from his fingers tracing along your slit he pulled you in for another kiss, effectively muffling your moans when he began to circle your clit over your panties. You started to roll your hips into his touch in response, your body already aching for more.

"So deliciously eager," he purred, kissing his way to your ear. "But I'll be needing you to stay alert, darling." You let out a little squeak when his hold tightened around your waist, keeping you from grinding your hips and chasing your own pleasure. "Now tell me what will be on my itinerary for today."

The softly growled order had your mind scrambling, thoughts that usually easily stitched together to form whatever answer he needed suddenly becoming disjointed and lost to the recesses of your consciousness. "Wait what?"

"I'm sure you understand my need for those under my employ to be mentally sharp as a tack. Regardless of my desire and affection for you, sweet mortal, you are still among those people." You arched your back, pressing your chest against his when he moved the fabric of your panties aside, sliding a single finger inside you and moving in long, languid strokes. "However now we could perhaps make our little morning discussions a touch more…interesting."

"You have the p-press briefing at eight and--Ohh fuck!" Your grip on his shoulders tightened when he inserted a second finger and curled them upwards, brushing against a spot that had you letting out the most obscene moan that filled his office.

"Such vulgar words from your lucious lips," he panted, stealing another kiss from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulled away. "Like watching an angel in the midst of corruption. On her pretty little knees for her god." He brushed against the spot with firmer strokes, making you wetter and turning you into a whimpering mess. "Keep going. What comes after the briefing?"

Your mind was spinning trying to recall. You mentally smacked yourself for struggling to remember when you'd just been committing the schedule to memory on your Uber ride here.

"U-Uhm…You have a pre--a prefatory meeting with Morgan Stark at 9:30 to dis--Fucking hell--To discuss free sustainable e-energy to lower class communities." You kept on frantically combing through your memories of your ride over here to recall the rest of the schedule.

"And what else, sweetheart?" He stilled his fingers while pressed on that same spot, lightly ghosting the pad of his thumb over your clit. "You're already doing so well. Finish it so we may move on to more…pleasurable…activities."

He pressed his lips to the base of your throat, the feel of him sucking lightly on the skin driving you near incoherent. "You--You have a meeting with R & B at three. To fi--" You threw your head back and let out a howling moan, his hand tightening on your back to keep you from falling over. "To finalize the contracts for the Department of Defense. And your security detail."

"Not just my security," he grunted, starting to stroke his fingers again. "Yours, too."

That was enough to break through your pleasure-induced haze by a fraction. "Hold on. What? Sir, I don't need--Ohh!" The rest of your words died with an obscene moan when he started flicking his fingers rapidly inside you.

"You're far too valuable for me to not allocate resources to ensure your safety when I can't protect you myself," he explained, peppering kisses across your collarbone. "Is that all for my day, sweet girl?"

"Y-Yes!" you whined, trying desperately to move your hips for even the tiniest bit more friction. "That's everything."

"Excellent." He moved his hand up to hold you by the back of your neck, letting out a sinful groan when he licked into your mouth. "And you'll be joining me in all of those, won't you?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I always want you with me," he murmured against your slips, letting out a moan of his own when he kissed you again, starting to move his fingers faster and pressing his thumb firmly on your clit. "Now come for me, my sweet mortal. My corrupted little angel. Make a mess on your god's fingers."

Your orgasm overtook you as the god moved his hand to your lower back, guiding your movements as you rode out your high, coating his fingers with your release. Your mind was a haze, the sound of his raspy utterances of your name barely hitting your ears. His chest heaved against yours, lips pressing soft kisses to the side of your face while your breathing evened out.

When he pulled his digits out of you, you let out a whiney groan, already feeling the loss of him. The sight of the god placing his fingers in his mouth, his sinfully dexterous tongue lapping up every drop of your juices from his skin, had you squirming in his lap all over again.

"More already?" he teased, pulling you in for another kiss. You could faintly taste yourself on his tongue. "What a beautifully insatiable little mortal you are. It's as if the Norns had made you just for me." His hands freely roamed your back while he kissed his way down your neck, sucking a bruise onto your collarbone. "I've indulged myself in such fantasies of claiming you on every surface of this office. Of every room in this house. I want to lay you down on my desk without a stitch of clothing on you and get drunk on the taste of you."

You could only respond with a faint whimper, images of what he'd described taking up all the space in the forefront of your mind. "Please…"

"I promise you we'll have all the time to make every single one of those debauched fantasies come to life, sweet girl." He kissed you again, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the table, softly chuckling against your lips when you started to pout at your feet hitting the ground. "But I want our first night together somewhere more intimate. A moment that shouldn't be rushed and stolen between meetings, held in secrecy in my office."

He held your chin delicately between his fingers, keeping you from looking away at him. The mere sight of the near fully blacked out eyes shining with sincerity and held back words was enough to have your knees buckling again.

"Later tonight," he continued. "When everyone's day is over, then our night can begin. I'll bring you to my private quarters and there…" He took a deep breath, a brilliant smile stretching across his face, a real one so starkly different from the practiced smirks he gave the public. "There I will make love to you."

He guided you to take a step back from him, your heart fluttering when he placed a soft kiss to your forehead before conjuring a majestic golden mirror into the room with a flick of his wrist. The image of you visibly disheveled, paired with the smeared lipstick marks all over President Loki's face, had you biting your lip trying to hold back a smile of your own.

You held the undone ribbon of your dress between your fingers. "And here I spent a good ten minutes on this trying to look all perfect," you told him playfully, a fit of giggles finally escaping you when he took the straps from your hands and used them to pull you to him once again, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

"Much as I appreciate the effort and having you look as if you'd gift-wrapped yourself just for me with this lovely little flourish, may I say that it matters not how you dress. You were already perfect the day I first saw you on the campaign floor."

"I was wearing a ratty old sweater from college," you shot back, finding it hard to breathe.

"The color of the sky on a stormy day." He brushed his nose against yours, pressing a soft kiss to the tip. "Turn around. Face the reflection."

When you faced the mirror again, he redid the ribbon exactly as it was when you left your apartment with a wave of his hand, kissing along the side of your face as he put your clip back in your hair.

"There you are, sweetheart," he cooed, nipping at the shell of your ear. "Not a hair out of place." Another wave of his hand and he, too, had returned to his state before you walked into the office. "I'd very much like for you to join me for breakfast."

You answered only with a nod, reaching for his hand.

As he led you down the halls toward the dining room, you sent Tasha a quick text.

About what you said earlier…fingers don't count, right?

A/N: It's finally done! The initial 5 stories goal of Kinktober 2023 are all up and I'm finally going back to writing the series I haphazardly dropped when I decided to write these pieces over a month ago. And I finally have a President Loki story in my little library of works 😳👀

I swear I didn't expect to write such a mega chonker for the first President Loki story but I got all kinds of carried away…so much so that there are scenes that I cut from the final draft that might become drabbles somewhere down the line.

For now though…back to the blorbos of 'one look & they'll know', 'relinquish the crown', 'the final Lady Sharpe', 'let me hear you', 'rules of conduct', 'feels like mine'…and some other not-so-secret projects 😳👀

Ohh…and that bit in the end where he pulls on the ribbons of her dress? This was fully the vibe:

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

Kinktober taglist: @azula-karai-27

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #president loki x reader #president loki x female reader #president loki smut #muddyorbs writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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ghouljams · 18 hours

Text

Observation and Experiment Logs pertaining to SCP-141-b, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

Experiment Log 13, SCP-141-b transcribed from video recording:

(SCP-141-b sits across from ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ in standard issue interview room. SCP-141-b seems to be at ease and unbothered by the situation, he leans comfortably against the arm of his chair. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ has been instructed to conduct a conversational interview, and is a c-class civilian assistant in the memetic anomalies department, chosen for her looks and extroverted nature. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ has not been briefed on SCP-141-b's memetic abilities. Experiment log is recorded on standard ⬛️⬛️⬛️ video camera.

⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ has been given a short question list. Experiment is to gauge SCP-141-b's willingness to accept and encourage memetic agent.)

(interview start 00:00 >>)

⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Please state your name for the recording. SCP-141-b: Sergeant Kyle Garrick. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Do you know what this interview is for? SCP-141-b: The other one said it's some sort of test? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Something like that. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Would you please state for the recording if we have any previous relationship, or if we have met in the past? SCP-141-b: No relationship and I've never met you. Think I would've remembered if I had. You're a pretty bird aren't you? Sort that knows it's pretty. Wonder if you taste as good as you look. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I wouldn't know.

(skip 10:35 >>)

(⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ seems to have relaxed into her seat, SCP-141-b smiles at her as she speaks enthusiastically)

⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: -and then again in Brittney ⬛️⬛️'s car. I can't believe you don't remember that! SCP-141-b: Sorry love, must have hit my head one two many times. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: You always say that. (⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ can be seen rolling her eyes) ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I think you're just pulling my leg. SCP-141-b: Wish I was, got great legs. (⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ giggles)

(skip 32:43 >>)

(⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ has placed herself on SCP-141-b's lap, his arms are settled comfortably around her waist. SCP-141-b seems at ease, he makes no move to remove ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ from her seat. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ appears to be at ease as well)

SCP-141-b: -to do, I got deployed. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I know, I know, but I missed you. I thought you might wait for me. SCP-141-b: Who says I didn't? SCP-141-b: Don't you remember? You met me at the airport. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I did. God maybe I'm the one hitting my head. I did meet you at the airport, you were fresh from your first deployment and I-

(skip 47:23 >>)

SCP-141-b: -something for me, you think you can do that doll? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I think so. SCP-141-b: Good girl. SCP-141-b: I need you to-

(SCP-141-b cannot be heard speaking for several minutes, though ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ can be seen nodding her head in understanding. It is believed that SCP-141-b was giving ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ orders at the time to help facilitate his escape from the testing room. Tape ends 52:55 when ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ leaves SCP-141-b's lap and goes to the cell door to request permission to end the interview.)

---

Experiment Notes (13), SCP-141-b and ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ interview:

SCP-141-b seems aware of cognitohazardous anomaly and actively encourages it towards his own benefits. Observation of ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ during experiment reveals SCP-141-b is able to feed, or prompt, false memory generation. Full effects are seen after ~1 hour exposure to SCP-141-b. Individuals affected by SCP-141-b's memetic agent are designated as SCP-141-b*1. Exit interview with ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ is as follows:

Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Would you please state your name for the record. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Thank you, and would you explain your relationship to SCP-141-b in simple terms. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: He's an old friend, High School sweetheart, really. We tried to keep it going after graduation but life happened. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Doesn't it always. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: It was really great catching up with him, though. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: I see, and are you able to remember the start of your conversation with SCP-141-b at all? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Sure. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: And would you please repeat the questions that we assigned you, along with the answers SCP-141-b provided? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Uh, asked him his name: Kyle Garrick. Asked him if- Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Are you alright? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Yeah sorry, I just got this awful pain in my head. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: You asked SCP-141-b if he knew you. Do you remember how he answered. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Yes, I- (⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ can be heard making pained noises) Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Noting for the record that ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ is holding her head, and experiencing headache like symptoms in line with previously observed phenomena around SCP-141-b. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Can you describe the pain for me? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: It's like someone's scraping my brain with an ice pick. I feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my fucking head. Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Thank you. Did SCP-141-b ask you to do anything for him before you left? ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Why do you keep calling him that? Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Please answer the question. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: Maybe if you weren't keeping him locked up like an animal- Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: Please take your seat. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: He's a human being and you're keeping him prisoner here! Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️: You are under the effects of a memetic anomaly, you're not thinking clearly. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️: I'm thinking perfectly clearly you-

Post Experiment Interview cut short due to violent behavior from subject. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ attempted to subdue Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️ as well as two security personnel and was apprehended. Relegated to observation and further questioning. Unclear whether SCP-141-b's implanted memories will dissipate.

---

Site ⬛️⬛�� Memo to researchers in ⬛️⬛️ Memetic Anomalies Lab:

SCP-141-b is to be upgraded to level 2 cognitohazard.

Memo Addendum from ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ in ⬛️⬛️ Memetic Anomalies Lab:

SCP-141-b seems like a nice enough guy, I think my aunt knew his mom and he's never given us any trouble.

Memo from Dr. ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️ Head of ⬛️⬛️ Memetic Anomalies Lab:

All staff who have interacted with SCP-141-b or been in contact with anyone who has interacted with SCP-141-b is to report to memetic decontamination immediately. All testing on SCP-141-b is to be halted immediately and until further notice. SCP-141-b is to be considered a hostile memetic agent. Do not engage.

---

Observation Log 27, SCP-141-b:

The more I look at this guy the more familiar he seems.

---

SCP-141-b is a level 3 memetic hazard and is considered cognitohazardous. Please report all memories or impressions of SCP-141-b to your supervisor. No further testing is to be done on SCP-141-b without permission from O5. Level 4 personnel only.

#cod x reader #x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz x reader #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #scp au #scp!141

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thearchercore · 4 months

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why charles, ironically, is a good fit as a potential condender for a red bull seat and why red bull needs a driver like charles (an essay)

charles embodies the "red bull gives you wings" mentality and branding. red bull prides themselves with pushing limits, constant adrenaline rush of the sports they currently sponsor/participate in. just look at his recent instagram posts, he loves doing weird side quests for the adrenaline rush -- something ferrari does not particularly enjoy. for instance, he once tried skydiving (to quote @gaslightgirlsummer "he’s legally not allowed to do it anymore. he was actually legally not allowed to do it when he did it the first time around either"). when he got asked about it, he said "in case it went wrong, i would not be here to be told up".

max and checo, on the other hand, prefer only racing. they don't do anything extra during their prep or training. in fact, max prefers to train in the privacy of his own balcony. the both don't really resonate with the initial message red bull is trying to push, they only do so exclusively when racing.

red bull is in desparate need of keeping themselves interesting for potential sponsors and just in general, being in the public eye and remaining relavant. their main goal is to sell the drinks, after all. max recently had an interview with the TIME magazine, released around the vegas weekend, conducted around COTA, the interview highlighted that max's focus is on racing and the PR responsibilites pretty much drain his energy because they are part of the sport. it showcased that despite the results in racing, they need someone who's more interesting for sponsors/events to keep themselves in the spotlight, which max and checo don't really do. charles, on the other hand, attends these events quite smoothly.

recently, christian horner at the ferrari movie premiere:

Christian Horner says Ferrari would be ‘crazy’ not to keep hold of Charles Leclerc:

Horner on the contract extension rumours:

🗣️: “It’s totally natural, he’s a great driver. I’m sure they’ll want to keep hold of him and they’d be crazy if they didn’t.”

there's more but to align it with my previous charles PR rebrand post, it's truly fascinating to see charles and his PR team push the narrative of all his adrenaline side quests as of recent from his training (24 hour ski trip from italy to austria and back, or the sliding). i'm not saying that charles is going to red bull, i still believe he wants to give ferrari one more chance, but i am convinced charles has a solid back up plan if ferrari does not deliver again, and red bull keeps their door open in case charles wants to look for a team alternative in the future. don't forget contracts have mutliple exit clauses, and it would be stupid to think charles did not secure the ferrari contract with multiple to make sure he wouldn't waste his active racing years at a team that won't deliver and help him achieve the WDC title. don't forget what charles said - he's ready to leave ferrari if he does not believe in the project anymore.

"Whenever I don't believe in the project anymore, I'll have to go away. Because it’s in these kinds of situations that you don't get the best out of yourself, that you don't help the team as much as it needs to be helped."

and that's exactly what's happening. now it's up to ferrari to deliver on the said project.

#charles leclerc #lestappen gate 2023 #formula 1 #lestappengate #f1

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lovesickry · 6 months

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- let the light in.

┈⋆⭒ lando norris x rival femdriver!reader [3k] ┈⋆⭒ part 4 !!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ find all parts here! .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: 18+, padel, angst, smut, george russel is a gentleman lol. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: im so sorry for taking so long to write, busy LOL. (unedited sorryyy)

seeing the chequered flag in front of you and the orange car behind you. you couldn't be any fucking happier. stepping out of that car and looking back on a stiff bodied Lando Norris, undoubtedly scowling at you from behind his visor, you couldn't help but smirk outwardly at the flushing pride. you fucking beat him, with all the shit he's said, all the shit hes done and you just fucking beat him. you don't even care that you're not up on the podium today, enjoying seeing lando sulk is better than the taste of any champagne. though you don't turn down a glass offered to you just after wrapping up a multitude of interviews conducted with Lando's eyes glued to the back of your head.

Charles appears next to you as you exit the media pen and you oblige the company. walking through the paddock, he makes a note about turn 11 and you laugh, agreeing as he walks over to Carlos just outside the ferrari garage. charles finished P7, ferrari fucking him over yet again. it was baffling to you that he didn't throw things or show any kind of extreme anger outwardly at least physically. you personally would've snapped 6 months ago but he was still all dimples and nods and endless forgiveness. on your way out of the media pen you catch lando's eye and he gives you a shit eating grin, one full of sarcasm and self-satisfaction. you swiftly turn away, walking faster than you were originally, trying to outrun any kind of interaction that was eagerly festering between you too.

the rest of the day was forgettable, consisting mainly of meaningless interviews, too much PR training making them a sad carbon copy of the other. you saw lewis on your way out.

"impressive drive today Dylan"

"thanks lewis, you too"

"obviously" you continue, he is a 7 time world champion.

he laughs and excuses himself, walking to his car.

it was a long day, you can understand the eagerness to escape the human interaction, the drive back to your hotel was quiet and exactly what you had yearned for. Monaco; never empty but significantly quieter than this morning, the night air crisp and clean as you rounded the corner to the street of your hotel.

flopping down onto the tightly (re)made hotel bed made you let out a groan, everything resulting from the day all coming out because what the fuck was that? you push your head further into the mattress when your mind keeps flicking through scenes of landos hands all over you. his mouth on yours, his breath on your neck and the muffled noises he made in your ears. you throw your head back into the pillow, revering your thoughts and the temptation that comes with a person you share so much hatred with. a knock coming from outside your door wakes you up, still in jeans, shoes thrown halfway across the room, slumped diagonally across the bed, face smushed into the mattress. you blink a few times and then get up, walking to your door and twisting the door knob.

"george?"

"hey"

"what time is it?"

"11"

your eyebrows scrunched, morning or night, before you could ask, he answered.

"were leaving in 6 hours"

relief washes over you.

"oh okay thank god"

he lets out a short laugh and then commences talking again.

"just wondered if you wanted to get breakfast downstairs, they're still serving it. talk about the race a little"

he sounds nearly timid and you can't lie breakfast sounds nice as you feel your stomach entirely too hollow at the thought of food. plus, you'd been more or less waiting out to chat shit about the size of the track in Monaco, not that you didn't love racing there but just the fact the cars got bigger each year and the track.... didn't.

"yeah-uh. sure, let me just, get changed out of-" you gesture down at yesterdays clothes, still with marks of how you slept on top of the sheets.

"I wasn't gonna say anything" he whispers.

you squint your eyes and he smirks,

"just come find me when you're-" he gestures to your albeit disheveled state.

you give him a face of annoyance and he winks as he pulls the door shut.

you smell the breakfast buffet before you see it and are grateful for it. wondering if in your state of distraction you'd really be able to find anything. you spot George settled down in a corner seat, hunched over a plate looking in the direction of the window and out of it. you walk across the room, noticing the length of your steps as your consciousness alerts you of the eyes on you. he looks up at you upon your approach and smiles at you warmly before you take a seat briefly before grabbing a plate and a wide range of strange breakfast foods like they always had at hotels. it was good to catch up, you liked George and before the other day you didn't think George liked you the way lando said he did, but now he'd said it you couldn't stop noticing small things. small things, that earlier you wouldn't have noticed but now you couldn't ignore. he'd lean into you when you talked, look in your eyes, nod his head while you were speaking. it wasn't that you didn't like George, you just didn't like him that way and you're sure that he didn't either. lando was just messing with your head. just as you were getting up to leave however, George extended an offer to you.

"I don't know if its your thing but im leaving to play padel with max and lando in 10 minutes"

you're not convinced

"Alex was my partner and he can't come anymore"

it could be fun.

"yeah sure"

lando was exactly how you imagined when playing padel just how he was with everything else, obnoxious. the minute you showed up he felt the need to one up you and George on every occasion, purposely making impossible shots, max noticed and just laughed or groaned. max you liked, George you liked, lando you couldn't stand. padel was something that you hadn't done in a while and at the beginning you could've said you needed some help but as time went on it got easier and lando's impossible shots weren't so impossible anymore. George went to far one time to bring up his obsession with you and the next ball went straight for his head. max couldn't stop laughing and you were just staring at George in disbelief. lando said it was accident and continued with a stupid level of banta and you and George finally caught up to max and lando's score. the last 15 minutes consisted of endless high fives and half assed trash talk ultimately resulting in max needing a time out cause he couldn't stop laughing and you sitting down for a few minutes. you and George beat max and lando on the last game and exploded into a frenzy, you were all competitive and it wasn't surprising when lando threw his head back into his hands or max pretended to smash his racket on the floor before meeting you in the middle of the court to shake hands. max gives you a pat on the back and says something that isn't remotely funny but makes you laugh nonetheless. lando's grip is firm and lingers for a small time before dropping your hand with a "missed you". lando was impossibly easy to read at worst, but this was out of the ordinary. he said the words with a mimicking air of sarcasm though he said so looking directly at you, a fierce gaze, warm hands clasped together as his pinky finger dared to graze your wrist. he dropped your hand hard and fast though and retreated back to the mindless giggling with max, leaving you and George to pack up and walk out together. max and lando stood together, huddled over someones phone as you and George emerge from the court, rackets in hand and max is the only one to acknowledge you both as you walk towards them, max smiles and nudges you, you look up and gasp at the sight, a rolls Royce, pulled up on the side of the road waiting for you.

"you coming?" the question is said to max, though directed at them all.

"Kelly needs me to pick her up you're stuck with them." he gestures back towards George and lando, who seem to be talking just not happily.

"they're gonna kill me" you say to max hushedly.

"lando might" he jokes to which you roll your eyes and he waves goodbye to the boys and heads in the direction of his car. you simply walk towards the car, settling in the leather seats, smooth and noticing the almost business like appeal the car has, it has one of those screens in-between the driver and passengers that can go dark with the click of the button. you're too entranced by the interior to notice the light that enters when the door is opened to get in. you assume it to be George but when you finally turn your head you discover George has sat in the front, on some kind of mandatory work call. the look lando gives you as he sits next to you is not one of comfort and you hope the 20 minute drive goes by fast with the way his body is inching impossibly closer to yours and your shorts are only riding higher and higher up your thighs with the more you try and distance yourself from him. a cruel irony.

its only five minutes into the drive when you notice lando has stretched his arm out and is currently searching for the button that releases the screen between the 2 areas. your eyes widen as his fingers bends around the edge of the seat and finds it, clicking it smoothly and you watch as the back of George's head is no longer there and you can't pretend to stare out of the front window.

you're still silent, scared to speak, that your voice may crack or that you won't say what you mean. lando joins your side once again, looking at the side of your face waiting for you to speak on the events that unfolded only 36 hours ago.

"if you wanted me that bad you could've asked, 'm pretty reasonable"

you glare at him openly now, hoping to shut him up.

" 'ts all im saying"

"shut up" short and sweet and completely impossible to misunderstand.

"why?" hes a fucking child.

"shut up" you say again, going over a bump and trying desperately to ignore kind of faint sensation boiling in-between your legs.

"my hands are cold" he says smirking, letting out a small disguised laugh.

you screw your eyebrows and look forward once again though feel his hand come in-between your thighs, his strong fingers splitting between the warmth you'd created between them as he settles his right hand between your legs. you're breath is embarrassingly unsteady when makes any slight movements of his fingers that even graze your upper thigh or anywhere near where you needed him. fuck you did kind of need him it, you deserved it after yesterday. its a mistake to let your head fall back at the contact he finally makes to your panties as he takes it as a sign that your submitting, which you're not, you're just... processing.

"wanna ask now?"

you're silent as a mouse, mouth once agape now tight lipped, eyes now tightly shut, thighs clenched incredibly around lando's hand in hopes to keep it from roaming higher and relinquishing the decreasing control you seemed to have of the situation. you're too focused on the hand between your thighs to notice his other hand coming to cup your face, making you face him.

christ he could be beautiful, in the low light of the car, sweat lining his hairline making it impossibly curly as it kissed his eyebrows, shirt clinging to his shoulders tanned and muscled and his neck shining through it all, broad and veined and all you could think about. your thighs release their hold and lando takes the invitation, using his hand on your jaw to pull you into him, expecting to kiss though stopping just before being impossibly close.

"just ask?"

you're annoyed now, you didn't make him ask you just did it.

"you want it more than I do" you say, annoyed at how hes making it out.

"liar" he says, squinting as he pulls his hands finally under the waistband of your shorts and you don't even care that he's being stupid because you're both so warm and you can feel the taut muscle and hot skin and you don't care that these are leather seats or that George is in the front seat. lando is seated in a way where hes almost behind you with how close he is, crowded next to you. his mouth just hovering next to your eye, his next filthy remark on the tip of his tongue, waiting to slide right off. you finally move one of your hands to cup his, your unspoken reassurance of how much you need him to hurry the fuck up, you have a plane to catch after all. hes only just moved your panties to the side and the car comes to a stop shortly before continuing on, hes going much too slow.

"hurry up" you say between breaths, trying to sound unphased.

"shush" he says, mockingly though you don't seem to care, because hes finally circling your clit and your almost quivering because it feels so good.

"how would mr Russel feel if I opened that right now"

that, referring to the only thing currently separating your activities form your friend and the driver.

"fuck off" you muster up as his fingers seem to graze every part of you that you desire.

his left hand rises underneath your shirt, slipping underneath the sports bra and just letting his hand rest there for a minute, playing with your nipple though pausing the movements on your clit. your legs are subconciously rubbing together and lando is quick to stop any kind of feeling that isn't him.

"I think he'd love it don't you?"

god you wished he'd shut up.

you grab his face with your free hand and kiss him, finally. he doesn't have much control considering the location of his very own hands right now but he sighs into it the minute you touch him. something you clearly both needed as your hand drifts much too easy to the curls you were admiring earlier, pulling on them harder than you would've had he have been nicer to you. he liked it though, biting your bottom lip before drawing his hand out from your shirt and pulling you flush against his front. his grip is all too familiar and warms you even more as you slide your tongue in his mouth, wet and fucking filthy as he tilts his head to kiss your jaw responding to the direction you pulled his head. hes getting responsive and you figure now if anything is when you should "ask". but its another whole minute of landos mouth on your neck and jaw before you squeak out the word, his second hand still in your panties.

"please?"

he stops and looks at you, taking his hands off of you completely.

"do you think George heard that?" he whispers, smiling.

"you suck" you say, but hes already leaning into your neck again, hand going exactly where you want him. its embarrassing how wet you are and the noise that landos fingers make when he finally slides them inside of you is something unmentionable as you buck forward, stopped shortly by landos second hand coming around your waist, his lips back just below your ear. hes pumping his fingers faster and faster and its humiliating how much energy you have tp focus on not making any noise, noticebably so however, as lando lifts up your shirt for him and then prompts you to put the shirt in your mouth to muffle the noise. its smart but he looks much too self satisfied seeing you gagged and writhing.

"you're cute like this"

you don't respond to this comment, though it goes straight to you're core, his fingers inching you closer as his lips finally make contact with your collarbone and you shiver. it creeps up on you, one minute its just harsh breathing, muffled by your shirt, but the next your shutting your eyes and screwing your eyebrows together and the next your legs are shaking and lando is smiling like he just won fucking Monaco and you're breathing is fractured when he pulls his fingers out and licks them clean. he laughs to himself and takes the shirt out of your mouth and pulls it down before finding the button he pressed only 15 minutes ago and revealing George's face to you. god why did he do that, you hoped you weren't as flushed as you felt, hoping to blame it on the padel or something, lando is giving you the most unfitting smirk as you glare forward, eyes fluttering, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion as you approach the hotel. its all a flurry when you arrive, one of embarrassment as you run off to your hotel room, excusing yourself to "pack". its even worse when you spot Lando on the plane, cursing toto for approving this act of "team bonding" as you sit down across from him considering that lewis and Daniel are already playing a game of cards while you arrive only fashionably late. rather than aknwoeldging your existence though, lando simply gets up and approaches one of the three flight attendants, you don't mean to watch the encounter but it was so clearly a go at you, you couldn't help but notice the obnoxious way he was flirting, nothing like what he would say to you, no this was frat boy bible. you laugh to yourself as you eye up again the actions of lando norris trying to seduce somebody who was literally paid to be his presence and you don't miss the way he taps her waist before he leaves, coming back to his seat and giving you that fucking half smile before sitting down again.

it was only 3 hours, it'd be fine.

tag list:

@ssararuffoni, @eviethetheatrefreak, @fairiesdowntheroad, @landosgirlxoxo, @hiraethrhapsody, @hockeyboysarehot @mcmuppet @honethatty12 @darleneslane @formula1mount @borntogayz @kodzuvk @potatos-on-clouds @jullamy @taytaythirteen,@mrsmaybank13, @spiderrmoon, @giuliaabergaminii.@thenoblenomad, @luanemone, @spaceodd-ty, @aphroditeisamilf, @chonkybonk, @weasleyswizarding-wheezes, @nosebeers, @starmanv @polish-sheepfucker @iamkaku

#source: cafekitsune #f1 #f1 fic #lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 x you #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris series #lando norris enemies to lovers #lando norris rivals #lando norris x you #lando norris angst #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n

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misshoneyimhome · 4 months

Note

Please please tell us that she will conduct another press conference cause she deserves all of that praise kink and beard burn. I feel he flip his shit if one of the fans gets too close to her after having so many simps on social media.

Well of course she'll conduct another press conference, babe! Did you really think we could just let it go and not have our possessive Willy have the chance to almost lose his shit 😉

Warnings; 18+ smut; oral sex (f receiving); uprotected sex;

Word count; 4.5K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep I William Nylander 🖋️⚡️ [intern x willy]

It was scorching.

Never before had you felt so hot while doing your work. Yet, luckily, you were relieved today that you opted for a darker outfit, ensuring that your sweat wouldn't be too conspicuous. And nothing too revealing, either.

Ever since William's reaction the last time you appeared on camera, you'd become cautious about your wardrobe choices. It's not that William didn't appreciate your work outfits; in fact, he seemed to enjoy your skirts and fitted blouses more than anyone.

However, being your boyfriend, he wasn't thrilled about the public eye getting a glimpse of you as well. Sure, you might look alluring and beautiful for him, but the moment others laid eyes on you, he turned into a bit of a protective force.

Which became even more challenging since your relationship was also a secret.

William Nylander could only savour the view of you from across the room when you were fulfilling your duties as the MLSE intern, working for the Toronto Maple Leafs.

And you could only admire him from the sidelines, observing how he commanded the ice, put in the hard work at the weight room, and efficiently handled media availability.

It was tough not to want to give him a bit more media time whenever you conducted questionnaires with the players or lingered around during training just to watch him pursue his passion.

Yet, despite the tempting moments, both of you managed to maintain professionalism at work. After all, dealing with work pressure and showcasing your best skills were crucial for your future career.

Brad even threw in a few words that could pass as compliments – something like 'so far so good' paired with what might have seemed like a warm smile to some.

You played it off casually. The banter remained the same as before your relationship, so it didn’t really raise any eyebrows. As long as William didn't come too close with his flirty remarks, only smiles of joy graced your lips.

However, he did have a habit of leaning in and whispering sweet nothings or suggestive comments, well aware of how it made you blush entirely.

You knew he found it amusing, and despite hating the sensation of your cheeks blazing, deep down, you enjoyed his teasing. It was almost like a little naughty foreplay.

But today, there was no such thing.

Instead, you had to stay focused as you were once again given the opportunity to kick off the brief press conference before tonight's match at the UBS Arena in New York.

And you were a great mess. Despite having a go at your makeup four times and adjusting your outfit, you still felt out of place. In your opinion, you didn't even belong in front of the cameras.

Yet, as you practiced the lines Jennifer had given you, you were slowly feeling more and more confident and comfortable in your own skin.

It was going to be just fine. All you had to do was introduce tonight's players for the pre-game interviews, offer a few words about tonight's expectations, and, as always, manage the journalists. You'd been instructed to guide them on what to focus on with their questions and try to maintain order on who speaks when, well aware that the press always had their own agenda.

However, just as you were about to make an exit from the dressing room, a large body collided with yours. Why does this keep happening, you thought. And worst of all, you spilled your almost-empty cup of coffee all over your nice shirt, just minutes before you were to go on.

"Fuck," you muttered, at least following an apology from the man who'd rushed past you, bumping into your shoulder. And so, you had to turn back to the dressing room. However, the only spare shirt you had in your go-bag was a light-coloured one and knowing you hadn't exactly matched your underwear for that outfit, there was a risk it could be see-through. Normally, you'd have a jumper or cardigan to cover any transparency, but of course, today you hadn't brought one.

"Shit, shit, shit..." you mumbled again. Yet, you acknowledged it was at least the better of the worse, since a coffee stain wasn't exactly proper dress wear either.

So, as you took your place before the cameras, amidst chatting and microphones, you took a deep breath and exhaled deeply before offering a small introduction.

First, Coach Keefe would talk about tonight's strategies, how he'd spoken to players, and the encouraging words he'd shared. Then, Captain John Tavares would step up, talking about how he'd lead the team tonight, letting every player do their best and ensuring everyone supported each other and gave one another the space needed.

And finally, Rielly and Marner would offer a few words on how they'd focus on the offence and defence.

"So, if there are no more questions, I'd like to thank you all for your time," you flashed a great smile, standing tall and confident as you eyed all the individual journalists.

"Could you tell us more about how the fans are reacting to the team?" interrupted a man's voice just as you were preparing to take off.

"In what aspect?" you inquired; a bit unsure about the reason behind his question.

"How do the fans feel about the management's focus on building a stronger core with key players like Matthews, Nylander, Marner, and Rielly, rather than spreading the talent across the lines for a broader strength, relying on more players than just a handful?"

You instantly knew the topic at hand. This had been a hot discussion in recent years, especially when the team had had a few standout players and others were more average, while rival teams opted for lines with multiple strong players.

And you were also well aware that the public's response had been mixed. Some wished for the core players to leave if it meant getting more talent to diversify the team's strength. While others believed the key players were the very core strength of the team.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure if I'm the right person to comment on the team's strategic preferences..."

"He's not asking about strategies; he's asking about the fans' reactions – something you've been dealing with, right?"

Indeed, you had been actively involved in the team's social media, posting content, and monitoring comments. So, you did feel a level of confidence in responding to the questions they deliberately directed at you. And with a reassuring nod from Jennifer in the background, you decided to share your insights.

"Truthfully, the reactions have been mixed – both positive and negative. People naturally raise valid concerns about the team's performance, wondering if this approach is the best. Yet, there's a sense of trust within the team that the management knows what they're doing and has the right experience to navigate the path for the Toronto Maple Leafs."

"Have there been any instances of online backlash?"

"No, fortunately, Leafs' fans have shown tremendous support for the team, as they always do."

You felt confident in your words, letting them come straight from your heart as you posed and smiled. And as they seemed satisfied with your response, expressing gratitude and nods, you stepped away from the spotlight.

However, despite feeling good about your brief press conference, everyone shared disappointment when the Islanders clinched the win in overtime. Regardless of Auston Matthews' impressive return, the Islanders remained formidable and sealed the match just 21 seconds into overtime, concluding with a score of 4-3.

Once again, you gathered the press to secure post-game interviews with the coach and a few players. However, without speaking a word this time, you concluded the media availability time and bid farewell to everyone.

"Miss Y/L/N, you really did an amazing job; you're almost like a natural," a familiar voice spoke from behind. Surprisingly, it wasn't your boyfriend William's voice; it was Christian, one of the content creators for the Leafs fan social media. You had spent a significant amount of time working on content together for the players and maintaining fan pages, ensuring no detrimental rumours circulated.

"Thanks, Chris," you smiled at him. "But I'm far from a natural… I work hard to make sure I get it right."

"You most definitely did... the only thing, though..." he gave you a slightly crooked and nervous smile.

"What? Chris, what did I do wrong?"

“Nothing, it’s just… you maybe should have thought twice about the choice of your shirt…” he spoke gently as he rubbed the back of his neck, making an effort not to stare at your chest. Your eyes widened in bewilderment.

“Shit…what…” you looked down at yourself. Christian, instead of explaining, handed you his phone to show the video he’d recorded. It turned out your shirt wasn't completely see-through as you had feared, but a button had decided not to stay put, ensuring you unintentionally flashed the cameras with a bit more cleavage than most would consider appropriate.

“No...” you mentally kicked yourself.

"Yeah, you really gave the audience a view to remember," Christian chuckled lightly. However, you found it far from amusing. While you were aware of having nice-looking breasts, they weren't intended for the entire internet to see, and you were certain William wouldn't appreciate it either.

With a final smile and a soft wave, Christian bid his farewell, leaving you to hastily button up your shirt before more people could catch a glimpse.

“Fuck…”

As you made your way back to the hotel alongside the rest of the staff, a sense of worry crept in. William hadn’t spoken to you since the match, nor had he sent any of the naughty or flirty messages as he usually did. Initially, you thought he was caught up in gathering his thoughts after the loss or the team was discussing the game. But no matter what, you hadn't heard from him.

It wasn't until you were back at the hotel.

After gathering the equipment with David and Peter, you grabbed your go-bag, navigated through the lobby, and finally breathed out as you waited for the lift.

But once again, a voice disrupted your thoughts. This time though, it wasn’t familiar to you.

“Hey,” the man said, standing next to you.

“Hi,” you offered him a friendly smile, not entirely sure why this stranger decided to strike up a conversation. Moreover, you didn't have the extra energy to be excessively nice and chatty.

But the stranger didn’t let the awkward silence linger for too long, though.

“Can I just say, what a great job you do for the team,” he flashed you a wide smile, his eyes slightly sparkling as his lips formed what seemed like a smirk.

“Uhm… thanks, I’m just doing my job really,” you tried to provide a brief answer with a friendly smile, but your friendliness seemed to encourage him further.

“They're really lucky to have you; you should know that,” the man continued, and you couldn’t help but wonder why the lift was taking so long. Apparently, it seemed to be stuck a few levels above.

“Thank you, I appreciate your kind words,” you simply nodded, turning again to check the number indicating the elevator's location.

“You know, I don’t mean to come off too straightforward here, but I really don’t think you realise what kind of attention you’ve drawn from the fans,” he chuckled lightly, and now he had your full attention.

"What did you just say?" you inquired all baffled.

“Yeah, I mean, we’re like a bunch who really enjoy that you’ve gotten some extra camera works, and you should know that you’re doing more than just fine,” he flashed you a mischievous smile, and you could feel the blush rise to your cheek.

It's not that he wasn't good-looking or anything, but his words had you beyond surprised. The fans had been looking at you?

While you knew some had commented on the video from a few days ago, you couldn’t believe that you’d drawn more attention to yourself like that.

“Well, uhm… thank you, but uhm, I really don’t want to make it about me – it’s about the team,” you tried to brush him off, and just as the lift fortunately pinged and you could walk in, the man suddenly grabbed your wrists, holding you back.

“How about a drink, maybe?” he quickly asked, and you had to stop the doors from shutting close.

“Please, I don’t mean to be rude or anything – but thanks, but no thanks,” you offered him your best smile in the given moment, trying to pull your arm away from him.

“Come on, just one drink,” the man persisted; however, he was quickly pulled away from you by a very familiar person.

"She told you no," William spoke with a sombre tone, his piercing blue eyes revealing his simmering discontent.

"Sorry, my mistake..." the man quickly apologised. And in no time, you found yourself pushed into the elevator, the button for your floor illuminated, as your boyfriend stood before you, jaw clenched, and eyes ablaze.

"Willy..." you softly breathed, a mix of surprise and confusion lingering.

"Don't talk," William spoke firmly, and you knew better than challenging him at this very moment. His entire body was tensed, his hand forming a fist, exerting every muscle to restrain himself.

Yet, his face maintained its usual calm demeanour. He kept a straight face as the two of you reached the floor, aware of the risk with his entire team possibly in the hallway.

Yet, with only a few teammates down the hall, William followed you straight to your room, shutting the door behind, before he grabbed your bag, tossing it across the room.

It was rare to see William Nylander react with such frustration. You'd only seen him once break his stick in anger; otherwise, he always found a way to keep his cool.

But not tonight, not after seeing a stranger, a man approach you like that. And he knew he couldn't just yell, proclaiming you were his, as your relationship was secret. No, he had to stay composed in case anyone noticed.

Yet, he felt the boiling within. Slamming his hands onto the desk, William let out a deep sigh.

"It's not fair..." he mumbled, looking down at the wood, as you slowly walked towards him.

"Willy, it's okay. He was just a bit flirty. He didn't hurt me or anything," you tried your best to reassure him, wrapping your hands around his larger body, prompting him to stand up straight and turn in your arms.

Your eyes met in a tender moment, yet his body remained tense, and his eyes dark.

"That's not... baby, it's not okay," William sighed again.

"What do you mean, Willy?" you asked softly, looking up at your boyfriend.

"Do you realise how difficult this is for me? To see you do so amazing at your work, but then I read comments about men drooling over your boobs, writing about how hot you are, and then finding you in the lobby to ask you out?"

So, that's why he hadn't texted all evening. It wasn't just frustration from the match; he had seen your brief press speech, and it really got under his skin.

Normally, William wasn't the overly jealous type, but since he’d started dating you, he couldn't stand other men approaching you like that. Maybe it was because he couldn't openly share your relationship, but regardless, he couldn't suppress his jealousy.

As you looked up at him, your hands gently cupped his cheeks, caressing them as his rested on your hips, leaning against the desk behind him.

"Willy..." your voice slightly trembled as you were about to ask a question you knew you'd immediately regret. Yet, seeing your boyfriend in this state, you felt it needed addressing. "Do you... do you want to end this?"

Your heart ached as the words left your lips in a soft whisper. But William only furrowed his brows and straightened up.

"What? No, why would you ask that," he said in surprise. "Do you want to end this?" he countered.

"No! Not at all... I just don't want you to feel like this, like we can't be together, and you regret it every day whenever I do anything work-related..." you raised your voice slightly, eyes searching for any hints of his thoughts.

Yet, William didn't display anger or anything of the sort. Instead, his eyes softened and showed a hint of concern.

"Y/n, the only thing I regret is falling in love with someone I can't just shout to the world is mine..." he spoke in a dark, husky voice. "All I want is to tell you how fucking amazing you are at your work! How proud I am of you every day for doing what you do... I just don't like that everyone else gets to look at you like that."

It was one of those rare moments when William showed his true feelings. He wasn't always the best with words, but his deep desires were unmistakable.

And a smile crept onto your lips as you took a moment to mull over his words. "God, you really are the cutest, did you know that?"

William couldn't help but let out a light chuckle in response to your sweet smile and compliment. "No... no, I didn't," he returned the smile, the hotel room's lingering stress and tension slowly dissipating.

"Willy, there's nothing else I'd want more than to shout how much I love you to the world – and I'm sorry that I've apparently become the new spokesperson, but just remember that I AM yours, and no matter what the fans write about me online, it won't change anything between us," you reassured him once again, and this time, it seemed to sink in much better.

"I know... I guess I just have a really amazing girlfriend, huh?" William grinned, his hands moving a bit further down, resting on your ass as he pulled himself closer, causing you to tighten your grip around his neck. Your eyes locked, and a sense of growing lust was palpable in him.

"I suppose you do," you chuckled up at him before he leaned down, closing the gap between you.

His strong arms held you closely, your mouths dancing in a passionate kiss. His tongue gently slipped past your lips, deepening the connection. Your body relaxed and sank into his embrace as your tongues sensually intertwined. Gradually, William's firm grip on your ass lifted you into his arms, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He took a few steps towards the bed, and gently placing you on your back.

"Well, how about I show you just how proud I am of you?" he asked in a dark, seductive voice, standing before the bed as you propped yourself onto your elbows.

You couldn't help but bite your lower lip as his eyes darkened, and his fingers smoothly found the button of your trousers.

Following his every move, you offered him a gentle nod before he undid the button and removed your piece of clothing. His hungry eyes admired the dainty piece of lace covering your core. However, first, William took the opportunity to get rid of the item that had been on his mind all night.

Swiftly, he leaned over your body and ripped your shirt apart, breaking every single button to expose your breasts in a matching lacy bra.

"That's more like it."

You felt your heat almost pulsating merely from his husky words. And before you knew it, he knelt between your legs, tucking down your thong as he discarded it and tossing your legs over his shoulders.

If there was one way William knew how to reward you, it was with his skilful mouth.

And as he then delved his head further between your legs, his warm mouth coming in contact with your most sensitive area, you already felt yourself rolling your eyes to the back of your head, letting go of your elbows as you rested on your back.

"Oh yes, Willy," you moaned as his tongue and lips found your sensitive flesh. His arms held your thighs as he savoured the sweetness of your cunt, tasting every bit of juice you provided him with.

Your hands were unsure what to do, one finding his long hair as the other gripped the bedsheets above your head.

His mouth felt so fucking good, and William was well aware of it.

Exploring every part of your heat, he left no inch untouched. His tongue switched between flicking your clit and probing your entrance, licking between your folds and then sucking on that little bud of nerves.

He was making you feel incredible.

William's beard grinded against your inner thighs, leaving burn marks as he gazed intensely up at you. He loved how you tossed your head from side to side, unable to control the sweet sounds escaping your lips as air emptied from your lungs with every breath.

The pull on his hair became firmer, indicating the pleasure coursing through your body, as your heels dug into the back of his shoulders as the build-up of an orgasm took hold.

And William was beyond satisfied.

He wanted to show you how much he loved pleasing you, how he was just as much yours as you were his, and he wanted to devote every minute of his life to you.

And seeing how he could make you squirm under his touch brought him a sense of pleasure as well.

His cock slowly grew as he listened intently to your moans growing louder, not caring about who might be in the next room. And he didn't care either. All he wanted was to make you feel good.

"Fuck, Willy... I'm getting close..." you breathed out heavily, and William knew it was his cue to bring you over the edge.

Shifting one of his arms from his grip, he kept his mouth on your clit as he guided two of his fingers to press against your entrance. Easing them into your warm depth, your hand in his hair pulled away and joined the other above your head, gripping firmly into the sheets as you let out deeper moans.

"Yes… oh, shit, fuck…"

Incoherent words tumbled from your lips as you felt his fingers curl and pump in and out, complemented by his skilful mouth. Your walls tightened, and your vision became blurry as a rush took over your mind.

And with only a few more pumps, you surrendered to the intensity of an orgasm. Letting go completely, your juices soaked William's fingers, mouth, and beard entirely.

You heard yourself making noises you'd probably never done before. And slowly, you came down from your high as William withdrew his digits and released your core from his mouth, a giant smirk forming across his lips.

Despite the slight pain of beard burns between your legs, you were pleased to see he'd grown it out again, now glistening with your liquids.

"Shit, Willy… how are you always so fucking good at this…" you managed to speak between breaths as you gently moved to lean on your elbows once again.

"I just love pleasing you, babe," he simply replied, smirking at you before kissing your inner thighs a few times, gently nipping and biting. His teeth dug a little deeper into your skin, leaving a good solid mark to remind you of where he'd been.

"You're so fucking amazing, and you deserve the world," he added, rubbing his beard against your already red skin, admiring the sweetness of your dripping cunt before him.

And you couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle.

His sweet, dirty words were making you weak in the knees as you were still coming out of the euphoric state of mind.

"Come on, let's take care of you too," you spoke gently, looking down at your boyfriend between your legs. But William simply shook his head.

"Mm, no… y/n/n, this is about you and how incredible you are… I can wait."

With those words, William once again dug his lips to meet yours, making the scenario repeat itself.

However, this time you didn't last as long. You couldn't help but squirt all your juices over his face as he brought you to your second intense orgasm, painting his satisfied smirk as you loudly moaned out his name again.

You were a hot mess before him.

And as he finally released you from his grip, standing to admire what a piece of art he'd turned you into, you could feel his eyes especially looking between your thighs where you were sure he'd painted you red. And what would most likely turn into dark blue and purple colours over the next few days.

"Let's go to bed," William suggested with his ever so casual and confident smug face, despite his hard cock tucked away in his boxers.

"You're sure you want to stay in here?" you inquired with a soft expression, finally gathering enough strength to rise from your position and sit on the bed. You tossed the shirt away and unclasped your bra, but the sight of your bare chest wasn't exactly going to convince William to leave the room.

Instead, he undressed, keeping his eyes on you, as he joined you on the bed, swiftly pulling you onto him. And before you could say "goalie interference," you had his cock buried deep inside you as you rode him to the moon and back.

It was passionate lovemaking as you rocked your hips, feeling every inch of him stretching your walls. You supported your hands on his chest, moans escaping your lips as William grew more eager to reach his own climax, and he began pounding up into you.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good!" he blurted out with every thrust. "I'm gonna… shit, I'm gonna come…"

And with a few more thrusts, he spilled himself into your depths, letting out a deep grunt and your name along the way with heavy breaths.

It hadn't been his intention to have sex with you tonight; he had only planned to go down on you and spoil you as you deserved. But when you were there, naked in front of him, how could he resist the temptation?

And as you then cuddled up, spooning in the dark and letting your tiredness take over, William suddenly broke the silence with a soft whisper.

"I'm sorry..."

"Sorry for what, Willy?"

"For being so jealous all the time..."

You couldn't help but turn in your position, softly caressing his cheek as you listened to his heartbeat.

"I kind of love that you're jealous... it just shows that you care," you tried to comfort him, and he couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

"Fuck, what have you done to me, baby."

But as sleep slowly took over you, William couldn't drift off entirely. His thoughts raced about what had happened throughout the day, how much he loved you, and how he wanted to support everything you did. However, he couldn't deny either that the comments from fans were keeping him awake as he thought about how you could have chosen someone else over him, someone you could be exclusive with, openly and officially to everyone.

Yet, he also knew that he needed to believe when you told him that you didn't want anyone else.

#my asks #intern x willy #18+#william nylander imagine #wn88 imagine #nhl hockey imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl smut #william nylander smut #william nylander fic

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exitpro · 1 year

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The FASTEST way to accurately reduce employee turnover is to conduct exit interviews properly to gain accurate insights into the employee experience.

Reduce employee turnover by 5-10% with the best exit interview process. Increase employee retention with employee feedback is converted into organizational change.

Read the exit survey blog here https://exitpro.com/exit-interview-tips-top-five-mistakes-conducting-exit-interviews/ to avoid the most common exit interview mistakes and retain your top talent.

#exit survey #conduct exit interview

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fanfictiondatascience · 7 months

Text

EDIT: Hey folks! Thanks for the feedback on our previous post. Our vague wording may have misled people as to our intentions, for which we apologize. We are currently taking a step back to rework how best to communicate our intentions in a way that is the most sensitive to the needs of the community. Thank you for your engagement! We have closed the survey link for now, but here's the survey description for future reference:

What is it about our human-human interactions that makes creatively writing together so compelling and unique? What about that is completely lost in human-AI writing interactions? Do you think ChatGPT is bad at creative writing? Do you have big feelings about any of the above topics? Then keep reading! We are conducting this study because we are interested in analyzing collaborative creativity methods among fanfiction writers. The goal is to criticize the current state of AI-assisted creative writing and offer suggestions from seasoned creative writers on how it could be improved and designed to actually help the people it affects.

First off: what does human-centered mean? The goal of human-centered research is to design technologies based off of HUMAN interactions, and these technologies should be for HELPING humans without replacing, displacing, or marginalizing them.

If you've tried interacting with AI tools like ChatGPT...you might notice they're unhelpful, and even outright bad, when it comes to writing creatively. The goal of this research is to find out: Do people even want them to be helpful? CAN they be helpful in any way? Is it impossible for AI to produce creative writing that can hold a candle to anything a human could write? Why might it be impossible?

There’s a lot of research being done in this area that is not very human-centered - it involves making AI tools for creative writing and then asking people how they feel about them, instead of the reverse. We believe that a better approach would be to ask people how they feel about AI tools and whether or not they can be helpful, and propose design guidelines based on that. We believe that this is particularly relevant to fanfiction authors: due to how AI tools are trained, a large proportion of the dataset for AI-based creative writing is likely comprised of fanfiction, due to how much of it there is on the internet.

We’re looking for fanfiction authors aged 18 and above who co-write fanfiction with one or more collaborative partner(s). This can be short-form (co-writing one-offs, single chapters) or long form (co-writing entire fics, long-term collaborations) - we’re essentially interested in the methods that you and your collaborators use together to produce works of creative fiction.

The provided survey will take approximately 15-20 minutes to complete. If you’re interested in telling us more, you can sign up for a 30-45 minute interview at the end of the survey. Ideally, you and your writing collaborator(s) would be able to attend this interview together. Every interview participant will be compensated with a $10 gift card.

All parts of this survey were approved by the University of Washington Human Subjects Division Institutional Review Board (IRB) to ensure the protection of your rights and welfare as you take this survey. Your responses will be kept confidential, although we may publish aggregated results. You may exit the survey at any time.

If you have questions, comments, or concerns, reach out to [email protected].

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

Hello! We are researchers at the University of Washington Human-Centered Data Science Lab, and we are studying modes and methods of collaborative creating writing. We’d love to have you participate in our study!

Survey link: [now closed]

Thank you for your participation!

#fanfiction research #fanfic

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alexbkrieger13 · 2 months

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Double vision

Partners on and off the pitch, Bayern pair Pernille Harder and Magdalena Eriksson have firm convictions on all the big topics facing women’s football in an era of exciting growth and mounting pressures

In a room at Bayern München’s training ground, Magdalena Eriksson and Pernille Harder are talking bicycles. One of their favourite things about Munich, the place they have both called home since making the switch last summer from Chelsea to Bayern, is the ease of travel for cyclists in the Bavarian capital.

Eriksson: “Now we live quite centrally so we can use our bikes to get anywhere.”

Harder: “It is a bit easier to bike here in Munich than in London.”

Magda: “We even took our bikes to Oktoberfest once.”

Pernille (laughs): “We were biking straight!”

This is the beauty of an interview with the pair (even one conducted over Zoom, as this one is): you raise a subject and they bounce it around between them, their insights and reflections interspersed with lighter moments and laughter. And, as arguably their sport’s highest-profile couple – Harder is a two-time UEFA Women’s Player of the Year, Eriksson a Sweden stalwart – they have plenty to say.

Both care deeply about matters on and off the football pitch. They are members of UEFA’s Football Board (of which more later), they support the Common Goal project – pledging one per cent of their salaries to support football charities – and on top of that they are advocates for the LGBTQ+ community.

But, first, back to finding their feet in Munich, where the duo bring serious know-how to a Bayern side with big ambitions, despite an early exit from the Champions League in January. In Harder’s case, the Denmark forward knew German football already from her three years with Wolfsburg between 2017 and 2020. For Eriksson, after six seasons in England with Chelsea, this is an entirely new experience – which is exactly what she was hoping for.

“I think that’s how we are as people,” says the former Blues captain. “A reason why we moved is I am really curious about a new culture and a new environment.” From the sounds of things, that decision is paying off too. Away from the pitch, she is enamoured of the local coffee shops; on it, she has been impressed by the way “a lot of the girls take responsibility around the dressing room and with how things should work around the team. There’s quite a clear structure of different responsibilities, and the players take ownership of that. That’s something more like how it was in Sweden, and not at all in England. It makes us take responsibility and it’s something I appreciate.”

As for Harder, she elaborates on the unique culture of Germany’s biggest football club – one which attempts to marry sustained success with humility. “It really is a club where you have to work hard, be humble but also know your worth,” she says. “It’s a bit weird. There is no arrogance: we know we’re good, we know we are a big club, but we know we also have to work hard. There’s a lot of respect for each other, and it’s not only in our team. When we go to the campus and meet the academy boys or some of the other staff, you have the respect. You treat others the way you want to be treated, and that’s a really good value which aligns with my values.”

Now both in their thirties – Eriksson is 30, Harder 31 – they knew the women’s game before its lift-off moments of recent years. Thus, they bring a helpful sense of perspective to any discussion of its development, and how it might evolve in years to come.

If female footballers today have opportunities beyond the dreams of previous generations, they face pressures unknown by their predecessors too, as Eriksson explains. “I think there are two sides to every story. Maybe, when we grew up, there wasn’t that much pressure, but with a growing platform [and how] the women’s game is growing, there is also growing pressure. The fans are growing, social media is growing, so there are two sides to it.

“We can really help the younger generation of today to deal with that kind of pressure, which you have to be able to manage as a footballer,” she adds. “You have to find what you need to focus on and what you should really just shut off and not focus on. You need to find the people that you talk football with and the people’s opinions you shouldn’t care about.”

Harder picks up the thread: “When we were younger, there was only one focus and that was football – to get better and to win. It was just football: that was the thing we played for. Now, there is so much more and, with social media, it’s also about a lot of individual awards, individual recognition, when the focus should be on the team. And I think it’s easier to be distracted [from] having that right focus. That’s something important to think about…”

“And to remind yourself about on a daily basis,” Eriksson cuts in. “And also to spread that within the team – that it’s a team sport and the team wins, the team loses, the team scores, the team concedes. All of those things.”

“Except when Magda scores!” adds Harder with a laugh, teasing her partner over a goal she scored in the week of this interview.

Jokes aside, the pair obviously think a lot about the game, which makes them natural choices to sit on UEFA’s Football Board, the body set up last year to draw on the knowledge of current and former players and elite coaches in the shaping of women’s football. For Eriksson, it’s “inspiring to know you get a direct line to some really big decision-makers”, and the welfare of players – “the football calendar and making football sustainable” – is something both women are keen to highlight.

“We all want a long career, but sometimes if you have to play all the time and have no break, that will shorten it,” says Harder. “Often, we have tournaments in the middle of summer or late summer, so we have four or five weeks before the tournament for our summer holiday, but then we don’t really have that time off because you train to prepare for the World Cup. And then, after the World Cup, [Magda] had ten days and I had two weeks off, and then you just go straight back into it. So, you have to put the tournaments earlier so you have at least four weeks after when you can really, medically, relax and be ready for the new season. Everything else is just too hard mentally and for the body.”

“It was the same last year with the EURO and the amount of injuries we saw after,” says Eriksson, who, ironically, just days after our interview, suffered a metatarsal fracture in her left foot. “Again, [it was] a couple of weeks off for a few, even less for others, and then you are straight back into a high-performance environment where you immediately have to play games. Finding a balance in the calendar where you get the breaks at the right time and don’t have too many games in short spaces of time is the most important thing.

“The fact we are starting now to do research on women’s bodies and women’s players is the first step. With the way we train, the way we train conditioning, everything is based on research on men’s football players, men’s athletes. We don’t know if it’s the same for us. Should we train more or less, or in a different way?”

From Harder comes further food for thought. “When you think about it, we use the same football as the men. It isn’t that I want to change it, but it’s also the same size of pitch and we don’t have the same body; we don’t have the same strength in the muscles. I don’t know the impact from every time I shoot or make a pass, if that’s actually a bigger impact on my muscles than it is on a man’s. That’s something I think it would be quite interesting to look at. I don’t know if it’s something we want to change and have a lighter ball. Maybe it’s just small percentages of how heavy the ball is that could change it.”

“There is rivalry in women’s football, but respect, love and joy always come first”

It’s fascinating to hear this to and fro on the physical side of the game they love, and it’s not the only challenge they see. We talk too about misogyny and what Harder describes as “a mindset of some people who don’t want to change [and see] that women can also play football, women can also be commentating on men’s football, that they also have knowledge about football. They have their mindset and their values about it and it’s really difficult for them to change.”

What is not in question is that women’s football has taken giant steps already in terms of status and recognition. As the commercial opportunities grow, however, neither woman wants to lose the things that make it different from the men’s game. Eriksson recalls the celebratory atmosphere in Australia and New Zealand during the last Women’s World Cup; she cites too the friendly fan dynamics in the club realm.

“We are coming off the back of a fantastic World Cup where there were only positive emotions connected to the games. Of course, some teams win, some teams lose – that’s part of football – but the way the tournament was held and the fan culture, that was amazing. So much positivity, so much joy, and that’s everywhere in women’s football fan culture right at the moment. That is what we want to keep. In women’s football, that rivalry is still there, but the respect, the love and the joy is always what comes first.”

The last word comes from Harder, ever the finisher. “It won’t be easy to keep it like that, but that at least is the aim.”

#great interview #magdalena eriksson #pernille harder #woso #fc bayern frauen #fcb frauen #swewnt #denwnt #hardersson #wlw #swewnt article

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cariantha · 7 months

Text

Hunger Pains

Book: Open Heart, Post-Series

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks)

Rating: Explicit

Warning: 🔥NSFW, ⛔18+ Only, contains explicit sexual content

Category: Fluff, Smut, Halloween

Word count: 2.6K

Summary: Sawyer is in a bad mood. Ethan helps her calm down.

Prompts:

🫦From Anon: Can I get a fic with Ethan giving MC a love bite or hickey?

☀️From @peonierose: Ethan & Sawyer + “sunshine”

🍬From @jerzwriter: "Actually, I like candy corn!"

Events:

🎃For @choicesoctober event: Costume / Halloween / Vampire / Meme

🥰For @choicesprompts Flufftober 2023 event: I want to take care of you.

“Mr. Cox. An appropriate name for such a dick,” Sawyer thought to herself, blood boiling as she exited Room 513.

The patient being cared for inside could easily steal the title of “Biggest PITA” away from the infamous Nigel Platt. And only making matters worse, her consultation had been interrupted multiple times by a cocky intern eager to show off.

Once the door closed behind her, she spun on Dr. Perkins.

“How many times have we told you not to interrupt when your resident or attending is speaking with a patient? If you do that again, I’ll make sure you are written up.”

Sawyer strode to the nearby nurses’ station to update Mr. Cox’s chart. The obstinate intern followed.

“How am I supposed to learn anything around here if I’m not allowed to ask questions?” he argued.

“You start by shutting the hell up and listening. Had you done that in the first place, we wouldn’t be standing here having this conversation. If you were really trying to understand something back there, you would have directed your questions to me. Instead you attempted to conduct a medical history interview, on an extremely agitated patient, minutes before he goes to surgery,” she scolded.

“This is–”

Her patience wearing thin, Sawyer spoke over him. “Jaaackie, get Dr. Know-It-All away from me before I go all Ramsey on his ass,” she demanded through gritted teeth.

Jackie, having caught the tail end of the exchange, looked up from her tablet.

“I think you just did,” she answered, “...and Perkins, the patient in 506 needs a new catheter. Now.”

“But that’s not even my pati-” he started to complain.

With one harsh look from the Chief Resident, Dr. Perkins finally tucked his tail between his legs and sulked down the hall.

"You're breathing fire today," Jackie quipped as she rounded the desk to leave.

Sawyer ignored her and continued typing furiously on her tablet.

Down the hall, Jackie and Bryce traded places getting on and off the elevator.

“Hey, have you seen Brooks? I mean Ramsey. Brooks-Ramsey?” Bryce guessed, not sure what to call his friend since she and Ethan surprised everyone by eloping a couple weeks ago.

Jackie pointed in the direction of the nurses’ desk. “I hope you brought snacks. She’s in a mood again,” she warned as the steel doors closed between them.

A minute later, Bryce slunk next to Sawyer, bumping shoulders to get her attention.

“Finally. What took you so long?” Sawyer rebuked, shoving the tablet towards him. “Here, take this guy away. And while you have his head open, feel free to poke the part of his brain that disables his speech.”

“Well, aren’t you a pocketful of sunshine this morning,” he teased.

“After a few minutes with this asshole and you’ll understand why,” she said, storming off.

“Annnd, Dr. Ramsey it is,” he decided.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Shortly thereafter, Sawyer sat in the diagnostics office and stewed in silence as the team meeting ran over schedule. Her annoyance grew more intense with each passing minute as Ethan and Harper debated, and Tobias egged them on for his own amusement. No longer able to take it, she interrupted.

“Do you need me? Because, if not, I have patients who do.”

Her three colleagues snapped their heads in her direction, surprised by the bite in her tone. With raised eyebrows, she looked at the team leader and challenged him to respond.

Ethan cleared his throat. “Uh, let’s see how the labs come back and continue this discussion when we have more information.”

Harper and Tobias quickly got out of Dodge as Sawyer stacked her notes and gathered her things. When she stood to follow, Ethan reached for her hand and held her back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? What’s got you so wound up?”

She exhaled deeply, his touch instantly calming her.

“I’m sorry.” Frustrated tears welled in her witch-green eyes. “I'm super cranky. These third-trimester hormones are no joke. My mood the last few days has been…”

A single teardrop fell down her cheek.

“Come here,” he urged, pulling her into his lap. “It’s been, what?”

“It’s either been hangry or hornery or both,” she pouted and sagged her shoulders.

Cracking a smile at her dramatics, “I know what ‘hangry’ is, but 'hornery?'”

“Horny and ornery.”

With a shake of his head, Ethan caressed her swollen belly. “So, what I hear you saying is you’re irritable because you're either hungry or horny…”

“Right now, it’s both,” she interjected, her fingers seductively dancing up his chest.

“And the cure for this condition is to either feed you … or fuck you?”

“Look, I’m not saying food and sex would solve all my problems, but it would sure help me calm the hell down,” she admitted with a coquettish grin.

“Well, as much as I’d like to help you satisfy your hunger pains, all I can offer right now is this.”

Ethan reached for the bowl of Halloween candy on the conference table.

“Boo,” she scowled playfully. Sawyer stood and sifted through the options, “I’ll take the candy corn off your hands and leave the chocolates for you. I know they’re your favorite.”

“Actually, I like candy corn,” he said, ripping a small package open with his teeth and pouring them all into his mouth.

“Seriously?” she asked, surprised.

“My dad loves them. We always had a bowl out during the season. I used to push them up on my canines when I was a kid and pretend I was Dracula.”

“Aw, cute. Well, if that’s true, then I’ll take some of these too,” she reached back into the bowl and stuffed her pockets. “Supposedly, chocolate is a good substitute for sex. Feed two birds with one scone.”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

A couple hours later, Sawyer was down at the lab demanding the results for one of her patients.

“What do you mean it’s going to be another four to six hours? I ordered these tests yesterday!”

Her raised voice began to draw the attention of others, including her indirect supervisor. Ethan was just finishing a consultation with the hospital’s lead hematologist, when he heard the uproar.

The lab assistant snapped back. “Look, lady, we’re doing the best we can. The tech will run the test as soon as he’s back from lunch.”

“Lady?! Do you see this badge? That’s Dr. Brooks to you.”

Sawyer spewed red hot anger as she spun on her heels. From several feet away, Ethan could practically feel the heat radiating from her. Her neck and cheeks were crimsoned and her fists clenched at her sides.

“That’s enough,” he admonished, taking Sawyer by the wrist and swiftly pulling her into a familiar and dark supply closet.

Ethan loomed over her as he backed her into a corner.

“I know… I’m sorry,” she apologized. Sad cat-like eyes pleading for forgiveness.

“This kind of stress isn’t good for you or the baby,” he advised. “This is serious, Sawyer. You leave me no choice but to help you calm down.” The corner of his mouth began to turn up in a sly grin, as he ran his hand over her hair.

“Oh, thank god,” she sighed, crashing into his lips.

“We’ll…have to be…quick…and quiet,” he murmured between desperate kisses.

As Sawyer slipped out of her shoes, Ethan lent a hand, sliding her pants and underwear to the ground. As she stepped out of them, Ethan unzipped his pants and pushed them down to expose his rising need. Their white lab coats provided a curtain of privacy in the event that anyone walked in on them.

Lifting her up around his waist, Sawyer tried to wrap her legs around him. With several extra inches around her midsection, she had a hard time locking her swollen ankles behind him and finding a comfortable position.

“Ethan, my belly. This isn’t working,” she squirmed under his hold.

Determined to make this work despite the cramped space, Sawyer slid down. She shrugged off her lab coat, turned her back to him, and placed her hands on the wall.

Ethan took the hint immediately. His hands began to roam under her shirt, starting at her sore back. His thumbs applied light pressure as he worked his way down the length of her spine, earning a few grateful groans. He also spent a few seconds massaging her ass, finishing with a gentle squeeze.

Closing the small gap between them, Ethan reached around and tenderly appreciated her baby bump. Then slithering his fingers into the cups of her bra, he ghosted around her sensitive nipples.

Sawyer felt his breath next to her ear and turned her head to meet him in a passionate kiss, his erection poking and teasing her backside.

Navigating in the dark, Ethan leaned back to align himself with her entrance. “God, Sawyer,” he gasped, easily gliding between her slick folds. “You are so ready for me.”

She looked over her shoulder with a smile and jokingly reminded him of her libidinous mood swings. “What’d I tell you? Me so horny.”

With an amused shake of his head, he pulled back gently, then began to pump his hips. Slow and soft at first.

“Mmmmm, that feels so good, babe,” Sawyer mewled.

Ethan picked up the pace. He pushed harder and deeper, but careful not to get too rough with his pregnant wife or her precious cargo.

“Ohhhh,” she let slip a little too loud.

“Shhhh, baby,” he breathed heavily, working up a sweat.

As her legs began to tremble, Sawyer kept her hands firmly braced against the wall for support.

“I’m close…cover…my mouth,” she panted.

With a hand on her hip to hold her close and steady, Ethan reached around with his other and gently covered her mouth. He leaned in and pressed his chest against her back, resting his chin in the crook of her neck. “Let go, beautiful,” he mumbled against the feel of her rapid pulse.

After a couple deep pumps, Sawyer’s whole body shuddered. She moaned her satisfaction into Ethan’s hand. The vibrations pulsing through her body, and the warm breath against his palm, provoked his own release. Clamping his mouth onto her neck, he muted himself.

The euphoria made her forget all her aches and pain. So, when Sawyer tightened her muscles around Ethan’s still bursting length, it hardly registered when he bit down hard on her throat.

To avoid getting caught, they didn't spend much time basking in the afterglow. Ethan gave his wife a loving kiss, and when he was certain she could stand unsupported, he pulled up his pants and helped Sawyer step into hers.

With a quick peek into the hallway, Sawyer checked to see if the coast was clear. “Hold on…it’s Wen,” she whispered, holding up a hand to halt him.

When Dr. Wen disappeared around a corner, they exited the supply closet.

“Do you think she heard us?”

“If she did, I’m sure she assumed it was only one of the ghosts that she believes haunts these halls,” Ethan chuckled. “The more important question is, are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Well, let’s make doubly sure and head up to the cafeteria for some lunch.”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Later that night, at home and in the shower, Ethan pushed wet hair away from Sawyer's neck and discovered the frightful bruising.

“Oh, Soe, I’m sorry,” he expressed, carefully skimming his fingers over the bite mark. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sawyer touched the tender spot and moved around him to see her reflection in his shaving mirror.

“Oh my gosh!” she laughed as she traced her fingers over the imprints of his teeth. “I married a freakin’ vampire!”

“I’m sorry. But, hey,” he innocently smiled back in the mirror, “...only a vampire can love you forever.”

He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her neck. “Mwahahaha,” he snarled at her ear, before placing a delicate, healing kiss to the love bite.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

The next day, the newlyweds arrived at work hand in hand and walked toward the attendings’ locker room. Pausing just outside the door, Sawyer turned to face her husband.

“Hey, just a reminder I volunteered to help in the clinic this morning. Carrick said he would do rounds for me.”

“I remembered,” Ethan said, bending down to give Sawyer a quick but loving kiss on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. I’ll see you later,” she returned, reluctantly letting go of his hand.

Stepping into the locker room, she spotted a familiar face. Well, sort of.

“Whoa, that looks soooo good, Elijah. Gross, but so realistic,” Sawyer awed.

“Thanks! Those of us in the research department agreed to dress up like lab experiments gone wrong.”

“Well, mission accomplished. And, Happy Halloween, by the way. I know it’s your favorite day of the year.”

As Elijah excitedly talked about his zombie character - which of course was inspired by a new John Carpenter video game - Sawyer tugged on her white coat and checked her reflection in the mirror.

The bruising on her neck was much more prominent the day after and under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the hospital. She tried to adjust her hair and fix the collar of her jacket, but it was no use. She dug through her bag searching for her makeup case, quickly realizing she left it at home.

“Shit,” she thought to herself.

“Aren’t you dressing up this year?”

Elijah’s question brought her back to the conversation, and an idea popped into her head.

“About that…do you have any more fake blood?”

“Yeah, there’s a tube in my locker. Help yourself,” he offered on his way out.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Down in the free clinic, Sawyer examined a very inquisitive eight-year old who noticed the bite mark and the two drips of dried blood on her neck.

“Say ‘ahhhh!’” she instructed, using a tongue depressor to check the back of his throat. “Good, no swelling back there.”

“Doctor! Did you get bit by a vampire?”

“I’m afraid I did,” she admitted, putting on a bit of an act.

“Was it Dracula?”

“That’s still up for debate,” she laughed to herself, picturing little boy Ethan with candy corn fangs.

“Did it hurt?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Did he suck your blood?”

“Justin, for goodness sake,” his mother chided and rolled her eyes.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer waved her off.

“Did he make you into a vampire too?”

“No,” turning her back to the young patient and facing his mother, she muttered, “...he just got me pregnant.” The patient’s mother cackled out loud.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

That afternoon, Sawyer was on the fifth floor to check on a patient, when she spotted Ethan stepping into the hallway with Esme and her intern. When they were safely out of the patient’s earshot, he wheeled around on the intern and launched into a stern, and familiar, lecture.

“...It doesn’t matter that you’re still learning…Whether this man lives or dies is on you…There is no room for mistakes…”

When he was done with his tirade, Ethan marched over to the nurses’ station and began tapping away on an iPad.

“Don’t sweat him. He’s all bark and no bite. Isn’t that right, Dr. Brooks?” Esme asked as Sawyer approached the scene.

Mrs. Ramsey shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no,” she spoke loud enough for Ethan to hear, “he bites alright.” When he looked up with a raised eyebrow, she winked and kept walking.

A couple minutes later, Ethan’s phone pinged with a text notification.

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @potionsprefect @jamespotterthefirst @annfg8 @peonierose @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @jerzwriter @quixoticdreamer16 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @inlocusmads @txemrn @trappedinfanfiction @mvalentine @takemyopenheart @openheartforeverinmyheart @coffeeheartaddict2 @genevievemd @starrystarrytrouble @hopelessromantic1352 @kyra75 @lsvdw-blog @rookiemartin @headoverheelsforramsey @zealouscanonindeer @lilyoffandoms

#open heart #open heart choices #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #ethan x sawyer #choices stories you play #choices open heart #playchoices #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choicesOCtober #choicespromtps #flufftober2023

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kabie-whump · 4 months

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✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 1 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance

Title from 'Liquid Smooth' by Mitski

✧ Series Summary and Warnings ✧ Masterlist, Prologue ✧ Chapter Summary: Onthyes gets a new job, is introduced to Ventis and his owner, and has some questions answered ✧ Chapter Warnings: Dub-con is heard from offscreen, otherwise this chapter is pretty light

* Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Athos Landleigh’s manor stood proud over the city of Nimbria, situated on the coast just minutes away from the bustling harbor by foot. The manor was well known; often used as a point of reference for those navigating the city, but its owner was known only by those he conducted business with and those who were fortunate enough to be invited to one of his elaborate parties. It was a monument to his wealth, and thus it demanded attentive guarding at all times.

Onthyes had trained his whole life for this sort of job. He’d held his first blade before his first bottle. He’d beheaded his first training dummy at 6 years old. He was quickly becoming known as one of the finest blades on the east coast, which was the least one could expect from the first son of the captain of Nimbria’s Guard.

The interview was a formality more than anything. Athos had requested Onthyes personally after one of his guards met an unfortunate end. Still, Onthyes ensured that his armor and weapons were spotlessly polished before heading to the manor since Athos was known for his high standards for perfection.

The entryway from the manor was just as grand as the outside. His boots sank into plush carpet as he was lead into a large room where the merchant appeared to be holding a conference with a table full of other well dressed men. Onthyes and the guard who had escorted him in stood silently at the edge of the room, and Onthyes took the opportunity to observe his new employer.

Despite his smaller stature and soft voice, Athos exuded a commanding presence from his place at the head of the table. He spoke when he wanted to, even if someone was still speaking, and everyone leaned in to listen. There was no need to be big or loud when he had the entire city in his back pocket.

But to Onthyes, Athos wasn’t the most commanding person in the room.

His attention was drawn by the figure next to Athos, sitting gracefully on a plush cushion at his feet.

An air genasi, Onthyes realized. He’d never seen one in person but he’d heard them spoken of - revered for their beauty but known also for their unwillingness to stay in one place for very long. This one looked utterly ethereal: soft white hair and light blue skin sprinkled with iridescent gems that flashed in the sunlight pouring in from the window behind him. He was dressed in revealing white robes, every extremity draped with gold and jewels.

The boy seemed to be totally at peace as he leaned against Athos’s leg, closing his eyes with a small smile when Athos’s hand absentmindedly stroked his hair. He was silent and content and beautiful.

“A word of advice,” the guard next to Onthyes whispered. “Stay away from that boy.”

Onthyes glanced at the guard, considering if he should ask for clarification or not, when the businessmen at the table all stood. Handshakes were passed around and drinks were finished before they exited, leaving Onthyes and the guard alone with Athos and the genasi.

“You must be Onthyes!” Athos exclaimed, spreading his arms welcomingly. “I have heard great things about you, boy. It is good to finally meet you.”

“You as well, sir,” Onthyes said, struggling to pry his gaze away from the air genasi who had sat up straighter and was watching Onthyes with intelligent lilac-colored eyes.

“Ah, you’ve noticed my little pet.” Athos patted the genasi’s cheek affectionately. “His name is Ventis.”

Onthyes didn’t know what to say. Athos spoke of Ventis as if he wasn’t there or he didn’t understand what they were saying, but as far as Onthyes knew genasi were just as sentient as he was. And what did he mean by “pet?” He had only been here for a few minutes and already he had so many questions.

But Onthyes was here to guard Athos and his possessions, not to question him.

“Listen closely, Onthyes.”

Onthyes nodded attentively.

“Ventis is my most prized possession. I love him dearly, and if anything were to happen to him I would be devastated. As a member of my guard it will be your responsibility to keep him safe as well as my other possessions. And I expect you to remain professional around him. As alluring as he may be, he is here to serve me and no one else. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Onthyes said. “I will protect him with my life.”

“Good. Now go get settled in. You begin work tomorrow.”

“Yes sir. Thank you for this opportunity.”

With that Onthyes was led into the basement of the manor where the servants quarters were. There was a bedroom shared by Athos’s guards containing a handful of bunks and chests to go with each one. Onthyes was shown to his bunk and he began unpacking his belongings into his chest.

Later that night, Onthyes sat in the servants quarters and studied a map of the manor as some of the others went about their various tasks. The servants talked around him, trading household gossip, and he decided to ask the question that had been hanging in the back of his mind.

“Would any of you mind explaining to me what Ventis’s place is in all this? I’ve noticed he isn’t down here with the other servants.”

The servants shared a chuckle at his question.

“As if Master Landleigh would allow Ventis to be caught dead hanging around the likes of us,” a maid said flippantly on her way out with a pile of linens.

The cook, a weathered older woman named Saryth, joined Onthyes at the table. “He’s a slave,” she said. “He doesn’t talk without permission, doesn’t leave the grounds without a leash, doesn’t make a wage of any sort. Though the master treats him like a prince most days.”

Onthyes bit his cheek. He’d never seen a slave dressed as well or looking at content as Ventis was. “What does he do for Athos?” he asked.

Saryth shrugged. “Beats me. ‘S far as I’m concerned he just lies around looking pretty all day while the rest of us wait on him. The master makes sure Ventis wants for nothing, and in return he looks at the master like he hangs the sun.”

“He entertains sometimes at the parties,” a footman interjected. “He’s fairly talented on a flute, although I think everyone prefers to just look at him. I’d call him a decoration more than anything else.”

“He’s a companion, I’d say,” added a maid. “The master doesn’t have much in terms of friends or family on account of him being so unpleasant. Must be nice to have a pretty thing around who can’t argue with him.”

Onthyes frowned. “It’s… wrong to treat another person like that.”

Another laugh. Saryth reached across the table and patted Onthyes’s hand. “Oh dear, the master doesn’t deal in right or wrong. You’d best not interfere. The last time a guard got too close to Ventis, Athos had his hands chopped off.”

“A harsh punishment.”

“Oh that’s nothing. But stay away from his bad side and you’ll do just fine.”

It took a long time for him to fall asleep that night.

✧･ﾟThe next night ✧･ﾟ

After a morning of training and an afternoon of rest, Onthyes had agreed to take over the role of watching outside of Athos’s bedroom through the night.

The manor was eerily quiet save for faint music and occasional roars of laughter that carried from the taverns by the docks. The hall Onthyes stood in was dimly lit with lantern light that reflected off of his armor when he shifted. The air smelled strongly of candles or incense.

A sound broke through the night: a cry followed by a lower voice purring, “That’s it, treasure. Just like that. You take it so well.”

Onthyes felt his face flush immediately. He may not have much experience with this sort of thing, but he knew what was happening inside the room.

The higher voice continued to float through the door, smooth and breathy. It must be Ventis. Onthyes had seen him follow Athos into the bedroom that night but he hadn’t thought much of it since the two were almost always glued together. Now he was coming to the sick realization of exactly what Ventis was here for.

He couldn’t get over the sense of wrongness he felt; of guilt for standing by while this person was treated like an object and forced into an act that he might not have the power to refuse even if he wanted to. But he had sworn his loyalty to Athos, and oaths were something that Onthyes had always taken very seriously.

Onthyes’s father had taught him to always follow orders; to always prioritize the directives of his superiors over all else. But he had also taught him to be a hero, and it seemed to Onthyes that a hero was exactly what Ventis needed.

Everyone else took one look at Ventis and the luxury he was showered with and assumed that he didn’t need saving, but Onthyes was unable to ignore it. He was going to save Ventis, he decided that night.

And he’d risk everything to do so.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Part 2

ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff

Let me know if you want to be added!

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sihirbazi · 2 months

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their name is Mak and their job during the winter of 2035 is to conduct HR exit interviews for the recently deceased

#mak #oc tag #sihirbaz art

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hamsterclaw · 2 years

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Reprieve

You're the newest recruit to Namjoon's investigative team. Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, you've met before, and he knows about your past, which is why he doesn't trust you.

Pairing: Namjoon x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Non-idol AU, police detective Namjoon, smut

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings: Sex and swearing, non-graphic violence, mentions of drugs, gangs

Kim Namjoon’s heart is thumping in his chest, fuelled by adrenaline and terror. He’s in the middle of a drug deal that’s gone very badly wrong.

He’s undercover with his partner Hoseok, standing on the opposite end of the warehouse.

There isn’t gunfire yet, but weapons are drawn, fingers on trigger guards.

His partner angles his head to the exit. He’s called for backup, but they’re at least five minutes away.

There isn’t anything in the police manual that explains how to deal with this. Namjoon glances at Hoseok, who’s now signalling something he can’t make out.

What the hell is he trying to say?

The room is full of men with guns and itchy trigger fingers, apart from one woman, unarmed.

Namjoon feels that this situation is wrong, somehow. The only women who get involved in things like this are usually girlfriends of bangers or part of the gang, or being exploited in some way.

He meets her eyes.

She looks back at him evenly. She looks preternaturally calm.

Sirens cut through the tension, and the characters in the tableau start to murmur. Namjoon’s not sure who the first person to run is, but he knows who he has to follow.

Kang Min, the leader. Namjoon keeps his eyes on him as he makes his way through the warehouse.

The sound of a cocked trigger makes his heart stop.

Namjoon turns and realises there’s a gun levelled at his chest.

‘The fuck,’ comes a female voice. ‘Let the kid go.’

Namjoon watches as the woman he saw earlier steps in between him and the loaded gun.

‘Not the time, Jae. Let’s get the fuck out of here.’

Namjoon’s already moving. He hears swearing, the sound of a slap, but he doesn’t look back.

***

Back at the station, Namjoon’s in between conducting interviews with Hoseok when he sees her again.

She’s sitting slightly apart from the men. There’s an ugly bruise over her cheek, a cut close to her left eye.

He walks over.

‘Thanks for stopping that guy from shooting me,’ he says.

She flicks her eyes up at him. ‘You’re too young to die. Get better at protecting yourself or get out of the line of fire.’

She looks down, and Namjoon takes that as the end of the conversation.

Later, then he’s starting on the paperwork, he spots her booking sheet with her name and date of birth on.

L/N Y/N. Fuck. She’s younger than he is.

***

You’re early for the interview, but that was a mistake because looking at everyone else here is making you nervous.

Inside you’re the girl from the bad side of town. You doubt any of these middle-class twentysomethings have seen half of what you have.

It doesn’t make you feel any better that you can hotwire a car, shoplift with ease or that you know three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

Right now, those are useless skills, because they’re not needed in this job. And you need this job.

‘L/N Y/N? You’re next.’

You nod at the woman running the interviews and wish you hadn’t worn a light skirt suit because you’d give anything to wipe your sweaty hands now.

The door opens, and a tall man holds out his hand to you.

‘L/N Y/N? I’m Kim Namjoon.’

You clasp his hand and give it a firm shake, then look up into his face.

It’s your first mistake.

It’s the man from the warehouse five years ago. The man who looked so nervous he was asking to be targeted.

The man you stopped Jae from shooting.

If he recognises you, he gives no sign.

The interview, with Kim Namjoon and two other men whose names escape you, goes fine, up until the point where they ask about previous jobs.

You shift in your seat. ‘This is my first job,’ you say, flatly.

One of the men looks at you curiously, but before he can say anything, Kim Namjoon is standing, offering his hand again. ‘Thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch by the end of the week.’

You can’t wait to get out of there.

You’re sitting in the café next door when the door pushes open and Kim Namjoon walks in.

You don’t know if he’s seen you, but you’re not going to call attention to yourself.

You look down at your coffee. The pastry that had been flaky and warm now tastes like sawdust.

His voice makes you jump.

‘Do you live close by?’ he asks.

‘Not far,’ you say, pasting a smile on your face to cover your nervousness.

‘Why do you want this job?’ he asks. His eyes are serious as he waits for your answer.

You click through the list of model answers in your head before deciding on the truth.

‘I lived it. Your other candidates will find links, but I’d guarantee you I’m the only one from that room who knows Kang Min’s son goes to school with the Sung family heiress.’ You shrug. ‘I can search a database as well as any of them, but I can put it all together too.’

You look up at him.

‘Why would I trust you?’ he asks. His face is unreadable.

You get up. ‘Do you have to ask?’ you ask him. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’

His hand lifts as though he’s going to stop you from leaving, but you aren’t done yet.

‘I need this job,’ you tell him.

It’s the closest to pleading you’ve ever come in your life. His expression softens, just enough for you to see that he’s wavering.

‘We’ll be in touch at the end of the week,’ he says.

You nod.

The call comes at the end of the week that you’ve been successful at interview and that you’re to start the following week. It’s an administrator who calls you to let you know.

You’d been hoping to speak to Kim Namjoon again.

***

It’s near the end of your first week as part of Kim Namjoon’s team, and so far all you’ve done is look up various snippets of information for members of the team.

You spend most of your days working alongside a young but serious looking man called Jungkook. He’s quiet, probably a little shy, but he helps you out a lot as he’s been working for Namjoon’s team for months.

You’re asking Jungkook about cross-referencing arrest warrants when you see the change in his demeanour. In one second flat, the soft, kind Jungkook you’d been talking to turns into serious Jungkook, sitting up straight, eyes wide, ready to take orders.

You know who he’s responded to even without turning around.

You stand, to give yourself extra height, which is ludicrous, because he still towers over you.

Kim Namjoon is tall, broad and intimidating as fuck.

He nods at you. ‘Can I speak to you about something in my office?’

You’re already stepping forward. ‘Yes, of course.’

You stand nervously in front of Kim Namjoon. He’s perched on the end of his desk.

‘Comms have intercepted a call about the Victoria Pier,’ he says. He pulls off his glasses and tosses them on his desk.

‘It’s an unusual location,’ you say, frowning. ‘They’ve never used it for a drop before.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Namjoon says.

‘Unless –‘

He looks up at you, waiting.

‘Kang Min’s new daughter in law used to date a guy who ran a small business out of the town next to the pier,’ you say.

The way Namjoon’s eyebrows rise show you that this is news to him.

‘Who was the guy?’ he asks.

‘Chan Jung-hyuk,’ you say. ‘Prick.’

Namjoon waits for you to say more.

‘I dated him briefly,’ you say shortly. ‘Anyway, I can check out the link.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Bring your findings directly to me by the end of shift.’

You nod and are heading out the door when he stops you.

‘Is your car the white Hyundai that parks near the end of the lot?’ he asks.

You look at him curiously.

‘You need to get it checked. It’s leaking oil.’

You feel your cheeks heat. ‘I’ll sort it,’ you say.

***

Your father was the bookkeeper for the Kangs for most of his life. He’d inherited the job from his uncle before him. Your family have worked for the Kangs for generations, a step removed from the violence but always aware of it.

When your father died a few years ago, there had been no one to take his place from your family. You’re an only child, your mother died when you were very young.

It was the perfect opportunity to get out.

Your father had been well-respected, loyal and reliable. He’d kept you as separate from his work as he could have, as a result you’ve always been on the outskirts of the gang, with no involvement with anyone from the gang.

Kang Min had sent you his condolences after your father’s death, and for a while you’d waited for a summons. It had never come. You’d chosen to move away from your family home and to start a new life.

Working for the police had seemed like playing with fire, but over the years, with no contact, you think perhaps you’ve got away with it.

The job you’ve got now pays good money, with hours that suit you and is close to your new home. Plus, you’re technically just a data drone. There’s nothing about you to attract any attention.

It’s exactly how you want it.

Namjoon eyes you as you finish explaining your report.

‘The other members of the team don’t know about your link to the Kangs,’ he tells you.

‘There’s no link,’ you reply, terse.

Namjoon scoffs. ‘Hoseok may not remember you from that warehouse, but I sure do.’

‘If I hadn’t saved your life, you wouldn’t remember me either,’ you tell him. ‘Seems unfair that I should be punished just because I stuck my neck out for you.’

Namjoon stares at you.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle. ‘You’d been beaten when I saw you at the station that night. Was that because you stopped him from shooting me?’

‘I can’t remember,’ you say. You may not be part of the Kangs but you’re no snitch.

Namjoon nods. ‘Thanks for your report. It’s very helpful.’

‘Will there be anything else, sir?’ you ask.

He shakes his head, and you leave his office, breathing a sigh of relief as you do.

***

You’re frowning over your car, trying to get it to start, when another car pulls up alongside you.

You glance over as Kim Namjoon rolls his window down.

‘Good morning,’ you say.

‘Car trouble?’ he asks, getting out.

He’s in his shirtsleeves, you can see his jacket thrown over the passenger seat.

You watch as he rolls up the cuffs, forearms flexing, biceps pressing against the material.

He catches you looking.

‘The car,’ he prompts. His lips are perfectly straight, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ you say distractedly. ‘It won’t start.’

‘I’ll give you a jump but I think you’ll need to take this to the workshop,’ he says.

You don’t know the first thing about cars apart from how to steal one.

You think you’d better keep that information to yourself.

After an unsuccessful jump, Namjoon shuts your car hood for you. ‘I’ll give you the number for the garage I use. My friend Taehyung is pretty skilled.’

You nod.

‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift to work,’ he says, opening the passenger door. He picks up his jacket, and you slide into the seat.

Namjoon’s a good driver. You glance over at him as he weaves through traffic.

‘How are you finding the job?’ he asks, without looking at you.

You lean back into the seat. ‘It’s great,’ you say, honestly. ‘Jungkook’s fun to work with.’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Namjoon agrees. ‘The info you got checks out,’ he confirms to you.

You hadn’t been worried that it wouldn’t, but you guess if you were Namjoon you might not trust you either.

You chew on your bottom lip worriedly as you look out the window at the passing traffic.

You wonder if Namjoon knowing about your past is going to colour his judgement of you.

You need this job, it was the highest paying out of all the jobs you were qualified for.

You realise Namjoon’s watching you in the rearview mirror.

You wonder what he thinks of you.

‘It’s routine to double and triple check all the information I’m given,’ he says to you. ‘It isn’t personal.’

‘Of course,’ you murmur.

You can’t get out of his car fast enough.

***

It’s a team dinner at the bistro opposite work.

You’ve never really been in this kind of situation before, but at least you know Jungkook.

You recognise Hoseok from your interview. He smiles at you kindly.

You’re relaxing a little, the rest of the team seem nice, when a familiar figure enters the restaurant.

You freeze in your seat, then hurriedly get up and excuse yourself.

It’s Hye-jin. You went to school together, which is fine, but you happen to know she’s dating a member of the Kangs. Which would also be fine, apart from that she has the biggest mouth this side of the planet.

You don’t think anyone will be interested that you were sitting with a table full of cops, but you can’t be too careful.

You let yourself out the back entrance of the restaurant, through the kitchen, and startle as a hand reaches out to grab your arm.

‘What’s up?’ Namjoon asks.

His voice is quiet, almost casual, but his eyes on you are shrewd, observant.

‘I feel sick,’ you say, hoping your voice sounds as casual. ‘I thought I’d leave early. I was just about to text Jungkook.’

‘Let me take you home,’ he says.

‘What? No, it’s fine, I’m getting a taxi.’

What does this man want from you?

He hasn’t let go of your arm. His voice hardens. ‘Do I need to be worried about you?’

His words are laden with meaning.

‘I’m not a snitch,’ you tell him, evenly. ‘I’m just not sure it’d be good for me if the Kangs knew I was working for the police.’

‘Come on,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home, then I think you’d better tell me the whole story.’

You stare at his hand around your arm. ‘What are you going to do if I don’t go with you?’ you ask.

He drops your arm immediately. ‘I’m asking,’ he tells you.

You consider the repercussions for your job if you don’t talk to him.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.’

Namjoon takes you home. You lead him up to your small apartment. There are no pictures anywhere, you know how it looks.

‘My parents are dead,’ you tell him. ‘I have no family.’

You tilt your chin. ‘My dad used to work for the Kangs. He was their bookkeeper until he died a few years ago. I haven’t heard from Kang Min since.’

Namjoon’s sitting on your couch despite the fact you hadn’t invited him to sit.

‘Why do you need this job?’ he asks.

‘I need the money.’

‘I can’t afford a mole in my team,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘I’m not a mole,’ you say. ‘But if you can’t trust me you might as well fire me. If you’re suspicious of me, your team will be too.’

You can’t believe you’re being judged for risking your own life for Namjoon, but in your experience, life’s never been fair.

‘What were you doing at the warehouse that night?’ Namjoon asks.

‘I was dating one of the guys. Jae. No one ever believed I wasn’t a part of it. They knew my dad was the bookkeeper.’ You smile, but there’s no humour in it.

‘Jae couldn’t believe it when I stepped in front of you. Like I couldn’t believe it when he slapped me with his gun.’ You shrug. ‘I guess it was a night of surprises for all of us.’

‘Why did you stop him?’ Namjoon asks. He’s still looking at you, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

‘Honestly, Namjoon? I didn’t believe he’d shoot me. I didn’t think you deserved to die.’

You give Namjoon a cold look. ‘I’m rethinking that now.’

To your surprise Namjoon laughs. ‘A lot of people say that about me,’ he tells you. ‘That they want to kill me.’

You slip off your jacket. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ you say.

Namjoon stands, and you realise he’s staring at you again.

You follow his gaze and too late, remember your tattoo. It’s visible under the gauzy material of your blouse, a swirling snake that curls under your breast and around to your back.

You take a step close to Namjoon. ‘If you want to see it close up, you’ll have to buy me a drink first,’ you tell him, hoping to throw him.

He looks down at you, unmoving. There’s heat in his gaze now, making you feel warm all over.

His hand comes up, thumb brushing your lower lip so gently it’s almost like you’re imagining it.

You flick your tongue out at his thumb. His hand curls over the angle of your jaw, fixing the position of your face.

He leans down, slow, giving you plenty of time to move away.

Like you were ever going to.

You meet his lips eagerly, closing your eyes at the feel of him. His lips are firm and warm. He kisses you slowly, dragging his lips over yours, tugging at your top lip. He slants his head to get closer, and you slip your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like the sake he’d been drinking at dinner.

When you pull away, you lean your forehead against his chest, trying to catch your breath. His hand cups your head, holding you to him.

He huffs out a breath.

‘What am I going to do with you?’ he says.

You’d answer, but it sounds he’s asking himself more than you.

***

Jungkook’s looking at you thoughtfully, and this worries you, because nothing good ever came of Jungkook thinking.

You think you’re as smart as him, but he has a knack of hitting the nail on the head.

‘Pocky?’ you offer, hoping to distract him.

Jungkook accepts. Now he looks faintly ridiculous with a chocolate stick on either side of his mouth, like tusks, but that thoughtful look is still in his eyes.

You get up and start sorting through the crime scene reports Namjoon’s had delivered to your office.

‘I was walking to my car last night and this guy came up to ask about you,’ Jungkook says.

The chocolate stick in your hand snaps.

‘Yeah?’ you say. Your back is to Jungkook, thankfully he can’t see the expression on your face.

Jungkook hits a key on his keyboard. ‘This guy.’

You turn around to see the database picture he’s pulled up and helpfully zoomed into.

It’s Jae.

Specifically Kim Jae-beom, your ex-boyfriend who was a hairsbreadth away from killing Namjoon, all those years ago.

‘He’s an ex,’ you tell Jungkook.

‘There was a drug bust a few years ago, before I started. Namjoon and Hoseok were leading the case.’ Jungkook’s looking at you. ‘I was reading through the reports, and I recognised your picture.’

You look Jungkook fully in the face but don’t say anything.

Your face healed a long time ago, you don’t even have a scar, but right now it feels like it’s burning.

‘Where are you going with this, Jungkook?’ you ask.

Jungkook asks, ‘Why was he looking for you?’ His expression isn’t unkind, but you sense he’s not going to let it go until he gets an answer.

‘I don’t know,’ you say, honestly. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in years.’

‘I think I should let Namjoon know,’ Jungkook says, gently.

‘Sure,’ you say. You know you shouldn’t feel hurt, Jungkook’s just doing his job, but part of you had thought your relationship was friendlier than colleagues. You’ve been working together closely for months, you think you get on well.

That’s what you’d thought, anyway.

All day, you wait for Namjoon to haul you into his office and ask you again about your previous gang ties, but it doesn’t happen. By the end of the day, your nerves are frayed.

You nod goodbye to Jungkook and head for the bus stop. Your car’s still at the mechanic, Namjoon’s friend Taehyung seems reliable but you won’t be able to collect it until next week.

You’re already thinking about going straight to bed when you reach your apartment. You’re fumbling with the keys when a shadow falls across your door.

‘We need to talk,’ says Jae.

You shove your keys into your pocket. ‘What about, Jae?’

‘Can we do this inside your apartment?’ Jae asks. He’s not really asking.

You let him in and wait.

‘Are you working for the police?’ Jae asks, as soon as the door’s shut behind him. He leans against it. Ther’s no other way out of your apartment.

‘I just do data entry and follow up parking tickets,’ you tell him. You’re only partly lying. ‘A job’s a job.’

Jae’s still leaning against the door, the there’s a tenseness to his posture, like a coiled spring.

‘You should find another job,’ he tells you, flatly.

‘There is no other job,’ you reply. ‘And I was lucky to get this one.’

Jae moves quickly. In a move too fast for you to fully follow, he’s got you pinned against the kitchen counter, hand out flat. Your wooden chopping board slams down on your hand, and you hear the thud before you register the pain.

You push out at Jae with your other hand, but he’s strong.

‘We have a history, which is why I’m going easy on you,’ he tells you. It’s ironic given the flat look in his eyes. He doesn’t look like he cares at all that you’re writhing in pain.

‘If I have to come back, it’s not just your hand that they’ll have to put back together,’ he says.

He slams the board down on your hand again, and you bite your lip until you taste blood in your mouth.

He’s gone before you can say anything else, leaving your front door ajar.

***

You take two days off work, just until you can move your fingers without crying. Thankfully, it’s your non-dominant right hand.

Even so, Jungkook notices.

He raises his eyebrow at you.

You’re not telling him a damn thing if you can help it.

You’re staring at each other in challenge when you hear pointed throat clearing.

You look up to see Kim Namjoon.

‘Y/N, can I see you in my office please?’ he asks, politely.

You stand and follow him. You resist the urge to glare at Jungkook before you go.

Namjoon stands behind his desk, as though he wants to put distance between you. You haven’t seen him since you kissed him.

‘Please sit,’ he says.

You’ve barely sat back before he asks, ‘What happened to your hand?’

‘I was clearing out boxes in my apartment, and a stack of books fell on my hand,’ you lie. You’ve been practicing it so much it rolls of your tongue smoothly.

‘Is it broken?’ Namjoon asks.

‘It’s just a little swollen,’ you reply.

‘You should get it checked out,’ Namjoon advises you.

‘I have,’ you say, briskly. ‘Anything else?’

‘Jungkook said one of the Kang clan approached him to ask about you,’ Namjoon tells you.

‘It was Jae,’ you say.

Namjoon’s looking at your hands folded across your lap. ‘Did you speak to him?’

‘The Kangs know I’m working for the police,’ you tell him, honest. ‘They want me to find another job.’

Namjoon nods. ‘Do you want a transfer?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t think going to a different department will solve the problem. They’re not going to check which division I work for, they just don’t want me working for the police.’

‘I can help you find another post,’ Namjoon says.

For some reason his words, like Jungkook’s, cut deep. On some level you understand that he doesn’t want trouble in his new investigative unit, but he’d been prepared to take you on when he thought you might give him intel on the Kangs. Now he’s quick to cut you loose when there’s the slightest hint of trouble.

You haven’t done anything wrong, but it feels like you’re being punished anyway.

The memory of his lips on yours makes it feel even more like he’s pushing you away.

It was foolish for you to ever think you might be able to escape your past.

‘Sure,’ you say. ‘I’ll put in my resignation.’

Namjoon gets up. ‘It’s safer for you to have another job,’ he says.

‘It is,’ you agree. You look at the floor. ‘Will that be it?’

You spend the rest of the day working solidly. You’re preparing to leave when Namjoon stops by your office.

‘Need a lift home?’ he asks.

‘I’m fine, there’s a bus,’ you say. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

‘It’s on my way,’ he says.

***

Namjoon walks you up to your apartment despite your protests. You look around a little warily for Jae but thankfully he’s nowhere to be found.

‘I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow,’ Namjoon says. ‘If that’s ok with you.’

‘Thanks for the lift,’ you tell him.

You’re halfway into your living room before you realise it’s all wrong. You’re looking for the baseball bat you laid near your front door when there’s movement in your peripheral vision.

You’re shoved up against the wall, stars behind your eyelids as your face hits the exposed brick.

Jae’s merciless, strong, his hand curled around your neck squeezing so tight you can’t breathe.

You struggle against him, elbows out. He lets out a grunt as your elbow connects with his chest.

You both freeze as the knock on your door sounds.

It’s Namjoon, calling your name through the door.

Jae’s hand closes over your mouth.

All you know is, Namjoon’s bigger than Jae and you could sure use his muscle right about now.

You stomp down on Jae’s foot, just enough for Jae’s hand to slip off your face, then scream as loudly as you can.

The knocking stops, then the door shakes in its frame as Namjoon puts his weight into kicking it open.

Jae shoves you onto the floor and runs to your bedroom. He’s out the window before you’re up.

Your door flies open just as you’re about to get to it.

Namjoon’s breathing hard, scanning the room.

‘He went out through the window,’ you tell him.

‘What the hell happened?’ Namjoon asks. His words are harsh, but his hands are gentle on your face as he examines it.

‘Kang really doesn’t want me working for the police,’ you say. You hiss as Namjoon’s thumb brushes across a tender spot on your brow.

‘Do you have ice?’ Namjoon asks. He’s already heading for your freezer.

***

You’re trying not to get flustered at Namjoon’s proximity to you, but you’re failing. His warm hands are cupping your face as he holds a makeshift ice pack to your forehead.

You lift your hand to take over holding the ice pack, and you see his gaze fall to your hand.

You’re glad Namjoon was there to help you, but you don’t need to give him information he didn’t ask for.

He’s asking now, though.

‘Your hand. Did books really fall on it?’ he asks.

‘Jae,’ you say.

A muscle flexes in Namjoon’s jaw.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me Jae was threatening you?’

You look at him warily.

‘We’re the fucking police, Y/N. We look after our own.’

‘I didn’t realise I was considered one of you,’ you say.

‘That’s a failure of my leadership. You’re part of my team.’ Namjoon shakes his head.

You get up. ‘Want a drink?’

Namjoon gets up to help you. ‘Where else are you hurt?’

You catch sight of your face in the mirrored surface of the toaster. ‘Nowhere,’ you say, wincing at the sight of the graze across your cheek and forehead.

‘Why did you come back, anyway?’ you ask, curious, as you sip your water.

Namjoon frowns. ‘The front entrance to your building. There was a dent in the metal frame.’ He shrugs. ‘Also, I wanted to ask about your hand.’

‘Well, thanks,’ you say, belatedly.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear you could come to me,’ he tells you. He looks regretful. ‘I’m also sorry about kissing you. It was – inappropriate.’

You look up at him, straight-faced. ‘Not as inappropriate as what I wanted to do with you.’

Namjoon stares at you for a moment, then huffs out a humourless laugh.

‘How could any man look at your face and want to hurt you,’ he mutters. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking you, so you don’t answer.

He tosses you the ice pack. ‘Come on. I’ve got a spare room at mine. Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?’

***

You’re sipping a mug of tea Namjoon’s made you and looking around Namjoon’s house. He lives in a two storey in the suburbs, it’d been a half hour drive from yours.

Namjoon’s looking at you.

‘Do you want another job?’ he asks.

You choose your words carefully. ‘It’s probably for the best. The Kangs are aware I’m working for the police, and you’re aware of my links to the Kangs. I’m a liability.’

‘You’re not a liability,’ Namjoon says. ‘I don’t think you’re working for them.’

You laugh, dryly. ‘Jungkook and I are at a crossroads. If you’re ever worried about a mole in your unit, never suspect Jungkook. He’s so loyal to you I thought he was going to kick me out himself.’

Namjoon’s frowning, so you add, ‘it’s not just about you trusting me Your team has to trust me too. It’s only a matter of time before someone else finds out.’

‘Finds out what? That you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that you saved my life?’

You look at each other.

‘You don’t owe me just because I did that.’ You put your hand on Namjoon’s arm.

‘You stepped in front of a loaded gun, for me.’

‘I didn’t know you. I would have done it for anyone.’

‘Still,’ Namjoon says, frustrated. ‘You did it for me.’

‘So what, now you’re responsible for me?’ you scoff.

‘Yes,’ Namjoon says. ‘Also, I hired you. I put you in this situation. And if I’d broken that door down faster you wouldn’t be sitting there looking at me with that goddamn huge graze on your face.’

‘Don’t look at me then,’ you say, tiredly.

‘That’s the problem, that I can’t fucking stop looking at you,’ Namjoon replies.

You stare at him.

‘Should we just stop talking and fuck instead?’ you ask.

There’s a flicker in Namjoon’s gaze.

‘If only fucking was the answer,’ Namjoon says. He gets up. ‘Go to bed. I’ve got to do some thinking about tomorrow.’

***

You’re quietly heading towards the door the next morning when Namjoon calls out from the kitchen.

He comes to the door, two mugs of coffee in his hands.

He holds it out to you.

‘If you’re going to sneak away you might as well have breakfast first.’

‘I wasn’t going to---’

You break off at the look on his face.

You take the coffee he’s holding out to you, and set it down. You take his other mug and set it down, then tug his arm.

You reach up and curl your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him. He leans down, and you go on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips.

Your arms loosen, and you’re slipping down a little when he curls his arms around you, big hands cupping your ass.

‘Did you sleep?’ you ask him, between kisses.

‘Not a wink,’ he tells you, voice husky, sexy.

‘I thought about you,’ you tell him. ‘Like this.’

Namjoon nibbles your neck. ‘Hold on,’ he says.

He carries you to his bedroom, his king bed with its rumpled grey sheets.

‘Are we doing this?’ he asks, kissing down your neck, tugging at your t-shirt.

‘Hey, I saved your life,’ you tease. ‘You fucking owe me.’

Namjoon laughs.

‘I’m going to show you how grateful I am,’ he promises.

***

Namjoon’s hands are splayed on your back, smoothing over your skin as he kisses you. He’s slow, languid, like he has nothing but time.

You, however, have been fantasizing about his arms around you ever since that night at the restaurant.

‘C’mon, Joon,’ you whisper to him, positioning yourself in his lap, legs spread to accommodate his torso. You roll your hips over his to encourage him.

Namjoon’s pulling the front plackets of his shirt that you’re wearing apart. He slips a hand over your tattoo.

‘What the fuck is this?’ he asks, fingers tracing the snake, from bevelled head, down the coiled body, to the tail over your hip.

‘It was easier to blend in than to stand out,’ you tell him, kissing his neck. Your tongue flicks against his ear. ‘Especially when I started dating Kangs.’

Namjoon groans. ‘Do that again.’

‘This?’ you ask. You nibble at his ear, pressing your lips to his neck. He smells delicious, woody, musky.

Namjoon’s big hands curl over your ass as you roll your hips against his again, helping you grind on him.

You bite his neck, and he groans again. ‘Fuck. Let me get a condom.’

You help him slide his briefs off, just enough that his rigid cock is freed, slapping against his skin. He’s so hard you’re worried it’s going to hurt.

Namjoon presses the condom into your hand. ‘Put it on me,’ he says.

You’re tearing into it when his hand slips between your legs, fingers sliding through your arousal. He slips a finger into you, and you clench involuntarily around him.

‘One more,’ he grunts. He slips another finger into you, other hand over your hip, thumb stroking over your clit.

Your hands tighten over his cock, and he groans. ‘Fuck.’

He jerks away, pushes you back onto the bed and presses his whole face between your legs. He licks you out in earnest, humming his approval as you get slicker and wetter for him.

‘I need –’ You break off, and Namjoon nods.

‘I’ve got you,’ he tells you.

He slips the condom that’s dropped out of your hand onto himself, coming back to rest on top of you.

‘You ready?’ he asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say.

He watches your face as he positions himself, pushing in slowly, inching his way in.

Your hips wriggle and you push up, trying to take more of him.

‘Joon,’ you plead.

He laughs darkly. ‘I’m here.’ He pushes in another inch, so maddeningly slow you could scream.

He dips his head to kiss you as he pushes the rest of the way in, tongue invading your open mouth as he fills you with his cock.

‘Good?’ he asks.

You open your eyes when you realise he’s waiting for an answer.

You nod. ‘Good. Keep going. Fuck. Keep going.’

Namjoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he thrusts, filling you again and again, rocking against your clit. His thumbs on your hips feel like they’re bruising you, but you’re barely aware of it, too caught up in how good he feels.

The weight of him, the stretch of his cock, the sweat glistening between your bodies.

You cry out as he fucks you, relentlessly pulling you to the edge with him.

‘Go on,’ he urges. ‘You’re nearly there.’

His voice, already deep and low at the best of times, sounds guttural, more of a rumble than actual words.

Another push of his hips, a well-timed long stroke of his thumb, and you’re cumming on him. Namjoon’s hips stutter as you cry his name, and his rhythm falters, a low moan falling from his lips as he spills into you.

He’s panting, trying to catch his breath, when you curl your arms around him, pulling him down to you.

‘Don’t want to crush you,’ he utters. ‘Your hand.’

‘I like the weight of you,’ you tell him.

Namjoon huffs out a laugh. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

Again, he doesn’t sound like he’s really asking you, so you don’t answer.

***

Again, you’re nervous, but this time it’s a situation that’s more familiar to you.

You’re not the girl from the wrong side of the tracks trying to pretend to be middle-class and uneventful at an interview.

Today, you’re on your own turf.

Kang Min used to come to your house to meet your father when you were a girl, and they used to drink and talk and smoke well into the early hours of the morning.

You didn’t always stay up with them, but Kang Min was never anything but kind to you.

You bow as you approach him, at a hole in the wall noodle restaurant your father used to take you to as a child.

‘Uncle,’ you say, politely.

He sits back, and there’s a sudden flare of fear in your chest as you wonder if you’ve misjudged this situation completely.

Instead, he smiles. ‘Y/N. You’ve grown up.’

‘I found this amongst Papa’s things,’ you tell him, holding it out. ‘I thought he’d want you to have it.’

He looks at it as you place it on the table in front of him.

It’s a silver box lighter, the one your father always used to use when they smoked together at your house. You’ve polished the tarnish away yourself.

He looks up at you. ‘Your father was one of my best friends, you know that.’

‘I know, uncle.’

‘He never wanted you involved in the business,’ he says. ‘I’ve always respected his wishes.’

He looks at you shrewdly. ‘What’s this about you working for the police?’

‘I needed a job,’ you tell him. ‘I can’t live off the inheritance.’

‘He wanted you taken care of. I promised him I’d do that,’ Kang Min says. ‘Will you find another job?’

‘I’ve resigned,’ you tell him, truthfully.

‘He built up a trust for you. I’ll give you access,’ Kang Min tells you. ‘I’d have given it you sooner if you’d come to me.’

‘I didn’t know – ‘

He cuts you off. ‘I’m not going to involve you in anything, as long as you give me your word you’ll not lose your loyalty to your father’s memory.’

His eyes flicker over the tattoo that’s faintly visible through your gauzy shirt. You hadn’t been entirely truthful with Namjoon. The tattoo had never been for the men you dated. It’d been one of your father’s ideas to prove your loyalty to Kang Min after he was gone.

Your brilliant, pragmatic father who’d taught you how to hotwire a car, shoplift with ease and three ways to disarm a man without leaving a mark.

‘I won’t forget,’ you tell him.

He smiles then, eyes on the lighter you’ve given him.

‘See that you don’t.’

***

Namjoon’s waiting a block away from where you met with Kang Min. The relief on his face when he sees you makes you feel warm inside.

‘Done?’ he asks.

‘Done,’ you say.

You’re another block away before you speak again. ‘You’re going to help me find another job, right?’

‘What would you like to do?’ asks Namjoon.

‘I always wanted to learn to fix cars,’ you say. ‘Think Taehyung will take me on?’

Namjoon whistles. ‘I think you’d be hot as a mechanic.’

‘I don’t know though, who’s going to save your ass at drug busts?’ you tease.

Namjoon levels you with a look. ‘You know that was one of my first cases as a detective.’

You raise your eyebrows. ‘And?’

‘I’m a better cop now than I was.’

You nod. ‘More careful?’

Namjoon gives you a crooked smile. ‘Stakes are higher now that I’ve got your pretty ass waiting for me at home.’

‘Damn, you haven’t even taken me to dinner yet?’

‘Let’s go right now,’ Namjoon says. ‘Then I’m taking you home with me.’

He curls his arm around you and you lean into his embrace.

You don’t know how this is all going to work out, but it’s a promising start.

#bts smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #btscarnivalnet

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