#inappropriate dress for workplace

[evansbby]

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Pete Brenner x reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, SH in the workplace, heavy drug mention, sleazy Pete, heavy misogyny, I can't believe I wrote this, a lot of sex, yeah idek, 18+ minors dni. 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Pete Brenner hires a new assistant. 𝐀/𝐍: I cannot believe I wrote this. For him. Ew. Brb gonna go take a shower. This is pretty bad as well, like the pacing is wack and the reader's personality changes halfway through the fic?? Idek, I did this thing where I changed the scene every time I felt bored. Enjoy, I guess???

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only hiring you because you’re hot.”

He bends down over his desk, sniffing harshly. You stand there nervously watching him as he straightens up, his nose twitching. You catch a glimpse of white beneath he clears his throat and wipes it off. His eyes – a pretty blue – have an almost wild, excited look about them. But the rest of his face is a contradiction… he looks both calculated and amused as he licks his lips and makes his way over to you.

“That means I want to see you in short skirts, dress, that kind of shit, okay? And some pretty makeup.” His eyes dance over your body, taking in your curves. You’d worn a knee-length pencil skirt and white blouse for the interview with him – nothing too scandalous but it did hug your body nicely. Pete seemed to think so, at least, as his gaze remained glued on your cleavage, “Basically, I want you all dolled up because I sure as fuck know there’s no brain up there in your head. I have a real assistant, but you’ll be my other assistant.”

Other assistant. You knew what that meant.

You also know to remain quiet as he leers at you, coming closer till you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His jaw twitches, and his eyes are still glued to your chest. He reaches out, casually unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse with just his one hand. The view down your top makes him smirk.

“Tomorrow’s your first day, make sure to wear something sluttier than this. Even the office’s eye candy’s gotta put a little work in, huh, sweetheart?” He gives you a wink as he pats your cheek condescendingly.

You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. You needed this job. You needed the money…

“Yes, Mr. Brenner.”

“Good girl,” he maintains eye contact with you, and it’s hard to look away when his pupils are so blown out. And despite his leery demeanour, he’s got a handsome face, you had to admit. Pretty eyes framed with long lashes, a nice bone structure and strong jawline. His jet-black hair was styled messily – either on purpose or because he kept running his hands through it. He was also tall, his tailored jacket tight around his biceps.

He gives your ass a slap as you leave the room, and you yelp in surprise but continue walking steadily lest you fall over in your high heels.

“See you bright and early tomorrow, sweetheart! I know we’re gonna love working together.”

***

“Ah, fuck yeah, keep going. Mm, just like that. God fucking dammit, you’re such a good little cocksucker, huh?”

Pete’s got one hand firmly carded through your hair, gripping it tightly as he bobs your head up and down on his cock. It’s uncomfortable under his desk, especially with your bare knees rubbing against the hard ground.

You’d showed up to your first day of work today bright and early, in an inappropriately short dress as per your new boss’s request. And Pete had licked his lips hungrily when he’d seen you, dragging you into his office and giving you your first task of the day. Sucking his dick while he sat behind his desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, you little slut, take it. Take my fat daddy dick down your little throat. Fuck yeah,” Pete murmurs. You’d quickly come to realise that Pete was every bit as filthy as you’d assumed he was going to be, spewing out a string of curses every time his mouth opened. He was also rougher than you’d expected, fucking your face relentlessly in a way that had you breathless, your hair a complete mess and your face glistening with sweat.

“Mm, tell me you’re a little cockslut,” He peers down at you with a wolfish grin, taking his dick out of your mouth and tapping your cheek with it not-so-gently.

“ ‘m a cockslut,” you pant, and he slaps you with his cock once more before shoving himself back in your mouth.

“That’s right, just look at those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I can’t believe–” his voice trails off, and you glance up to see his eyes narrow as he looks out the window of his office and into the hallway. “Ah, shit. My wife’s here. Keep sucking, baby, but be quiet about it.”

He had a wife? You don’t even have time to feel shocked and disgusted with yourself, all you can do is keep bobbing your head up and down as he keeps a firm hold on you.

“PETEY!” A chirpy voice sounds, and you cringe as you hear the door close. She was in this office, while you were giving her husband a blowjob.

“Hey, babe, how’s it hanging?” Pete says casually, his hand leaving your hair as he cracks his knuckles and leans back on his chair. You pray to God his wife doesn’t come any closer, lest you be found out.

She giggles, “Well, come on, silly. You made us lunch reservations at the Rustica Bistro, remember? I got my nails done and everything!”

You hear Pete grimace from above you, either from what his wife has just said or the fact that you’re still blowing him like your life depends on it.

“Ahh, babe, I gotta take a raincheck. You know how it is…” He gestures vaguely at his computer in front of him, “I’ve got a shit ton of work to do, fuck…” He swears under his breath, thrusting his hips upwardly subtly to stuff more of his cock in your mouth.

“Aww, but Pete–”

“No buts, sweetheart. You know I gotta provide for you and the baby, and that means making a few sacrifices here and there,” Pete runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the sweat forming on his brow as you continue to suck him off, trying not to gasp out loud at the fact that he just said he had a baby. “But don’t let those reservations go to waste, sweetie. Why not take what’s-her-name? That broad from accounting?”

“Sally?”

“Yeah, take Sally. Go on, sweetheart, daddy’s busy. I’ll see you at home.”

You’re in awe at how he dismisses his wife, but you inwardly sigh in relief when you hear the clickity clack of her heels followed by the door opening and closing. Pete barks out a laugh, pulling you off his dick as he begins to pump it around his fist.

“That was a close one, huh?”

“Y-You never mentioned that you had a wife! And a child!”

He snorts, cupping your face and angling it so that he’s jacking off over it, a nonchalant look on his face.

“And you accepted a job as the office slut, so I guess we’re both lacking in the morals department, huh, sweetheart?”

***

Being Pete Brenner’s other assistant did have a few perks. Like free reign with his credit card (a separate one that his wife didn’t know about) as well as some nice gifts here and there. Diamond earrings when he was feeling nice; a designer dress when he wanted to be giving. A pearl-encrusted collar when he was on a particularly high power trip.

But the perks came with a lot of degradation. But it’s not like he hadn’t made that clear when he’d offered you the job.

“Now, sweetheart, all you gotta do is refill everyone’s water while us men talk business, alright?”

You nod, straightening out your tight, navy dress while Pete barks out more instructions as he paces around his office. Today was an important meeting about something or the other. You didn’t really understand what it was that Pete did, but you knew it was something to do with pharmaceuticals. You weren’t sure that all their business was legal, but you thought it was best to turn your head the other way when it came to all that.

You stand in the corner of the conference room during the meeting, watching as Pete sits at the head of the table and talks business with a bunch of colleagues. He looks at you and nods slightly, and that’s your cue to walk around and refill everyone’s water with the glass jug in your hand. It’s an easy enough task, but you’re still nervous in your sky-high heels and too-short dress, acutely aware of the way all these middle-aged men leer at you like you’re a piece of candy or an office decoration.

You set the jug down on the table after you’ve finished topping up Pete’s glass, but before you can quietly scurry back to your corner of the room, his large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You almost yelp in surprise, but catch your tongue just in time. You go with the flow, not wanting to cause a scene as Pete casually settles you down on his knee.

You really feel like a decoration now.

“That’s a fine-looking piece of ass you’ve got workin’ for ya, Brenner.” A seedy looking man at the other end of the table grins.

Pete smirks, his hand firmly resting on your bare thigh as you quiver in his lap at the multiple pairs of eyes now staring straight at you. His other hand twirls a bit of your hair round his finger, as if you’re his little doll that he’s finding amusement in showing off and toying with. “She’s a looker, alright. That’s why I hired her, isn’t that right, baby?”

You have no choice but to nod, heat spreading across your cheeks as the whole room erupts in laughter. Pete holds you firmly in his lap throughout the meeting. You try to zone out, since their business and pharmaceutical jargon makes no sense to you, but you keep getting jolted back to reality as Pete continues to fondle you brazenly in front of everyone.

“Don’t think I’d get any work done if I had a broad like her walking around in my office.” A greasy looking man sitting adjacent from you and Pete pipes up.

Pete grins wolfishly, his hand creeping up the hem of your dress while the other one strokes your arm sensually. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he glances at you and winks, “with her around, I get to relieve all my pent-up tension, which makes work a lot easier.”

“Say, Brenner, you look like you gotta relieve some tension right now!” Another guy quips.

Pete smirks, standing up and yanking you up with him, “You’re right, Davidson. I think I do. You gentlemen mind if we take a recess on this meeting?”

His request is met with a chorus of cheerful affirmations, and he drags you off to a small door to the side of the room. The bathroom.

“Th-They’ll all be able to hear us!” You protest as he bends you over the sink, lifting your dress up and giving your bare ass a hard slap.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s hotter with an audience.” He shoves his hand between your legs, pushing your panties aside and slipping two fingers inside you, smirking when he pulls them out to see them glistening, “clearly you find it hot too.”

Pete fucks you in the bathroom while the men cheer him on from the next room. And you scrunch your eyes shut and focus on trying not to moan (because he fucked you so good after all). His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts into you over again, alongside a string of curses (he was always very vocal during sex, no matter where you were).

He’s got a smug look on his face when he’s done. The smugness of a man who made a whole roomful of men hear your screams of pleasure. (You’d had to be vocal in the end, you couldn’t help it. Not when he was rubbing your clit and whispering dirty words in your ear, making your cunt squeeze around him as you came all over his cock).

He takes you straight back into the conference room, setting you down on his lap and continuing the meeting as if nothing even happened.

***

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, only for him to cup your cheeks and blow smoke right into your face. You sputter, trying to turn away but Pete’s got other plans. He presses his lips against yours, giving you the headiest kiss you’ve ever experienced, making you feel light-headed.

He laughs, “You fall for it every time.”

You scowl at him, “One day I’m gonna quit working for you.”

He snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Oh yeah, sweetheart? And then what’re you gonna do?”

“Make a name for myself.”

He seems to find that hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing as if you’ve just cracked the funniest joke in the world. You huff, shrugging away from him and going to stand on the other end of the balcony. It was attached to his office and Pete liked to hang out there sometimes, claimed he appreciated the fresh air. As if he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth 24/7.

You look out into the city, admiring the bright lights that made the streets come to life at night. The sound of traffic and the mindless buzz of nightlife that had a knack of making people wonder what they were doing with their life. That’s when you feel something hard pressing against your lower back.

“You know, I always wanted to fuck a girl out here.” Pete pushes your hair to one side, kissing the exposed nape of your neck.

“I’d bet a thousand dollars you’d already have done that.”

He chuckles, his hands slipping up and down your body, feeling you up and fondling you in his specifically sleazy way except it turns you on anyways. “After tonight I will have.”

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife? Or at least your baby?”

He pushes your dress up till he’s got it bunched around your waist, before hooking his fingers on the elastic of your panties and snapping it against your skin. “What, you think you’re gonna peptalk me into having some kind of moral breakthrough or something?” He tugs your panties down your legs and gives your ass a squeeze, “Sweetheart, you know the kind of man I am. And I know exactly the kind of girl you are.”

The kind that lets her boss fuck her outside on his balcony overlooking the city.

“Fuck yeah, shake that fucking ass on my daddy dick. Make daddy cum, fuck!” Pete grips your hair and yanks your head back, biting and sucking at your neck as he fucks you. You grip the iron railing hard, your mind wiped of everything except the pleasure he was administering to you right now.

“Mm, fuck, daddy! Harder, please!” You moan, grinding back against his dick, feeling the pure, delicious agony of him breaking you in two from the inside out.

He releases inside you with a guttural roar in your ear, and you sigh, following suit as you milk him through his orgasm. Your cunt pulsates with your pleasure, and he holds you tight before bringing his cigarette up to your mouth so you can take a drag. You do, before craning your neck and grabbing his face, blowing the smoke straight past his lips as you kiss him.

***

“The fuck do you mean you’re knocked up? Were you not on the motherfucking pill?”

You sigh. You’d been fucking Pete for half a year now, and in that time you’d had the pleasure of getting to know him on a very personal level. His likes, dislikes, his temperament. You knew him well enough to know that he got extremely melodramatic when he was high. Which is why it maybe wasn’t the best decision on your part to break the news to him when he was coked out, but you’d had no choice… Pete’s sober moments were very few and far between these days.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Pete. I’m pregnant. I took three tests.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” He slams his fist down on his desk repeatedly, before the pain proves too much and that’s when he straightens up, running a hand through his already messy black hair. “I already got my hands full with one brat.”

He loved his son, really. You’d seen him enough times with the kid to know that Pete did indeed have a heart when it came to a child of his own flesh and blood.

“Well, congratulations, daddy. In about nine months, you’ll have another one.”

He narrows his eyes, stumbling over to you and grabbing you by the neck. He pushes back, high off his mind yet still much stronger than you. His lips curled and brows furrowed almost accusatorily, he backs you up against the wall, his face inches from yours.

“You,” he sneers, “When did you get so cynical, huh? Where’s the bright-eyed, naïve girl I hired six months ago?”

You roll your eyes, “I don’t know, Pete, maybe your sleaziness and depravity killed her off.”

He glares at you, and you glare back. It’s an intense stare-down that lasts a handful of seconds before you’re on top of each other. Kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off, not caring that the glass windows of his office aren’t covered with the blinds. The receptionist would get a show, but it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. Pete had no shame, and now, neither did you.

“I find pregnant broads sexy as hell,” he tells you, carrying you over to his desk. He sits down on his chair with you on top of him, “so that’s one thing to look forward to.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So the fuck are you.”

He shoves his dick into you from below, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly you know he’ll leave bruises. He bounces you up and down on his dick like it’s your job – which, well, it is.

“Your tits will get even bigger, that’s another thing to look forward to,” he whispers in your ear, ripping the top of your dress in half and pushing the cups of your bra down. Your breasts spill out and he goes to town on them, burying his face between them, licking, nipping, biting like you’re his drug of choice for the evening.

You’re confused, scared, even. But that won’t stop you from answering back to him, and so, despite the pleasure he’s making you feel, you shoot him a look of disdain.

“Who says I’m gonna stick around long enough for you to see me like that?”

He yanks you forward by your hair, giving you a rough and almost possessive kiss.

“Sweetheart, don’t kid yourself. I intend on keeping your fine ass around, and besides, it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

***

“I do.”

Pete’s wife had left him. Something about running away with a hot Australian lifeguard who happened to also have a hefty trust fund. The divorce was settled quickly (Pete had more money than his now ex-wife was even aware of, so she happily took what she thought was an equal half). Pete had one condition, though. His son had to stay with him.

And then six months later, you found yourself walking down the aisle in a dress of ivory lace, saying “I do” to the man who only a year ago had just been your boss. Now you were the new Mrs. Brenner, a mother to be and a stepmother to a two-year-old to boot.

It was a good thing you liked kids.

“You’re lucky, you know that? Fucked your way to the very top.” Pete says, his hand stroking your very pregnant belly.

You giggle, spreading out on the satin sheets below you. They’re soft and white and expensive, covered in rose petals. Pete had gone all out and booked the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons, which was the least he could do to make you comfortable after you’d gone through that whole wedding ceremony and reception, all pregnant and uncomfortable and all.

“Not the very top,” you muse, “I could leave you just like your first wife did. Leave you for a richer man.”

Pete scoffs, shrugging his jacket off before rejoining you on the bed, “Honey, if you knew how much money I had in my bank account right now, you’d be licking the bottom of my shoe for the foreseeable future.”

You don’t say anything, instead turning your attention to your ring. You hold up your hand so it catches the light, the hefty diamond sparkling expensively. Just a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom having fifty dollars to your name… And now?

You grow distracted by his hand as it sneaks between your legs. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan when his fingers find your clit. All he has to do is circle your bundle of nerves with his pointer finger and you cum, grabbing his bicep and squealing his name, humping your cunt up against his palm like a wanton whore. All while he grins wolfishly at how easily he can make you come undone.

“It’s just ‘cause I’m pregnant,” you say once you’ve caught your breath, causing his expression to sour.

“Please, Mrs. Brenner. You’ve never had anyone as good as your husband. And you never will, ‘cause it’s all me from now on, you got that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

***

“Oh my gosh, you really shouldn’t have!” You squeal, running over to your new candy pink convertible. Pete stands by the hood, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Only the best for my wife. Now you can do the day-care runs in style.”

You jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing a million kisses on his face. “Thank you, daddy! I love it so much.”

He grins, spinning you around a few times before putting you down, “Happy birthday, babe.”

Your four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter come toddling down the front steps of your mansion, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing at your new pink car. Pete looks positively beside himself with glee, scooping both his kids up in his arms so they can get a better look at it.

It only took a few months into being married to you for Pete to realise that he liked the family man lifestyle. And you could tell he liked being a provider, liked showering his family with gifts and spending money on you and the babies more than blowing it all on drugs and strip clubs. It was a shame that it took him two marriages and two different baby mamas to realise that, but at least his ex was living it up in Australia, so there was no love lost there.

“We need to come up with a story when people ask us how we met,” you say one evening as the two of you get ready for bed. You’re sitting in front of your vanity, applying cold cream to your face and neck while Pete does God knows what in the background.

“Easy. My gold-digger assistant got herself knocked up and trapped my ass, and now here we are.” Pete smirks, coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shut up, you jerk. More like, I took advantage of and sexually harassed my poor, innocent assistant, and the least I could do was marry her after I got her pregnant.” You smile, letting him grab your hand and drag you to the bed.

“Okay, poor, innocent assistant. Why don’t you let daddy put another baby inside you tonight?” He asks, pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you, his voice thick with lust as he runs a hand through his messy, black hair.

“So you can accuse me of getting knocked up again?”

“Yeah,” He rips your nightie in half, making you squeal, “That’ll ensure I’m trapped with you for another two years at least.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve got the dirtiest mouth, Mrs. Brenner. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with you.”

SFJHKASGD THE END!

If you made it till here... thank you! I think I got possessed last night and today so I wrote this. Sorry besties, but please do let me know what you think! Feedback means everything to me!! I love you guys and now back to our regularly scheduled programming of ARI and STEVE!

#pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #pain hustlers #chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson

[gracieheartspedro]

I Can See You

Joel Miller x fem! Reader

Hiya friends, I am back with part 2. This time, it gets juicy (; I'm planning on doing tons of parts to this story, so please give me feedback! I'm not used to writing smut, so this is all new to me.

Warnings: DBF! Joel, age gap-ish (reader is 25, Joel is 39), smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f recieving), fingering, workplace sex, joel being a little bit of a perv, reader not having a filter per usual.

Outline: After an encounter with his boss's daughter that was a bit inappropriate, Joel finds her a bit irresistible and teaches her a lesson in not dressing like a tease at the office.

Word count: 3.7k

PART 1

I was not looking forward to our usual monthly meeting. My father invited all the contractors and office crew to the conference room, where we made sure everyone knew the game plan of the month. I usually gave everyone a heads up on some delays in shipments and new clients. 

Which meant I had to stand in front of Joel Miller and my dad and talk about work. 

It had been over a week since I went to Joel’s house and “apologized” for almost fucking his brother. Last week he was hardly in the office, and when he was, he wouldn’t say anything but “hi” and “bye”. He was busy, I knew that. But I couldn’t help but stare at him when he was in the office. I wanted to say something to him. But I didn’t know how to catch his attention. 

After our talk, where I waltz into his house and he told me he liked to stare at me, I knew we were kind of on the same page. He was hard to read, I was too easy to read. He knew how to press my buttons. And God, did I need him to push all of them. 

If he liked to stare like the rest of them, I was going to give him a good reason to stare, I decided. 

I found a tight blue dress in the back of my closet and heels that were a bit higher than my usual. It wasn’t a dress I usually wore to work, but I could get away with it if I started the day wearing a sweater. 

I usually carpooled with my dad every morning, but he left before I even woke up for some reason. I chalk it up to meeting prep. 

So I grab a banana and my car keys and head to the office. 

—

I walk to my desk, anticipating everyone’s arrival. I hear my dad on the phone in his office, which meant it was going to be a rough start. If someone was bugging him before his second coffee, he was going to have a rough day.

I was the first desk people would see when they walked in, so I would be the first thing Joel would see, so I needed to be strategic in my welcome. 

I start printing out the usual outline for the monthly meeting, glancing up at the door every time it opened. As I was the last page printed, I grabbed my highlighter and started highlighting the most important parts of the meeting. It was routine at this point. 

I lean over my desk, my sweater hanging off my shoulders. I hear the door open and I lock eyes with Joel. And behind him, Tommy. 

He had wet hair, I could tell he must’ve been in a rush this morning. He wears a blue short sleeve button up and dark wash blue jeans. His boots are filthy from mud, which always tracks through the office. 

“Mornin’ Millers,” I say plainly, trying not to make it too obvious I was trying to grab his attention. 

“Mornin’,” Joel says groggily, “Everyone here before us?”

I finish my last line of highlighter and stand up straighter to really face him, “Yes sir.”

Tommy doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with wonder in his eyes. Man this guy saw my tits too, I think for a second. The thought makes me cringe a bit. 

Tommy doesn’t frequent the office often since he’s not the boss of the work sites. He’s mainly Joel’s little helper. He always attends the meetings, just in case Joel or my dad need him to pick up slack somewhere. 

Joel doesn’t say anything, just opens the conference room door. He waves Tommy in, trying to grab his attention away from me. Joel stands against the door, waiting. 

“I’ll be in a second,” I say, grabbing all my pens and my phone, “Don’t wait up.”

He rolls his eyes and lets go of the door, letting it slam behind him. 

Play it cool.

My dad finally comes out of his office, giving me a confused look as I head to the door. 

“What’s the occasion?” He questions, gesturing towards my dress.

“You’re always bitching that I’m not even trying to dress business-y and now here I am, trying, and you-”

“Whatever, hun, just lets get this meeting done. I have a lot of shit to deal with when this is over. Got a long day of meetings downtown.”

I nod, knowingly. 

My heels clack against the marbled floor as I waltz into the room of about 8 men. 

The thing about being the boss’s daughter is, the men that work for him are never going to blatantly ogle you. They will do it when he’s not looking. So when Dad was setting up his screen on the TV, I watched as the older contractors stared at me up and down. I am not a very self conscious person, but old men just gross me out. These guys were old enough to be my grandfather at this point. 

Joel was different. He always kept his head down and looked outside the huge window, unless he had a genuine question. He always stayed later focused at work. No funny business. 

Today, I needed his full, undivided attention. 

So I slip my sweater off and start handing out the outlines. I get a few confused looks, but I keep my composure. 

“Okay gentlemen, good morning,” My dad starts, “We got a lot of shit this week. We have to finish the Locklane Property this Friday. I am having Joel oversee everything is in order there. The check hasn’t fully cleared, so we need everything perfect. It’s a big payday.”

I find my seat next to my dad, right across from Joel and Tommy. 

“The last few shipments for the Brier Woods property are delayed by the way,” I purse my lips, “But I can try to make some calls to speed that up. I know we need it done ASAP.”

“Any status on those kitchen sinks you put in for last month?” Joel asks, directing his question at me. I cock my eyebrow, not expecting a question from him so quickly.

“Not yet,” I lean back in my chair, “But when I get in touch with them, you’re the first person I’ll call.”

“Much ‘preciated,” He mumbles, his eyes go back to scanning the outline. My dad starts his normal speech about not staying on the job too long and how he wants to make sure his crews are being treated fairly. This was normally directed to the older contractors, who treated their crews like shit and constantly overworked them. 

The meeting is usually about 30 minutes long, so when we finish up final talks, my dad practically races back to his office to grab his car keys and leave for downtown. All the other men mosy out of the room and to their work trucks. I watch Tommy eyeball me from across the room while I clean up some spilled coffee and all the outlines littering the table. I look up at him, giving him a slight nod and wave. 

“Have a good day, Tommy,” I say, acknowledging him for the first time since almost fucking him. He smiles, giving me a kurt nod. He walks out of the room with another guy, while Joel hangs around typing on his phone. 

Once he notices everyone is gone, he speaks up. 

“That a new dress?”

My heart rate picks up. I clutch the papers against my chest, “Not new, just never worn.”

He stands up, putting a tooth pick in his mouth. 

“Never wear it again,” He says sternly. I watch him come closer to me, his shoulder lined up next to mine, “Ya’ tease.”

He starts for the door, leaving me as practically a puddle on the floor. 

I find my voice, grabbing his wrist to prevent him from walking further, “Only if by the end of the day, you’re the one taking it off.”

I never have seen a man move so fast, turning on his heels to face me. He’s centimeters away, I can smell his aftershave and his shampoo. 

“Playin’ a dangerous game there, sweetheart,” He murmurs, “You know better, right?”

I smile, inching closer, “Guess I don’t.”

He doesn’t smile back at the little game I’m trying to play, “I’m comin’ back on my lunch.”

And he leaves.

—-

I was just glad that everyone left at the same time during the day for lunch in the office. 

When 12 o’clock hits, everyone in the office bids me farewell for their hour and a half lunch. As one of the assistants opens the front door to leave, she holds the door for, you guessed it, Joel. He strides over to my desk slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. 

“Is anyone here?”

I shake my head, “All left on their breaks.”

I stand up, finding my way to the other side of my desk where he stood. 

“Why did you come back?” I question, leaning against my desk, moving some of the papers with my butt.

I am so nervous but I am still trying to play it cool. I spent all morning anticipating his arrival that I hardly did my job. I couldn’t make a phone call, I couldn’t answer a single email, I was so in my own head. What was he going to do when he got here?

“I don’t really know,” he licks his lips, “Just know ’m eager to have you alone again.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After all these years of this man practically ignoring my existence, and here he is, eager to be alone?

“Oh really?”

He positions himself in between my legs, wrapping his arms around my waist. His biceps are tight against his shirt when he flexes like this. 

“And these fuckin’ dresses you’ve been wearing?” He scans my body like I’m something he wants to eat, “Has me thinking of all the things I should’ve done when I had you with your tits out in your bedroom.”

I laugh, a little too hard, “You mean when Tommy had my tits out?”

He shakes his head, grabbing my face with his hand. His hand is so big and his fingers so long, he takes up a lot of my face. 

That stops my laughter. 

“Tell me,” He mutters, “Why did you want him so bad?”

He doesn’t release my face, so I just shake my head.

He finally lets me go, his other arm still tightly around me. 

“You left me high and dry after tying up my bikini,” I say, my arms finding their way to behind his neck, “And you were too busy with the new neighborhood MILF.”

I slide a bit more off the desk and onto his right leg. My dress is slowly riding up. If I would’ve known this little dress caused such a stir, I would have worn it months ago. 

“Oh, so you were jealous?”

I felt a pang of embarrassment. I shake my head, “No, no, I just-”

“You are a terrible liar, sweetheart.”

I press myself into him a bit harder, my underwear finally making contact with his jeans. He looks down at what I’m doing, his head shaking. 

“Whatcha doin’ there?”

I smirk, using his grip on me to my advantage. I wrap my legs around his one leg, pressing myself even harder against him. 

“Don’t want anyone seeing us,” I whisper into his ear, “We should finish this somewhere else.”

He nods in agreement, knowing exactly where I was going with this. The only two places that have shades on the windows was my dad’s office and the conference room, so I choose the respectable thing and lead him into the conference room. I draw the shades, while he shuts the door and locks it. 

I walk over to him, my arms finding his neck again. He purses his lips, “I don’t think you realize how badly I wanted to bend you over this table this mornin’.”

Those same pursed lips, find their way to my exposed neck. I was already wet, but there’s something about someone’s breath on my neck. It went straight to in between my legs. 

“You should’ve,” I practically moan, “Right in front of everyone.”

He chuckles darkly, “Right in front of Tommy? Poor guy is down bad for you.”

I pull him away from me for a second, “Do you feel bad doing this?”

He shakes his head, “Fuck no, that guy gets every pussy that comes his way, this one is mine.”

This one is mine. 

I was fucking soaked at this point. 

“Is it?” Is all I can say, because his tongue is back on my neck and chest. He mindlessly tugs up my dress some more, exposing my panties. He uses one arm to lift me onto the conference table, my bare legs getting chills from the cold table top. 

I have been with 3 guys total, and not one of them had ever eaten me out. My first boyfriend was inexperienced and terrified to hurt me. He always told me “we would get around to it” but let’s just say, the relationship ended as quickly as he finished inside me. The other two were one night stands and I was too drunk to remember if they even touched my pussy with anything but their dicks. 

So when he gets eye level with my wet stained panties, I get a bit nervous. I clench my legs together a bit. 

“You gettin’ shy on me?”

I bite my lip, “No one has ever gone down on me.”

He leans back a bit on his knees, “You’re not a virgin are y-”

“No, no, Joel,” I quickly quip up, “I just never had a guy eat me out before. No guy has even shown initiative so I just let them fuck me.”

He looks flabbergasted, before spreading my legs again with his right hand. 

“These boys these days don’t know what the fuck they’re missin’,” He kisses my inner thighs, “Lemme take care of you, girl.”

He kisses my inner thighs, taking his sweet time. Watching him from this angle reminds me of seeing him trying to get those serving plates. He was so handsome, his dark hair falling around his ears. 

His lips eventually find my mound, which sends me into a moaning mess. I lean back, resting my elbows on the table. He uses one hand to keep me in my position, all while using the other to pull my panties off. 

He looks so focused, so driven and hungry. 

“Please,” I whimper, “Please Joel, do something.”

He smirks, “Very eager, little one.”

He licks one long stripe on my slit, my whole body freezes up for a second. He continues, diving deeper into me. He swirls his tongue everywhere. The sounds are pornographic, wet and so fucking hot. 

He presses harder down on my stomach, trying to keep me from moving. 

He brings his other hand up, his two fingers run through my heat. He releases my stomach for a moment, standing up from his spot on the floor. He then lifts his other hand up to my face. 

“Suck ‘em baby, get them nice and wet.”

I grab them with one hand, sticking them into my mouth. I lick and suck them like my life depended on it. Joel’s eyes get darker watching me moan around his fingers. He removes them, those two fingers finding my slit. 

“Gonna open you up some,” he mutters, “Not done eating ya.”

He returns to his knees, using his middle and ring finger now. He’s pushing them in skillfully, before pressing his lips onto my mound again. He starts fucking me slowly, his tongue running up and down my hot slit. 

He sets a pace, his fingers hooking inside me a bit, pressing me in spots I didn’t even know existed. 

“Holy fuck-” I groan, my hands finding his hair, “Don’t stop.”

His mouth finds my clit again, and that’s when I know I’m done for. He’s sucking so good, I can’t even think straight. 

Between the sounds and his expertise, I feel that familiar build up I feel when I’m touching myself. It feels hot in my lower stomach. I feel my legs and arms tense up. He feels it too, removing his mouth from me and focusing on using his fingers. 

“You gonna cum on my fingers? Go on, cum for me.” 

It throws me over the edge, my whole body tenses up. As I do that, his hands leave my tight hole and he starts to rub his entire hand over my clit. The continuous stimulation makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. I watch his jaw tighten as I cum all over him. 

“Jesus, fucking Christ, Joel.”

As I’m trying to catch my breath, I notice him undoing his belt. 

“I’m not done yet, girl,” He mumbles, “I still have so much I want to do to you.”

He pulls his pants down, keeping his shirt on. But I wanted to see all of him. 

“Take your shirt off,” I say, “I want to see you.”

“No time for that,” He groans, letting his dick free from his briefs. 

I practically gasp. 

He’s fucking huge. Bigger than I’ve ever been with, for sure. I knew he’d be hung, but for God’s sake, was that going to fit in me?

“Don’t worry, little one,” He says, noticing my jarred face, “It’ll fit.”

It’s like he reading my fucking mind. 

He finds his way on top of me. I realize all this foreplay, and he still hasn’t kissed me. 

“Joel,” I murmur, his face inches from me, “Kiss me.”

I capture his lips before he can respond. 

It was a patient kiss, at first. When I try to slip my tongue into his mouth, he starts to get a little more passionate with it. I can taste myself on his tongue, which turns me on more than I thought it would.

I was so lost in the kiss, I didn’t even realize he was starting to run his dick along my entrance. When it touches my clit, I pull away from the kiss with a hiss.

“Gonna ease it in,” He grabs ahold of his shaft, guiding it through my heat before settling right on my entrance. 

He pushes forward. I’ve never felt such delicious pressure in my life. I was still sensitive from the first orgasm, that as soon as he continued pressing himself into me, I was a moaning mess. 

He grabs my face again, pulling me up to meet his eyes. 

“More,” I moan, relaxing a bit so he could fill me up. And fill me up he did. 

“Goddamn,” He groans, “So fuckin’ tight.”

Once I adjust for a moment, he removes his hand from my face and lifts my legs up and places them around his hips. I notice I still have my heels on, which only feeds into this workplace fantasy I had imagined before he got here. God this was so dirty. 

He starts to move, his hips snapping into mine at a gentle pace. But something comes over me while he grinding into me. 

He’s watching himself disappear inside me, taking his time. 

“Joel,” I moan, “Fuck me harder.”

He chuckles lowly, “Oh, you ready for that?”

“Pleas-”

He snaps forward, settling into a brutal pace. I couldn’t help but moan out whenever his pelvis rubbed against me for a second. The table was squeaking and moving under us, but Joel just held me in place while pounding into me.

He reaches out, wrapping his hand around my throat. 

“Gonna be a good girl for me,” He’s clenching his teeth while he fucks me, like he’s holding back a little, “Aren’t ya?”

“Yes, sir, yes,” I strain out, not even realizing what I’m saying. 

“Oh my god, girl,” He’s going even faster, like he’s chasing his own orgasm, “Keep sayin’ that.”

He puts those expert fingers to good use again, reaching between us, and finding my clit. It takes less than a minute for him to get me back to the edge, my body starts shaking involuntarily. I had no control over it. 

“Oh my god, please sir!”

I lurch up, wrapping my entire body around him. 

“Squeezing me, baby,” He moans, “That’s right baby, cum all over this cock.”

It’s something I’ve never experienced while having sex. The concept of cumming at the same time seemed like something that only happened in porn or my favorite romance novels. 

But we did. 

We moan in unison, falling over the edge of our highs. He goes to pull out, but I hold him tighter, making him cum right inside me. As soon as we catch our breaths, he let’s go of my upper body slowly. 

“I came inside ya,” He mutters, easing himself out of me. It makes me feel so unbelievably empty. 

“I’m on birth control,” I explain, in between my gasps, “Wanted you to.”

He starts to pull his pants up, stuffing his softening cock into his briefs and away from my view. When he notices me staring, he stands back, getting a good look of me. 

“You look so fucking hot with my cum leaking out of you.”

A sentence I never thought I’d ever hear from Joel Miller. 

I smile, finding my footing on the ground, still kind of wobbly from having the life fucked out of me. I shimmy my dress down to cover my ass again. I glance around the room, trying to find my underwear. He knows exactly what I’m looking for, clearing his throat. 

I look up at him and see he has my underwear on his pointer finger. He gestures for me to grab them, but I think of an even better idea. I grab them from him and ball them up. I grab his belt loop, pulling him towards me. I slide the panties in his back pocket, all the while giving him a shit eating grin. 

“You’re bad news, little one.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dbf joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller one shot

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

you're the one - j. cage

a/n: not proud of where my life has taken me, honestly. but this is for the love of my life, luca. hope you all enjoy! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! warnings: kissing, suggestive comments, johnny being like the worlds biggest flirt, nothing too crazy, but definitely a lot of sexual innuendos, teasing, inappropriate workplace relationship, kind of, light angst with a happy ending word count: 3.1k summary: you're johnny cage's assistant babysitter agent, and you're his opposite. and yet, he finds himself unapologetically into you. pairing: johnny cage x gn!reader now playing: you're the one - greta van fleet "you're the one i want/you're the one i need/you're the one i had/come on back to me"

You decide you can never be with Johnny Cage in a dingy bar on a Saturday at 11:19 PM.

You’d been his agent for around three months at this point, and you’re always with him, to the point where it became weird that you know so little about each other. And really, it’s a wonder that you lasted so long given how different you are.

You’re awkward, and there’s no harm in it, but you find yourself standing to the side of every movie set, glancing down to your phone to try and find a reason to send an email to someone to distract yourself.

Your relationship history is far and few between, you’ve only started dressing well recently, and you find yourself struggling in crowds and public speaking terrifies you.

Johnny is electric. He has no problem finessing a crowd, has no problem being the center of attention. He’s just unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

So really, you can’t say you’re shocked when you wake up one day and realize that you have in fact, developed feelings for him. It isn’t a tough thing to do, not when he’s always flirting with you.

After a rather large slump in his career, Johnny’s new movies have been doing well in both the box office and with movie watchers all over the country. Really, you became his agent at the perfect time because right after you started, he really became quite the star. Maybe the change of pace behind the camera worked out rather well.

He sort of feels bad, that you’re constantly with him. He doesn’t know when you sleep, because if he isn’t on set or doing press or getting ready to do either, he’s asleep, but every day when you show up to the set, you have a new agenda for him to follow.

When you do it, while also sleeping, eating, and taking care of your own obligations, he doesn’t know.

But one night, after three months of your help, he asks you to grab a drink with him.

(“This isn’t a ploy to get me alone and drunk is it, Cage?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”)

And that’s how you wound up here. You’re dressed more casually than he’s ever seen you, sporting this old band tee and some rather casual jeans. He can’t stop looking at you, and he’s a little confused about it.

He doesn’t get star struck often, but he has this thought, that maybe in one of Liu Kang’s alternate universes, you two ends up together. Maybe he fixes boats in a coastal town, maybe you work at the diner there, maybe you have a dog together. Maybe, in another universe, you and Johnny have a quiet life, where you don’t have much, but you have each other, and that’s enough.

“So how did someone like you end up in a place like this?” he asks, charmingly. You roll your eyes and take another sip of your beer.

“Well, this asshole I work for—”

“Hey!”

“He asked me out for a drink, and I don’t know if it’s because I felt obligated because he pays me, or because I genuinely wanted to, but I went out with him.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“You make up for it, always flirting with me.”

“Can’t say you don’t like it, sweetheart—”

“Listen, Cage—"

“But you never answered my question. How’d you end up in Hollywood? We spend all this time together, yet I feel like I barely know my own assistant.”

“Agent.”

“Whatever. Answer the question.”

It’s a loaded one, no doubt, but not one you aren’t willing to answer. You find yourself unable to really keep anything from him, he just needs to know where to look for it, how to interpret it.

“I moved here from home, never

had much of anything—Family, Money, Whatever—Got an internship and before you know it, I’m networking my way to being Johnny Cage’s babysitter—”

“Agent.”

“Whatever.” You shoot back, a goofy grin on your face.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” He poises, “Favorite movie?”

You exhale, finding that a near impossible question.

“Oh, and none of mine! Then, it would be too easy!” He grins, and you shoot him this look.

You have a lot of favorite movies.

You take a few minutes before deciding on one.

“Paddington 2.”

“What?!”

“Paddington 2!”

“You cannot be serious!” He gawks. “Paddington 2 over, what? The Shawshank Redemption? Gladiator? Better than Aliens?!”

You take a minute.

“I’ve never seen Aliens.”

“What?! Big alien, tiny girl, Ripley!” He says the main character’s name in this high pitched, annoying tone.

It makes you burst out laughing, and he just laughs at your laugh.

“Nope, never seen it.”

“Oh my god! How do you work in Hollywood, and you’ve never seen Aliens?”

“Stop asking me if I’ve never seen Aliens, you know what the answer is!”

You both laugh again, and for a moment, it is perfect. There is no one else in the world except you and him, and there’s no reason to feel as if this isn’t real. There’s no reason to deny yourself the rather simple pleasure of admiring him, and there is certainly no reason to stop looking at him like you are right now.

And then this beautiful blonde woman strolls up to him. Even you can admit that she’s gorgeous.

“Excuse me,” Her voice is that of a songbird, “I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Johnny Cage? Like, the actor?”

“Indeed, I am, how can I help you?”

“I was just wondering if I could buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my table?”

You’re full of jealousy. You feel awful for it too, because in no way is Johnny yours.

“Uh, you know what..” He glances back at you, and you give him this weak smile.

“Go, it’s fine. Have fun, it isn’t like this is a date or anything.”

He grins at you and puts a fifty on the bar to pay for your drinks and leave the bartender a rather nice tip.

“You’re the best wingman ever, man! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

You finish your drink bitterly as Johnny goes off to flirt with, and eventually sleep with, that nice woman. You take notice that when the two of you are alone, you’re ‘sweetheart’ but when another woman strolls in, you’re ‘man’.

And that’s it. It’s 11:19 PM and in that dingy bar, you decide that you can never be with Johnny Cage. You know it will never be what you want it to be. That if it does happen, it’ll be like it is with this woman. A one-night stand, never to be brought up again. You’ll get him all to yourself for one night, and then after that, he will never be yours again. He’ll go back to being no ones, back to being the spotlights. Back to belonging to everyone, except you.

• • •

To tell you the truth, you snuck up on Johnny. After you made it clear the first day you met that you had no intention of sleeping with him, he sort of wrote you off other than flirting.

And one day he woke up and realized how desperately, horribly in love he is with you.

It happens a few weeks after your night at the bar. You were supposed to spend the night filming an outdoor scene, but it rained so hard that the stunts wouldn’t have been safe, so here you are in his living room. He had sold his mega mansion for something less expensive—Still lavish, but not nearly as expensive.

“So, do you want to go over the script and make those edits that the studio suggested or—”

“Nope.” He comes out of the kitchen holding a big bucket of popcorn. “We’re watching Aliens.”

You sigh and plop the script down on his coffee table.

“Johnny—” you say in this exasperated tone.

“Darling,” He echoes, in that same tone but more sarcastically. What a dick. You can’t help but want him. He sits with you and puts the popcorn between you, as he turns on the TV and brings up the movie. “Say what you want, but you’re my assistant, so you have to do what I say!”

“Agent.”

“Whatever! C’mon, take one night off, just watch this movie with me!”

You glance over to him and sigh. Why do you do the things you do for him? You’ll never know.

“Fine. One movie, and that’s it!” You tell him and curl up on the couch, your hand reaching to the popcorn to grab a fistful.

One thing no one ever told you was how God damn scary this movie was! You aren’t a big gore or horror person, so it takes you by surprise.

It’s really good, though you’d never admit it to Johnny, just fucking scary.

At some point throughout the movie, one of you moved over the popcorn bowl, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

During a particularly scary scene, you find yourself jumping, right into his side, gripping his arm. Your heart is racing, but you’re so totally glued in.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You gasp, your clutch on his arm growing tighter.

“Pretty cool, right?” He grins, noticing your grip on his arm.

“It’s fine.” He chuckles and shakes his head, leaning back on the couch.

And that was it. He was hooked. He knew how his image had been around Hollywood, and he knew that you saw him as this playboy. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, especially since his divorce.  But he wanted to make a change, wanted you to see the change, but he just couldn’t put his finger on how.

The rain is still pouring when the movie ends, when you finally pull yourself off his arm.

“I should be heading out.”

“What? You can’t drive in this.” He doesn’t want you to leave.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Just stay the night.”

“Johnny, I don’t even have clothes to—”

“I’ll give you some of mine. You can take the bed.”

You pause.

“Don’t think that this means I’ll sleep with you.”

He grins.

“Sleep in the same bed as me? Yeah. Let me do all these dirty things that I—”

You get up and head towards his room.

“I’m not on the clock, I’m not dealing with you.”

He grins and follows you.

“I don’t hear a no in there, hot stuff—”

“I swear to god, Johnny—”

You’re too busy bickering to get much sleep that night.

• • •

The movie comes out in two weeks, so on your agenda for today is fitting him for a new suit. You’re sitting, sipping a rather crisp mimosa when he comes out in this one suit. He does a nice twirl and holds his arms out, expecting approval.

He looks good. Like, good enough that you almost break that rule you made at the bar that night.

It’s been a month since you stayed at his place, and since then, things have just been different. You no longer must watch him go off and flirt with other people, because he seems to have some sort of change of heart.

You grin gently.

You put your drink down and stand up, going over to him and adjusting his tie.

He wears this black suit, except the suit coat is a deep blue velvet that is soft to the touch.

“You look great.” You tell him. He grins.

“Only missing my signature shades, good lookin’. That way you can’t tell when I’m looking at your—”

“Eyes, right, Johnny?”

“And ass.”

You laugh and shake your head, unable to comprehend that you feel anything except great love for that comment.

“So, what are you gonna wear?” He asks.

“What? To where?”

“To the premiere?”

“Johnny, I’m not going to the premiere—”

“You have to! You’re my assistant!”

“Agent!”

“Whatever!” His hands come to the dips of your hips. It’s a little too past platonic. You say nothing. “We need to get you an outfit.”

You groan. You hate shopping for clothes. You hate fancy clothes especially.

“Let me go order this to be tailored, and then we can go shopping for you. I’m thinking either blue, to match me, or gold, to compliment—”

“If I’m going to the premiere, It’ll be quietly behind all the cameras, not—”

“Then come as my date. Not as my agent, not as my assistant, not as my babysitter. As my date.”

“Don’t you want to go with someone pretty?”

He frowns.

“You’re pretty.” He tells you.

“Johnny—”

“No argument on this one, Darlin’, we’re going shopping,” he quickly kisses your forehead and walks off to go get changed and pay for his suit.

So that’s how you find yourself awkwardly fitting into this gold outfit, with black accents and the right curves to fit your body shape just right. It isn’t your body that fits awkwardly into it, it’s you. You’re not used to this level of formality.

“Come on out, sweetheart, I won’t bite!” Johnny calls from outside your dressing room.

“You’re gonna be mean to me!”

He gasps, “I would never!”

You sigh and adjust the outfit before walking back out of the dressing room.

“Don’t laugh—” But he isn’t laughing. He’s just looking at you. “You don’t like it.”

“Nononono—” he says, walking towards you and putting his hands on your shoulders. He smooths out the shoulders of your outfit, his thumb gently rubbing over your collarbone. “You look amazing.”

“I feel like a barbie.”

“You look great.”

“I’m not used to this.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be a natural.”

“Besides, it won’t matter, everyone will be looking at you.”

He hums and shrugs.

“Everyone will be looking at you, I think.”

Your face goes red.

“Johnny!”

“I know you’re uncomfortable, but you do really look amazing, honey.”

You take his word for it.

• • •

When you get to the premiere two weeks later, it’s overwhelming. People are taking photos of you two, yelling his name, asking who you’re wearing. His hand does not leave yours.

“Just relax,” He tells you gently, “Just smile, it’s all you have to do.”

You do your best, trying to focus on the feeling of his arm around you as you pose. He glances down at you, tilting his shades down to the end of his nose. You can just make out his eyes. His hand comes up to your face and tilts your chin up.

He leans in and kisses you, as the crowds around you scream even louder. It occurs to you, at this moment, that he’s only kissing you to get publicity. That maybe he’s just taking advantage of the fact that you could be his mysterious new beaux. That he doesn’t want you, doesn’t want to kiss you, doesn't want anything to do with you.

You kiss back, not having any ability to resist how badly you want him anymore. You don’t care if it’s just for the cameras. You have no desire to pull away from him, no matter how pretend it may be.

When he does pull away, you make your way off the red carpet and into a secluded corner of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he starts.

“It’s okay, I get it, it didn’t mean anything—”

“What are you talking about?”

“…What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry for surprising you so suddenly, it wasn’t where I wanted to do that, but I just.. I couldn’t help myself. You’re looking so good right now..”

“Not where you wanted to do that?”

“I’ve been meaning to kiss you for a while.. I just wanted it to be romantic and amazing, like you deserve, but I just couldn't help myself.”

“Like I deserve?”

“You have a lot of questions for someone who just got kissed by me—”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!”

“Does that mean you don’t want me to kiss you again?”

“…No.”

“That’s what I thought,” he leans to kiss you again, and you gladly let him. You only break off the kiss to take his sunglasses off his face, before kissing him again. Now that you had him, the want didn’t dissipate. Especially when you feel his hands on your hips again, and you only lean further into the kiss.

You can’t believe you waited so long to kiss Johnny Cage. Why would you ever deny yourself the right to make out in some quiet corner of a blockbuster movie premiere?

• • •

A week later, you’re sitting in that bar again. This time, you and Johnny have this booth in the back of the bar, and you’re leaning against him while he tries your extremely fruity drink and cringes at how sugary it is.

“I don’t know how you drink this shit.”

“I need to get nice and drunk after the day I had. Boss was being mean.”

“Sounds awful.”

“Yeah but He’s a great kisser, so.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your head. Somehow, He is more comfortable than he has been in a long time, feeling more like himself than he has in… years, maybe.

“It’s getting late, we should get you home soon.”

“Mm, But I like drinking. Besides, when did you become the responsible one?”

“When you ordered that fourth margarita.”

“Touche.” You finish your drink and sigh. “You’re not gonna let me have another, huh?”

“Not tonight, baby.” He says, patting your thigh gently. “C’mon, get up, I’ll go pay our tab and we can get some fresh air.”

You hum and get up, leaning against him as he makes his way to pay, and then you head outside to lean against the wall. Johnny keeps you up right as you try to breathe through the liquor. Then this girl comes up to you, and grins at your boyfriend.

“Are you Johnny Cage?” She asks. He bites back a sigh and smiles to her.

“I am, Hi—”

“I love your movies! Do you want to go grab a drink with me?” she asks, flirtatiously. You’re literally standing there leaning against him, with his arm around your waist.

“I’m sorry, you seem very nice, but I have to get my partner here home.” He says, “Have a nice night.”

She seems a little sad, but she bids you guys goodnight respectfully and heads into the bar.

“Your partner?” You ask, drunk on sugary drinks and love for this man.

“Yeah, they’re pretty nice.” He hums. “A pretty great assistant. An even better kisser.”

You frown.

“Agent!”

“Whatever.”

He leans in and kisses you to shut up before you can argue with him anymore. For once, you don’t mind his interruption.

#johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #johnny cage x you #johnny cage x y/n #johnny cage x gn!reader #johnny cage fluff #johnny cage angst #johnny cage mk #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #johnny cage love of my life #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 x reader

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Inappropriate Workplace Behaviour

Pairing: Lord Death x Younger! Secretary! Fem! Reader.

Summary: Lord Death can't stop jacking off to his decades younger secretary.

Warnings: Smut, Masterbation, Mutual Masterbation, Fingering, Age Gap relationship (all parties are 18+), Boss x Employee, Vouyerism, Lord Death is a perv in this.

Writing Time: 1 hour.

Word Counter: 1231.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 8.

A/N:

Bro this was supposed to be headcannons how did it become a fic??? I should be on Day 9 now. Why do I always do this to myself I hope you enjoyed my first Lord Death fic. I said he's a perv so he's a perv.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

---///---

Lord Death was shocked to say the least, when he first realized he had a strong attraction you. An attraction he didn't think any man should have for anyone so close to his son's age.

Or for his own secretary.

He would lie awake at night, fistful of his own dick, thinking about you. How you dressed that day. Simple black suit with heels that you didn't think was that eye catching at all.

But it certainly got your boss's attention, with the way it hugged your figure and emphasized your breasts and ass.

Poor Death would have to cover his own mouth from his loud moans from his own touching. He definitely wished it was your hand though over his mouth.

Could you blame him though? It was a nightmare hiding his boner all day, he had to stay put tucked into his desk.

He would imagine leading you from your desk outside his office into his office and just having his way with you on his desk. He would imagine what your moans and cries would sound like, he imagined them to be sweet and beautiful.

Just like you.

His small obsession would grow into somewhat of an addiction. You started noticing Lord Death's change around you when he started complimenting your outfits more.

I mean, he always did give you a small compliment everyday which could be about anything.

"Lovely to see your adorable smile this morning!"

"Nice shoes, dear. Are they new?"

"I like your hair today. The new look really suits you!"

But they had always been small things in passing that you noticed Death did for everyone in the office. It was like his mission to give everyone one compliment everyday.

But it changed when they became more about your clothes and your curves and happened up to four or five times a day.

"Lovely skirt dear...looks so good on you."

"Careful with that fit love, it will have to boys your age all over you."

"My my my, have a date tonight do we?"

That and the small touches he'd add here and there. A hand on your back whilst he spoke to you, a hand on your chin when admiring your outfit... you could go on.

You knew the Lord Death had a little crush on you. At this point it was so obvious. And being the mischievous little shit you are, you decided you'd tease him a little bit.

With just little things. Small touches, figuring out which kind of outfits he liked best and almost exclusively wearing them, slightly bending over when he was near to pick something up or see something better just to give him a nice view... and so on.

Lord Death wasn't a fast as you. He didn't realise you was now doing it on purpose.

One day after a lot of your teasing, he excused himself to his office and shut the door. Something he rarely ever did. So you went over to the door and peeked through the key hole. What you saw you found shocking.

Lord Death had finally given to one of his urges and ripped off all his clothes and started mastbasting in his desk chair.

He stared nervously at the door as he jerked himself off and moaned your name, worried someone would walk in even though he had locked the door.

You suddenly felt tight and empty.

You looked around, looking for anyone nearby. After evaluating the area and deeming it safe, you decided to take a possible career ending risk just like your boss.

You pulled down you tights and panties down to your knees and hiked up your skirt a little, before slowly rubbing two fingers over your clit.

When you looked down into your panties you could see how wet they had become from the spending the day with Death and now when you caught him touching himself in his office.

You looked back up in the key hole when you heard him cry. His knees slowly raises a little then his heels digged into the floor as he got lost in his fantasy. You bit your lips and moved to fingering yourself with the same two fingers that were just on your clit, as you watched your boss get himself off.

Clearly, he was having just as much fun as you was. His head fell back against his chair and closed his eyes when he felt himself come closer and closer to his edge. You knew he was close which made you sink to your knees and bit your free hand, forcing yourself to edge yourself.

You didn't want to orgasm just yet, but Lord Death was close and you was expecting him to get up and open the door when he was done. So might as well finish with him.

You watched your boss cum into his hand with a loud moan. He panted and fell limp against his chair as he calmed down from his high. You added another finger inside yourself, hoping you'd cum faster. But sadly, you just wasn't quite there yet.

And so as Lord Death slowly got up, cleaned up and dressed himself again you scrambled to find your orgasm. He seemed to be taking forever and still nobody was coming so you closed your eyes and kept fingering yourself.

You finally felt yourself close to edge and moaned in glee.

Until you suddenly fell forward onto someone's legs. You froze in humiliation and fear and couldn't bare to look up at your boss in such a position. Lord Death looked down at you, feeling only shock and suddenly more arousal.

"Ah pretty girl, what are you doing?" Lord Death asked with a worried look as he helped you off your face and sit up straight.

You still had your fingers inside of yourself, which there was no way Death hadn't noticed.

"Um... You was doing it too!" You stuttered nervously.

You sat on the ground and spread your legs slightly to remove your fingers from yourself and pull up your tights and panties before immediately slamming them shut again. But Death had already got a sneak peak of the very thing he was just imagining.

He was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up, "If you want, we can act like this never happened?"

Lord Death still didn't quiet get you was into him. He didn't understand why you were fingering yourself outside his door but assumed it was either a complete misunderstanding and not what it looked like OR you was just a perv.

You looked at him sadly and huffed, "No! Um er, it's not fair you got to cum and I didn't. So I have to cum now."

Your confidence from your teasing persona came back and you quickly pushed Death back into his office and closed and locked the door.

Considering you had given Death so many orgasms since you started working there with your body and clothes, the least he could do is give you one back.

#stitched #stitched mouth #stitched talks #stitched writes #stitched’s kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #soul eater #soul eater x reader #soul eater smut #lord death #lord death x reader #lord death smut

[vulpisnocturna]

24) Character: If you didn't want me to fuck you, why'd you wear this pretty little skirt for me, Reader? can you do this one with madara please 🥺

I can!

NSFW - Minors do not interact

Warnings: semi-public sex, dom Madara, humiliation kink, vaginal sex, fingering, dirty talk, office sex, power imbalance, creampie

You fidgeted with your hands, wringing them in your lap as you tried to keep your back straight and your composure intact in the waiting room. Your boss was known to be an intimidating, hard to please man, with an arrogant streak. Of course, it did not help that two weeks before that rainy Monday you’d gotten too drunk at the work party and had ended up in his bed. You’d been trying to keep your professionalism intact and act as though nothing had happened, but you’d been dying inside every time you met him in the corridor, had to bring him some documents or found him glaring at you. Though he glared at everyone, the intensity of his dark eyes when he set them on you was just next level. You couldn’t read him.

It also did not help that he had been so amazing in bed. He had been the best you’d ever had, and you had found yourself wishing he had been awful. At least, forgetting about him, about his looks and his cocky smirk, would have been easy then. But he hadn’t. No, he had made you sob, edging you for at least an hour before he had started making you cum again and again, until you felt dizzy and thought you were going to pass out.

You swallowed, pressing your thighs together, smoothing the fabric of the simple black skirt that you were wearing that day, trying to cover a little more of your thighs. Every time you found yourself thinking of that night, you always got those shivers down your spine and your lower stomach felt hot.

‘Madara-sama will see you now’ said his secretary, leading you down the corridor and knocking on his door.

‘Yes’ came the reply, and she opened the door and left, going back to her desk behind the corner. You took a deep breath, walking in.

‘Close the door behind you’ he said, not even glancing at you, writing something on a piece of paper. His hair was down, cascading around him in a thick, unruly mane of black. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a plain white shirt, his sleeves rolled at the elbows, exposing his chiselled forearms and the veins bulging slightly. You shifted on your feet, feeling the urge to fidget. You held it back, remaining stoic as you waited for him to acknowledge you.

After a minute, he set the pen down, his eyes lifting to meet yours, his gaze wandering up and down your figure. You couldn’t help but shift on your feet under his intense gaze.

‘Do you know why I called you here?’ he asked, his deep voice almost lazy in tone. You shook your head.

‘I do not, sir’ you replied, hoping he hadn’t decided to fire you for sleeping with him. He was as guilty of it as you were, but he was the CEO, so he could do what he wanted without consequences. Whilst you desperately needed to keep that job.

He got up, a hand in the pocket of his black trousers as he approached you. You forced yourself to look him in the eye and avoid wavering. Until he got so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

‘What are you wearing today?’ he asked lazily, and you blinked, your lips parting in confusion.

‘Officewear- a shirt and a pencil skirt’ you replied, confused. You were dressed smartly, appropriately. Yes, your skirt was a little shorter than your usual one that reached just above your knees, but it wasn’t a miniskirt by any means.

‘Is anything wrong with this so-called skirt?’ he drawled, dipping his head and murmuring against your ear. You swallowed, trying to avoid getting angry, or even worse, turned on. This was appalling behaviour. Talking to you like you were dressed inappropriately, insinuating god knew what…

‘It is a smart, black pencil skirt much like the ones I always wear. I deem it appropriate for the workplace, sir’ you replied, your attempts at keeping a steady voice futile.

His fingers ghosted the curve of your hip and waist, riding up all the way to your ribcage, and you could not control the way your breath faltered.

‘Liar. You wore this for me, didn’t you? Have you missed my touch by any chance? I haven’t forgotten how needy you are’ he said, voice thick as honey as his hand lowered to the small of your back, long fingers almost splayed on the curve of your ass.

‘This is completely inappropriate- and wholly untrue’ you stuttered, shivers running down your spine as Madara’s tongue traced the shell of your ear. You were rooted to the spot, hypnotised by the scent of him, the feel of him, his imposing presence.

‘You are such a liar. If you didn’t want me to fuck you, why did you wear this pretty little skirt for me, love?’ he crooned, his fingers curling around the flesh of your ass, giving it a firm grip before he smacked it. You yelped, instantly covering your mouth, your face burning and your eyes prickling with shame at the sheer humiliation and the fact that you were undeniably turned on.

‘You hoped I’d fuck you right in my office? Such a filthy girl you are. Well then, I shall make the most of this slutty skirt you wore for me’ he said, tipping your chin and kissing you. You wanted to protest, wanted to push him away, wanted to stand up for yourself, tell him he was a prick and a degenerate, so why were you kissing him with equal fervour? Why were you clinging onto his muscular arms as he yanked your skirt up and palmed your ass, smacking it again and again until your moans drowned in his mouth?

‘I knew it- missed me, mh? Let me remind you what I can do for you. Let me remind you why you wore this skirt’ he said, pulling you towards his desk and onto his lap. You were facing the door, back against his chest, legs spread and locked by his knees as he swiftly unbuttoned your shirt and pulled your bra down, his fingers immediately starting to taunt your nipples, pinching and rolling them.

You let out a moan, and one of his hands lifted to choke you and push two fingers in your mouth, muffling your sounds.

‘I did not think you would be such a whore as to want this whole building to see you on your boss’ lap, being fucked by him. I don’t want to hear a sound. Is that clear, you shameless girl?’ he said against your cheek, his free hand roaming down your body and feeling your thighs as you slowly rolled your hips against his erection. You nodded as much you could, sucking his fingers and squirming when his hand cupped you between your legs.

He laughed, making your face burn again, your eyes scrunched up as shame and pleasure washed over you.

‘I told you you were a liar. You’re even more drenched than I thought you would be. I have such a pathetic slut on my lap now. But you can get much more whorish, can’t you? I know, I remember how you screamed the last time. It sounded so sweet’ he crooned, circling your clit through your panties, making you clamp and throb around torturous emptiness.

You needed his fingers inside you, but with your mouth full you could not utter anything but a meek whimper.

‘You distracted me all day. You should feel ashamed of yourself. You should feel on your own skin that amount of longing, don’t you think?’ he asked, his eye boring into you from beside your face. You opened yours, your gaze pleading, even as your tongue continued to lick and twirl around his fingers.

He pulled your panties to the side, dragging a finger up your cunt and letting out a low scoff before he drew circles around your exposed clit, making you whine around his fingers as you tried to keep quiet.

‘Stop squirming. Any more, and I will have to infer you do not want to cum after all’ he said relentlessly, making you stop straightaway, your muscles straining to keep still.

‘Good girl’ he praised, two of his fingers dipping inside you only to curl and rub against your g-spot. Your head dropped on his shoulder, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you breathed hard through your nose. He started fucking you with his fingers without a break, making it almost impossible to keep quiet and still, and yet, you tried your hardest, desperately wanting to please him and therefore cum.

‘You look absolutely ravishing. Yes, that’s right- you love being praised, don’t you? Your little cunt always clamps around me when I tell you how good you are for me. But also when I call you a pitiful slut. There it is- oh? Are you going to cum? Dirty slut. Cum all over my fingers, then’ he urged, keeping the same unrelenting pace, his palm rubbing against your clit, his thumb pressing hard on the side of your throat. You made a pitiful noise, tensing up on his lap, your thighs trembling as you came.

He removed his fingers from your mouth, riding your aftershocks before he slipped his two digits out of you and presented them to you.

‘Suck’ he ordered, and you obediently opened your mouth, tasting yourself. He kissed you after, groaning as he rocked your hips back and forth on his cock.

When he pulled back, he lifted you up, yanked your panties down and made you straddle him after he freed his cock, pumping it in his hand, lining it with your labia.

He only needed one hand to pull you up and align you with the tip of his cock, and he sunk into you, making you gasp and bite down on your lip to keep from moaning. Trying so hard not to make a sound made tears spill from your eyes, and when he twitched inside you, you gave a little sob.

He started kissing your neck, biting and sucking harshly, whispering filth in your ear that made you clench around him as he bounced you on his cock.

‘Madara, please…’ you moaned, and he smirked, pulling your hair.

‘So colloquial with me… are we not at work, darling? Am I not your superior? Or have you been fucked stupid already?’ he drawled, groaning quietly when you moaned against his ear, grinding against him as he snapped his hips against yours.

‘Please, sir… need it harder’ you tried, looking for any way to get the release you needed from that unrelenting man you could not help but be addicted to.

‘That’s a good slut. If I fuck you harder, you won’t be able to keep quiet, and then, everyone will know what I’m doing to you’ he said, his fingers sliding down your front all the way to your clit, which he started rubbing gently.

You let out a desperate sob, your chest heaving, your thighs burning from bouncing on him for so many minutes, your lower stomach aching with the pressure.

‘Unless you want them to come in and see you bouncing on my cock, sobbing and begging like a slut. Is that what you want?’ he asked, and you shook your head, your nails digging in the flesh of his shoulders.

‘No, sir- I’ll keep quiet’ you pleaded, throbbing and clenching around him, drawing out the hottest low moans from him.

‘You’d better. I don’t like them looking at you’ he said, his thrusts getting deeper and rougher, to the point where you had to bite down on your lip to keep from crying out. The pleasure and pressure built to an unbearable tightness, until you could not help but cum around his cock.

‘Good girl. Fuck. Such a pretty slut. You make me insane’ he grunted, his hands on your ass gripping you so tightly that he’d leave prints. He kissed you, moaning in your mouth as he came inside you, his teeth sinking into your lip.

You slumped against him, breathing hard, stray strands of hair clinging to your face and neck.

‘Next time I see you wearing this skirt, expect to be called to my office again’ he said with a lazy smirk, helping you touch up your appearance before he guided you to the door.

You might make a habit of wearing a certain pencil skirt, you thought.

#naruto #madara #madara smut #uchiha madara #uchiha madara smut #madara uchiha #madara uchiha smut #madara x reader #madara x y/n #madara x you

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 3 - My Ugly

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f!Reader

Synopsis: You have a lot of uncomfortable, complicated feelings about yourself, your life, and Captain Buggy. Buggy has a lot of comfortable, uncomplicated feelings about using you for cheap entertainment.

Word Count: 7.8k

Notes: My dearest says that this is her favorite chapter so far and I'm inclined to agree. It's almost 8k of sexual harassment in the workplace peppered with reader being Not Okay and Buggy riding that line of silly goober and sexy bully. Hope you like it as much as we do~

“I don't care if it hurts meI want to be worthyThe world to be thirsty for meI will grind night and dayLike a cosmetic slaveTill you're 6 feet down bad for me”

x

Dad liked to go out at night. More often than not, the big grandfather clock’s little hand hovered in the uneasy in-between of eleven and one before he got back. Drinking, usually, although you knew that wasn’t all he did when he was gone. He said it was business. Now that you were older, you understood that the two of you lived beyond the means of a retired Marine, but you never cared to know how. Dad wouldn’t have told you anyway. It wasn’t your place to know. Your place was curled up on the hearth as the fire burned down to cinders, dutifully waiting for him to return in case he needed something from you.

This wasn’t at all the same. This was a job. A duty rather than an obligation. The sense of hot determination from earlier had yet to fade. You were going to make yourself irreplaceable. You were going to be the best. You would not fail Captain Buggy or Cabaji—you would prove everybody wrong. You had to. There was nothing else. 

To that end, Captain Buggy’s bed was made, the room was tidy, you knew what to use when removing his makeup, you knew where everything was kept. That didn’t stop nerves from buzzing in your stomach like angry bees, or keep your skin from crawling at the idea of being alone with Buggy after everything Crina and Cabaji had said. You tried, as surreptitiously as possible, to find Crina’s missing dress, but to no avail. It left you thinking that maybe you were just confused. Even the parts of last night that you could remember were hazy, and then there were the many, many things you didn’t dare to remember. So how could anyone—let alone people who weren’t even there—assume something inappropriate happened? If anything, you were the one in the wrong for imposing on the captain like you had.

Another reason that you had to prove your worth. You repeated that over and over to keep yourself from spacing out, to remain focused so that you would be ready when Captain Buggy came back. It made the span of minutes feel like days, but paid off because you were on your feet before he even had the door all the way open.  

“Good evening, Captain Buggy,” you said respectfully.

He kicked the door shut, not acknowledging you. Too busy mumbling under his breath as he stomped through the antechamber. You followed quickly, a sick pit forming in your stomach. It seemed the poor mood from earlier had not only returned, but gotten worse.

“-buncha talentless idiots. Good for nothing, rotten lot of-” Buggy paused, shrugging his coat partially down his shoulders. He stayed like that for a moment before snapping. “Well?” 

“Well?” you echoed nervously. You hadn’t prepared for this. 

“Don’t just stand there looking stupid, take my coat.”

“Right, of course. Sorry, sir,” you told him, rushing over to take his coat as he roughly shrugged it off. 

“I hope you’re not as useless as everyone else on this ship,” he said. “I can’t deal with another failure.” 

“I’m sorry, Captain Buggy,” you said, hanging up his coat while he removed his gloves. 

When you turned, he threw them at you without looking. You tried to catch them, but missed. Only having one eye made it difficult to judge where things actually were, and your fist closed around empty air while his gloves thumped to the floor. Buggy seemed too lost in his own world to call you on it as you stooped down to pick them up.

“I’m a clown, not a goddamn miracle worker,” Buggy continued, pulling off his hat and headscarf. Finally free, his hair flopped down, creased from being up all day. To your surprise, the bits of what looked like ribbon were entwined with his hair, only adding to what looked like an absolute nightmare to try and sort out. Absently, Buggy smoothed and tied it back. “Nobody is prepared. Rehearsals start tomorrow and, frankly, I’m not optimistic.” 

Scowling, he tipped into his chair, legs outstretched, elbows on the rests, and his chin resting on his fist. 

“I could put out a casting call next time we make it to port, replace some of the dead weight,” he muttered. 

Since he didn’t sound like he was talking to you, you remained silent as you knelt to remove his boots. What you realized right then, what you hadn’t stopped to consider, was that his boots weren’t the kind with laces, they needed to be pulled off. You frowned, grabbing his foot and getting a solid grip around the heel.

“-check their egos,” he continued, paying you no mind as you tried to wrestle his boot off. Unfortunately, Buggy didn’t seem at all inclined to point his toe and make it easier for you. “I really can’t stand divas.” 

You adjusted your grip to get better leverage, bracing the sole against your chest and pulling at the ankle. 

“Every idiot with a deformity and shitty act thinks they’ve got what it takes to be a star. They’re lucky to have the chance to be in my show.” 

Taking a big breath, you pulled hard. His boot finally came off, but the amount of force you had to use nearly knocked you over. Luckily, you managed to avoid that particular embarrassment. Setting it aside, you grabbed his other boot, mentally and physically bracing yourself to wrestle it off. 

“They have no idea of how much blood, sweat, and natural talent goes into perfection,” Buggy continued, continuing to ramble to himself. This time, you avoided falling, but only narrowly. It was good that he was so distracted. “Without me, they’d be nothing. They’ll be nothing anyway, if they keep this up.” 

Letting out a sigh of relief, you stood up to set his boots aside. The next part was the one you had been dreading ever since Cabaji told you about it—removing the captain’s makeup. Oil remover first, then soap and water. Mind the lashes, don’t get anything in his eyes. Mentally, you added Crina’s reminder about not drawing any attention to his nose. 

Your problem with the idea of it at first was that standing so close to Buggy seemed intimate, but now you worried about his reaction. Buggy was still muttering to himself as you washed your hands and filled a bowl with water, angrily staring at the wall. So far, his ire hadn’t been directed at you, but that could change. Very easily, that could change, and you knew what happened after that. 

If you worked quickly and didn’t mess up, then everything would be fine. Telling yourself that over and over, you took everything to his desk. That drew Buggy’s attention just like you feared, but his muttering had stopped.

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said.

You froze. “Captain?” 

“It’d be nice if you had some sort of skill. Anything, really… You sure you’re not holding out on me?”

You set down the bowl and bottles before holding out your empty hands with your fingers splayed, showing him the fronts and backs. “I’m not holding anything, sir.”  

“No kidding,” Buggy said. To your relief, he finally cracked a smile, pressing his hand against yours. “How could you hold anything with those tiny little doll hands?” 

You drew back with a frown, your shoulders curling. He sounded like he was teasing, but it reminded you of what Crina said about stunted development. Pushing that thought from your head, you picked up the cloth, but he stopped you. 

“Ah, ah, ah. That shit’s messy. Clothes first.”  

“Clothes?” you asked.

“Yes, clothes. My clothes,” Buggy said slowly, like you were stupid. Your only response was to look at him uncertainly. “Take them off.” 

“Right, of course,” you said with a little shake of your head, stepping in closer. Standing between his legs. He was so indifferent to personal space, yours or otherwise, so it wasn’t as if it was a big deal. It wasn’t. It was fine. Completely fine. It wasn’t as if there was anything strange about this. There were many nights when your dad was too drunk to take off his clothes and you had to help, this was the same thing.

Except that it wasn’t. 

With Buggy sitting, you were a tiny bit taller, finally seeing eye to eye. His were so pretty. Disarmingly so, their color divided between the ring of blue encasing the green haloing his pupil. You tried to avoid them, tugging your bandana down a little more to cover the scar before undoing the loose knot of his cravat. Last night, before the alcohol really even set in, you remembered wishing to see more of his neck. Now you were almost afraid of it, overly aware of your awkward, fumbling fingers as you tugged the fabric loose. His neck was pale and smooth, nothing like the wrinkled, leathery tan your father had after years as a Marine. You couldn’t help but let your gaze slip over the pronounced shape of his Adam’s apple, following the strong lines of tendon that descended into his shoulders, down the valley between his collar bones to the trail of hair that disappeared into the deep V of his vest.

“This isn’t a peep show,” Buggy said. 

“No, I…” You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry, sir.” With careful hands, you folded the scarf and set it aside. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt, so the vest was all that was left. Buggy leaned back so you could undo the front, saying nothing. Part of you wished he would, just to break the tension. It wasn’t weird. You had seen shirtless men before. Cabaji hadn’t been wearing a shirt and that was fine. You were a pirate now, you had to get used to seeing skin. 

It was different though, with him. Of course it was, because you made it different. Wiry as he was, Buggy wasn’t boyish in the way you almost hoped for. The word your brain supplied was adult, not because of the difference in age or size, but because he physically existed in a way you didn’t. There was no curious dip where his neck met his shoulder, and hair trailed all the way down his torso. He was solid. A man. Standing in front of him instilled a very odd sense of vertigo within you, like drowning. A wave of nausea rolled from your stomach all the way to your head, the sickness of shame and something else, something worse. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your face burning as you turned to put his vest aside.  

“I was just kidding. It’s not a crime to admire a work of art,” Buggy told you with a lopsided grin. “You’ve only got one eye anyway, it barely counts.” 

“I wasn’t… I don’t mean to,” you said, wishing to be anywhere else. You tried to distract yourself by dousing the cloth in oil, but you could still feel his eyes on you, watching your awkward movements. 

“Jeez, relax a little,” Buggy said, grabbing your shoulders to give you a shake. “I know it’s a huge honor to serve me and you’re scared you’ll mess it up, but I’m not gonna bite your head off or anything.”

“I know,” you said, unable to look him in the eye and knowing better than to look at his nose but also unable to look down at his body. The middle ground was to look behind him but that was just as awkward as anything else. 

“Just be careful, I wouldn’t wanna end up with an eye like yours,” Buggy said, tapping the bottom of your chin playfully before closing his eyes. Being spared of his gaze helped, at least. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Taking in a deep breath to steady yourself, you held his head in place with one hand and began to clean his face, starting at the top and working down. You could only imagine how long it took to draw on the crossbones, but the oil made quick work of them. And then the blue, cleaning up the sparkles. You took extra care to be gentle around his eyes, but he didn’t react at all, sitting still as you peeled off the lashes with the aid of more oil. 

Without anything else to distract you, your thoughts of last night only spiraled. Now that you were so close to him again, you had vague flashes of sitting on his lap, although you weren’t sure if that was real or not. Hopefully it wasn’t. The embarrassment would eat you alive. And then there was your conversation with Crina. In your head, you had tried very hard to imagine what he might do or say, how he might react if you asked what happened. It was just in case. You needed to know that Crina was wrong, that the entire crew was wrong. You knew, and Buggy knew, that he would have no interest in you. So you would say what you needed to say, confirm that you were right, and move on.

“Captain Buggy?” you asked, pausing to adjust the rag.

“What?” 

“About last night… I had too much to drink, and I know I was being annoying and I know that we… um… and that I…”

“Does any of this have a point?”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Nevermind,” you told him, shaking your head and refocusing on finishing your task.

He opened one eye to give you a flat look. “No, no, you can’t just leave me hanging.”

You sighed, carefully working on the corner of his red smile. You remembered, distantly, having drunk thoughts about his stubble, and you were right about it being rough. “It’s just that I can’t remember everything that happened last night,” you said, “but I remember enough to know I embarrassed myself. I’m really, really sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position.”

“What are you talking about?” Buggy asked, his voice distorted from the way he had to hold his mouth taut for you to wipe off the makeup.

“I want to apologize if I was too forward and you felt pressured or, um, uncomfortable. I’m really sorry.” 

“The only thing I felt pressured to do was carry you to bed. My bed, by the way. You’re welcome for that.”

“Thank you,” you responded quickly. “I’m really sorry, truly, but thank you.” 

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, opening his eyes as you cleaned up the last smears of paint from his jaw. “I couldn’t stand the thought of anybody else taking advantage of you.”

Your breath caught with nerves. He probably didn’t mean that in any way, but the phrasing made you blush. Blush more. 

“By the way, um,” you said, “do you know what happened to the dress I was wearing?” 

Buggy opened his eyes and stretched, yawning loudly. You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from wandering down for a moment before you caught yourself. “When?” he asked. You busied yourself with the water and soap before he could catch you looking. 

“Last night, I was wearing a dress that Crina lent me.” 

“Really? I didn’t notice.” 

“That’s fine! I was just wondering if you know where it is?” 

“Why would I?” 

You looked up, but Buggy looked as innocent and bored as his tone would indicate. It was a stupid concern in the first place, there was no way he would have done anything. Shaking your head of the annoying thoughts, you raised the cloth to wipe off the oil and any remaining traces of makeup. He watched you this time, only closing his eyes when you were cleaning them. Very studiously, you avoided his nose—avoiding even looking at it. What you were left with was a very regular, if handsome, man. Pink lips, a cleft chin, beautiful eyes. Maybe that was part of why the nose upset him so much. Before the accident, you liked to think that you had been pretty enough, losing that made your injury that much more hideous. 

“Come on,” Buggy asked, still staring at you as you put the rag back into the bowl, “aren’t you going to ask me?” 

“Ask you what?” 

“You wanna know if we fucked,” he said, dragging out the words in a slow and mocking way. You gasped at his childish use of vulgarity, your stomach twisting up. Buggy grinned. “Don’t look so scandalized, I know you were thinking it. Well, we didn’t. Trust me, you’d remember that. You did get a little handsy, but I didn’t mind it. I don’t feel weird about it or anything. I managed to fend off your advances until you passed out.” 

You shook your head, staring at his shoulder. “I am so sorry, Captain Buggy.” 

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” he asked, putting his hands on your hips to sway you back and forth. The casual touch made you jump, more aware than ever of his state of undress. But it wasn’t weird. People touched all the time. It wasn’t weird. “I promise I won’t tell anybody how badly my little one-eyed monster wanted my one-eyed monster.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was saying what you thought he was saying, and that was your limit. You stumbled away from him with a choked squeak, covering your face with your hands. They were still wet, but you didn’t care, only wanting to hide from him as he laughed at the joke.

“You are just a treasure trove of new and exciting sounds, aren’t you?” 

You slowly lowered your hands, still shaking your head. “I… I didn’t mean…” 

“Hey, hey, do you think if I squeezed you real tight and let go it’d sound like a squeaky toy?”

“Um… I’m… I don’t…”

“God, don’t look so scared, I wasn’t gonna try it,” Buggy said, leaning back. “Yet. You’re way too squirmy and I’m tired.” He yawned again to make the point, causing you to yawn in turn. “You too, huh? I’m surprised, you only slept in for half the day.” 

“I know,” you said, averting your eye. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, sir.” You were glad to have the excuse of cleaning up to avoid his eyes. 

“From now on,” Buggy told you seriously, “you’re an early riser. I could need you at any time, so you better stay on your toes. That’s the only way you’ll ever be able to reach anything.” 

You blinked, realizing too late that he was poking fun at you. At least it was about your height this time. Buggy’s grin fell, disappointed with your lack of reaction.

“We’ll have to work on that,” he said. “Now make like a tree and… Well, more of a stick. Maybe a stump… It doesn’t matter. Get out of here and come back bright and early tomorrow. Don’t forget.” 

“I won’t,” you said, relieved that he wasn’t going to ask anything more of you after making that comment. “Goodnight, Captain Buggy.” 

“Sweet dreams, babydoll.” 

Despite how tired you had been all day, you couldn’t fall asleep. Since you often only got a few hours to rest, it wasn’t usually that difficult. It was a talent, mom used to boast about how good of a baby you had been, sleeping through the night while other infants screamed and wailed to be fed. A small and quiet child, so easy to mind. 

But you didn’t want to think about that.

You shifted, curling up beneath the uncomfortably thin blanket you had been given. The beds for the crew were dormitory style, set into the walls. You got the top bunk, sleeping above a woman named Pippa. She had heavy eye makeup and clipped words. Her big steamer trunk laid by your feet, she claimed you were small enough to fit with it on your bed. Everybody slept in the same area, men and women. Crina told you to get a knife to sleep with, although you had forgotten to heed that warning. Maybe it wouldn’t matter, you wouldn’t know how to use one. You never had before. 

Except for once. 

But you didn’t want to think about that either. 

Rolling onto your back, you stared at the ceiling. The ship creaked and people snored and coughed and snorted. Footsteps above and waves below, the ocean was a place of endless motion and noise. A constant reminder that you were on a ship with your crew. Which was what you wanted, wasn’t it? Not only that, but you had been given a respectable job. You should have felt a sense of accomplishment. This was far better than what you had hoped for when you left home.  

Maybe it just hadn’t set in yet. Maybe you would feel better after getting some rest. Maybe you just had to get used to being here. 

Maybe you had made a terrible mistake. Maybe you couldn’t handle this. Maybe you were exactly as weak as Crina and Cabaji accused you of being. Maybe it was only a matter of time before you disappointed Captain Buggy and he cast you out with nowhere to go. Or maybe it was that intangible monster that people called fate, the rusty ladder you had trapped yourself on. The only way down was to take each rung at a time, to obey the gravitational weight of inevitability. That’s what took you northside, that’s what made you beg to join Buggy’s crew. And now you were a murderer, was that inevitable too? 

There was something within you that screamed, that thrashed, that bled. Something with gnashing teeth and clawing fingers. The thing that existed in the hollow pit when you were half conscious, the one that took over when you were smothered. She didn’t understand why you acted the way you did, she was different. You made her skin crawl with disgust for letting a man touch you and hated you for what you had done, the betrayal you perpetuated with every mile put between you and the remains of your town. She was a familiar host, always there, always agonized and angry and bewildered by your behavior, holding onto your worst feelings. 

Once, you were in love with Randall. He was the neighbor boy, the son of a carpenter. He wanted to be a Marine. You wanted to leave Barley, actually leave, not just the short trips like dad sometimes allowed you to go on with him. But then the accident happened to your mom and Randall inherited his father’s business. He told you it was a matter of responsibility. You had yours, and he has his. And then he had a pretty girl from a nearby town, and you only had your dad. You hated him. Didn’t you? If you hated him, that would be better. You had to hate him.

Eventually, you rolled onto your side and, an eternity after that, fell asleep.

Days began early on a ship, a shift change rather than a good morning. Not that you would know what time it was, buried in the ship’s stomach like you were. The hour didn’t bother you as much as the cold did, it was the first thing you were aware of before your circumstances snapped into place. The facts came easier than they had the previous morning, your reality slightly more real. You sat up slowly, crusty eyed and with a headache, looking around to orient yourself.  

Privacy was a foreign concept to the pirates, they all went about their business without any concern for anyone else. To your surprise, the women were as casual as the men in regards to their modesty. Averting your eye, you awkwardly got dressed under the covers before climbing down, fixing your bandana over your eye and breathing deep to try and wake up. Pippa was still sleeping, sprawled across her small bunk with one toned leg sticking out. 

Although others were eating, you didn’t join them. Captain Buggy got his breakfast first. The cook made no comment, although you did get another look. Lots of people had given you looks. But nothing more. Cabaji said that having an official position among the crew would keep you safe. Keeping your head down and fighting the dizzy pain of your worsening headache, you hurried to get the food to Buggy’s chambers. After serving him, you would eat. Maybe Crina would give you something to help you feel better again. 

You knocked on his door and then waited, listening. On a ship, there was never silence, but there was a sort of hushed equivalent. You knocked again, a little louder, calling his name. And again. 

Deliberating for a moment, you decided that it was best to use the key Cabaji had given you. After knocking and calling out your intentions, you awkwardly balanced the tray to unlock the door and enter. The dining area antechamber was empty. You set the tray on the table before venturing further, peeking your head into Buggy’s bedroom. The captain laid in a sprawl of pale skin and blue hair, face down and fast asleep. 

Were you supposed to wake him up? 

“Captain Buggy?” you called softly. “I brought your breakfast.” He didn’t move, but you could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing. You walked a little closer. “Sir? Are you awake?” Nothing. Carefully, slowly, you approached him until you stood at the edge of the bed. “Captain?” you asked, daring to reach out and touch his shoulder. 

“Not now,” he said, slapping your hand away. “‘m very busy.” 

“Sir, you told me bright and early,” you said, frowning. With the amount of light peering in through the curtains, it was certainly bright outside.

“Bright and…” Buggy began, his words eaten by a yawn. He finally opened his eyes, rolling onto his side and blearily looking up at you with a smile. Illuminated only faintly and obviously sleepy, the expression was shockingly boyish. “Hey there, babydoll. I knew you’d come crawling back to me.”

“No, I um… I brought your breakfast, Captain Buggy,” you told him, flushing.

“Oh. Right, you’re…” He groaned, exhaling harshly.

“It’s going to get cold, sir,” you told him nervously.  

He blinked alert suddenly, sitting up.  “Why didn’t you say so? I can’t stand cold food.”

“I-”

Buggy snapped his fingers, gesturing to the side. “Get my robe,” he ordered. He barely opened his eyes as he snatched it out of your hand and stood up, stretching as he left his room. “If it’s inedible,” Buggy called, “I might have to eat you instead.” 

While it sounded like a joke, his tone was not at all humorous. You didn’t respond, hurrying so you could pull out his chair for him. Buggy dropped into it heavily, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth. There was something slightly funny about the way he was huddled beneath his robe with a sleepy scowl, his hair a disaster and face scruffy. He ran a hand over his cheek and chin, frowning.

“I could help you, if you wanted,” you offered. “You know,” you gestured to your face, “shaving.” 

Buggy blinked at you. Then he burst out laughing.

You shuffled self-consciously. “What’s funny?” 

Taking in your confused expression, his laughter came to an abrupt halt. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.” 

“You think,” Buggy said, “that I’m gonna let you,” he pointed at your left eye, “anywhere near my neck with a sharp object?” 

“I’m very good at it,” you insisted. “Dad… His hands are shaky, so I help him with it.”

“With one eye?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” you said, a hint of defensiveness in your voice. 

“Yeah, I’m probably gonna have to say no to letting the one-eyed new girl anywhere near my neck with a razor,” Buggy said with another yawn, taking the lid off the tray. 

“Is there anything else, sir?” you asked, knowing better than to push it.

“Yeah, go get something to eat,” he told you. “You’re too scrawny.”

“Yes, sir.”

The rest of the day passed like the previous afternoon. Crina agreed to give you something for the headache in exchange for fetching supplies she needed, and Cabaji continued his lessons from the previous day. 

Eyes followed you wherever you went. Regardless of what Buggy said yesterday about you being a member of the crew, you knew that some of it was hostile. You couldn’t fight, you couldn’t perform the basic tasks of a sailor, you didn’t dine with the crew, and you had no talent to add to Buggy’s show. Many of the pirates were already working on their acts, it was just as likely to have to avoid a stray juggler as it was to weave around men minding the sails. There was no strict order like there had been on Marine vessels, but colors and noise and movement of every variety, and you weren’t involved in any of it. 

Ostracization came as a natural consequence of who, and what, you were. In some form or another, you knew it very well. What you couldn’t handle was the fear you felt sometimes when you passed other crew members, or when you were too far from the captain or Cabaji or Crina. Sometimes you caught sight of Ivo. Rather, sometimes he caught sight of you, and his expression would darken. Cabaji said you shouldn’t worry about it. You weren’t worth the risk.

The duties Captain Buggy expected you to fulfill, at least, were not difficult. It seemed like Cabaji’s warning was for nothing because the tasks given to you were standard. Delivering meals, cleaning, taking messages, and anything else he needed. By the end of your second night, you felt like you had a handle on it. 

Until the third day came and you learned a new lesson. Buggy’s moods were as fickle as the sea, calm as glass one moment and riled into a frothing swell the next. A man with a temper wasn’t very new to you, but Captain Buggy’s rules were entirely different. Where your dad misinterpreted your behavior to be in opposition to what he wanted from you, Buggy had a way of misunderstanding any behavior he didn’t like as direct insults to himself. 

The afternoon had been wearing on and on, and Buggy didn’t dismiss you from his office while he worked on the logs, leaving you to sit across from him, just waiting. You had a habit of losing track of yourself, your mind wandering whenever you were left to idle, to seek some distraction instead of having to contemplate your own life or thoughts. It wasn’t always that foggy nothingness. Actually, you were thinking about a story you’d nearly forgotten about. A girl whisked away on a grand adventure by a boy who descended from the clouds, one conjured from childish whimsy. So it wasn’t as if you were looking at anything in particular, you were barely aware of anything until Buggy snapped at you. 

“What are you looking at?” 

You blinked, shaking yourself free of the cloud filled daze. “Sorry, sir. I-” 

“You were staring at my nose, weren’t you,” he said, his voice hard.

“I wasn’t,” you told him, shaken by the cold anger of his random accusation. And you didn’t mean for your eye to flick down to his nose, it wasn’t like you had been staring at it in the first place, but Buggy clearly noticed, a muscle in his jaw ticking with barely contained rage. Your heart dropped, your tongue clumsy as you tried to desperately placate him. “I wasn’t looking at anything, I was thinking about a book I read-”

“Red?” he shouted, abruptly standing up with enough force to knock his chair over. “You were staring because you think my nose is red?”  

“No,” you said, shrinking back. “I wasn’t, I swear.” 

“I saw you doing it and, unlike you, I’ve got both eyes. Pretty soon, that’s gonna be two more than you’ve got.” 

“Captain Buggy, I wasn’t-” 

“Get out,” he demanded. “Right now.” 

“Yes, sir,” you said, bowing your head and scurrying out of his office, carefully sliding the door shut before escaping into the bright afternoon. 

There weren’t many places on a ship to hide, but you were small enough to fit in between the large crates of supplies in the cramped storage room beneath the forecastle. Luckily, you managed to avoid any attention until you were safely hidden. You didn’t cry, but it took you a while to stop shaking, composing apology after apology in your head. When you emerged from there, you returned to your chores, and you kept waiting for him to summon you again, to hit you and get it over with. That’s what the aggressive posture he’d taken always led to. A black eye, sore ribs. And you were prepared for it. 

But he didn’t. 

You weren’t summoned again until you were informed that Captain Buggy decided to dine in the officer’s mess and you, of course, would serve his meal. 

When you entered from below, the colorfully decorated room was abuzz with activity and laughter. You recognized Crina and Cabaji, of course. The former was in deep conversation with a red-faced officer you thought was called Newt. Mohji sat in the corner with Richie at his side. Buggy sat in the center of it all. The star. Having an audience didn’t do much to set you at ease, Buggy had no reservations about dealing out punishment in front of his crew. Nobody would dare to stop him. You kept your head down, taking Buggy his food and desperately wishing to be invisible. 

“Is there anything else you need, Captain Buggy?” you asked softly, staring at the floor rather than risk meeting anybody’s eye. 

“Yeah, sit down,” Buggy said, pointing to the chair next to him. You peeked up at him, confused, but he was far more concerned with his meal than you. After earlier, you expected red hot vitriol, but Buggy was relaxed, and you didn’t see any anger in his eyes. That was another lesson about the captain. His temper flared at the slightest provocation, but burned out fast. 

You sat down nervously, looking around again. The other officers were only just being served, but that didn’t stop Buggy from immediately digging in. 

“I heard that you don’t eat enough,” he casually said, talking with his mouth full. There was only one person who would have been able to tell him that. You looked over to where Crina sat, but she seemed to be reading Newt’s tea leaves. “What kind of message does it send about me if my little protégé is starved half to death? From now on, you’ll eat when I do.”

“I’m sorry, captain. You really don’t need to…” your words died out, withering away beneath his hard stare. “Thank you, Captain Buggy.” 

And so you were served with the rest of the officers, given a larger portion than you usually took. Buggy insisted you eat every bite. And then, after that, he insisted you stay in the officer's mess while they all drank and talked. Ale, mostly. A few bottles of the harder stuff were broken out, but nothing that interested you. The mere scent of it was sickening, let alone the taste. You wouldn’t want to drink anyway. A liquor-loosened tongue could very easily upset Buggy again. 

Cabaji began to idly juggle after a little while, which caught your interest far more than any talk about the winds or raids or treasure. He made it look so easy, tossing and catching the balls without any added tension in his posture or change of expression.

Very abruptly, he caught the balls, looking at you directly. “Do you need something?” 

“Oh, no,” you said, embarrassed at getting caught staring. “No, sir. It’s just so cool to watch, that’s all. I can stop.” 

“Maybe you should give that a try,” Buggy said, leaning in to catch your attention. “It could be your secret talent. Cabaji, hand those over.” 

“Captain Buggy, I don’t think I can juggle,” you said. “With my eye-”

“That wasn’t a problem when you were watching Cabaji,” Buggy said, handing you the balls Cabaji had just tossed over. “Nobody’s gonna laugh at you, I promise.”

You weighed them in hand, your stomach twisting because you knew that this wouldn’t end well. At the very least, the only people who were watching were Buggy and Cabaji. You let out a big breath and, with all of the grace you could muster, accidentally threw two balls in the air while dropping the third. You tried to catch one, but your hand closed around empty air to the side of the ball where you thought it would be, a common occurrence when you only had one eye. They all hit the floor with dull thumps, rolling away in different directions.  

Almost immediately, Buggy cracked up, leaning back in his chair with how hard he was laughing. Ducking your head, you got up to hunt down the dropped balls, your cheeks flushing red. 

“You’re supposed to catch them, genius,” Buggy said, breathless from laughing. “Here, hand ‘em over. I’ll show you.” 

He set down his bottle and you gratefully let him take the balls. Buggy straightened out, lining them up in his hands. He did far better than you, smiling at his own success, but slipped up when his eyes flicked away for a second. One of the balls escaped and hit the floor for the second time. 

Buggy scowled, tossing away the other two in exchange for his bottle of ale. 

“Clearly there’s something wrong with those ones. I think they got broken or something when she dropped them.”

“I am so sorry,” you said, meeting Cabaji’s dark eyes. 

“I have more,” he said, unconcerned. 

“How about cards?” Buggy asked you, quick to move on. “Do you know any card tricks? You gotta be hiding some sort of talent.” 

To nobody’s surprise, but Captain Buggy’s immense amusement, you were not.

That seemed to be the point because, rather than be upset about your consistent ineptitude, Buggy laughed at each failed trick just like he had with the juggling. At a certain point, you began to feel a bit less insecure because at least he was entertained by you. Not to say it wasn’t humiliating, but you could accept that as long as Captain Buggy was happy. You liked his laugh, mean or amused or raucous, you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of it.

When he finally called it a night and your decided lack of talent was exhausted, the full moon had reached its highest point and Buggy was more than a little drunk, needing you to steady him on the way back to his cabin. He was heavy and hot, singing a song you were pretty sure was entirely made up and you worried that if he collapsed, you would both go down, but you managed to get him all the way into his cabin and onto his chair. 

Buggy told you stories as you fixed his hair and got his clothes off, drunkenly meandering between his prowess in combat, awkward encounters with fans, and tricks he’d effortlessly pulled off on idiot nobodies. 

When you stood in front of him with a washcloth, Buggy blinked a few times, his eyes focusing on you with more clarity than you expected. “You and me, babydoll, we’re the same,” he said seriously, the words muddled by his drunken slurring. “Like, obviously you’re way more pathetic and less talented, but both of us were kept down by people who didn’t see our value. People who wanted to—to stifle our light, to keep us from ever shining the way we’re destined to.” 

“Do you believe in destiny, Captain Buggy?” you asked, beginning the process of washing his face. 

“Of course I do,” he said, his eyes closed. “I’m destined to find the One Piece, to become King of the Pirates, to be loved by everyone. You agree, right? That’s why you wanted to serve me.” 

“No, I wanted to serve you because I-” you cut yourself off, realizing that now probably wasn’t the time for you to start talking about your feelings. 

“Because you… What?” 

You sighed, kicking yourself for saying anything. “When I saw you and your crew northside, I remembered my dad mentioning you a while back. You were involved in a raid on a town he had been staying at,” you explained as you removed and set his false lashes aside. “He called you a freak. There are a lot of weird pirates, but only you were a freak. Buggy the Clown, the Fool, the Jester—I’d never seen or heard anything like that. And then I saw you and your crew and it was just… I had to. No matter how scary or difficult it would be, I didn’t see any other option. I know you’re going to do everything you say, but I ran away and all of that because I wanted to serve you, Captain Buggy.” You shrugged even though he couldn’t see, shaking your head with a nervous smile. “If that makes sense.”

By now, you had gotten to his cheeks, but his growing smile made you stop. 

“I knew it,” Buggy said with a huge, manic grin. 

“What?” you asked, dismayed.

“You’re in love with me,” he said. “I knew it the whole time. I mean, the signs were all there, I just figured you were too shy to say it. But this… sheesh, you’ve got it bad.” 

“No!” you exclaimed. “No, that’s not what I meant. You’re my captain, it’s not anything like… like…” 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he told you, grabbing your shoulders, “it was bound to happen at some point. I’m willing to help you out, I’ve just been waiting for you to get desperate enough to ask.” He released you, sitting back. “Okay… Go ahead.” 

“Go?” you asked softly. 

He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Strip, idiot. Take off your clothes.” 

You stared at him in pure shock. “I can’t… I can’t do that.” 

“There’s no point in being shy now. I’ve already seen you in your undies.”

You shook your head fast. “Captain, it’s very late, and-and you’re drunk.” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I was drunk the other night and that didn’t stop me from coming my brains out thinking about how you’d look—”

“Please stop!” you interjected in a desperate whine. 

Your reaction made Buggy erupt into hoarse, drunken laughter. 

“You’re… you’re teasing me?” you asked. 

“Of course I am. You didn’t seriously think I wanted to fuck you tonight.” He slumped back into his chair, yawning widely. “Don’t get me wrong, I thought about it but, frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Your shoulders tightened, a pit forming in your stomach at how stupid you felt for assuming he would mean that. You were the one who insisted over and over again that you knew Captain Buggy didn’t want you in that way. To think that he would was nothing but undeserved ego. You couldn’t be surprised. You especially couldn’t be hurt. 

“You gonna finish or what?” Buggy asked, opening one eye. “I’m falling asleep over here.” 

“Sorry, captain,” you said, glad to throw yourself back into the task.  

Buggy didn’t talk very much after that. The liquor set in heavily, and he was half asleep by the time you were done. You helped him get up and into bed, and you very, very, very professionally ignored how hot his bare torso felt, even through your own clothes. You decided after a moment that you could not handle removing his pants, but you took his belt. And then it was a familiar ritual to get him to lay on his side, tucking a pillow behind his head to keep him like that.  

“Is there anything else, Captain Buggy?” you asked as you covered him with his blanket and put a cup of water on the table. 

“You do love me, don’t you?” he asked, his eyelashes fluttering so he could look at you with bloodshot, filmy eyes. Compared to earlier, he just sounded vulnerable, his voice fried and sleepy. 

“Of course I love you, Captain Buggy,” you said, unable to keep yourself from brushing his cheek with your thumb. He sighed, his eyes drooping shut. Part of you wanted to stay and watch over him, to make sure he didn’t throw up and choke, to force him to drink water, to ward off any alcohol induced nightmares. To stay by his side and just be. Be with him. 

It was a silly impulse. He didn’t need that from you, and you doubted he would accept it anyway. So you left, and you hoped he could sleep through the few hours of night that remained.

Despite how late it was, you didn’t feel very tired at all as you climbed into your bunk. You wrapped yourself in a cocoon of blankets—the only way you could stay warm—and stared up at the ceiling. Thinking. Just thinking. Every day was a barrage of new information and activity like you had never experienced, but today felt like more. Being yelled at, being made fun of, but also taken care of. You knew better than to read too far into anything Buggy did or said while he was so drunk, but that didn’t stop you from shivering with a brand new type of warmth and disgust when you thought about it. Pure, blazing, white-hot, and unambiguously terrible because you knew it was stupid. And wrong. And gross.

Captain Buggy teased you about sex things because it was easy, because you reacted so strongly to it. That was the only reason. You knew that. Really, if you thought about it, the way he treated you wasn’t all that different from your dad. At least in his gentler moments. That was kind of the role of a captain, wasn’t it? If you only thought about it like that, then you could condemn and ignore the weird things you felt. 

Huffing with irritation at yourself, you turned onto your side. You were being stupid, it had only been a couple of days. The love you felt was the love of a servant for their master, and it was the only kind of love that actually mattered in any measurable way, not any of the jittery anxious feelings in your gut, or the heartache you felt when you thought about your dad. Love through respect. Love through obedience. Love through service.

And to serve, you needed to sleep.

#opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy x reader #one piece live action #opla #my writing #flashbang

[fairy-writes]

Hello, can I asked for some headcanon of Mycroft Holmes having a crush on Y/n as the little sister of Moriarty Family, please? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

CRUSHES ARE FOR ORDINARY PEOPLE

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): Mycroft Holmes x Female!Moriarty!Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): FLUFF, Crushes

Notes: I did change it to the Moriarty’s older sister instead of younger because Mycroft is in his 30s while they’re all in their 20s, lol

__________________________________________________________________________

Admittedly, the moment Mycroft realizes he has a crush—and on Albert James Moriarty’s older sister, no less—he panics. 

Him? Have a silly little childish crush on you? Preposterous!

Crushes are for ordinary people. And he is definitely not ordinary.

So he does what any reasonable man would do and buries his feelings. 

You were also his secretary, so it would be a conflict of interest anyway.

Therefore, burying his feelings and hoping they would go away would be the logical option.

At least… until Sherlock finds out.

The teasing was relentless.

Somehow, that information got to Watson. 

And in turn, somehow, that information gets to Albert. 

Albert confronts him about said information one day when no one else is in Mycroft’s office.

“What do you intend to do about it?” He asks his superior, who looks up from his paperwork. 

It would take an idiot to realize what he’s talking about. 

“Absolutely nothing. It’s a conflict of interest and completely inappropriate for the workplace.” Mycroft replies, and Albert nods once, a stern look in his eyes. 

“Good.” He says, clicks his heels together, and leaves with a salute. 

His feelings get harder to ignore the more you show up to his office to work. 

He admires your cleanliness and the dresses you wore (you were always dressed immaculately, which he definitely liked). 

He admires your hard-working attitude and how you smile at him whenever you see him. 

It makes his heart flutter and his feelings that much more difficult to ignore. 

Surprisingly, you approach him one day with a request that blows his expectations out of the water. 

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” You ask, and he drops his pen in shock. 

The object of his affection asking him to such an intimate affair? 

He’s only human after all. It’s only fair that he would be in shock even if he wasn’t an ordinary person. 

Initially, he declines. 

It was a conflict of interest, and while you knew that, it didn’t stop you from asking again. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass that it’s improper. I like you and would like to take you out for dinner if you’ll have me.” You say determinedly, and he gapes at your vulgar words.

He forgot that you always spoke your mind and said exactly what you felt. Even if it was against societal expectations of women. 

This, admittedly, makes you embarrassed. 

“Sorry. That was rude of me… I’ll go and—”

“Wait!” He stands behind his desk and rounds it to stand before you. 

He’s a good deal taller. You have to look up to meet his dark eyes. 

But he doesn’t mind. 

In fact, he finds it endearing.

And shockingly (maybe not), he finds himself accepting your invitation. 

His heart stutters at the blinding smile that you direct at him. 

It’s beautiful. 

And the rest is history. 

#mtp x reader #mtp mycroft x reader #mycroft holmes x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #moriarty the patriot mycroft x reader #mycroft x reader #mtp mycroft #mtp mycroft holmes #fairy writes

[gabessquishytum]

Listen. Hear me out.

Dreamling Bridget Jones's Diary AU

Hob as Bridget: 30 something, working for a publishing company, occasionally has to go home to his loving yet embarrassing parents, has not had a boyfriend in...... a while.

Dream as Mark Darcy: posh lawyer, no social skills. His parents know Hob’s parents. Hob used to play naked in his paddling pool as a child??? Terrible Christmas jumpers. Very, very sexy. Wants to fuck Hob in a romantic way, just doesn't know how to tell him.

The Corinthian as Daniel Cleaver: Hob’s boss. Very bad boy, serial adulterer, very sexy. He and Dream used to be best friends until Corinthian fucked Dream’s fiance, oops. Wants to fuck Hob, then develops... feelings?

Also staring Johanna Constantine and Matthew the Raven as Hob's terrible best friends, Lucienne as Dream’s long suffering colleague, cameo from Aziraphale and Crowley as Hob’s embarrassing but well meaning parents.

Please consider such incredible scenes as:

- a very grumpy Dream in a terrible Christmas jumper

- inappropriate workplace behaviour

- Corinthian trying and failing to row a boat, and falling in the lake

- Hob’s very sexy grandpa underwear (he likes to be comfortable)

- Hob in a sexy bunny costume (no one told him the party wasn't fancy dress anymore)

- Dream liking Hob "just as you are"

- Dream throwing Corinthian through a restaurant window as they fight for Hob’s honour

- Hob being the world's worst cook (why is the soup blue)

- Hob running through the streets in the snow only wearing boxers and a jumper because he needs to tell Dream that he loves him, too

- Aziraphale and Crowley's wedding vow renewal <3

#the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob

[so-long-soldier28]

Idk if this makes sense but thoughts on ceo Kai parker with assistant reader???

are you ready for my longest response to an ask yet? because here it is...

so i'm currently working on a bonkai with a workplace AU that i've admittedly forgotten about that was requested in october. but working on that gave me inspo for this... and then i took it in a whole 'nother direction

fluff & smut below!

this could go 2 ways (or it could include both)

we've got the one where he's super sweet on her.

or we have him teasing & being super sexual until she gives in.

we also have possibilities for the reader to be more shy or more confident, and that majorly changes things.

kai will be kai no matter what, but there will be variation in how he reacts to her.

if she's more shy, i think he'd be a lot more teasing with her. gentle, bc he doesn't want to scare her off, but definitely pushes sometimes.

if she's more confident, he would be taken aback (and definitely turned on) from that. he recognizes that she won't take shit from anyone & respects that about her.

with the shy reader, her co-workers sometimes do try to take advantage of her, but he snaps back at them & checks on her after.

shy reader

he instantly has a liking towards you.

you're quiet and respectful, but do your job well.

you do things in a timely manner & treat others appropriately.

going above and beyond to make his job easier.

kai, at first, doesn't want to overstep your boundaries.

he's gentle towards you & thankful for your hard work. is very appreciative.

calls you names like "darling," and "sweetheart," or even "peach," that always make you blush.

he means it as innocently as you receive it.

… at first.

with time, feelings grow.

you both push them down to maintain a professional work environment, and even go as far as to deny they are there at all.

there's talk in the office, but no one is bold enough to mention it. plus, there's no proof of anything between you guys.

hold on, i have a side story for this, since it's december, and this just sounds so cute to me.

okay so kai has a holiday party he has to attend, but no one close enough in his life to bring as a plus one.

his mother demands he brings someone, and if he doesn't, she'll set him up with her best friend's daughter.

kai doesn't want to get stuck in that awkward situation, so right before break, he asks a huge, huge favor of you.

"i'm, uh, not quite sure how to ask this, y/n, but i have a huge favor to ask of you."

"anything you need."

"it's okay to say no, i completely understand if you don't want to, it's totally your choice."

you giggle, closing your eyes, and his heart races. "i'm sure it's fine."

he grimaces, "would you mind accompanying me as my plus one to a holiday party? it's on the 23rd and local, only about thirty minutes away. it's just between friends and family, but if i don't have a plus one, my mother will set me up…. i just… actually, this is, i shouldn't have asked. i'm sorry, y/n."

you're surprised at first, a little confused, but not ready to reject the offer. your boss begins to ramble about how inappropriate it was of him to ask, and while he may be right, you don't want him to be in such a situation with his mother. you know how family can be.

"sure, i'll go with you."

"i'm- wait, what?"

"if the offer still stands, i'll be happy to go."

he stops. "you're positive?"

"just give me the time and place."

kai does more than that. when he tells you the dress code (relatively fancy), he offers to buy you a dress, but you say you already have one. he then picks you up at your apartment and immediately compliments the dress you wear. he notices your eyes, and how well your makeup compliments their color. his eyes linger on your lips, bold with a shade of red. he tries not to look at your body, but sneaks a glance that you totally catch.

he insists on driving you to the event, and gives you a rundown on the attendees on the way. those in his family who are crazy and that you should avoid, those to whom he's closest, those who have a weak understanding of personal space, and those who will not come within six feet of an unknown person. he tells you about his favorite cousin and the questions he may ask. he prepares a speech about you being his assistant, and not a girlfriend. you practice this speech together, bouncing off one another, about when you started, what you do, and how appreciative he is of your help.

you expect his mother to be stern and strict, but when you meet her, she turns out to be a very sweet lady, despite her high expectations for her family.

she's clearly not convinced that you're a work friend / assistant and not his girlfriend, and no one in his family is convinced, either.

he takes you around the house, introducing you to the necessary people, but never lingers in any one group for long. he knows you're shy and this must be difficult.

after you finish introductions, he pulls you into the garage to check on you.

"doing alright, darling? i know my family is huge. just take a moment to breathe."

you're thankful for this, and hold his hands while taking deep breaths.

after you settle, he promises food and brings you to the snack table.

there's no judgement about how much you eat; no one comments about you eating too much or too little.

alcohol is offered, and you grab a drink only to calm your nerves. he drinks one to "tolerate family" but promises it won't affect his driving later that night. promises, right there, to keep you safe. you believe him completely.

after snacking for a while (and being thankful it's not a sit down dinner), you go back to talking with his family.

you sit on the couch with a couple aunts as one plays a piano. to your left, kai talks to one of his nephews, no older than six, and your heart warms at the sight.

one of his aunts enters and comments he's next to have kids, then looks at you.

the two of you erupt into your "coworkers, not dating" spiel, and she scoffs with a roll of her eyes. "could've fooled me."

neither of you look at each other after that for a moment. you turn back to the conversation you were in, but his nephew runs off, leaving him alone.

kai watches you talk to his family. all those buried feelings rise to the surface and his throat dries. he takes a second look at how beautiful you are. your smile, despite however tired you must feel, respectfully never falters. your small fingers grasp your cup, once filled with a festive party drink, now with coffee as the end of the night draws near. your dress fits your frame perfectly, and your heels match the exact shade of your dress.

several members of his family catch him staring. his nephew whispers something about love in his ear. he hushes the child quickly, but his tinted cheeks give him away.

kai isn't the only one caught staring, though. his mother watched you visibly sigh at the sight of him with his nephew, a smile tugging on your lips. his father saw the way you relaxed when he brought you away to the kitchen, checking on you a second time. his cousin heard the stutter when you told him kai was just your boss and that there was nothing going on between you two.

when the party isn't filled with talking and laughter, the silence is filled with lingering stares. bated breaths and twinkling eyes. the urge to cross the line between a boss and his assistant.

you disappear for a couple minutes to help his mother clean up after the party. kai talks with his father about "business" but you wonder if that's really the topic.

his mother is nosy, but polite about it. she asks about work and asks if he treats you well on the clock. you reply that he certainly does, and that you're grateful to have a boss that cares about you like he does.

she then double-checks that you're not really dating, and doesn't miss the cloud of sadness in your eyes when you insist that you are not.

she then tells you he's been single for a while because trust doesn't come easy to him. she mentions the blueness of his eyes. how it's been a bright, baby blue all night; a stark contrast to the gray tinted blue she's grown used to seeing. she doesn't elaborate the reasoning, but you don't need her to to know what she's hinting.

by the time you leave the party, most of his relatives have grown comfortable enough with you to hug. the six-feet apart one gives a wave. his mother's hug is the tightest; his father gives a firm handshake, but then draws you in for his own hug. his nieces and nephews attach to your legs and make you promise to see them again. you agree, not wanting to break their little hearts.

it's dark by the time you begin to drive home, and it has been for a while.

kai wants to hold your hand in the center console. he refrains. you rest your elbow there, hands close, but not touching.

you rehash the night, speaking highly of his family. he checks up on you a third time to make sure you're not overwhelmed, but to your own surprise, you feel okay. happy, even.

he apologizes for anything his aunts or mother might've said, but you promise every conversation was good.

eventually, the mention of the various comments came up. a count of how many times you had to tell people you were just friends, co-workers, and not dating. you share a laugh over it, but the walls are down already. whatever feelings had been buried have now resurfaced. kai internally curses himself, afraid of your reaction.

your mouth opens to say something, and his throat goes dry again. his heart would break if you are uncomfortable by it all.

"thanks for the invite, but i think i should transfer," he fears, "we shouldn't work together any more".

instead, you turn to him. "thank you for the invite. i had a good time."

"thank you for accompanying me."

it's silent for the last couple minutes, then he walks you to the door of your apartment. he stands outside, forcing words out of his throat while you stand in front of him, bathed in the gorgeous warm glow of your porch light.

"thank you again. i'm glad my mother didn't scare you off. it would've been so boring without you. see you at work."

you nod, "see you at work," but then as he turns to leave, you can't bear to let him go. you reach out to grab his coat and he turns. you make up an excuse about his scarf not being straight, though that doesn't really matter, and in the next second, you pull on it gently to bring him closer to you.

his eyes dart down to the grip on the wool between your fingers, and then to your face. you wear an expression equal of shyness and determination. he translates it into the consent he needs to cup your face in his hands and press his lips to yours.

warmth travels throughout both your bodies immediately. the kiss deepens to you pulling his coat closer, his steps forward, backing you into the wall behind you. he kicks your door shut and your hands bury into his hair.

kai's hands start to feel your body, but then he breaks it off. he doesn't want you to think he's only wanting you sexually. he wants something real. he's wanted it for ages.

he admits this. you shyly, admit you feel the same.

but while sex is put on pause, kai locks his car and you invite him in. you share a glass of wine and spend the night talking, growing closer.

the next day at work, it's hard to hide your blushing faces and giddy attitudes. all of your co-workers know immediately, but they also saw it coming for a long time. a couple congratulate you, some ignore the lovesickness like it's a disease, but no one makes a fuss.

maybe kai will be the next in his family to have kids after all. you're certain you've found something good with him, and you're determined to keep it.

now, onto a different path where i could take this idea… get ready, because this is a complete 180 degrees from the previous little bit.

ceo kai with a respectful yet confident assistant.

something is definitely brewing between these two. there are feelings to be felt. …even if neither of you recognize them yet.

kai is incredibly protective over you. you are his assistant, and if anyone needs your help, they must ask him first.

he doesn't want you being overworked or taken advantage of.

you also defend him when co-workers talk shit.

"i don't know why boss is making us do this stupid shit," someone complained once, "it's not like it matters, it's extra work."

"it's in your best interest to complete the task assigned to you. it'll make your job ten times easier when quarterlies roll around."

the coworker rolls her eyes, but kai, who could hear from his open-door office, smiles to himself. he's glad you see the tasks he assigns have purpose, and is grateful for you to try and help others to see that.

there are rumors going around that you sleep together, but he shuts them down immediately.

it's not even on your minds to have a relationship outside of work.

until that one night where he asked you to stay late to help him finish something.

you had seemingly hundreds of paper stacks to grow through, and he was on phone call after phone call.

he ordered food at some point for the two of you, wanting to take care of you since he was needing your help.

you're always eager to help, and even though it's a lot of work, promise to help until the job is done.

when it happened, it was an accident. a complete and total accident.

kai had been watching you sort through papers for too long and didn't even notice he was growing hard until he had to shift.

you looked so beautiful from where he was sitting. hair, once neatly tied up in a bun, now messily falling around your face. your shirt sunk further down every time you stretched to grab something on the other side of the table, exposing your chest a little more each time. your heels were kicked off to the side, and one foot was tucked under your lap.

earlier, he had asked you to enter the room whenever his phone went off to come and take notes.

on your way in, you accidentally make eye contact with the bulge that formed underneath the table.

that phone call is a particularly difficult one to focus on.

after it, you try to shuffle out of the room to give him privacy, but he knows you know and asks you to stay so he can apologize.

he accidentally gives tmi and talks about how it's been so long, and being there with you, looking so beautiful, got him worked up.

instead of shying away, you offer to help rid him of the problem.

not a lot of words are spoken, but somehow you find yourself giving him a bj under the desk.

he's so focused on your doe eyes and the shape of your lips and the way your mouth feels on him. your hands grasp his length & squeeze with the perfect amount of pressure. you jerk off what you can't fit. a string of drool connects your lip to his cock when you pull off for just a moment to admire him. his hands dig in your hair and urge you on, but he doesn't push. never pushes.

quiet moans escape his lips between praises, but you ask him to be louder for you, craving to hear the sounds he's holding back.

getting him off earlier than he expected, and you swallow it before it can hit the floor and leave evidence.

he then pulls you up on the desk, welcomes a kiss, and then moves down to taste you.

feelings he held back & feelings you didn't know you had come bursting out of the floodgates, making for an emotional experience combined with pent-up sexual desire.

supports your back as you come down from your orgasmic high, and fucks you on the desk as soon as his refractory period is over.

has impressive sex drive and says he spent most of his early twenties studying to prove himself.

now reaps the rewards with not only a high-up position, but a perfect assistant.

no motivation for work afterwards. enjoy the rest of your takeout and then he makes sure you get home safely.

the next couple days are awkward until he finally requests you to his office to talk about it.

this talk includes feelings that you had time, by now, to mull over. you both share them and find you feel the same thing for each other.

decide to try a hand at a relationship, starting slowly and keeping it on the down low (minus HR).

grow more comfortable with it & it blossoms into something good & healthy for you both.

now, a handful of smutty office scenarios to shuffle through. i can certainly expand on any of these upon request ;) (or i might anyway)

fooling around after hours. him laying you down across the desk or over top of it. having you on his lap while he answers phone calls.

blowing him under the desk when he's trying to focus on an important call.

sending him dirty texts or nudes from the bathroom when you're both supposed to be working.

itching for your lunch break to come already so he can finally have his way with you.

maybe even being so bold to snap the blinds shut, slap a hand over your mouth, and take you during work hours bc you wouldn't stop teasing. your co-workers all know exactly what's happening, but have lost the will to care.

retrieving him coffee but accidentally spilling it in his lap & trying to dry it with a thin paper towel.

wearing short skirts or low tops on purpose for him.

accidentally sending him a nude that was meant for a tinder date & having to talk about it the next day.

brushing past him on your way back to your seat & getting a little too close - on purpose or on accident.

rubbing your foot on him under the desk whenever you sit across from him.

and that's all i have for now! i'm deeply considering making that holiday party a one-shot, maybe, or taking these other scenarios and expanding on them. i also have way more ideas for this topic but made myself stop because i'm pretty sure this response hit 3k words.

#asks #tvd #kai parker #kai parker x reader #workplace au #kai parker smut #kai parker fluff

[citylighten]

character/story inspiration tag

rules: write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your story and/or OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe

Snatched from @wavvi Tagging @crimewriter/@neonoirland, @digital-deluxe, @havemercymusic, @joannebernice, @armoricaroyalty, @swiftviolets and if you have a story consider yourself tagged!

So because I can't update Sink or Swim like I want to, I decided to whip this up.

For Rosaria

Starting from the left side, we have the actress Marisa Abela who originally served as a means of inspiration for Rosaria’s facial features. Peggy Olson from Mad Men, Retsuko from Aggretsuko, and the movie Secretary.

On the right side we have lyrics from the song "Bad Girls" by Tennis, American Crime Story: Impeachment, Andrea Sachs from The Devil Wears Prada, Waylon Smithers from The Simpsons and the film Funny Girl. I watched Secretary before writing Sink or Swim because I knew it had the tone I wanted with its lead character essentially having a 'sexual awakening' through her boss. A narrative element that connects Aggretsuko and Secretary, beyond its office setting, is how its lead female characters find themselves in relationships with subpar men (sorry to any Haida fans, but that relationship wasn't developed well) which represents how Rosaria began Sink or Swim in a relationship with Ben. Something that connects Secretary, Funny Girl, and The Devil Wears Prada is how its female protagonist undergoes a transformation in terms of presenting herself through the attire she wears. Additionally, in the case of Funny Girl, I took inspiration in how Barbra Streisand's character defied idealized female beauty standards. Fanny Brice found a role at the Follie’s for her comedy, not her appearance, but as she accumulates wealth we see her become a glamorous woman who gains the attention of a traditionally handsome gambler. Beyond portraying a deeply inappropriate workplace relationship, Impeachment provided me a lot of inspiration in how her voice should sound and the various ways she wears her hair.

FOR PIETRO

Starting from the left side, we have Mad Men, The Sopranos, Henry Tomasino of Mafia II, and Michael De Santa of GTA V. On the right side we have lyrics from “Count Me Out” by Kendrick Lamar, Benny of Fallout New Vegas, Hades from Lore Olympus, and the musical Company.

Video games played a bigger role in Pietro's characterization than I realized. Benny was my first source of inspiration from Pietro, as he is the protege of a powerful man (Mr. House) who has ambitions of his own. I always felt Benny was someone who felt he could do better and be better than the man he followed. This is exactly how we'll eventually come to see Pietro's dynamic with Raphael whereas Henry Tomasino is a character I modeled Pietro's voice on and Michael De Santa? Well, when it came to dressing Pietro I always think about the clothes that are available for his character to wear. I checked out Lore Olympus before writing Sink or Swim because I wasn't sure how I wanted to characterize Pietro when it came to his relationship with Rosaria. He isn't necessarily like the boss from Secretary, he isn't Christian Gray, and while I saw LO had its critics I wanted to look over the comic and see what worked or, if there was anything I liked about Hades' characterization that could be incorporated into Pietro. Turns out there were a few things (relationship issues, therapy, a soft spot for dogs). On the subject of therapy, Pietro's sessions with Dr. Bracco are inspired by Tony's reoccurring sessions with Dr. Melfi in The Sopranos. I liked how they provided a gateway into what Tony's character is thinking, and I also thought it would be the best for readers to get to know Pietro, a quiet, vague guy, that way, but Mad Men was ultimately more of a inspiration for Pietro than Sopranos was. Inspiration from the musical Company would come a little later once I decided that Pietro was a guy with relationship troubles as the musical depicts a stable, successful man who is seemingly fine with being alone, but actually craves to receive romance and 'be alive.'

#sink or swim extras #oc: pietro #oc: rosaria

[yoon-kooks]

better than sex | myg | 2

🍑Pairing: Yoongi x Producer!Reader

🍑Genre: fluff, smut, studio!au

🍑Summary: As Min Yoongi’s studio neighbor and self-proclaimed nemesis, you’ve always seen him as someone who knew how to maintain a clean, well-put-together image without any careless slip-ups. But after nearly walking in on him with a hand around his cock, you gain a new perspective that leads to steamy fantasies in your bedroom and much-needed inspiration in the studio for Bangtan’s next album. A week before track submissions are due, you give Yoongi a taste of the dirty demo, and now the selfish bastard wants to claim it for his own solo album. In exchange, he offers to help you produce another Bangtan track by the end of the week. Your only condition is for this track to be better than the sexual fantasies that inspired its predecessor.

🍑Word Count: 4.6k

🍑Parts: 1 ◆ 2

🍑Warnings: sex toy cameo, fingering, yoongi won't stop teasing y/n because he's an asshole, a much-needed release for y/n😌

🍊Tuesday🍊

For the 9th time today, you wiggle your mouse around to wake your computer up. The black screen gradually transitions to your decoy desktop background—a shirtless BamBam looking handsome as always under the guise of being your only idol crush. You might have everyone convinced aside from your nemesis, Min Yoongi, and his accomplice, Park Jimin.

And it’s because of said nemesis that you’ve been sitting in the studio for several hours with absolutely nothing to show for it. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s impossible to get any work done with Yoongi constantly invading your thoughts. He’s made a mess of everything.

Now you can’t stop replaying and reliving that fateful moment in your studio yesterday evening.

Yesterday, you kissed Yoongi, and it was over before you knew it. Like how a superhero saves the day and then dips before anyone has a chance to thank them. It leaves behind a mystery of some sort—did you actually witness a real superhero in action, or was it all just a dream?

But despite all the daydreaming you do, you know that kiss was indeed real. There’s no doubt in your mind. Because he kissed you back and you remember what he tastes like. It was like a tiny shot of espresso that fuels your addiction, the kind of taste that’ll keep you coming back for more.

That’s the problem, though. You want more, and you don’t expect Yoongi to just hand himself over to you. Not without a fight. Because that’s what it means to be enemies.

You check the time on your computer—8:26PM. Yoongi said he has a photoshoot until around 9:30, which means you still have enough time to string together a few possible melodies before he gets here. You’ll prove to him that one harmless kiss isn’t enough to render you useless in your own studio.

But then you remember the way he touched you. His hands were a lot more delicate than you’d imagined, and they felt so good against your bare skin, like they were right where they belonged. If he had just gone a little lower, you probably wouldn’t have felt the need to bring your mini vibrator with you to the studio today.

You hate the thought of stooping to Min Yoongi’s level, but no one will ever know as long as you’re discreet about it. At the very least, no one’s catching you with your pants down today because you had the foresight to wear a cute little dress. And besides, you have over an hour to yourself before Yoongi arrives.

After locking the door, you scurry over to the couch in the corner of the room. Where Yoongi has a cold hard piano bench in his studio, you have a nice soft loveseat for strumming away on your guitar. Today, though, it serves a new purpose. 

You wiggle out of your skimpy baby pink thong and toss it aside. Once you’re all situated on the couch with your massager in hand, your hesitant thumb hovers over the power button. You’ve never done something so inappropriate in a workplace before, but the idea of it is thrilling. Maybe this isn’t stooping to Yoongi’s level after all. Maybe you’re just doing it better.

With the press of a button, the vibrator is turned on and so are you. One perk of being a producer is that you’re extra sensitive to sounds. Even a few muffled buzzes are enough to send chills down your spine. Your producer ears must also be the reason why you always feel so wet down there whenever Yoongi speaks in that low honeyed voice of his.

You slip two fingers between your folds and spread them open. It doesn’t come as a surprise anymore that you’re already wet before you get any action. Who needs a bottle of lube when Min Yoongi has taken residence inside your naughty little head?

Gliding the length of the toy up and down yourself, the vibrations pulse and send shockwaves throughout your body from the epicenter. The first contact against your clit sends your head back into the armrest with your back arched in the air. 

In an attempt to maintain a low profile, you suppress a moan and let out a tiny whimper instead. Your walls aren’t as soundproof as Yoongi’s, and you certainly aren’t willing to test the threshold with your lewd sex sounds tonight. 

It might be your imagination, but your panting feels shorter and breathier, as if to make up for the lack of moans from your throat. Your chest naturally moves up and down in rhythm as you begin thrusting the vibrator in and out of you. You must look absolutely wild—like a poor helpless kitten in heat with no one around to lend you a hand.

At some point, your body settles down from the initial thrill of doing something you’re not supposed to be doing in your studio. As the vibrator rests against your erect little bud, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud of indulgence where you forget about everything else and focus only on making yourself feel good. All of your thoughts melt away in the pleasure. It’s calming, hypnotic, and so liberating.

In your dreamlike state, you see Yoongi drifting on the cloud next to you. He watches with sleepy eyes as your vibrator continues to work its magic on you. You tell yourself to stop, but your body keeps going. In fact, your body is suddenly hot with lust now that you know his eyes are on you. Perhaps you secretly love the idea of him walking in and seeing you like this.

If you could, you’d stay on this pleasure high all night.

Knock. “Y/N, it’s me. Can I come in?” It’s Yoongi’s goddamn sexy voice on the other side of your locked door.

No fucking way. 

Your body shoots up, and you glace at your phone. It’s barely 9:00. Yoongi shouldn’t be here yet. But he is. You take it back. There’s no way in hell you’re letting him catch you with a sex toy between your legs.

You shut the vibrator off and throw it into your bag along with your cute little underwear. Once your dress is all straightened up, you open the door as if you weren’t just lost in an orgasmic trance.

The first thing Yoongi does is look you up and down. Then he does it again as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing the first time. “I’ve never seen you wear a dress since you started working here.”

He’s not wrong. Your casual work attire consists of sweatpants, leggings, sweaters, and hoodies when it’s cold, and crop tops and high-waisted shorts when it’s hot. Sure, he’s identified the dress as an outlier, but that doesn’t mean he knows the decision was based on your current sexual urges.

So you decide to let him in and play it cool. “Is that your tsundere way of saying you think I look pretty in this dress?”

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch at your accusation. “It means I noticed something different about you today.” Then he smiles only because he loves to tease you about everything. “But yeah, sure, you look super pretty.”

You frown. That doesn’t count as a genuine compliment. You want him to mean it when he calls you pretty. “Anyway, why are you here so early?”

“You didn’t see my message?” The boy swipes your phone off your desk and hands it to you.

There is indeed an unread text.

Yoongi🍑👹 [8:48PM] “Finished the photoshoot early. Be there in 10.”

“You must’ve been too busy with the song to notice it,” he says, grabbing one of your guitars off the rack and taking a seat right where you’d been pleasuring yourself. “Come up with anything good?”

You shake your head. Quick, what can you say that won’t make you sound pathetic? “Actually, I was waiting for you so that we could make joint decisions on what we want this track to sound like.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of you.” He strums a G chord. “Are we still going for a sexy concept?”

That would be the easiest thing to work with right now, seeing how you were able to finish sex.wav in a week with the right inspiration.

You nod, already with a potential prompt in mind: Sleeping with your nemesis because they understand you better than anyone else.

“Are you still going to use me as inspiration?” he asks. You shoot him a dirty look. “I’m just kidding, Y/N.”

He’s not kidding. You can tell he’s enjoying the fact that he’s influenced your music in such a powerful way. And he’s only acting this arrogant because of Jimin’s dumb text about your “raging boner for him.” It’s not fair. What dirt do you have on him aside from knowing he’d jerked off in his studio? You don’t even know who he was getting off to, and he wasn’t ashamed of it either.

“Don’t act like you’ve never written a song about someone you loathe.” This makes him chuckle. Whenever he laughs around you, you feel like you’re doing something right. Making the grumpy boy laugh is a charming skill that you absolutely take pride in.

“That’s fair.” Yoongi frowns when he fails to strum a clean barre chord. He gets up and passes the guitar to you. “Where do you keep your capos?”

“Bottom drawer next to my bag,” you say, pointing in that direction. It’s adorable how the boy’s index finger can’t clamp down on the guitar strings. You wouldn’t expect that from someone with such long adept fingers.

As he digs around through the drawer, you fall back onto the couch and stare up at the ceiling with your guitar. Despite what had happened just the night before, it doesn’t feel all that different with him here right now. The two of you are bickering whilst collaborating in harmony just like any other day.

But that could be because neither of you has brought up the kiss yet. Maybe that’s part of the game—pretend like it never happened. That might be the only way to keep things as they are between you and him.

You wonder how long it’ll last.

“Why was it buried beneath all your other sh—” Yoongi cuts himself off with silence.

“Hm?” You glance over as he rises from his crouch with a red capo in hand.

He shakes his head and waves you off. You fold your legs in to make space for him on the couch. Now you’re curious as to what just went on inside his head. You sit up and study him carefully while he clamps the capo onto the fretboard. Aside from his semi-questionable finger positions for several chords, nothing seems to be wrong or out of place.

“Here, let me do it,” you say softly as you paw for the guitar. Without protest, the instrument is passed to you so you can take the lead.

“I was joking earlier, but what kind of inspiration are you actually looking for with this one?” His eyes follow your fingers as they shift from one chord to the next so seamlessly. 

“Well, what’s better than sexual fantasies?” you ask as innocently as possible. That’s the only criteria for this song. “It needs to be better than that, remember?”

“A Grammy?” He shrugs. You knew it. Music will always be more important to him than his sex life. You suppose it’s been the same for you too. You’d do anything to get Bangtan a Grammy and help Yoongi achieve the biggest goal of any artist’s career.

“Okay, but I’m not writing a Grammy award-winning song about a Grammy, Silly,” you laugh.

“Ah, that’s right. You’d rather find inspiration with someone’s dick inside you,” he says as if it’s not the most vulgar way to put it.

“Just call it physical intimacy.” You shove the snickering boy who proceeds to slide off the couch for dramatic effect. With you, it almost feels like he doesn’t mind acting childish—like he can let his guard down and not be so uptight.

That’s the effect you have on him.

“I bet you’re a lot naughtier than you make yourself out to be,” Yoongi calls up from your cream carpet. He leans his back against the same end of the loveseat you’re sitting at. All you see is the top of his head. The urge to run your fingers through his soft hair is incredibly strong.

“What makes you say that?” You fiddle with the strings on your guitar to keep your fingers busy. You’re genuinely curious, though. Maybe he fantasizes about you too.

“Nothing.” He doesn’t even look at you, as if he’s humming this to himself. There’s definitely something. And it’s kind of pissing you off that he’s leaving you hanging again, just as he had last night after he’d kissed you. If you bring up the kiss, will that get him to talk?

No, you shouldn’t mention it. Do not mention it. If you mention it, you won’t be able to pretend like it never happened. You won’t be able to go back to how things have always been between you and him. 

But perhaps you’re willing to risk it all for something more than that.

“Was it the way I kissed you last night?” you ask. It’s a lot easier to say the K word when you aren’t tempted by his soft lips, which you can now confirm are in fact the softest lips you’ve ever felt.

Yoongi finally turns around to you lying there on the couch. You feel his gaze on your breasts, only covered by the thin white fabric of your dress.

He shakes his head. “It’s the dress.”

You set the guitar aside and look down at how much cleavage and thigh is exposed. The dress is a bit short and flirty, but nothing scandalous. It’s not like you haven’t shown a lot of skin before. You’re both confused and disappointed by his response. “What about it?”

“Like I said, you never wear a dress.” His voice suddenly sounds lower and more serious. “It’s not like you.”

“Sorry I decided to be a little more feminine today, Yoongi,” you mumble, starting to get defensive. Wow, if you’d known he hated the dress that much, you would’ve worn it every day just to get a rise out of him.

“Hey, hey, I’m not complaining about that. It looks good on you.” He quickly locks eyes with you to make sure you know he’s not trying to be an ass right now. For the first time, you believe him. “I’m just saying I feel like there was intent behind it.”

Aha, he must be under the impression that you’ve gotten all dressed up just for him. If he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger after one stupid kiss, he’s sorely mistaken. “Well it wasn’t to impress you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Y/N, c’mon, I’m not that vain.” He ruffles his hair the way you’d wanted to do yourself and leans over your body. The tips of his fingers graze your thigh ever so slightly. If you weren’t watching his every move, you wouldn’t have felt it at all. “You want to know what I was actually thinking?” he asks, focused on the imaginary lines he’s drawing along your skin.

Fuck. He’s using your own battle tactics against you. You nod anyway, scooting your ass closer to him. 

“An innocent dress like this has nothing to unbutton or unzip.” His hand runs up your inner thigh but stops at the skirt of your dress. Without hesitation, you spread your legs just enough to let his wandering hand disappear beneath the white fabric. 

Three fingers slip into your folds and glide against you. On pure instinct, your body jerks toward the boy for more contact. He’s barely touched you, but you’re already feeling weak. You should definitely start wearing dresses more often.

“By the way, I saw your tiny little thong in your bag when I was looking for the capo,” he says while sliding his fingers along your slick surface.

“Fuck you.” It takes everything in you to say those two words without moaning and letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

“I didn’t take you for the cute lingerie type, you know.” Great, he’s back to teasing you like the asshole he is.

Your cheeks are on fire from both embarrassment and pleasure, but mostly pleasure. The petty side of you wants to turn this back around on him. “What kind of lingerie were you imagining me in, then?”

“I don’t usually imagine you in lingerie,” he smirks. You know exactly what he’s implying. Never mind the lingerie—it’s your bare body he thinks about in that filthy head of his. Good. Now you’re certain you’re the one he’d been getting off to that day in his studio. You’ll have to call him out for it later. “So were you just playing with yourself all day until I got here? Poor thing.”

“No.” You hate that it comes out like a desperate whine. 

“Hmm,” Yoongi presses a finger to his lip while his other hand dips into you. Surely he can feel just how wet and swollen you are for him. “Why don’t I believe you?”

It suddenly occurs to you that he must’ve seen the vibrator in your bag too. You suppose you should just own up to it before he gets the satisfaction of bringing it up first. “Regardless, if you’re allowed to have lube in your studio, I’m allowed to have a vibrator in mine.”

“Vibrator?” With lifted brows, he looks genuinely confused. “You mean the thing that looked like a lipstick container in your bag?”

When you’d bought the vibrator, you didn’t actually expect to fool anyone with that phony “discreet” design, but it seems even guys like Yoongi retain a tiny bit of naivety. It’s almost endearing.

“Yes, that thing,” you sigh. In hindsight, you should’ve kept your mouth shut after all.

“Isn’t that a bit small?” He pinches his fingers together for a visual effect. “Or is that how you like your men?”

He thinks he’s so fucking funny, and you hate yourself for almost laughing at the dumb joke.

“You’re really mean today.” You know what he’s doing. He wants you to wonder how long and large he is compared to anyone you’ve slept with in the past. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious. “There’s nothing wrong with my vibrator.”

“Then, which feels better?” He circles around your clit at a lazy pace, watching you squirm to his touch. Usually, you’d feel a little shy outside of a dark bedroom, but it doesn’t actually bother you that he can see every lewd expression you make under the bright studio lights. Because he’s picking up on those cues and quickly figuring out what your body likes best. You have to admit he pays attention to what matters. “Your vibrator or my fingers?”

Of course you prefer the boy’s fingers. They’re long, dexterous, and they know what they’re doing. Your vibrator has always felt nice, but his fingers are divine. The last thing you want to do is feed his ego, though. An arrogant guy like him is probably already aware of how good he is in bed.

Instead of answering his question, you roll your hips against him to quicken the pace. You can’t remember the last time you felt this sensitive to someone else’s touch. In fact, the way he’s touching you is an entirely new sensation that you want more of. It feels so good that you almost forget what he asked about. You just need him to keep touching you. 

As soon as the first moan escapes your throat, Yoongi has the smuggest look on his face. And that’s never a good sign.

His fingers make an abrupt stop around your clit. Your deprived body waits in anticipation for the pleasure to continue. Every second feels like an hour until a whole century of pure torture has passed. You almost give in and beg him for more, but he retracts himself completely from your body and sits at the opposite end of the loveseat. His fingers are coated in your lust. 

“I’ll wait until you answer my question,” he says calmly. Must be nice to have the upper hand as the person who isn’t aching for a release. Then again, you aren’t complaining that you’re the one on the receiving end tonight.

You’re mostly just frustrated you don’t have a good answer for his damn question. If you say you prefer your vibrator, he’ll simply toss it to you and let you finish on your own. But if you say you prefer his fingers, it’s like a superhero revealing their weakness to their nemesis. It’ll be a loss either way.

The problem is that you’re painfully horny, and you’d hate to walk out of your studio without getting some form of release. Right now, you hate the sound of that more than losing to your nemesis.

With a groan of frustration, you sit up, scoot into Yoongi’s lap, and drag his hand back down where it belongs. 

“I prefer you,” you say softly.

He nods, pressing a smirk into your lips and backing you into the couch cushions. The kiss this time is tender but still passionate. It’s far more than the little tease he’d given you the first time. You even get to run your fingers through his hair. Nothing about this feels like a loss. 

He pulls back to admire you beneath him and says, “Good answer.”

You moan into his mouth as he continues pleasuring you down there. He finds the perfect rhythm of flicking your little bud, sliding in and out of you, and repeating over and over again like an endless loop fueled by an intense lust for nothing but sex.

“This okay?” he asks, although you’re sure he knows the answer based on how responsive your body’s been to his every touch.

“Mm,” you nod, as lost in the pleasure as your fingers are tangled in his hair. Who knew something so hot and passionate was waiting for you next door this entire time? And with Min Yoongi of all people.

You aren’t sure how much time passes before you feel the orgasm sneaking up on you right on the edge. You try to resist it a little longer, but your body is already past the point of no return.

As you reach your high, you soak in every ounce of sensation his touch has left you with—everything you’ve been missing out on for the past two years. It’s like all those days bickering with Yoongi have led up to this moment. You just hope the walls in your studio are soundproof enough to conceal the name of the boy that slips from your throat. No one else in the building needs to know how weak you are to his touch. He’s your kryptonite.

Your body continues to twitch against his fingers until all of the aftershocks have faded. Then you lie there beneath him, panting a lot harder than you’d like to admit from something as simple as fingering. If you’re already this worked up from his fingers, you’d hate to see the state he’ll leave you in after you get a taste of his cock.

But before you can get your paws on the very visible bulge in his jeans, Yoongi climbs off of you. He offers to help you up with the hand that had just been between your legs. It’s still warm and coated in your milky glaze. 

“Why do you need that little sex toy anyway?” he asks out of nowhere.

“Well, if I had known what was going to happen tonight, I wouldn’t have brought it with me.” You close your thighs and suddenly feel a bit self-conscious. “Besides, it’s not like I really have other options,” you say to the man who just spent the last half-hour giving you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had. 

It’s true, though. Aside from Yoongi, not a single guy has touched you since you started producing music professionally. You’d spent the last two years holed up in your studio creating music for seven talented men and fighting with Min Yoongi. There was never any room for another guy in your life. You don’t have a boyfriend or even just a fuck buddy to satisfy the cravings your vibrator conveniently takes care of.

“I guess I’m just surprised you’re single,” he clarifies. “I heard you get asked out all the time.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” It could be from anyone. You’ve lost track of all the people from different departments and companies who’ve asked you out. There was even a rumor going around that a member of Seventeen had developed a small crush on you after you’d spent some time in their studio producing a track for the group.

“Who do you think?” Yoongi chuckles. Oh, that’s right. He probably pays his trusty accomplice good money to gather info on what you’re up to.

“I really need to stop sharing all my business with the gossip king, Park Jimin,” you sigh. Behind that charming eye smile of his is nothing but trouble. As much as you love Jimin, he’ll always side with Yoongi over you.

“To be fair, it’s pretty obvious that you’re highly sought after.” That must be his way of calling you attractive. Maybe you’re his type. He nods over at your computer. “You know that guy on your screen?”

“You mean BamBam?” How dare he refer to BamBam as “that guy.”

“Yeah, the supposed love of your life or whatever,” he says. Someone sounds bitter. “You know Jungkook is part of that friend group, and he could easily get you That Guy’s number if you really wanted it.”

That’s true, but there’s always something holding you back. “I don’t have time for a guy right now.”

It’s only that way because you make it that way. You could’ve spent this whole week going on dates, pampering yourself, or doing whatever the fuck you wanted, and yet you didn’t have the heart to turn Yoongi away. It turns out you wanted more than just the daily dose of banter you’ve been living off of for too long.

“But you’re making time for me.”

Exactly. Perhaps he doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s the reason you don’t have time for any other guy. Even before he kissed you or touched you, your heart was already made up on him.

“You’re different, Yoongi.” Your tiny voice comes off as timid. It’s not every day that you choose softness over violence against your number one enemy. But he’ll always be the exception, like an accidental on a music staff that adds color and changes a song entirely.

The corners of his lips curve into a gentle smile. Something about the way he looks at you sparks a faint melody in your head. It’s familiar. Then it hits you.

“Do you remember that Grammy award-winning hook I wanted your help with a week ago?” You scramble for your guitar and rip the capo off the fretboard.

The boy watches with amusement as you start strumming and rambling to yourself. “How am I supposed to remember it? You forgot it before I had a chance to hear it, Silly.”

“Well I remember it now,” you hiss back. “And we're gonna get you that Grammy.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #suga smut #suga x reader #suga fanfic #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #bts

[alloftheimagines]

david budd | the break-in

masterlist | ko-fi

words: 2.1k

warnings: 18+

reader struggles with sexual harassment in the workplace, reader is assaulted in a home invasion, violence, strong language and use of the words "bitch" and "slut", david coming to reader's rescue and taking care of you

prompt: I love bodyguard sm! How about David Budd & “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.

Your apartment door is open. You know it wasn’t when you went to work this morning, but now the shadows pour into the hallway, the lock hanging off splintered wood. Somebody has broken in. 

Fear turns you cold, and you scan the grey-walled corridor. It's quiet save for a baby crying somewhere upstairs and the blare of a television drifting through one of the many closed doors. You glance at the door behind you, where you know David Budd lives. A police sergeant. If you were smart, you’d knock on his door before entering your own flat, but you don’t want to bother a man who always seems to be wrapped up in work or his kids. It’s the last thing he needs. It's probably nothing, anyway. Break-ins happen every day in London.

Slowly, you take out your keys and separate them between your fingers, just in case. In the other hand, you get your phone out, ready. And then you nudge the door open with your foot.

Nothing looks touched inside, everything as you left it. Somehow, that makes it worse. It isn’t just a break-in, or else the laptop on the kitchen counter wouldn’t still be there. So what else would they want?

The question is answered by a pair of rough, bruising hands yanking you away from the light switch. You try to scream, but they cover your mouth, squeezing you against a flat, hard body. Something stabs into your hip. You look down and find a knife winking at you, pressing into your waistband. Tears slip down your cheeks as you try to struggle, but in your panic, you’ve dropped the keys and there’s no way out of their grip. 

“Don’t move,” the intruder whispers in your ear. “Don’t scream or I promise, it won’t end well.”

You recognise the gravelly voice. John. A co-worker — ex-co-worker. He’d been harassing you in the office. Finding excuses to touch you, watching you too closely, making inappropriate comments. So you went to HR and they fired him yesterday.

Only, this morning, you found him loitering in the car park outside the office. You’d hoped he was just there to pick up his things, but… 

He’s here for you. He shouldn’t even know where you live. He’s been watching you. Might have even followed you home before. A shiver crawls down your spine.

“What do you want?” you ask, voice trembling. 

“What do I want?” He scoffs, throwing you to the floor. You whimper as he leans over you, pressing the knife to your neck this time. He looks… wrong. Tired. Bloodshot eyes. Shaking hands. Stubble where he usually kept clean-shaven. “I want my fucking job back, you bitch. What did you tell them?”

“The truth,” you whisper, though you know honesty isn’t a good idea. “I told them the truth.”

“You had them fire me.”

“They made the decision. I would have been happy just to have you work on another floor.”

“Why? Because I looked at you? Maybe you shouldn’t dress like such a slut.” He presses harder, making you wince. “You were begging for it. You wanted me.”

You shake your head. “No. No, I didn’t, John. Please, get off me. Go home. Nobody has to know about this as long as you leave me alone.”

“Or what? What are you going to do?” He snarls, eyes glittering wildly. And you see the fire there. The anger. The need to hurt. You feel sick, frozen in fear. It doesn’t matter what you say next, you know. He’s here for a reason. To punish you. 

“Don’t,” you beg. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

“You’re wrong.” He moves quickly, but your reflexes are quicker. You knee him in the groin, twisting in an effort to crawl away while he yells out in pain — but you’re not quick enough, and he’s there in an instant, dragging you back by the hair. You scream out, and he stifles it with his hand again so it echoes in the silence.

“I’m going to make you pay,” he promises, the cold metal digging into your collarbone now. “I swear to god —”

The door swings open before he can finish. In the moonlight, you make out a broad figure. He launches himself at John in two strides, dragging him up by the collar and pinning him roughly against the wall. It isn’t until he speaks, Scottish accent making his voice like gravel, that you realise who it is. David. “PS David Budd. I am ordering you to drop your weapon.” 

A sob falls from you as the knife drops to the carpet. David slams John into the wall again, pinning his wrists.

“You’re under arrest for assault.” Anger ripples through David as he reads John his rights. You stumble up, feeling as though you’re moving through quicksand. The kitchen counter is your only support. 

David half-turns to you as he keeps John in his grip. “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“No… No,” you whisper weakly. You wouldn’t notice even if you were hurt. You’re too numb. Too shocked. To grateful that David got here when he did. 

“I have officers on their way. Called them as soon as I heard you scream. Are you sure you’re okay, love?”

“I think so.” You swallow thickly, shaking when you hear the sirens. 

“Do you know this man?” asks David.

“He was a co-worker.”

“She had me fucking fired,” John groused, but David silenced him, crushing him closer to the wall. You’d never seen him like this. So focused, so… furious. Like he wanted to do more than just arrest John. In the hallway, he always had a smile for you. He’d bring your parcels to your door if you had deliveries on the same day. Always asked you how you were, how work was. You don’t know this David. 

David looks at you in question now, and you nod. “He was harassing me at work. I took it to HR.”

“If you were smart, you would have left it there, mate,” David hissed through clenched teeth. “We aren't nearly as nice as HR.”

The sound of footsteps rattles through the building, and then the on-duty officers are there. They cuff John and escort him under David’s orders. You can only stand and watch as he explains everything he knows, hearing talks of interviews and the station. You can only breathe when John is finally gone and it’s just the two of you. 

“Is it alright if I turn a light on?”

You nod absently, crossing your arms over your chest. He chooses the floor lamp by the door, the one you’d been attempting to switch on when John had grabbed you. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, love?” he repeats. His eyes search you, hands hovering awkwardly as though he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch you. You can only tremble, tipping your head in your attempt to convince him you are. 

“We need a statement from you down at the station. Do you think you can do that for me?” His voice has none of the rough fury it had a few moments ago. Now, it’s soft, gentle, concerned, and it’s enough to make you want to sob, thank him, seek comfort in him. But you don’t.

“It can wait until tomorrow morning if you need a bit of time…”

“No. Now is okay.”

“Okay. I can take you. How’s that?” He extends his hand carefully as though expecting you to cower. But you never cowered for John, and you won’t now. Least of all with a man who’s only ever made you feel safe. It isn’t easy living in the centre of London, but knowing a sergeant lives across the hall has provided you with a sense of security you wouldn’t have had otherwise. 

You take his hand now and let him lead you out. You look blankly at your door, the broken lock. “We’ll have it sorted tomorrow. Can I call anyone for you?”

Your stomach drops at the realisation that, no, there’s no one to call. Your family lives up north and you couldn’t bear to worry them. Your friends are all from work, and though supportive, you don’t want to tell them the story tonight. “No. There isn’t anyone.”

“Okay. You’re welcome to stay with me tonight. I have a pull-out couch.”

His kindness almost makes you want to break, but you force a smile instead. “Thank you, David.”

You drive to the station in silence. David guides you into an interview room to take your statement himself. You tell him the story shakily, and his eyebrows furrow with the same fear and pain you’ve felt for weeks. When you’re done and the recording is stopped, he reaches a hand across the table. You take it. “You did really good. He’ll get what he deserves. I promise.”

You don’t know what to say, so you only purse your lips and hope it's true. 

“Ready to go home?” David asks. 

The answer, of course, is yes. 

***

David can’t stop watching you as he waits for the kettle to boil. You sit on his couch, makeup smeared as you stare out of the window into the night. When he notices you shiver, he grabs a zip-up hoodie from his pile of clean laundry and drapes it around your shoulders after offering you your tea.  “Don’t want you getting cold. If you want, I can nip across the hall and grab some of your things.”

“I can go…” But your bottom lip wobbles, and he knows that soon, it’ll hit you. It always take a while for the shock to wear off for victims of assault. You’ve been holding up well for hours, chin set in determination, but it’s quiet now, and you look so small in his flat. He just wishes he’d known. Wishes he’d heard the lock being broken or seen the door open when he got home. He’d been exhausted after a long shift. Barely aware of his surroundings until he’d heard you scream. Dread had sharpened his world again, and when he’d walked in to find you at knifepoint, that bastard’s hand knotted in your hair… he’d wanted to kill him. 

“You drink your tea,” he insists softly. “I can go. Just tell me where to look. I won’t go rooting. Promise.”

“In my bedroom. There are pyjamas in the second drawer of my dresser.”

“I’ll be back in a second.” He squeezes your hand before crossing the hall and grabbing your things, nausea churning in his gut as he looks at the ruined lock again. His hands ball into fists at the memory of you on the floor. If he hadn’t heard you scream…

He leaves the apartment before he can contemplate the end of that sentence, setting your pyjamas down on the coffee table and taking the armchair across from you. You chew your bottom lip, warming your hands around your mug of tea and staring at the string of the teabag. 

“You don’t have to be so strong now, love,” he says. “It’s just you and me. If you want to talk about it…”

It’s all it takes for your chin to wobble. “I just felt so helpless. I thought… I didn’t know what he was going to do to me.”

David sighs, resting his elbows on his parted thighs and wishing he could do more, say more, be more. Wishing he could chase all your fears away. He shifts slowly towards you, waiting for you to protest, but you don’t. In fact, when he sits on the sofa beside you, you lean towards him as though welcoming him, tucking your hair behind your ear in that way he’s grown to love. He doesn’t know what it is about you; his days are just brighter if he catches you in the hallway or hears you singing in the shower through the paper-thin walls. And it helps that you’re beautiful and kind and funny. Helps that you always make him feel warm and, for once, at peace. 

“You’re safe now.”

You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks. He brushes them away tenderly, and you bow your head as more come. “Thank you for being there.”

“Of course. I’m…” He steels himself before his voice can crack with the sincerity it holds. “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again, Y/N. I’m here, okay?”

You do something he hadn’t expected then. You nestle your face into his chest. His breaths turn ragged with the proximity as he slowly wraps his arms around you, stroking your hair. “You’re okay now, love.” He says it again and again, reminding himself as well as you. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this rattled, this invested. A long time since he’s felt anything at all. 

He clings onto it for as long as you let him.

#david budd x reader #imagines #request an imagine #fandom imagines #multifandom imagines #imagines masterlist #x reader imagines #multi fandom imagines #masterlist #x reader #multifandom #david budd #david budd imagine #bodyguard #richard madden #david budd one shots #david budd fic #bodyguard one shots #bodyguard imagines #richard madden x reader #richard madden imagine #richard madden one shot

[coochiequeens]

The school that lets a teacher were giant fake breasts for “gender identity” is rejecting a teacher dress code. But will they still harass girls for dress code violations like if a bra strap is exposed?

Top administrators at a controversial school board in Ontario have released an information report rejecting the possibility of implementing staff dress code. The report comes just weeks after widespread backlash over one of their transgender teachers donning large fake breasts in front of students.

On November 9, the Halton District School Board (HDSB) held a Board of Trustees meeting to address routine school operations. During the meeting, a special report was presented in which assessment was made of human rights and legal considerations for a dress code enforcement among HDSB staff. 

The report was related to a September 21 school board motion requesting the Director of Education investigate whether it would be possible to implement a workplace dress code The motion had been proposed following international backlash over Kayla Lemieux, a teacher at Oakville Trafalgar High School. 

Images and videos of Lemieux wearing what appeared to be a massive prosthetic bust, complete with protruding nipples, had gone viral on social media in September. Lemieux was seen donning the inappropriate gear while instructing classes. 

According to students at Oakville Trafalgar, Lemieux had reportedly begun identifying as transgender in 2021. While Lemieux’s intentions have been the subject of debate, a YouTube video of a tech class uploaded by Lemieux demonstrated he had been presenting himself in this way since at least May — months prior to any widespread public knowledge.

Reduxx was first to confirm the origin and identity of the viral media, and the subsequent backlash resulted in Oakville Trafalgar becoming a hotspot for international media coverage and local protests as many noted Lemieux’s prosthetic breasts were inappropriate for a school setting.

Shortly after news of Lemieux’s appearance began to spread, the Halton District School Board issued a hasty email to the families of students at Oakville Trafalgar which appeared to defend Lemieux.

“We are aware of discussion on social media and in the media regarding Oakville Trafalgar High School. We would like to take this opportunity to reiterate to our community that we are committed to establishing and maintaining a safe, caring, inclusive, equitable and welcoming learning and working environment for all students and staff,” the email read, then deferring to the Ontario Human Rights Code.

“We strive to promote a positive learning environment in schools consistent with the values of the HDSB and to ensure a safe and inclusive environment for all students, staff and the community, regardless of race, age, ability, sex, gender identity, gender expression, sexual orientation, ethnicity, religion, cultural observance, socioeconomic circumstances or body type/size.”

Some noted that students at HDSB schools were subject to a dress code which explicitly forbade the display of genitals and nipples, and that it appeared Lemieux was being given special privileges due to his “gender expression.”

At the time, Canadian journalist Jon Kay noted that Lemieux’s attire was most commonly associated with a type of computer-generated animated pornography from Japan known as bakunyū, or, “exploding milk/breasts.”

Following sustained outrage, the Halton District School Board unanimously passed a motion on September 21 requesting a review into whether it would be possible to implement a workplace dress code.

On November 8, the information report associated with the review was completed and submitted to the Board of Trustees, and presented at the Board meeting the next day.

In the report, the HDSB Superintendent of Human Resources, Sari Taha, and Director of Education, Curtis Ennis, wrote that the implementation of an enforceable dress code with respect to employee professionalism would “expose the Board to considerable liability.”

Taha and Ennis provided an analysis of the labor law and human rights code considerations if the Board were to establish a staff dress code, placing special emphasis on gender identity.

” … it is important to recognize the impact that dress code policies can have on members of the transgender community. Most notably, it is important for employers to make allowances to ensure that these employees are able to express themselves in accordance with their lived gender.”

It continues: “Even if a dress code is implemented for non-discriminatory reasons, it would likely be found to be discriminatory where it adversely affects an employee or group of employees on the basis of their Code protected grounds.” 

The report concludes by dismissing the possibility of a dress code as having any impact on the professionalism of staff, writing: “… we note that if the employer desires to foster a culture of professionalism, respect, equity and inclusion, a truly reasonable and non-discriminatory dress code or grooming standards would most likely fail to yield the intended results.”

During the November 9 School Board meeting, Taha, who had co-authored the report, firmly rejected the implementation of a dress code, citing an undue burden on “women and persons of the other identity community.”

Following Taha’s presentation of the report, HDSB Trustee Tanya Rocha clarified with Tara that implementing a dress code policy for staff would “fail” and be a step backwards.

“All other institutions are removing dress codes and there really is no need for one here… and if we even tried, it would not pass all of the litmus tests you mentioned,” Rocha said.

To another trustee, Taha stated: “Inherently, dress codes are adversely impacting women and other groups, disproportionately.”

The Halton District School Board has received ample criticism for their handling of the situation with Lemieux. Despite widespread outrage, Board members have explicitly refused to comment on the appropriateness of Lemieux’s attire, and have defended his right to wear the prosthetic breasts on multiple occasions.

The sole statement HDSB has made in relation to the Lemieux situation was on September 20, when the Board clarified that the name “Stephen Hanna” had been incorrectly circulated as being associated with the individual in the photos and videos. 

HSDB also declined to confirm the identity of the individual as being Kayla Lemieux, but Reduxx had verified that name through Oakville Trafalgar’s own staff directory and associated G-suite profiles.

Since September, HDSB has refused repeated requests to provide Reduxx with Lemieux’s Ontario College of Teachers registration number, which is intended to be public information.

Lemieux is reportedly still wearing the prosthetic breasts on a day-to-day basis.

By Anna Slatz Anna is the Co-Founder and Editor-in-Chief at Reduxx, with a journalistic focus on covering crime, child predators, and women's rights. She lives in Canada, enjoys Opera, and kvetches in her spare time.

#Ontario #Canada #Halton District School Board (HDSB) #Kayla Lemieux #Oakville Trafalgar High School

[lunar-years]

I hate that in S3 they made Keeley dress half the time like a 2000s teen, or just hugely inappropriate for what she was doing but when I've mentioned it in the past people have excused it that shes "coming into herself and dressing how she wants" like Keeley always had her own style and dressed how she wanted, being a strong woman who is proving herself in business doesn't mean she has to entirely subvert expectations by dressing like shes trying to look like a 12 year old though. Or like shes going on a wild night out when in fact she has an 11am business meeting.

totally! I think there is a balance that could and should have been struck between giving Keeley her own unique and bold sense of style and dressing her properly for her age and profession and the occasion. Oddly, I think they did a really great job of striking that balance in season 1 and parts of s2, but in s3 its like they forgot everything they'd set up and fumbled it completely. They also seemed to feel the need to hit a "keeley in pink" quota each episode in s3. she's suddenly ALWAYS in the worst pink monstrosities imaginable. Don't get me wrong, Keeley is definitely a pink girlie but not like that.

take this look, for instance:

I actually think this is really close to being good! she's got her pink accessories and chunky pink Keeley shoes, but the whole outfit isn't pink. the green blazer is gorgeous and different and bold but still professional enough for work. They just needed to let her wear pants, lmao. it looks like she left half her outfit at home.

there's also juno temple's vanity fair shoot (photos of which were then used alongside the horrid keeley pink suit ones in the final spread Keeley gets sent on the show):

i think these looks make perfect sense for Keeley! They clearly showcase her unique sense of style while still being like, appropriate for the workplace (lol)

and in seasons one and two, they were just more willing to let her dress simply, and in neutral colors as well as brights, and wardrobe staples that she made her own:

notice how she's still giving fashionista it-girl in ALL of these, but she also feels like a real person!! Whereas in s3 practically every look screamed "tacky costume” (mom city was the great exception <3 I genuinely love all her looks that episode)

#they also should have kept her s1 hair #would've loved to have seen junos natural curls too #ted lasso #keeley jones #asks