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127tyong · 3 months

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Earthquake

Pairing: Boss Johnny X Personal Assistant Reader

Genre: Smut, Breeding Kink, Marriage out of convivence

Warnings:

Word Count: 1.5 k

“Johnny! You’re here!” You smiled as Johnny walked into you two’s personal office, arriving an hour after you.

You were hired as Johnny’s personal assistant a few months ago, and had a decently close work relationship with him. Your application was desperate, saying you would do anything to work with him, and anything he wanted.

“Hi hun.” Johnny always talked to you sweetly, despite his reputation of being a cold businessman. “I have to have lunch with my family today, but that should be fine, yes?”

“Yes.” You immediately said, knowing his entire schedule off the top of your head.

“Perfect.” Johnny sat down at his desk and turned it on. “Is my coffee ready?”

You stood up, getting his coffee for him, then putting it on his desk.

“Thanks.” Johnny mumbled to you.

“Hey, I have a question.” You waited for Johnny to nod at you. “What’s the lunch for? Sorry if that’s a personal question, but you never go back to see your family.”

“They said they wanted to talk. Probably something stupid.” Johnny smiled up at you in between sips of coffee before setting the cup down. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll come back with some pasta for you, it’s supposed to be some of the best Italian food around.”

“I cannot deal with that bitch’s stupidity.” Johnny huffed, loosening his tie and slamming the to-go box on his desk. You stood in the corner of the room, next to the door, holding a clipboard with his to-do list.

“Mr. Suh, if I may-” You started to speak, silenced by Johnny raising his hand.

“Cancel my other plans for today. I need a fucking break.”

“...Yes, sir.” You quickly went to your desk, across the room and made a few calls.

“My fucking father thinks he can tell me who to marry…” Johnny mumbled, laying on the couch, pinching his nose bridge.

“Sir.” You stood up, understanding the issue. You always knew Johnny’s dad was rough, to say the least. A controlling, self centered man. “Would you like to do something fun with me?”

“Fun?” Johnny scoffed, as if that was the last thing he wanted. “Just… sit next to me.”

You pulled your rolling chair across the room next to him.

“My dad wants me to marry another conglomerate heir. But the problem is… She’s only 14.”

You audibly gasped. “What?”

“I know. I’m pushing 30 dating a girl less than half my age…” Johnny groaned. “I can see the headlines now. Billionaire marries a child. Johnny Suh goes on a date with the heir of a major tech company, a 14 year old. I can only imagine what would happen.”

“Oh, Johnny…” You rubbed his shoulder.

“This is his way of threatening me. Telling me that if I don’t get married soon he’s going to make me do… This.” Johnny sat up.

“Why can’t you marry someone else then? I can make a list of potential prospects for you-” You stood up, but Johnny grabbed your wrist, forcing you back.

“Marry me.” He looks in your eyes, desperately. “At least for a year. Please, I need you to. I can’t let my reputation get ruined like this. You’re the perfect woman for this, you’re intelligent and know how to handle potential issues.”

Johnny’s reputation was everything to him. A stoic businessman, even if in the office he was nothing but kind. His reputation was how he got his way, and you knew it. He always gets told “yes” no matter the situation…

“Johnny…” You looked back at him, trying to comprehend the question.

“You’ll be a millionaire. I’ll give you anything you want and more, just please… Marry me.”

And that’s how you ended up marrying one of the richest men in all of Korea.

Instead of the headlines reading “Billionaire marries child” the headlines read “Billionaire marries his personal assistant, love story shocking the country”.

And he kept all his promises. He bought you a penthouse apartment in Seoul, and a house in your hometown. He bought you any car you asked for, and he took care of your family.

There was no romance in your marriage, but you found Johnny to be an amazing husband. He was very likable, and you two spent a lot of time together, just hanging out. He was great with cooking and cleaning, and never asked you to do anything, but still took you on “dates” wherever you wanted. But the one thing you noticed was he never crossed the line. You slept in the same bed, per his request, but still had separate blankets. You shared a bathroom, but he asked you to shower at night, since he showered in the morning. And he never, ever, asked about your love life. You knew that was his way of telling you that you could date other men, and that he would see other women.

The only problem in this set up was his family. His mother was a gossiping, evil witch that talked bad about everyone, especially you, but his dad was a whole other issue. And every time you saw either of them, they asked if you were pregnant yet.

“I’m home!” Johnny walked into the penthouse as you were inside, cooking dinner. “Smells good.”

“Hey Johnny.” You served the meal. “Food’s ready.”

“Hey… I have to talk to you about something.” Johnny sat at the dining room table, his face cold.

“Yeah?” You placed the bowl in front of him, and sat next to him.

“I need to have a kid with you.” He looked up at you and read your shocked expression. “I’m so sorry, I know I was the one who said you’d never have to do this but I-”

“I understand, it’s just kinda… out of nowhere.” You sighed. “Give me a minute.”

You went up to the bathroom and got in the shower, not knowing how to feel.

When you stepped out of the bathroom in a towel, Johnny was waiting for you in the bedroom. “You don’t have to do this.” He stood in front of you.

“I know.”

Johnny’ s lips crashed onto yours, his hands gripping your wet hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…” He picked you up and tossed you on the bed, your towel falling off. “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

“Johnny, wait, what do you mean-” His lips pressed against yours again, his tongue licking your bottom lip and asking for permission to come in. You opened your lips slightly, and his tongue slid in, searching your mouth for your tongue, the tips of your tongue meeting.

You pulled away from the kiss after a few seconds. “Johnny…”

“I think I love you. You’re all I ever think about…” Johnny kissed your neck, licking it in areas that slightly tickled but still made you moan.

“Johnny…” You moaned out, and his large hands pressed against your thighs, massaging it. “Slow down…”

“I’m sorry…” He breathed into your neck. “But I’ve already been waiting for several months.”

His mouth went to your breast, sucking your nipples until they hardened. “God, you’re just so beautiful.”

“Johnny…” You moaned out. You wrapped your hands into his hair and he laid on your chest. “Stick it in.”

“Okay…” He quickly took off his pants, already hard without you ever even touching him.

He stuck it all in at once, shocking you. “Fuck!” You squealed, trying to catch your breath. “Johnny, you can’t do that next time…”

“So you’re already planning the next time?” He began to slowly thrust, allowing you to regain your composure but his impatience still getting the better of him.

“You’re way too fucking big, Johnny.” You tried to relax, but he was still filling you up. “You can’t just shove your dick into a girl, you’re gonna break the next girl you fuck.”

Johnny leaned down, his face near yours. “I told you I love you, and you think I’m fucking other girls? God, I thought you were smart. I’ve liked you ever since you became my assistant. You’re capable, beautiful, and amazing to be around… I wanna make you happy.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Give me a baby. I wanna have a kid with you.”

“Oh, I’ll fucking put a baby inside you…” Johnny mumbled into your neck. “Just keep squeezing down on my dick the way you are right now and I might just cum in around ten seconds.”

“Please Johnny! Please, please, please…” Your voice kept him going on, begging him.

“I wish I fucked you on our wedding night, fuck, you’re so perfect…” And with that, you felt the warmth of Johnny’s cum shooting inside you.

“Johnny…” You croaked out.

Johnny laid on top of you, his dick slipping out of you, causing the cum to drip out of you. “I’ll change the sheets later.” He sighed.

“How are you feeling?” “I still love you, if that’s what you were wondering.” “Good.”

#nct fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 smut #johnny smut

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sapphire-writes · 9 months

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Girl In The Bar (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 1 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your internship begins at Citadel General Hospital. But your first day does not go according to plan as a familiar face appears.

word count: 4.3k

note: here we go! my little celebration piece, the beginning of a new AU/mini-series! thank you so so much for all the love and support ❤️

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, stitches/sutures, mentions of blood, concussions, nausea, referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

You’d been preparing for this. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand outside the doors of Citadel General Hospital. Four grueling years of med school weren’t for nothing. Your heart beats steadily, only slightly quicker than usual as you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

You can’t help but stare up at the large building in front of you, watching the sunlight reflect off of the many windows, obscuring the view of the occupants inside.

“Are you going in?” a girl says sliding up beside you, curly brown hair flowing freely around her face. She gives you a crooked smile, tilting her chin to signal you inside. There’s a faded scar across the bridge of her nose along with a dusting of freckles.

“Can’t believe it’s the first day,” she sighs as the doors open and you follow her inside, “We met at the intern mixer briefly.”

The mixer was held a few weeks ago. You'd met most of the other medical interns and gotten a tour of the hospital. CGH is massive; it’ll take time to learn the lay of the land. You follow her down the hall towards the intern locker rooms. Scrubs wait for you and you hurriedly begin to change into them. Nettles scoops her hair into a large bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around the mess of curls.

“Right,” you say, nodding as you remember her, “It’s Annette, right?”

“Nettles,” she corrects, “Family nickname. Though from what I’ve heard, they barely refer to us by our first names.”

“That’s correct,” a guy says, throwing on his scrub top, “Be prepared to change your name to whatever your last name is.”

The guy glances at you, cheeks flushing. He rubs his dark curls out of his eyes, adjusting his light blue scrub top before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Jace Velaryon,” he introduces, squeezing your hand, “Or just Velaryon I guess.”

“Do you know who your resident is yet?” you ask, just as a woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room. Her red hair is held behind a scrub cap decorated with silver eagles. She holds a clipboard tightly in her hands, tapping a pen against the metal.

“Velaryon, Waters, Martell, Snow, and…” she pauses, before reading your last name, “You five. Baratheon will meet you at the nurses' station. Three minutes.”

You hurriedly lace your sneakers as a locker from across the room slams shut. A woman with long ink-black hair elegantly plaited down her back hurries forward.

“Thank you Dr. Arryn,” she calls, as the woman leaves the room.

Another young woman hurries from around the corner of lockers, struggling to pull her thick brown hair into a ponytail, “She didn’t say Baratheon, did she?” she asks, as her hair tie snaps.

You reach into the pocket of your scrubs, holding out the spare you have. She smiles gratefully as she accepts it.

“Sara Snow,” she introduces, “We’re sure she said Baratheon?”

“Sure did,” the girl with the braid says, her dark eyes wide, “Cory Martell. Nice to meet you all for whatever time we have left.”

Jace chuckles nervously as Cory fiddles with her braid, taking a sudden interest in the ends of her hair.

“What’s that mean?” Jace asks, looking at you all as you don’t respond, “Hello?”

“Ballbuster Baratheon,” Sara says with barely an audible whisper.

“Ah shit,” Nettles says, tilting her head back as she groans.

“Am I the only one who is lost?” Jace asks, “He can’t be so bad.”

Nettles only shrugs but gives you a wink before pushing forward out the door. You hurry after her, the rest of your cohort stumbling not far behind. The nurses’ station is bustling with people; the phones ringing continuously.

Cory stands up straighter, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

“Do you see him?” Jace asks, looking down the hallway.

“See who?” a doctor comments, eyeing Jace carefully.

She’s wearing similar blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, black hair cut bluntly at her chin.

“Dr. Baratheon,” Jace comments, still looking off in the distance, “Heard he’s a hard ass.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him, fire in her cobalt blue eyes. She wets her lips, before folding her arms in front of her, holding her clipboard against her stomach.

“Very interesting Dr. Velaryon, assuming the scary resident is a man,” the doctor comments, flipping through her charts.

Jace’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sara glances at him, a pitying look on her face whilst Nettles attempts to hide her snicker with a cough. You elbow her slightly in the ribs and her eyes widen in feigned shock.

“I didn’t—” Jace begins to ramble before being cut off.

“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Baratheon says, waving him off, “I’m Dr. Maris Baratheon, you may call me Dr. Baratheon. Not Maris, not Mari, not Baratheon. Is that understood?”

You all nod eagerly, mumbling your agreement, Jace looking rather pained.

“You’re interns,” Maris says, deep blue eyes scanning over you, “Runts—bottom of the food chain. Extensions of me-but don’t get in my way. When I move, you move. You will observe, you will listen and you will learn.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of you as she speaks, her tone not very friendly.

“You are my interns. My responsibility. You fuck up, it falls back on me,” she says, pointing her finger at each of you, “Do you think I like fucking up?”

“No ma’am,” Jace says, shaking his head back and forth.

“Correct,” Dr. Baratheon says.

The pager strapped to her waist beeps frantically and she glances down, before nodding; more to herself than to all of you.

“Let’s move people,” she says, moving down the hallway.

You all begin shuffling behind her, quickening your pace to match the urgency of her walk.

“I’m an idiot,” Jace says miserably, “She’s going to hate me forever.”

“Probably,” Nettles says with a snicker.

“She won’t hate you, she’ll understand you’re learning,” Sara insists.

“Oh yeah, she seems super understanding,” Cory agrees, but one glance at her reveals her sarcasm.

Dr. Baratheon stops outside a room before turning back to the lot of you. You all nearly collide with each other trying to stop in time; Jace slams into Sara’s back and she pushes him with her shoulder. Cory reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen.

“Who has been prepping my charts?” Dr. Baratheon asks, rolling her eyes at your scrambling. Your hand shoots into the air along with the rest of your cohort, “Good, you’re not entirely useless.”

Dr. Baratheon opens the door, walking inside the airy hospital room. The windows are large, letting in rays of sunlight along with a beautiful view of the Honeywine River. It’s a clear day today, the blue water ripples and sparkles as some boats make their way further down the mouth of the river.

“Come on in,” Dr. Baratheon insists, “Someone tell me what’s been going on.”

A girl sits on the hospital bed, tubes, and wires twisting away from her, a stuffed lion held tightly in her small arms. Her golden hair lays flat against her head and though her skin is pale, she smiles when Dr. Baratheon enters the room. A woman you assume to be her mother sits beside her, looking tired as she holds a cup of ice.

“Cerelle Lannister, nine-year-old female,” Nettles begins, lacing her hands behind her back and straightening her shoulders, “Admitted while complaining of fever and muscle spasms localized to the lower body.”

“Thank you, Dr. Waters,” Dr. Baratheon says, walking to check the chart at the foot of her bed, “How are we feeling this morning Cece?”

Dr. Baratheon’s voice changes as she talks to Cece; it takes on a more caring, comforting tone. Cece smiles nervously, turning her flushed face to her mother.

“She’s okay,” her mother answers, “The spasms seem to be about the same. Nurses said her fever broke last night.”

“I’ve eaten so much ice, my tongue is numb,” Cece says, sticking her tongue out, “See? I bet it's blue.”

Sara giggles at the action and you can’t help but smile too. You hate seeing such a young kid in the hospital, it makes your chest tighten.

“No blue tongue. But I guess you’re not interested in ice cream for dessert later?” Dr. Baratheon teases.

Cece’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously.

“Let’s not talk crazy now,” she squeaks, “I am always interested in ice cream.”

“Just making sure,” Dr. Baratheon says, cracking her first smile of the day, “Dr. Snow, how would you proceed?”

Sara stiffens at the sound of her name, clearing her throat.

“Muscle spasms can indicate an overuse of the muscle or perhaps an electrolyte imbalance,” Sara begins, as though reciting from a textbook, “I would make sure she’s getting enough fluids and rest, get some labs done to confirm.”

“And after that?”

“Potentially a CT scan and MRI to rule out any potential nerve damage that may be contributing to the spasms.”

“What about the fever?”

“Fever is an immune response that indicates potential infection,” Cory interrupts, “We want to rule out a viral or bacterial infection.”

“Which first?”

“Rule out the infection first,” you interject, causing Dr. Baratheon to turn to you, “More likely bacterial than viral. Ms. Lannister doesn’t have symptoms.”

“Alright, yes,” Dr. Baratheon agrees, “What should we do if we think it's bacterial?”

“Gather a culture,” you continue, “Skin, nose, saliva. Run labs for those as well to rule them out.”

“Well Cece,” Dr. Baratheon says, turning back to the child, “You’ve got a competent group of doctors caring for you. We’re going to do our best to get you better.”

Mrs. Lannister squeezes her daughter's hand. Cece smiles shyly, holding her stuffed lion closer to her chest.

You stand in line for lunch in the bustling cafeteria. Quick lunch, and then off to run for labs for Cerelle Lannister. Different options are laid out in front of you as you drag your tray alongside Jace’s. He’s still moping-- has been all morning. Sara rolls her eyes at him as he drops a banana onto his plate.

“You need to chill,” she tells him, reaching for a turkey club.

“How do I come back from this?” Jace asks, reaching for a cup. He moves to the soda machine, choosing to fill it with cherry coke, “She wants me dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him, fighting a smile.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyes wide, “She could make or break my entire career based on this slip-up, put me in the pit for the year.”

You decide on a chicken Caesar wrap before scanning the cafeteria for a free table. You spot Nettles a few tables away, leaning back in her chair and munching on a bag of potato chips. She waves you over and you motion to your colleagues to follow.

“So you’ll do the time, pay your dues, all that jazz,” you console Jace.

“Yeah, but--shit!” Jace yelps as you reach the table, his cup falling to the floor. Reddish brown liquid blooms on the white floor and Jace groans, “This day keeps getting worse.”

“C’mon, let’s get some paper towels,” Sara says, putting her tray down and grabbing Jace’s arm.

Nettles watches them walk away, unmoving from her spot as you take the seat beside her.

“What a drama queen,” Nettles comments.

“I mean, if I pissed off Ballbuster Baratheon, I’d be pretty upset too,” you tell her, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You’re too smart to make that mistake,” Nettles comments, and a pleasant prideful feeling lodges in your chest.

You smile at her.

“Thanks,” you tell Nettles and she shrugs.

“Just being truthful,” she says, “I briefed everyone before we started. You’re rather impressive.”

“You briefed everyone?”

“I like to know who I’ll be working with,” she says nonchalantly.

You nod, impressed by her dedication. You take a bite of your wrap, wincing slightly at the soggy texture of the lettuce. It’s edible. You doubt you’ll have anything to complain about when the hospital is working you into the ground. Your eyes scan the cafeteria as you chew, taking in the other doctors in the cafeteria.

Your eyes drift over to a pair of residents near the vending machine; a man and a woman both with strikingly platinum blonde hair. The taller of the two has it pulled away from his chiseled face and into a low bun. As he turns your heart drops into your stomach.

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“What?” Nettles asks, examining her half-eaten sandwich, “I mean it's bad, but not that bad. They have hot dogs on Fridays.”

“Not the food,” you explain, “The doctor.”

Nettles follows your gaze toward Aemond as he’s lost in conversation with the other resident. Her eyes flicker between you two, eyebrows raising to her hairline.

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Cory asks as she arrives, sitting in the empty chair beside you, “This food looks nasty…”

“I need to go,” you tell them, standing with your tray, “I need to--” It’s too late when you realize you’d stepped right into the spilled soda, your feet going out from under you.

You drop onto your back with a loud thud, head smacking against the linoleum floor.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Nettles asks, crouching beside you. You blink rapidly, stars in your vision from the impact, “Shit, Y/N you’re bleeding don’t move! Head injury, you could have internal bleeding-”

“I’m okay,” you insist, trying to sit up, “I’m just….woah.” A wave of nausea rolls through you and you lean back against the ground, “Maybe I do just need a moment.”

Your vision blurs but you can see his lean silhouette in the distance. Through your haze, you swear you see his body language change, his posture stiffen, and your lunch lurches in your stomach.

“You’re concussed,” Jace insists crouching beside you, “Don’t move. You’ve cut your head too…”

“My head?” you ask, bringing a hand to your temple, feeling wetness on your palm, “Fucking hell.”

You’re staring blankly at the ceiling, mortification settling in your bones as your colleagues chatter around you.

“What is going on?” Dr. Baratheon’s voice echoes through the cafeteria, “Y/L/N?”

“Yes Dr. B?” you mumble, earning a chuckle from Cory.

“I’m going to let that one slide because you’re likely concussed,” Dr. Baratheon says, “Velaryon, Waters, get her to a bed.” She grumbles, moving on with Cory and Nettles, “I’d like to keep my interns in one piece please.”

The night before the first day of your internship you couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, call it excitement, one thing was for sure; there was no way you were finding sleep at a reasonable hour. So you decided to grab a drink. Something to calm your nerves.

Just a few blocks from your studio apartment was a small hole-in-the-wall bar, the Dragon’s Den. One drink to calm your nerves, that’s all you needed. You’d sat at the bar alone for a while, sipping your wine and reading yet another smutty romance on your Kindle.

You’d noticed him come in, of course. It was hard not to notice him.

He was truly beautiful; with striking platinum hair braided away from his face and down his back. Chiseled jawline, long straight nose, and those eyes. One violet, one blue, watching you from across the room. Your cheeks warmed as you buried your nose back into your book.

He’d caught you staring.

He’d joined you at the bar; slightly awkward, but confident enough to strike up a conversation with you. Ask what you were drinking. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and count the veins winding their way up the back of his hands.

“You’re a long way from Riverlands,” you’d commented as he’d told you where he was from.

“My sister dragged me out,” he’d told you, “I’ve just recently moved back here, to be closer to family.”

“I have a new job starting tomorrow,” you’d told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Congratulations,” he’d said, smiling as though he genuinely was happy for the stranger he met at the bar.

He’d bought you a drink, saddled up next to you. Listened intently as you spoke to him about your hobbies, your interests. Watching you the entire time with intense focus.

“I don’t normally do this,” he’d insisted as you pulled him towards you outside the bar.

“Me either,” you agreed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not; it's what people say when they make reckless decisions.

Fingers fisting into his button-down shirt, you’d pressed your lips eagerly against his. You hadn’t been kissed like this in forever. Hadn’t been touched like this, been fucked like this.

You’d brought him home, walking the short distance hand in hand taking breaks in between for him to press you against the brick walls of the buildings you passed, let you wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed the life out of you.

You’d stumbled into your apartment desperately peeling the clothes from your body and his. Greedy hands, greedy mouths, and lipstick smeared across his cheeks and chest. Fingers, tongue, a combination of the two, and then his cock splitting you in half, pounding you into the mattress.

He’d made you cum five times.

Five times, during a one-night stand. You could barely feel your legs as you drifted off to sleep.

You’d woken early the following day, stumbling out of bed and into your small kitchenette as the lanky stranger gathered his things.

“Aemond,” he’d told you, with a shy grin as he entered his number into your phone.

How anyone could be shy after that bedroom performance was beyond you.

“I’ll text you,” you’d promised him, as he opened the door.

“Have a great first day.”

Somehow, Jace and Sara get you to a bed, secluded with some curtains. You can’t believe he’s here. He’s a resident. In every hospital possible, it had to be this one. By the looks of it, he wasn’t expecting to see you as well.

The curtain opens and an attending enters the small bedside area, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. Dark hair and eyes he glances up at you, a small smile on his lips.

“Not every day an intern lands in a hospital bed,” he comments, ushering you forward.

You sit up, groaning slightly at the throbbing in your head.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you grumble, and he flashes you a grin.

“Follow the light,” he softly commands, clicking his penlight and moving it in front of your face.

You blink, but obey; following the bright light.

“Good,” he murmurs, “Now follow my finger.” He does the same motion with his finger, “Pupils look good, any pain?”

“Just where I hit,” you tell him, “Will I need stitches?”

“Just a few,” he says, bringing a gloved hand to move your hair, “A small split. Bleeds a lot more than it's worth.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you tell him, as he reaches for some gauze, “You’re the neuro attending?”

“One of them,” he comments, applying some dap gauze to your wound, cleaning it gently, “I’m Dr. Cole.”

You tell him yours and he nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eye.

“I read your resume,” he muses, discarding the bloodied gauze, “Your thesis was very interesting.”

“Thank you,” you told him, remembering your research, “I enjoy research a lot.”

“Plenty of opportunities here,” he says, removing his gloves, “I’ll have Dr. Targareyn come stitch you up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, “Can’t I just use some butterfly bandages?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips.

“Don’t want to scar up that pretty face,” he comments, “Targaryen doesn’t mind, he enjoys the practice.”

You chew on your lip as Dr. Cole leaves the room. Several moments later the curtain opens and Aemond steps forward. He’s just as beautiful as last night and your pulse quickens remembering your time spent together.

“Hey,” you manage as Aemond clears his throat.

Aemond stands awkwardly stiff, before moving to the stool Dr. Cole previously occupied. He doesn’t speak, just uses his long legs to pull himself closer to you. He readies a tray, grabbing a suture kit and lidocaine. You watch his tense, calculated movements before he turns to you.

“This may sting,” he murmurs, as the tip of the needle enters your skin causing you to wince.

The lidocaine works fast, and the area begins to tingle with numbness. Carefully disposing of the needle, Aemond grabs the suture and begins his work. You can feel his hands on you, and watch his face as he stares at his handiwork.

He won’t meet your eyes.

“We didn’t know,” you tell him, feeling the tugging of the sutures, “Aemond-”

“No,” he answers, “You’re right of course. No harm, no foul. But this can’t happen again. I’m your superior.”

“Superior? It’s not like you’re an attending,” you tell him.

“No but I’m in a position of power and authority over you,” he continues, “The implications of a workplace relationship between the two of us would be an uneven distribution of power.”

“Okay, we slept together once,” you tell him, “No one’s saying we’re in a relationship-”

“Then you agree,” he counters, “We shut this down before it really starts.”

That’s not exactly what you were thinking as you reminisce about the previous night. Staring into his eyes only makes your cheeks grow hotter, a nervous sweat begins to form on your brow.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, your heartbeat suddenly noticeable; a gentle flutter against your ribcage.

“It’s not about want,” Aemond insists, avoiding your gaze and focusing solely on his suturing, “It’s about being dutiful, and doing what’s right. What’s expected of us.”

Goodbye guy in the bar, you think to yourself, heart sinking slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him as he cuts the final stitch, “I’m not going to say anything.”

“You’re all set,” he tells you, moving to stand, “Think you can take them out on your own in a week?”

“If not, I know where to find you,” you quip.

Aemond stands next to the tray of instruments, freezing as he awkwardly glances at you sideways. His posture is tense. You let out a nervous breath at his startled reaction. The sex god you met last night is nowhere to be found. He flexes his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his white coat.

“That was a joke,” you tell him, earning a curt nod, “One week. Got it.”

You hear the sharp voice of Dr. Baratheon call your last name before the curtain is yanked back. Her eyes find Aemond immediately, lips forming a tight pout.

“Dr. Targareyn,” she says apprehensively, as though she’s watching him very carefully.

Aemond nods acknowledging her before she turns to you.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, “I have to run those labs for Cerelle Lannister-”

“Martell is covering that,” Dr. Baratheon cuts you off, “You have a head injury. I want you home for the remainder of the day.”

“Dr. Baratheon-” you insist, but she holds up her hand.

“Come back tomorrow,” Dr. Baratheon tells you and reluctantly nods.

You suppose going home isn’t the worst idea.

“Let’s get you an Uber,” Dr. Baratheon says.

“I can drive her,” Aemond says suddenly. His eyes are wide before he casts his gaze to the floor as if he can’t believe the words left his mouth.

You watch him carefully.

“Okay,” you tell him.

Aemond’s car is nice. Clean, like he just bought it. He very well might have, now that you think of it since he moved to the area so recently. The ride is silent besides the sound of the air coming through the vents.

“Thank you,” you tell him, as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

“No drinking any alcohol,” Aemond says, still not meeting your eyes, “Make sure to get plenty of rest and monitor your symptoms. Do not feel any pressure to come back to work tomorrow if you’re not up for it.”

You nod and his gaze flickers to your face. He wets his lips, tongue darting out quickly. It might be the concussion, but you can remember how it felt. How he tasted. Fuck.

“I got it,” you assure him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He nods, unlocking the car doors before getting out. Aemond walks around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists, and you nod, taking the hand he offers.

He remembers your unit. The entire elevator ride is full of tension as you wait to reach your floor. As you walk down the hallway. As you get to your door.

You turn to him, wanting to invite him inside if only for a cup of tea to thank him for being so kind. If only to keep him near your longer.

But Aemond nods curtly as you unlock the door.

“Have a nice day, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watch him flex his fingers again, before shoving them into his pocket.

“Goodbye Aemond,” you call, and he pauses, hand outstretched to press the elevator button.

His head dips for a brief moment before he straightens up as the elevator doors open and he disappears inside. Your heart hammers as he turns, giving you a nod once more, before the doors close obscuring him from your view.

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Before tucking yourself into your bed, you lean against your window which gives a view down to the front of the apartment. Clouds have gathered and fat drops of rain begin to fall, splashing onto Aemond’s car still parked below. You watch as the lights come on, but he stays idling a moment more.

Your phone vibrates.

Reaching for it you can’t help but smile as you see the message.

note: hope you liked it!! again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support for my silly little stories, y'all are seriously the best for real 🥹

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @angel6776, @watercolorskyy @hogwarts1207, @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr

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supernaturalgirl20 · 1 year

Note

I always come to your inbox to drop idea for kicking your imagination so I was thinking about Javi P. Especially him saying he resigned form DIA that morning and can you imagine him immediately getting kiss cuz “that’s the hottest thing you ever said to me babe” because they can finally start they dream - having family at his pops ranch. Chucho seems like the best father in law. I want this man as a bestie for Javis girl

Thanks nonnie for this request. I’m sorry it took so long 🥰

Forever Starts Today

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, breeding kink, shower sex, soft morning sex, javi is a cowboy, just horny/domestic Javi, mentions of starting a family, cursing, fluff.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

A tired yawn slips past your lips as you lift Rosa’s file, checking what medication she’s due when a soft knock at her door startles you.

“Girl, your man is at the nurse's station looking for you.” Your eyes flick towards the clock - 7:30, half an hour left - before meeting Maria’s gaze and nodding as she takes the clipboard off you.

“Seems a bit on edge. If you wanna head out early, I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks,” you say with a smile as you walk out of the room. It doesn’t take long to spot Javi, leaning against the wall with his legs crossed. His suit is a little wrinkled and his tie is loose around his neck. He lets out a frustrated sigh as his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose and you know he’s stressed.

“Hey,” you call softly and he smiles when he locks eyes with you but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hermosa.” He pushes off the wall and walks with determination towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace. With his face buried into the crook of your neck, he lets out a contented sigh.

“Everything ok?” His arms, which are circled around your waist, pull you closer. “It is now”, he whispers, his breath tickling the skin of your neck.

“Maria’s gonna cover for me. Why don’t we head home?” He hums softly, kissing your neck before pulling away. His tired eyes take you in and he leans in and kisses you gently on the lips before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the hospital.

He doesn’t say much other than to ask you how your shift went and the drive home seems longer than usual. When you both finally cross the threshold of your home, Javi is quick to throw his keys on the kitchen counter before grabbing a glass and filling it with whiskey.

“Bad day, huh?” His gaze meets yours and he lets out a long sigh. “Something like that. Amor, there’s something - fuck - maybe you should sit.”

He places his hand on the small of your back and leads you to the couch. Taking a seat beside him, you rest your hand on his thigh as he leans back, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“What’s wrong, Javi? You know you can tell me anything, right?” His eyes open and his tired gaze lands on you as a soft smile edges its way onto his face. “I know, amor. I, fuck - I resigned from the DEA.”

You’re stunned into silence.

He resigned. You never thought you’d see the day. Your lack of response has him on edge and he reaches out and caresses your cheek softly with his thumb. “Hermosa, say something.”

Broken from your trance, you let out a squeal as you move your legs over his lap so you're straddling his thighs. Grabbing his face between your hands you pepper kisses along his cheeks and lips.

“You’re - you’re not mad?” He questions with a smile. Shaking your head you lean in and kiss him hard on the lips before pulling away and resting your head against his.

“Baby, this is the best news ever. It’s like - the hottest things you’ve ever said to me.” Javi laughs. His head is buried between the curve of your breast as his shoulders shake from the force of it. You haven’t seen him laugh like that in a while.

“What?” You ask with a smile. His eyes meet yours and he gently reaches out to move a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “It’s not the hottest.”

“Oh no, it is.” He continues to laugh as he wraps his around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “So, what now?”

“It’s up to you, amor. We can stay….” You cut him off with a shake of your head. “Let’s go home. To America. To Laredo. I’m sure Chucho will be thrilled to have us back.”

Javi’s heart flutters at your words. His face is full of love and adoration as he looks up at you in his arms. “Yeah? Is that what you want, Hermosa?” Want to settle down back on the ranch and have a family?”

“Yes. That’s what I want.” You rest your head against him, his brown eyes are full of warmth as they stare back.

“Thank you, mi amor,” he whispers and you furrow your brows in confusion. “For what, Javi?”

“For being so understanding. I was - fuck, I was nervous as hell on the way to the hospital thinking you’d be upset I left my job. Lost all that good money and….” You quiet him with a finger on his lips.

“You don’t have to thank me. You’re my husband and I love you. I’m always gonna support you. No matter what.”

“Te amo, mi amor.” He pulls you in for a searing kiss before gently laying you back on the couch, his body covering yours as he begins to strip you out of your clothes.

“Let’s say goodbye to the apartment Pena style,” he murmurs as he kisses his way down along the curve of your breast, disappearing between the apex of your thighs. “Oh!”

***

You didn’t accept the transfer the hospital was offering you, instead choosing to work at a local health clinic near the ranch. The hours were better allowing you to spend more time with both Pena men.

It was a nice change of pace and Javi was a different man now that he wasn’t always looking over his shoulder. He took to ranch life better than you had hoped and he seemed happier.

Pulling up the long drive to the house you spot Javi in the distance on his horse Cash and the sight of him - dressed in his dark denim jeans, chequered shirt and that damn cowboy hat - has heat pooling between your legs.

When you pull up at the house you dash inside and up the stairs to your en-suite, stripping out of your scrubs and into the large walk-in shower. The warm water relieves the ache in your muscles but does little to quell your growing arousal.

With a featherlight touch, you skim your fingers along the skin of your stomach until you reach your bundle of nerves. You begin to rub in a slow circular motion, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

“Starting the fun without me, Hermosa?” Javi’s deep drawl startles you and you almost slip when his warm hands catch you around the waist, pulling your back flush with his chest. His bare chest. “Jesus, Javi. You scared the shot outta me.”

His soft chuckle makes you smile and you slowly turn in his embrace, eyes quickly taking him in before you meet his gaze. “How’d you get here so fast?”

His eyes, which are blown wide with lust, arch playfully. “Saw you coming up the drive and started heading back. Knew you’d get all wet seeing me dressed like that.”

“Oh, so you did that purposely, huh?” You tease, feeling his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Better believe it, amor.” His lips meet yours in a passionate kiss as his fingers skim down along your ass, squeezing the soft cheeks in his hands.

“Tan hermosa mi amor,” he mumbles as lips trail kisses along your neck towards your breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth. “Oh fuck, Javi. Please I - I need you.”

“What do you need, mi amor?” He asks as he pushes you back against the tiled wall, lifting your leg over his waist as he lines himself with your entrance. “Need you to fuck me, Javi.”

With a roll of his hips, he buries himself inside your heat, the slight stretch causing you to gasp into his mouth. “Mierda. Always so tight, amor.”

With each roll of his hips, he brings you closer and closer to euphoria. “Need you to cum for me, amor. Not - not gonna last. Been thinking about this all day.”

His hands are busy gripping you tight as he thrusts harder and harder, so you slip your hand into the space between you both, sliding your fingers to your bundle of nerves and putting pressure on it as you rub it in circular motions.

“Javi,” you whimper and he grunts loudly as you squeeze him tight. “Fuck, Hermosa…I’m - I’m shit, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum inside,” you whisper into the shell of his ear and he groans. “Want me to fill you up, Hermosa? Want me to put a baby in you? Fuck, I’m gonna fill you full of me.”

“Oh god, Javi,” you cry and Javi’s legs shake slightly as he thrusts twice more, spilling deep inside you.

You’re both panting as you come down from your high and Javi helps you gently stand on two feet before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss.

“Missed you today,” you say softly as you begin to lather soap over his chest. He hums. His hands work the soap into your soft skin. “Never would have guessed that,” he teases and you slap him gently on the chest.

“I’m just joking, Hermosa. I missed you too. Always do.” He kisses you softly. “Were you serious about having a baby?” He seems nervous as he waits for you to say something and you can’t help but smile.

“Only if you want to? But I’m ready.” His hands hold your waist and the corners of his mouth turn up. “I guess we’re gonna try for a baby then. Pops is gonna be delighted.”

“Wooh, slow down there cowboy. I’m not even pregnant yet.” Javi reaches behind you to turn the water off before grabbing two towels and handing you one. “Amor, with the way we fuck, it’s not gonna take that long.”

You roll your eyes as you begin to dry off, hoping it’s as easy as he makes it out. “Come on, cowboy. We gotta get ready for Frankie’s engagement party.”

***

“You know, I never thought I’d see the day Javi would settle down. Especially back home on the ranch but I’ve honestly never seen him so happy.” Frankie swings you away from him before pulling you back into his embrace.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, Y/N.” A heat works its way up your neck and settles on your cheeks.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you.” The music shifts to something slower and Frankie’s gaze lingers over your shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” You can feel his warmth at your back and Frankie winks at you before clapping Javi on the back and whispering something into his ear.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes taking in the features of your face. His arms circle your waist as you both sway to the music.

“Hey. Who’s the woman with Chucho?” You ask as you tilt your head in his direction. Javi’s gaze lands on his dad and a knowing smile works its way onto his face. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turns back to you.

“Someone he met at bingo. Just friends. But then, we both know how that one goes, don’t weHermosa?” He waggles his eyebrows at you.

“Oh shut it, Pena. Didn’t hear you complaining at the time, did I?” He yelps as you squeeze his ass.

“Nope. Never gonna hear me complain, baby,” he teases. “It’s nice to see him have someone after so long. He deserves to be happy.”

“Hmm, seems all you Pena men share the same sentiment.” He furrows his brows, “what are you talking about, amor.”

“Nothing, baby. Think anyone would miss us if we skip out?” His hands wander towards your ass, squeezing it gently. “It’s like you read my mind, Hermosa.” His eyes flicker around the room before landing back on your face. “Let’s go.”

He wraps your hand in his and leads you out of the community centre and into the cool evening air. Javi helps you into the passenger side of the truck before running around to his side and hopping in.

“What about Chucho?” Javi turns the key in the ignition and reverses out of the space, his eyes landing on you as he straightens her up. “Something tells me he won’t be needing a lift home tonight.”

“Why - oh - oh, Jesus Javi, he’s an old man.” He laughs, his gaze focused on the road ahead but his hand - the one not on the steering wheel - slides up your thigh and under your dress.

“Never too old for that baby. Especially not us Pena men.” His fingers slip through your folds and you moan softly. “Javi?”

“Si, Hermosa?” His gaze drifts to you briefly, a cheeky smile on his face. “Drive faster and I’ll give you a blow job back home.”

“Yup.” His fingers slip away from you and he focuses all his attention on the road, driving way past the speed limit.

***

The light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Your skin tickles as Javi kisses your shoulder. You smile.

“Morning.” His arm slips around your waist, sliding up until he cups your breast in his hand.

“Hmm, morningHermosa. Need you,” he breathes, his voice husky with need. Javi grinds his hips into your ass and you can feel his arousal pressing hard against you.

“Didn’t get enough last night?” Javi lines himself up with your entrance and breaths out a husky no, before thrusting into you.

He’s slow in his movements, drawing out your pleasure as you rock back against him. The room is silent save for the soft gasps and moans you both emit.

When you both climax together, he stays seated inside you as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Let’s get cleaned up, amor. I’ve something I want to show you”.

He waits out front on the porch and when you emerge in a light summer dress he can’t help but pull you close and kiss you breathlessly.

“You’re killing me, mi amor. Come on, let's go.” He leads you to the truck, helping you in before taking off and you turn to him with a look of confusion when he doesn’t turn down the drive, but instead, makes his way up the old road towards his uncle's old ranch.

“Javi? Where - where are we going?” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips and kissing it softly. “Just wait, amor. You’ll see.”

“Fine, keep your secrets, Pena. It’s not like I won’t….” The words die on your tongue when you see the once run-down house now refurbished. “Javi!”

“I know we’re happy with pops but I thought with us trying for a family that - that maybe we should have a place of our own. Pops and Frankie helped me out with it. I - I hope you like it, amor.”

“Javi. Like it. I love it. I - I can’t believe you did this.” Your voice wavers as your eyes well with tears. “And we’re not too far from Chucho if he needs us. It’s perfect.”

You move across the seat and kiss him passionately. Pulling away with one last kiss you smile brightly at him. “Can I see inside?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. “Of course. Let’s go home.”

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#pedro pascal #javier peña x reader #javier pena x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x female reader #pedro pascal x female reader #javier peña #pedro pascal fanfiction #narcos fan fiction

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xuchiya · 3 months

Text

k.hongjoong {apron moments}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

just imagining how you [quiet, humourless] would assist hongjoong, one of the new employees of the restaurant, inside the kitchen. His job was to make breakfast menus but for his first day, he’ll be incharge with the other barista.

you hand him an apron which hongjoong finds a little— a huge problem as he finds himself getting stuck with the criss cross apron. you watch at the side before sighing through your nose and approach the struggling man.

"stop moving." your dull voice halted hongjoong in his wrestling fight and froze when you went near him; oblivious to his reaction, you took the apron and placed it over his head, height not a big discussion as you both were on the same height. when your hands run down towards the two strings of the apron, which was quite long to be only tied at the back, so it was also wrapped around towards your front and bow tie it.

and that's what you did, you lean to his side like a hug (but not touching each other) to tie the first knot of the strings then return back to the front; you pull a little too hard causing hongjoong-- who seem to be out of his mind of how close you both were are.

"oof." hongjoong stumble towards you, which you did not also expect his fall; his hand went around the back of your head while the other on the wall behind you both. Your lips open in a small gasp of surprise; both of the air knocking out of you and the approximate distance of you and hongjoong.

Your heart leaped when you made eye contact, you had been a reserved person and never been this close towards any person hence hugging your friends thus the opposite gender.

Hongjoong would run away this instant from embarrassment but he couldn't, not even his muscles were cooperating with him at the moment, he’s paralysed by your beauty and tough front. He had admired women with neutral yet fiery personality, it made dominance picture perfect them when facing challenges.

“Uhm .. hongjoong-ssi ..” he was taken out of his thoughts when he notice your redden face turn to the side, if the situation is not too serious for him; he would smile and tease you but he is playing with his cards that moment and might lose if place the wrong move and got him fire on his first day.

He moves away, clearing his throat in awkwardness, “so-sorry sunbaenim …” you nodded, walking away from him without mentioning more but motioning towards his unfinished apron knot business, “you must know how to tie a knot, finish that and meet me outside.”

Your face was painted with cherry colour as the moment keep repeating like broken record and had you groaning everytime you look at honjoong, “just why do you keep being in my mind?” you mumble as you tow away towards your senior head— Eden.

He sees your figure and immediately he knows something was up, “New kid?” You nodded before sighing softly, “I'm a little worried Wooyoung would lose his patience with him.” Eden shakes his head whilst holding his clipboard, he gave you the clipboard before walking back to his office, “Let’s talk here.”

“WHAT?!” The words hung heavy in the air. Eden is resigning. Your stomach clenched, a cold fist twisting tighter. He was gruff sometimes, a man of routine, but beneath the gruff exterior was a well of unwavering support. He'd become...well, something akin to a father figure.

He sighs, expecting that kind of reaction from you but explaining to him gets harder with each passing minute, “I am getting old sweetheart and seeing the cafe working as I expect it to be is a reassurance for me. I know someone who can monitor the cafe, he’s my godson and he’ll do perfectly for this job. I hope you take care of him well.”

You can not really lie to yourself as what he said is true, the cafe used to be a mere stand that Eden has materials to use just outside his house and now? He has his own shop where some customers can rest while talking to their friends. He started really young, guessing 18 whilst you were just 10 who served people their orders until you got used to the job and now you were his sidekick inside the shop.

But seeing him leave makes a hard time for you, the other workers were hired after 2 years of the shop opening and got close with them. Though with your “dull” personality, they still accept you.

“It’s gonna take time for you sweetheart but I’ll visit afterall, I’m still the owner of the cafe.” He exclaimed, his face showing a fake smug look to emphasise what he had accomplished. You chuckle softly, “Okay okay but at least tell the others the news.”

It was towards evening and the night was still young so in the moment of Eden’s resignation, they celebrated it inside the coffee shop. The air crackled with a bittersweet energy as the news of Eden's resignation settled. Laughter, a touch louder than usual, bounced off the exposed brick walls. Jokes flew, mugs clinked in toasts, and the warmth of the overhead lights seemed a touch brighter.

Yet, beneath the forced cheer, a dull ache thrummed in your chest. Eden wasn't just the boss; he was the steady hand that guided the little ship they called Cafe Love.

Suddenly, a nervous voice piped up, shattering the lighthearted mood. "Uh..." Hongjoong fumbled with his words, cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. "About what happened a while ago... I'm really sorry. I promise I won't mess up and get myself fired."

You quirked a smile, a genuine one this time. "Hongjoong," you started, your voice softer than usual, "keeping your job isn't really up to me. But," you paused, the corner of your mouth twitching, "maybe lay off testing the new manager's patience, alright?"

A sheepish grin spread across Hongjoong's face. He finds you quite intriguing as your personality wasn’t that hard to break down but something inside him loves the strong facade you kept.

You stole a glance at Eden, his back to you as he wiped down the counter with practised ease. A familiar pang of something akin to loss tugged at your heart. But as you watched him, a silent exchange passed between you, a shared understanding that transcended words, “You seem to admire Eden-ssi?”

You hum, “He took me under his wing even if he had nothing.” Hongjoong saw your eyes twinkle and unconsciously gave you a hanky to which you chuckle but thank him quietly, “Just hearing him resigning just … feels uncomfortable, i don’t know but that is what I feel.”

Hongjoong nodded, understanding what it means to have someone be close to you and gone at the second, “I see, you’re still not used to the absence of someone?” Again, you nodded, Hongjoong’s hand twitch, wanting to comfort you but he respects the space you needed.

“Like they said, Time heals and tells, you just do your thing and keep moving forward.” You look at Hongjoong with a gentle smile, “Wise words. You’re not bad afterall.”

Both cackle on the tall stool near the counter for the barista. You watch the scenery of a new memory amidst the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the comforting murmur of life, change swirled in the air, bittersweet but inevitable.

Maybe Hongjoong is right, time will heal the wound of his absence and time will tell that you are now fine without Eden. Whether he is just at his home doing his music things, he will still remain the father to you and the manager to this cafe.

“Thank you ‘joong.” He shakes his head, a smile on his lips, “No need to thank me, just doing my job as your new friend.”

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez x reader #ateez kim hongjoong #hongjoong ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong

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houseofevanbuckley · 21 days

Note

Not even going anon for this q... please give us all more parents!bucktommy!!!!

Oh lord … I’m obsessed with them as parents, so it’s not a hardship at all

I want to go back to the start though, to how this family started.

They’ve been together for a few months when they have their first talk about having kids. Buck was babysitting Jee and took her to Tommy’s place since he has a garden and Tommy can’t stop thinking about it for days afterward. Buck in his garden with a kid. The sight was just so good, the way they played and ran around together.

Tommy can’t stop thinking about it. And it’s not the first time he thinks about it, to be honest. He loved to see Buck talking and helping Christopher with his homework and anything, really. Spending the day all three of them at a museum or park while Eddie can spend time with Marisol or for himself.

Tommy actually loves to make a date of anytime they have to babysit the kids, taking them all outside, parks, museums, theme parks, beach, you name it, and Tommy took them there.

So while they cuddle one day, he just asks if Buck ever thought about having his own one day.

And Buck turns around to look at Tommy, because he feels that as innocent as the question is, it is a sign of their growth as a couple, of Tommy thinking long term and he has to face the man for it.

Buck, who talks about how he felt when he held the baby, that he helped to conceive, for a few minutes and how his life just came to a halt. How seeing Jee for the first time on her mom’s chest had his heart squeezed.

He always assumed that his life would fall in line, the wife, the house, the kids.

But if he let the wife cliche go, he still thinks that he’d like the rest. The house, the kids.

And what he doesn’t say, the husband.

Tommy just hugs him tighter and confesses that when he came out, letting go of the potential of having kids was the hardest part, but that with how the world change he wanted to believe in it again.

It absolutely unlocks something between them, this talk of the future, of a future together and of shared dream.

That’s why when two years later, after their wedding, after their new house, Hen and Karen go to them when they had a call for a little boy. A three months old. The child is orphaned, no dad or grandparents filed anywhere, and no one is still alive on his mother's side.

They already had three foster kids, in addition to Denny so having a fifth child in the house would be a challenge, one that they would embrace but when the worker asked them if they had people in mind that would take the boy they thought of Buck and Tommy.

The boys who look at each other, hands clasping together while Karen shows pictures of a small blond boy bundled up in a green blanket.

Buck is the one who asks, “what do we have to do?” and by the squeezing he feels around his fingers from Tommy, it was the right thing to say.

Thanks to Karen and Hen having been exemplary in all the years of them taking kids in, and because it’s a baby, the process is sped up. Not that it’s fast or easy.

Just after the visit, Buck goes on a cleaning spree, pulling out a clipboard and going full Clipboard!Buck on himself and Tommy. The house has never been this clean since they moved in.

The garden is mowed, plants and trees are pruned.

Tommy has even been sent on the roof to clean it and he did with a smile, seeing how serious and excited Buck was, making himself even more excited for this new adventure with his husband.

When they go back to their respective stations after their two days off, each of them gather letters of recommendation and characters from their teams, which also announce to them all that they want to welcome that baby boy in their house.

It takes them a week to have the house ready and their letters from everyone, filling their foster parents’ file with the help of Hen and Karen.

Buck vibrating out of his skin each night while they cuddle, and Tommy doesn’t count how many times he caught Buck on baby clothes websites, but he’s just as bad as him. Having screenshoted so many cute onesies, his ads are now only baby formula and toys.

It takes them one more week before they get a call back from the agency for a first visit of their house and an interview.

They have to wait for three days for a feedback of that visit. Buck is a wreck and Tommy had been asked to stay grounded with how distracted he’s been.

Finally, they get a call for a second visit at their house with two workers this time. The questions are more in-depth.

A few days letter they have a call from Bobby saying that they had a call from the agency to talk about Buck and Tommy. And a day later, Lucy calls them with the same news. Quickly enough, Maddie and Tommy’s brother were called as well.

It takes them one more month, random visits and calls before they get the call.

They can take Noah home starting four days from now.

Buck pulls the clipboard out again, but this time he enrolls everyone.

Maddie and Chimney are sent to the shop to get the formula and diapers, mountains of each.

Tommy and Eddie are painting the guest room, Noah’s room. They agreed on a soft forest green for the walls, and blue for the ceiling with small white clouds.

Buck has Pinterest boards, ok? And he’s going to make this room the best room for a child.

May and Denny went to the shop to pick up plushies and games.

Buck is finally ordering all the onesies he and Tommy saw online and baby proofing the whole house: one cupboard, one drawer, one window at a time.

Bobby making food for them all and helping where he can.

One week later, the social worker come to their house. They’re alone. They wanted to welcome him, just them. Noah will be presented on Sunday to the whole family, but now it’s Thursday and the next 3 days are theirs, and only theirs.

Buck is the one to open the door, his breathing stuttering and his blood pumping in his ears, until he fully opens the door and his eyes fall on the car seat where Noah sleeps and everything quiet down.

He hasn’t felt this calm and quiet since his and Tommy’s first kiss, but after all, his world is changing again today and shouldn’t it warrant the same reaction?

The worker enters and does a last inspection, more a formality than anything else, but it could still mean that she’d leave with Noah.

She goes around the house and leave Noah in his seat in their living room where Buck and Tommy can’t stop looking at his sleeping form.

Finally, she comes back from her inspection and sees how they are hugging and looking at the seat and she can see how excited they are, how much they already love the little boy.

“Do you want to take him?” she asks, and Buck looks at her with watery eyes and nods.

She goes to the seat to free Noah from it and carry him toward Buck’s, who’s himself held by Tommy, and she very gently places Noah in his arms.

Tommy and him looks down at the boy. They know that for now it’s only a temporary placement, that anything could happen. But Noah is in their arms now and they couldn’t feel happier or more complete.

Small follow up here : https://www.tumblr.com/houseofevanbuckley/748906523907014656/the-tie-is-blue-and-i-love-you

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a-case-of-attachment · 2 months

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So in Hell’s Greatest Dad, Lucifer tells Charlie that ‘with a punch of a pentagram’ and ‘usually I charge a sacrificial lamb’ when he’s offering to help her with the hotel and it got me thinking. Surely he must have had people sacrifice things in his honour or for favours before right? So….what if when something is sacrificed to him it ends up down in Hell?

It works like some sort of inter dimensional postal service. Lucifer will just be doing whatever then a portal will open up above him full of weird oil slick coloured clouds and lightening cracking across the endless sky with the boom of thunder not far behind. Out of the portal flies a cherub sized faun wearing a shirt, waistcoat and bow tie brandishing a clipboard that’s got the contract attached to it. All the important things will be on there like who’s doing the sacrificing, what they are sacrificing and what they want in exchange for it. Lucifer can either accept the sacrifice and sign the document, giving the sinner what they want or just straight up refuse to sign, decline the sacrifice and instead have it sent off to purgatory.

The problem is that Lucifer is so jaded that he doesn’t even bother reading the contracts any more. Sinners all want the same thing anyway, fame, fortune, revenge, so what’s the point even bothering to look these days? It’s not like he gets that many sacrifices in his name anymore and when he does it’s mostly just lambs and goats, the occasional dog or guinea pig and a cat that one time. He often just gives them to people as pets, it’s how Charlie had gotten razzle and dazzle.

But you know, people are deranged and over the centuries there have been a handful of human souls that come his way. Lucifer never accepts those, often get angry that people actually think killing someone would make him happy. Shocker, it doesn’t. All it did was prove that humans really are just the worst, a race of violent psychopaths hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can. Yes Lucifer felt bad that these people had died and for nothing but he wasn’t about to reward some lowlife scumbag for taking another’s life so unfortunately that meant the sacrificed soul was purgatory bound. It wasn’t ideal but it also wasn’t permanent. At least there they would get the chance to move onto heaven eventually and not be stuck in this infernal nightmare for all of eternity.

So no, Lucifer didn’t do human sacrifices. Except, well, maybe he did.

It was an accident! Lucifer had been distracted, him and Charlie having a slight disagreement about the hotel and her expectations when it came to heaven. He hadn’t meant to upset her but she needed to realise that very few angels would be as open to the idea of redemption as he or Emily had been. It had been just about the time Lucifer had been urging Charlie to proceed with caution when it came to Heaven that a portal opens above him, a little faun flying out, clipboard already in hand and looking down at Lucifer through the spectacles perched on its nose.

Lucifer had attempted to ignore the blasted thing but it just flys around his head, brandishing the clip board and tapping impatiently at its wristwatch until Lucifer finally had enough and snatches the board off him, quickly flipping to the back and signing it before shoving it back at the startled faun. It just huffs at him, jotting something down before tearing off a sheet and giving it back to Lucifer only to disappear back into the portal. Lucifer doesn’t look at the contract he just signed, not caring what shallow and self serving thing the mortal had asked for. He goes back to Charlie, continuing to urge to not trust heaven so easily, all the while holding his arms out expectantly to catch whatever animal is going to drop out of the portal.

Lucifers expecting a lamb or a goat, heavyish for a human but nothing for him, except he gets something much larger and heavier, the shock of it knocking Lucifer to the ground. His first thought is some wretched mortal had sacrificed a cow or horse, either to lazy to find the usual offering or thinking the bigger the sacrifice the better the reward. Either way Lucifer is already regretting his choice to grant their wish, no clue what he is supposed to do with a cow other than send it down to a farm on wrath. Grumbling Lucifer sits up slightly, tugging at his hat that had been pushed down over his eyes but when he mages to pull his hat off Lucifer realises it’s so much worse than a cow.

There’s a person on his lap. A very human person sprawled across his lap and legs, their weight pinning him to the floor. You are dressed all in a white, the fabric almost see through though the top part was stained red with blood. Lucifer can’t look past your chest, the demonic sigils carved there still oozing blood. When he does manage to look up it’s to fined wide fear filled eyes staring back at him. The two of you just stare at one another, Lucifer feeling more and more panicked as the seconds drag on whilst you look close to passing out.

The whole room is silent and Lucifer just knows that they are all staring at the two of you, just as shocked as him and waiting for one of you to do something. Charlie is the first one to make a move, slowly creeping across the room to lay a hand on your shoulder. She probably meant to be a reassuring gesture but it’s a mistake nonetheless. It startled you, causing you to fall from Lucifers lap and giving you the first real view of the room and the rest of its inhabitants. Things go about as well as you would think.

You start screaming, Charlie panics as she tries to calm you down but only makes it worse, Angel dust offers you a drink that gets knocked out his hand and ends up all over Husk and Alastor offers to silence you permanently. Needless to say that none of what they are doing helps calm you down or make you feel any less afraid and all Lucifer does is sit there, staring down at the smear of red on his white pants and struggling to wrap his head around what in the hell is happening because he couldn’t have just accepted a human soul as payment. He’s never done that before, never, and yet there you are, cowering in the corner like a frightened animal, eyes franticly darting around as you look for some form of escape.

It’s that look of pure terror that gets Lucifer up and moving, handing off his hat and cane to Charlie as he gets everyone to back up and give you some space. He approached you slowly, hands held up in front of him to show you he meant no harm and keeping his voice soft and calm as he tells you that no one’s going to hurt you, that your safe here with them. He makes sure to leave a little bit of space between you when he stops, sinking down into a crouch so he’s eye level though you won’t look at him for long, eyes darting around at even the slightest movement. You’re still bleeding, the sigil for his name looking the deepest. It makes Lucifer feel sick, that someone could do this to you and claim that it’s in his honour. He found no honour in an act like this, only hate and disgust, igniting a strong desire inside him to hunt down those responsible and show them the same kindness they had you.

It takes a good few minutes of Lucifer talking at you before he gets any form of response. He introduces himself, tells you once more that he isn’t going to hurt you and that he just wants to help and maybe even clean up those markings so they don’t get infected. It’s slow going but eventually you give him a slight nod, uncurling from where you had been trying to make yourself as small as possible so he can get a better look at the ugly mess of cuts on your chest. He startled you when he conjures water and a cloth, Lucifer apologising as you bang into the wall behind you in an attempt to get away from the sudden action. He does get you to calm down though, at least enough for him to clean away the blood and apply bandages.

These wounds will not disappear like the injuries the now resident of Hell would sustain, their origin in magic and acting as a physical sign of your binding to him. But Lucifer vows to look after them and you, after all this is all his fault and though he knows that Charlie would care for you if he was to up and leave he can’t bring himself to do so. It’s his responsibility to look after you, you are his after all and isn’t that just a horrific twisted little thought. Lucifer wants to cry, to beg your forgiveness because unless he was to gift your soul to another you were bound to him from now until eternity, forced to obey his every request regardless of what you wanted. He can’t cry though, not when you already are, silent tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping off your chin onto his hand and arm as he cleans away the blood. So he fights back the tears, completely focused on his task and trying to be as gentle as he possibly can be.

When he’s done and the now ruined rag and pink water are vanished away with the wave of his hand Lucifer doesn’t know what else to do other than offer you a safe space of your own and a comfortable bed to sleep in so he does exactly that. You look terrified when he asks if you would like to go to bed, eyes dropping down to just below his belt. Lucifer might actually be sick when he realises what you are scared is going to happen and he can’t get the words out quick enough to reassure you that he means to sleep and that you will be the only person in the room. His obvious horror at the implication seems to reassure you and you give him a small nod.

You use the wall to support you getting up but as soon as you go to take a step forward your legs buckle and Lucifer has to lurch forward to grab hold of you before you can hit the floor. Your to weak, wether that be from the shock or the blood loss Lucifer doesn’t know, possibly both, but what he does know is you are not going to make it up the several flights of stairs on your own.

He asks before picking you up, waiting for you to give him a nod of agreement before he slips one hand behind your back and the other behind your knees. It’s nothing for him to pick you up but it had you squeaking in surprise, flinging your arms around his neck and pulling yourself tighter against him. Lucifer can’t help laugh softly, assuring you that he was stronger than he looked and that he wouldn’t drop you. You don’t seem to buy it though, your hold around his neck tightening as you hide your head against his shoulder. He can’t blame you for being scared, Licifer looks like a strong breeze would send him stumbling but he supposes that’s one of the perks of being an angel, he’s stronger than he looks.

It’s only when he turns around that Lucifer realises the rooms completely empty except for the two of you. He doesn’t know when everyone else disappeared but he’s grateful for it, not sure how you would have reacted to a room full of weird looking people staring at you. He talks to you the whole time up to your room, telling you where he was taking you and a little about the hotel and it’s residents, though he mostly tell you about Charlie and Vaggie, the only other people he trusts to look after you correctly if he wasn’t around. Lucifer picks a room for you on the same floor as him though a couple of doors down in an attempt to keep you close and also give you some probably much needed distance. He sets you down on the bed, tells you where everything is including his room, just in case you need him before he comes back to check the bandages in a few hours. He does conjure you some sleep clothes though, making sure they were the softest and most comfortable thing you have ever worn. He wants you to be comfortable, to actually feel safe after what you have been through and though he knows the simple kindness he has showing you will not erase that it will hopefully show you that despite what you may have heard Lucifer isn’t all that bad.

Lucifer hates himself just a little bit more after what he does next, crouching down to look you in the eye and telling you that you can’t leave the hotel room unless he comes to get you or you are going to his room and nowhere else. Normally it would just be words but you are bound to Lucifer now and even you don’t want to you will have no choice but to obey him. You stiffen, nodding your head slightly but still you don’t say a word, not even when he bids you good night. He doesn’t even get the door half way closed before he hears you start to cry. He wants to go back, to take you in his arms and apologise for what has been done to you whilst reassuring you that life here will not be as bad as you think. He doesn’t though, wanting to give you time to greave and mourn the loss of your life.

He doesn’t even make it two steps down the corridor before it all really hits him and Lucifer crumbles, sinking to the floor and pressing his hand against his mouth in an attempt to muffle his own sobs. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, or how he’s even meant to care for you correctly. Animals were easy, simple to please, humans not so much. Plus Lucifer owned you, he would have to be extremely carful of what he said because even an offhanded comment would be taken as a command and you could end up getting seriously hurt.

It’s too much, Lucifer not equipped to deal with such responsibility but he has no choice, he has to. This is all his fault after all and he couldn’t abandon you in your hour of need. No he would figure this all out, tend to your wounds and help you adjust to life here in hell. He would help you find a place to call home, maybe at the hotel helping with the sinners or maybe something down in one of the other rings. Just somewhere you could feel truly safe and at ease. Whatever you wanted Lucifer would make it yours, giving you as much a slice of paradise as he can. How else would he atone for his mistake?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gn reader

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lambtotheslaughterr · 3 months

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I Burn : Part Two

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.6k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART ONE | MASTERLIST | PART THREE

It was the weekend. You were relived. It meant no group sessions until Monday & the weekend was yours to do with as you pleased. Most often you spent time in either your room or the common space, making small talk with other patients. It was nothing like your weekends from before—going out with the few friends who could stand you, hitting the beach, or going shopping—but you were looking forward to it, nonetheless. All you had to do was get through your one on one session with Dr. Mooney. And you were anticipating it being a humiliating one, thanks to Renee.

You showered quickly & changed into a PJ set before making your way to Dr. Mooney’s office. Your fingers were tangled together, your nerves skyrocketing. As you passed near the front desk, you saw Nurse Carney out of her typical work clothes. She was dressed in a tank top, denim shorts, & cardigan. Hmm, must be her day off, you thought to yourself.

Dr. Mooney’s door was open when you entered. He was at his desk, typing away on his laptop. Since he hadn’t noticed you, you rapped lightly on the doorframe. He raised his eyes to meet yours. Your spine shivered.

“_____, welcome!” He greeted with that godly handsome smile on his face. He looked stellar in his button-up & tie, & the jeans he wore hugged him in all the right places. You forced yourself to keep your eyes from ogling him.

“Morning.” You kept your voice low.

Dr. Mooney came around his desk & approached you, reaching for the door to close it behind you, “Take a seat & we’ll get started.”

His office was homey & comfortable, which you imagined to be the point so you & other patients would feel at ease. But little did Dr. Mooney know that just being in the same room as him often made it hard for you to breathe, to control your urges & invasive thoughts. Dr. Mooney sat across from you while you got as comfortable as possible on the couch opposite him.

“How are you this morning?” This was the only time he worked without a clipboard. During the one-on-one’s Dr. Mooney simply listened & was present. His eyes would never leave you & you wished for nothing more that he would distract himself with writing down notes.

“Fine.” You replied with a forced smile. He chuckled lightly, “And how did you sleep?”

You shrugged. In reality you slept like a baby. After you had gotten yourself off in the calm room—three times—your body was more than willing to slip into a deep slumber.

“Not well?”

“No, I slept okay.” You assured him.

“Great.” He smirked, a hand placed under his chin, hid index finger running along the length of his jaw. Oh, how you wished to hold his face as you rode him.

“_____?”

You jumped as he spoke your name.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. Lost in thought.” Lost, indeed.

“Since you were unable to partake in group discussion yesterday, we can start with the questions I asked the group.”

You were okay with that. Saturday’s morning sessions were always shorter to get a jumpstart on the weekend. You’d only be here for fifteen minutes or so, so your answers could be sweet & short without pressure.

“What thoughts or feelings have you had this week regarding your ability to function with your addiction?”

The question danced around your mind for some time. Honestly, you didn’t think much about it, but you couldn’t say that.

“I really don’t think it affected my life much.” You answered, your hands pressed against each other between your thighs. “I wasn’t in school, wasn’t working. My free time was really just hanging out by myself or with my friends.”

“Mhmm.” Dr. Mooney nodded, “And what about moving forward? Should your treatment work, have you thought about how your addiction could affect your life? You can’t be unemployed forever.”

With your parents’ money you absolutely could, but again, you couldn’t say that.

“Well if treatment works I won’t need to worry about it, right?”

“Unfortunately, that is rarely the case, _____.” Dr. Mooney leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands before him, making the veins in his forearms protrude. “People who are in recovery are oftentimes in the most vulnerable position. It’s where all your lessons, self-care, medications, routine, etc. are crucial to your improvement, & you—the addict—have to hold yourself accountable for that change.”

The thought unsettled you. Of course, deep down, you didn’t truly think you had a problem—you just liked sex more than most, but everyone else seemed to disagree. So you agreed with them to save face. But what worried you is that if treatment didn’t work, if you did have a problem, your parents wouldn’t have your back forever. After all, they put you in here. Could you be trusted on your own?

“Let’s do a scenario.” Dr. Mooney pondered a thought, “Treatment works. You’re out of here in 10 weeks. Jump to three months in recovery. You’re in school. It’s midterms. You have hours of studying ahead of you if you want a passing grade. You’re in a private corner of the library, it’s late at night. You’re tired, anxious, looking for anything to get you out of your head, out of studying. Just a break, that’s all you need. You get a text message from a friend—a male friend. He’s your age, there’s been light flirtatious banter. He asks you to come study with him at his apartment. What do you do?”

You gulped. You knew the right answer, & you also knew your answer.

“Ask if we can study together next time?”

Dr. Mooney smiled, “That’s not bad. There’s no wrong answer here. This is to practice responsibility.”

“But I wouldn’t be the only person blowing off steam. Others do it all the time.” You debated, “Especially college students.”

“But you are not most college students, _____. You are different, & that’s okay. But you need to work with that difference to better yourself. Of course, with lots of practice, holding yourself accountable, it’ll become easy. The more you do it, the less you’ll struggle. But the struggle will always be there. It’s a matter of overcoming it every single time.”

“So I have to celibate?” You rolled your eyes. Your parents would love that.

“No, no.” Dr. Mooney smiled, shaking his head, “There are many successful individuals out there who were in similar positions to yourself, who have a healthy relationship with sex. And that is the goal. A healthy relationship with it.”

You sighed, giving up, “Okay. I guess.”

Dr. Mooney then moved into the next topic. The dreaded topic.

“How often are you masturbating?”

It wasn’t a question you weren’t used to. He asked it weekly so far. But after yesterday, you felt heat bloom in your cheeks.

“Everyday.” You mumbled, picking at the hem of your shirt.

“Okay.” Dr. Mooney pressed his lips together in thought, “And do you need to?”

Again, you rolled your eyes, “No, but yes. It hurts if I don’t.”

“Hurts?”

“Yeah, like, I don’t know. Burns. Getting off helps.”

“And yesterday, in the woods…”

“Yeah.” You hung your head, “Urge came. I took care of it.”

“Right.” Dr. Mooney leaned back but he didn’t look displeased, just concerned. You were relieved with that at least. However, you dreaded him asking about what Renee had said yesterday; that it was his name on your lips. You couldn’t even recall saying it out loud, but apparently you had. Fortunately, he never brought it up.

“Perhaps we will find other ways for you to fulfill that…burn. Practice discipline.”

“How though?”

“Well, we’ll try new things. For this weekend though, anytime you get the urge really try to avoid it. The human brain is complex. It takes a lot of training to reroute behaviors. So, we’ll start small. Your homework for the weekend: anytime you feel the need to masturbate, I want you to write in your journal. Anytime you have an urge over the weekend, instead of masturbating, I want you to write about what you could be doing instead. The sky is the limit.”

“Anything? Like sleeping? That’ll be quick.”

“Sure. But perhaps if you get the urge when you should be sleeping, write about dreams you could be having whilst asleep. Use your imagination. And try to stray from sexual thoughts. I want you to really push yourself to not act on your sexual impulses.”

“So, no getting off is what you’re saying?”

“That is the goal, yes. I don’t expect immediate results, but this is practice. So practice.”

You sighed, nodding, “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Perfect.” Dr. Mooney stood up, “Well, unfortunately our time is up. But come Monday morning I hope to hear some progress, alright?”

“Yes, doctor.”

Saturday dragged on. You spent a majority of your time in the common space, paying little attention to the TV & the sounds of other patients milling about around you. A journal sat in your lap. Dr. Mooney had given it to you before you left his office. You savored the gift, though it was hardly a gift. But it was his. And you savored that.

It was a little past six when an employee announced that it was dinner time. You followed the others into the cafeteria. It was soup & bread night. There was four soups to choose from, a tray of breads, & a side of veggies. You chose the broccoli cheese soup with a half loaf of bread that reminded you of the kind from The Cheesecake Factory & a side of green beans & steamed carrots. Your drink of choice was a Fiji water.

You sat at your usual table in the corner by the window, facing away from the rest of the room. Though you had done virtually nothing all day, you were tired, bored out of your mind. More so, you hadn’t gotten that burning feeling that you had talked about. It only kind of concerned you.

As you sat in silence, eating by yourself, you were lost in thought, unaware of the figure approaching your table. It wasn’t until the chair next to you screeched lightly against the floor that you finally noted them. When your eyes landed on the blue pairs next to you, you immediately felt your muscles tense, your walls go up.

“Hey, nympho.” The new kid, Rafe, smirked as he dipped his bread into his bowl of soup.

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Your voice nearly inaudible, too in shock from his insulting greeting.

Rafe chewed, the smug smirk never leaving his face. He had a dimple on the left side of his face that drew your attention. Regretfully, it only made him…cuter.

“That’s your nickname, isn’t it?”

“No.” You looked away, your voice hard, “It’s not.”

Rafe continued to eat beside you, & you could feel his eyes watching you as you twirled your spoon around your soup, your appetite suddenly lost.

“Stop. Staring.” You hated how goosebumps were appearing on your skin, how your spine tingled. You bit your lip. His attention was…not helping.

“So, sex addict, huh? Kinda bogus, in my opinion.” He commented.

You felt your brows furrow, “I guess.”

“I mean, sex is normal. I think people should be having more of it, then there’d be less assholes, right?” He knocked his knee into yours. You parted your lips at the contact. Oh no. You let go of the spoon in your hand, dropping your hands to your lap. Your thighs tensed.

“I think it’s just because you’re a girl.” At that, you finally looked at him. You didn’t miss how his eyes trailed the length of you, again, until his eyes met yours. “Gotta be all modest as a female. But no one bats an eye at a guy who likes to fuck a lot.”

Words failed you, but his opinion stuck with you. Would it be different if you were a guy? Would your parents have put you in here? Surely they wouldn’t care about a boy who acts like a boy, but god forbid they have a floozy as a daughter..

“I’m right, ya know.” Rafe shrugged, “I don’t think either of us should be here.”

“Maybe we’ll prison break.” You shared thoughtlessly.

Rafe grinned proudly at that, “Run away together, huh?”

You shook the thought from your head. It would surely lead your thoughts astray.

Standing up from your seat, you grabbed your tray of food.

“Aw, don’t let me scare you away.” Rafe leaned back in his seat to smile up at you, “I swear I’m a nice guy.”

You didn’t need to know him well to know that wasn’t true.

Ignoring him, you dumped your food in a nearby trash, placed your tray near the window to the kitchen, & left the room. You fingered the journal in your hand, your nails digging into the back of it. Your breathing was becoming labored, that burning feeling in the pit of your center returning. You stifled a groan by biting your lip. You wanted to take care of it, to disappear into your room for ten minutes. But you thought of Dr. Mooney. Regardless if you thought you had a real problem or not, you didn’t want to let him down.

Once you got to your room, you shut the door. There was no locks on them, but other patients knew not to walk into someone’s room without knocking first. You’d be safe & alone.

Depositing yourself at the desk in your room, you flipped open the journal & snagged a pen from a holder to your left.

I could be eating right now. Enjoying the rest of my food instead of dumping it. I could be savoring every bite, imagining myself at The Cheesecake Factory. I could be ordering the classic cheesecake, & ordering another one to take home. I could be in the car with my parents as they traded small talk. I could be staring out the window with a full stomach. I could be anxious to get home so I can keep watching the newest season of KUWTK. I could be home, in my room, in my house. I could not be here. I could have better parents.

You slammed the pen down, having grown frustrated instead. The burning was mostly gone, having been replaced with anger. You huffed, your arms crossed in front of you. Rafe’s words echoed in your head. I think it’s because you’re a girl.

God, fuck your parents. Rafe wasn’t wrong! You didn’t have a problem! Not a real one, anyway. Your only problem was that you were born to conservative parents who cared more about their image & careers than their own daughter. You liked sex, but you weren’t dependent on it. You didn’t need to have it, but you liked having it. Just like everyone else, especially guys your age.

Pushing yourself back from your desk, you paced around your room, shaking away your nerves. Your anxiety was growing. It was too early in the evening for the nurse’s to make their rounds & give patients their prescribed medication. You’d have to distract yourself in the meantime.

Back in the common space, you were glad to see the TV was unoccupied & the room empty. You crashed onto the couch, flicking the TV on. After scrolling through the cable guide, you chose to watch Spongebob reruns. You were only a couple minutes into the episode when a figure appeared from the main entrance. Rafe. You sighed.

Rafe came to stand by the couch, at the end where your head was resting, but did not sit. In your peripheral, you saw his hands in his pockets as he stared at the TV. His presence was lingering, his shadow practically over you as he just stood there. You couldn’t enjoy the show like this.

Sitting up, you huffed, glaring up at him, “Can I help you?”

“Nah.” Rafe didn’t look at you, “Just enjoying the nostalgia of my childhood.”

Your eyes flicked from him back to the TV. You could sense that he was enjoying this despite his dismissive response. There was that hint of a smug smirk on his face. You licked your lips, annoyed.

“Can you just…go away? Please.”

Rafe finally looked at you, feigning surprise. He looked around the room, as if confused. “Oh, did you reserve the room?

You felt your jaw tick. Would you have to hide in your room all night? Because this guy was definitely not getting the point. Instead, you forced yourself to try to ignore him. After a minute or so, he finally sat. Right next to you. You shifted, moving to the furthest end of the couch. Rafe shamelessly followed. He was being invasive, annoying. You imagined that this is what it was like to have a brother.

“Am I ruining this for you?” He asked, his voice low, too close for comfort. Dangerous, even.

But you knew he was egging you on. You had to not give him what he was looking for.

“Nope.” But your body language said otherwise & you knew it. Rafe smirked, widening his legs until his left one grazed against your own. You tucked your legs under you, the goosebumps returning. Then he stretched his arms along the back of the couch. His left hand just over your left shoulder. Your spine tingled.

It took everything in you to not look at him, to glare at him, to admire the features of his face or take your own once over of him. You battled with your desire to appreciate him, his attention, how close he was. Fuck, did you have a problem? It wouldn’t be the first time, or probably last, that you’d be attracted to a royal douchebag, but he was intentionally being one. And yet, you couldn’t help but be curious about him.

“Hey.” Rafe leaned close, his breath fanning the side of your face. Your hands gripped your thighs, tensing up. “Do you mind turning it up a little? Hard to hear it past your heavy breathing.”

You whipped your head to face him. He was close. Your noses practically touching. Rafe stared into your eyes & you his. As he had you locked in, you noticed that your breathing was indeed heavy. You were losing control.

“See something you like?” Your eyes fell to his lips. You imagined them on your neck, your breasts, down below…

Rafe smirked, “Gotcha.”

Shooting forward from your spot on the couch, you rushed from the common space to your room. You through a smiteful look over your shoulder as Rafe chuckled softly to himself.

“Goodnight, nympho.”

Fuck you. You slammed the door to your room & collapsed onto your bed.

The burning consumed you.

It was Sunday. The worst day. Community outreach day.

Every Sunday, your group goes out & does community service. A way to give back, but also—as Dr. Mooney says—to remind yourselves that there are things bigger than yourself. You didn’t buy it though. Never have you done community work & the last two times you had done it since being there didn’t change your mind about how a waste of time it was.

Nurse Carney, like usual, was to lead the group for the day. And the community project you would be participating in on that Sunday was working with at-risk youth to build a garden center for the elderly at a nearby senior home. You already didn’t enjoy the idea of getting dirty & sweating all day under the summer sun.

After getting dressed, you joined the others near the front of the facility where the lobby was. Siena & Albert were already there, talking quietly to one another. Nurse Carney was filling out paperwork while you all waited for the other two. Both of whom you’d be happy to leave without.

You said your ‘hey’s’ to Albert & Siena before sitting in a chair nearby. Shortly after, Renne, followed by Rafe a minute later, appeared.

“We’re all here.” Nurse Carney gleamed, “Van is waiting! Let’s get going.”

As you waited to climb in after the others, relieved that Renee opted for passenger, you only realized too late that Albert & Siena took the rear row, leaving the middle row for you & Rafe Cameron. As you buckled in on the farthest side, loathing the seating arrangement of the van, you tried to ignore him as he sat directly next to you. He had no choice. There was no middle seat. Just the left one you were in & then the one that would be considered the middle seat if there was a right seat. But where the right seat should have been was a gap to make accessing the third row easier.

Nurse Carney turned in her seat, double checking everyone was buckled like you all were her precious toddlers, before turning the ignition on & exiting the rounded pull-through of the facility driveway.

As the van rumbled beneath you, you felt a small, cool sensation near the top of your knees. Your eyes flashed to touch, finding Rafe’s index knuckle grazing the exposed skin there. You shoved his hand away & crossed that leg over the other, angling your body as best as you could to face away from him.

But in the reflection of the window, you saw that goddamn fucking annoying smirk on his face. And then his eyes met yours in the reflection.

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to not let him get to you. But it was only nine in the morning.

You resented the long gruesome day ahead of you.

part two! please share your thoughts & feelings via comments, reblogs w reviews, or dropping an ask. it's early days for this work so please talk to me so i stay motivated to write it more often.

as always, thank you for reading.

beau<3

Requests are currently CLOSED.

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taglist: @jsrafesgirl @bunnycvnts

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#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!fic #non con fic #dark!fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #dark!outer banks #i burn part two

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mixtape-racha · 9 months

Text

boyfriend!felix thoughts

in a felix brainrot after his insta stories with hyunjin icl | sfw and nsfw under the cut

warnings: mention of alcohol, sub!felix, use of "mommy", voyeurism, pussy eating // minors dni, 18+

sfw

boyfriend!felix who buys you a pandora bracelet for your first birthday/christmas as a couple, and then gets you a new charm for said bracelet every anniversary

boyfriend!felix who coordinates outfits with you for every event - even if its just similar colour schemes, or matching shoes, all the way down to identical outfits

boyfriend!felix who surprises you with holidays to australia - you thinking you'll be visiting his family - but really the two of you rent a camper-van and go on a roadtrip to visit all the places he wanted to when he was younger

boyfriend!felix who helps you prepare for presentations and gets a little too into character - coming into the living room in a cardigan and glasses with a clipboard, marking down everything you did right and anything he feels you could edit or work on (which he happily helps you do)

boyfriend!felix who makes a point to call or text you at every opportunity if you go out for the evening - checking in on where you are, who you're with, how much you've had to drink. he gets worried letting you head home alone from a bar, so is always on call to pick you up if you need it

boyfriend!felix who takes you to any concert he can - an artist you love, a small and upcoming artist you has free tickets to their first proper gig, anything. he loves the way you sing the songs to each other, or sway to the music like you're in your own world. he knows gigs are your favourite place, and is more than happy to indulge you

boyfriend!felix who adopts animals with you so often to the point that you have a collection of plushies and bracelets that you received for adopting sharks, penguins, polar bears, lions, etc.

boyfriend!felix who has a note in his phone of all his most important dates, so he could never, ever forget. the top ten all include you - from your first date, first kiss, the day he asked you to be his girlfriend, to the first time you stayed over at his, or the first time you wore his clothes

boyfriend!felix who's love language is making playlists and mixtapes. you can't even count the amount of spotify links or burned cd's you have courtesy of your lovely boyfriend. he truly has one for every occasion, and a cd for each year you've been together

boyfriend!felix who always, without fail, remembers your dog's birthday. you never have to remind him or hint, he just knows - he actually remembered it before he remembered your birthday, and always comes over equipped with treats and toys and a birthday cap and a doggy-safe cake

nsfw

boyfriend!felix who gets off on the idea of the boys watching you fuck him with his favourite purple dildo and making him show how much of a needy slut he really is in front of his closest friends

boyfriend!felix who spends hours between your thighs just mouthing at your pussy to the point where its so normal that you could be playing a hame on your phone while he's down there whining and mumbling to himself

boyfriend!felix who is a complete service top. he gets off on your bossing him around and telling him what to do - it makes him feel stupid in the best way and makes his head all fuzzy

boyfriend!felix who found out he was into cock-stepping when you accidentally knelt on his bulge while trying to climb over him in the sofa - if he jizzed in his pants when you did it again, no one had to know, right?

boyfriend!felix who has genuinely cum in his pants to your voice. you sent him a voice message while he was away on tour, and of course you were getting yourself off, but just the sounds you made and things you said made him cum without realising

boyfriend!felix who wants to be used as your personal sex toy. just tie him up and use him, honestly. he genuinely doesn't care if his needs are being met, just meet your own and trust him when he says he'll enjoy it

boyfriend!felix who sometimes gets so needy that he practically makes out with your pussy through your panties. no, don't bother removing them. they're already so wet and warm with your slick, whats the harm in keeping them on? and honestly its one of the best orgasms you've ever had

boyfriend!felix who has only dommed once in your relationship, but its was exhilarating for both of you. he had you cuffed to the bed frame with a blindfold on, and the hottest part was the way he described everything he was currently or going to do to you in the sexiest way possible

boyfriend!felix who no matter what positions you're in, holds you as tight as he can. he knows you get off on feeling every single muscle in his body working purely just to give you an orgasm/ the muscles in his arms as he holds you, the muscles in his abs as he thrusts, the muscles in his legs holding himself up, the muscles in his tongue as he wrestles with your own - god, its so hot

boyfriend!felix who fucks you in a hotel hot tub on your first vacation as husband and wife. its a rooftop hot tub that you stumbled across, and headed back to you a 2 in the morning when you knew it would be empty. it was risky, it was exciting, it was fantastic. and if thats where your eldest son was conceived, well... no one needs to know that, do they?

taglist: join taglists here @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @4evrglow @demetrisscarf

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v--143 · 21 days

Note

maybe a lee! minho and ler! chan (my fav pairing tbh😭) where chan is trying to find lee know’s spots like from least ticklish to most??

feel free to ignore this if it’s too complicated or u js don’t want to write it!!💖

> Doctors Appointment <

[Lee! Lee Know]

[Ler! Bangchan]

———————————————————————————

“There’s just no way you’re touching me with that goofy outfit on” Lee Know greeted me kindly as I walked into the patient room.

“Hello Mr. Lee Minho,” I said as I looked down at my clipboard, “today I’ve c-“

“Oh stohop Hyung” Lee Know burst out laughing and threw his head back. He was sat on a patient seat, which was almost like a massage chair. Arms sitting comfortably on the arm rests, legs laid out in front of him, and his head (currently) thrown back as he laughs at my doctor’s outfit and clipboard.

“You know I have to do this for my resume! It clearly states I must give a patient some form of a checkup or look over to be considered more highly!” I said while whining. I wasn’t lying, he was the only person to trust me enough to do this. Slightly shocking, but not unexpected. I never explained what I’d be doing, only that I needed an hour, a soundproof room, and a patient to conduct a sensitivity experiment. Lee Know’s curiosity got the best of him, so he accepted my request. Now we’re here.. and he has no idea why.

“So” Lee Know said, finally stopping his laughter, “what are you even gonna do to me doctor” he chuckled, crossing his arms.

“You’ll see” I said. His face contorted a bit as he nervously smiled. I just promised him he wouldn’t get hurt and he gave me a look.

“I mean I’d hope I wouldn’t get hurt?! But what is it that you’ll actually be-”

I cut him off as I strapped one of his wrists to the armrest.

“Wha? Hyung, what are you-”

“Hand me your other arm Lino”

“No! Why!!” He yelled through nervous laughter, “if you’re not gonna hurt me there would be no reason for me to be moving a lot!”

“Wrong” I said, followed by a buzzer sound and a click of the second wrist strap into place. He immediately began struggling against them as he realized they were much stronger than he anticipated.

“Chan.”

“Mhm?” I said as I pushed a button to make the chair lay flat.

“Chan.”

“Yesss Lee Know?” He was laid flat now.

“Chan!”

“What?” I bent down to grab the two other straps for his ankles. After some struggling and complaining from him, I got them down.

“You’d think that since you offered to help me with this, you wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass to tie down!” I said.

“I didn’t know I’d be tied down asshole!” He said, struggling against the restrains.

“You didn’t ask”

“Fuck you” he whispered (lovingly).

“What was that?” I teased as I grabbed another buckle strap beside his hip to keep him from bucking too hard. He decided to be difficult and thrusted his hips in the air, not allowing me to buckle the strap. Naturally, I began to tickle his side until he dropped and I strapped him up.

“Hyuhung you’re scaring me! Why the restrains? Why so ominous!? Why- mmhmph!” His voice turned into mumbled gibberish as I shoved a little towel in there. I did it as a joke, but Lino being Lino decided to be stubborn and keep it in his mouth by biting on it every time I tried to take it out. Fine then.

I spidered my fingers up and down his torso as I watched his face contort into betrayed shock.

“Mmhmph! MhmhmhmMM!! MPHHMnm!!”

“Thought you wanted the towel in there?” I teased.

Lee Know threw his head back to the best of his ability as his stomach kept contracting to try and make the sensations stop. I eventually did as he regained his breathing.

“We’ll mark… a 7/10 for that spot” I said as I took the towel out his mouth and threw it away.

“You.. hah.. you WHAT?”

Lino’s eyes widened as he saw me holding a clipboard that showed several different body parts labeled on it. He also saw as I marked “7/10” on the “Lower Stomach” portion of the paper.

“Oh no, no no no no”

“You agreed to thiss~”

“Yohou’re joking right?” He said without being able to hide his nervous, or, excited smile? I couldn’t tell, maybe both.

“Nope. Cat is your safe word, scream it if you need me to stop, okay?” I said.

He laid there just staring at me as I hovered over his body.

“Ooookay, let’s actually get started now”

“NO! Nonohoho plehehehease!!” Lino begged as his hands turned to fists, “Why mEHE!” He giggle-screamed.

“Well.. it’s always you teasing and messing with the members, rarely the other way around. I just had to hear your tickle laugh, and you agreed to this on your own. Hah!” I laughed.

“You don’t even know if I’m t- if I’m gonna react to that like you want me to anyway” he said, red in the face.

“We’ll see.”

“Wait please please pleasepleasepleaseplease-“

“You have your safe word for a reason, you can just say it and we can stop for a bit” I said.

He paused.

“So I can just say it whenever? Whenever I want you to stop..?” Lino asked.

“Of course. Even before we start” I said. I wasn’t lying, he could say it now, but…

…

I waited.

Not one word out his mouth, only redness on his cheeks.

“…Okay” I smiled.

I walked over to his torso again and, with my tight blue doctors gloves on, began to poke and prod at his right ribcage as if I were examining it.

He began to angle his body away from my hand immediately as I got closer. Need to try out ghost tickle testing one day…

“I didn’t know there can be people born with with a different number of ribcage bones! Did you, Lee Know?” I asked.

“…hello?” I asked again. He seemed a little too busy to answer me as he had his head fully turned to his right, mouth clamped shut, and eyes held shut by sheer force.

“Okay so let’s see you have one-“

“K-kahamhmnm~”

“Stop snickering, this is science. One~” I wiggled my finger in the crevice up and down, “Two~” and again, “Thr~”

“NeahAHAHAHA” he suddenly screamed, shocking me.

“So is just the third one bad? Or all??”

“SHUHUT UP! PleheHEASE NO-“

I dug my knuckles into that third crevice and vibrated them as lightly yet teasingly as I could. Lee Know writhed on the examination table as if I was truly electrocuting him, except he wasn’t only screaming.

“AHAHAHAHAH!!” His laughter that followed his screaming never failed to make me coo at him. He never openly laughed this much, it was almost refreshing to hear, not to mention his crazy desperation to get out of the restraints (even though he knows he has a safe word…).

“You’re acting like I’m actually hurting you!!” I said.

“YAHAH YOHOU MIGHT AS WEHELL BE- AHA!!!!” I latched both hands onto one of his ribcages and squeezed up and down, causing him to angle his body completely to the opposite side. His quick realization that he literally cannot go anywhere without my help made his face contort into something like nervous childish excitement.

I decided to move on after marking ribcages a whopping 9. I couldn’t tire him out too much in one sitting, but I did have to get at least one more body part down.

“Okay.. I’ll let you pick” I said to him.

“Yhaha..” he was still out of breath. Seeing as he has his eyes shut and his chest heaving hard, yet still holds a smile… I think he’s fine.

“Awwwwweeee you’re soooo not the second oldest when you laugh”

“Whahat’s that supposed to mean!! I’m literally beheing held against my wihihihill!!!” Lino complained.

I just rolled my eyes. “You have two options. One, neck. Two, underar-“

“NECK. NECK PLEHEASE” he yelled at me in desperation. While he may keep his guard up often, it’s well known he’s way too ticklish under his arms for him to survive more than 10 seconds there.

“Hmm I guess since you want me to sooo badly” I teased as I began to walk around the chair/table he laid down on.

“This is so stupid this is soho so stupid I’m such an idiot why why why” Lino whispered (dramatically) as he shut his eyes and mouth tightly.

“Oh you’re gonna be fine calm down” I said as I got out some of those fluffy pipe cleaners from a nearby cabinet, but not before putting a blindfold over his eyes.

“Is this necessary” Lino complained.

“It says that if the patient does not see the stimulator coming, then it’ll make it more sensitive! I guess we’ll see how you react” I said.

He clamped his mouth again as it gradually grew into a smile.

I took one pipe cleaner in each hand and began to slowly trail it along the sides of his neck. He scrunched up a lot very fast, but wasn’t making any audible noise yet.

“Lots of movement… little sound… okay, how about this?”

I began to poke and graze the inside and outside of his ears with them.

“Eeaaahah!” Lino squealed high and long as I did this. His legs also began to do little kicks at the end of the chair.

“Awwww!!” It was one of the cutest things I’ve seen.

“Stohop! Eeeaahaheha!!” He couldn’t help but scrunch up even more as I began to trail my fingers too. He never got to a point of physical desperation or harsh bucking, but he did move his head violently at times because the sensations were so light. Luckily I had given him soft restraints and a comfortable chair to do this on, or else his neck would be done for.

“Ple.. plehehease.!!!” Lino begged as I tickled his nape and the spot where his neck and shoulder meet, “noahaheheAHAHA!!” The volume of his laughter raised an octave as I got faster and faster, eventually dropping to silent once the light teasing had been too much.

“Okay okay I’m done for now.”

“Geahah..~”

I began to put my things away as Lee Know stayed restrained on the chair/table, not seeming to care too much that he couldn’t move now. He stared at the ceiling with a big smile on his blushing face.

“You didn’t even use your safeword, idiot” I said (lovingly of course), “did you even remember it?!”

He smiled at me.

“Cat”

———————————————————————————

#tword community #tword post #tword blog #sfw twords #tword skz #skz tickle #kpop tickle #stray kids #sfw tickling community #tickle scenarios #lee lee know #lee Minho #ler bangchan #tickle fluff #tickle fic #tickle community

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uguk · 1 year

Text

15 Minutes | jjk

➸ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader

➸ summary: 15 minutes with your favorite prisoner.

➸ word count: 5.1k

➸ warning: Sadism, masochism, femdom, baton is used to hit and also for anal, pegging, double penetration, humiliation kink, degradation kink, penetrative sex, creampie, oral sex, dubcon

“Third time this week, is it?”

Jungkook doesn’t react as he watches you sift through the papers on your clipboard. His eyes laser-focus on your knees, one crossed over the other, as you sit before him on the edge of your desk. He can hear the distant sounds of corrections officers chatting amongst themselves in the hallways, of other prisoners shouting and laughing in the commons room a level below your office. If this were one of his first times in your office he would be reacting a lot more–maybe thrashing against the handcuffs that tie his wrists behind the chair he’s sitting on in front of you. Or maybe kicking his feet against his ankle cuffs. But he’s learned his lesson, and he simply stares blankly at your legs that he knows are real soft and supple, hidden below those ugly black uniform pants you wear.

He loses that train of thought about your legs when you suddenly slam the clipboard down onto your desk, a short ‘hm’ the only sound you make as Jungkook jolts in his seat.

“Gonna tell me why you busted Donghyun’s jaw today, snake eyes?”

You look down at Jungkook, but he doesn’t look at you. His tongue pokes his cheek and his brows thread together, anger taking over his features at the sound of Donghyun’s name leaving your lips. But he swallows whatever raging epithets he has poised on the tip of his tongue.

You outstretch the leg that is bent over your knee, using the tip of your shiny black boot to lift Jungkook’s chin. It forces his eyes to meet yours and his gaze is pure venom.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?”

Blood drips from his nose (which is probably busted) over his pink lips and down his chin. But he doesn’t flinch in the slightest. Hell, you swear he doesn’t even blink.

“Hurry up and explain yourself. Before you get blood on my fuckin’ shoe.”

Jungkook snorts, his shoulders shrugging with the action–and yes, the air that rushes out his nose sends more blood dripping down his nose. And onto your boot.

“Disgusting,” you sneer, moving your ankle so you wipe the blood against his throat. You curl your fingers over the edge of the table at your sides and lean closer to him. A satisfied smirk paints your lips when you watch Adam's apple bob up and down his throat–he puts on a brave face, but he knows you’re a tough woman to crack.

“You know if you don’t talk, I’ll have to put you in solitary again. Can’t keep picking fights with your little friends down there.”

“Donghyun And I aren’t friends,” he spits out, as if vocalizing Donghyun’s name stings his tongue.

“So it wasn’t a friendly little chit chat then, was it?”

Jungkook exhales a ragged breath from his chest–you guess he probably got punched in the chest from the way his shoulders stutter.

“Fuck no.”

You hop off your desk, grabbing his face in your hand as soon as your heavy boots make contact with the ground. He doesn’t even flinch as his bloody lips are puckered within your fingers.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to speak like that in front of a lady?”

He still says nothing as you angle his face up to look at you, defiance riddling his sea green eyes.

“I’ve put assholes in solitary for less, you know.”

He’s holding back something. You already know Jungkook well enough to know he would be raging like a petulant child if he were Jungkook.

When you let go of his face, he snickers. “I don’t care if you put me in solitary again.”

“Hmmm…” you lean back against your desk, exaggeratedly tapping at your chin with your finger as you look up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should stick you in a cell with your brother.” At this, his eyes widened. The last thing he needs is his brother, the resident lead in a rival gang, to be within spitting distance. “A little family reunion wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“He’s a fucking psycho,” Jungkook says from behind gritted teeth. Junghyun’s doing life in prison for dismembering a man–someone from his own gang–and feeding the bits to his pet monkey. Jungkook finds it absolutely revolting; at least use a gun or a knife on a guy, but cutting them up into bits? The fuck kinda sick shit is that?

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” you joke, but Jungkook doesn’t bite. “Junghyun tells me how much he misses his baby brother, you know,” you reply, your voice hitching up as if you were stifling a giggle–which, you are, admittedly. “I’m sure you two could kiss and make up. Maybe you can tell him why you broke Donghyun’s jaw while you’re at it.”

“Ask Donghyun yourself,” Jungkook mutters. He hates that his eyes focus on your lips–painted red with your bold lipstick choice, curled into a sadistic smile.

“I would if his jaw wasn’t busted, idiot,” you chortle, like it’s the funniest joke you’ve told all day. Jungkook doesn’t find it very funny, leaning to his side to spit out the blood from his nose that has pooled in his mouth.

You’re lightning fast, a hand reaching for your baton propped up against your desk. Jungkook bucks his knees together, trying to make himself smaller even though he can’t really move his long legs very much with the ankle cuffs on.

“Let me try again.” The handle of the baton is gripped tightly in your right hand, and you flick your wrist as you smack the blunt end against the open palm of your left hand. Jungkook flinches. “You’re gonna tell me why you keep getting into fights, Jungkook. Or–”

“They don’t like that I snitch,” Jungkook replies, in a voice that’s much softer than the harsh words he had spat from behind his pretty marbled teeth. “That I… talk to you.” He says the word talked like it implies something else–and it does, because those ‘conversations’ you have with Jungkook in your office are much less talking and much more… well…

“Taking a hit for me? How romantic,” you coo. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“You really gonna use that on me?” His eyes flick down to the baton in your hand.

“Depends… want me to hit you with it, or fuck you with it?”

“Neither.”

“I didn’t give you that option, did I?” you ask.

“That shit hurts.”

“Well if I let you out of here without roughing you up, wouldn’t they get more suspicious?” You cock an eyebrow at Jungkook, who stares back at you unamused. “I’ll let go of your handcuffs this time.”

“How kind of you.”

He doesn’t actually believe that you’ll use the baton on him–again–but you push yourself off the edge of the desk and prance over to him like you’re about to play the most fun game you’ve ever played. And that’s because playing with Jungkook is fun.

You get real close to his body, until his bloody face is practically buried in your tits, and with your left hand you reach for the keys at your waist. You use the keys to unlock his handcuffs, and they fall to the floor with a loud clang. You back away, frowning at the blood that stains your uniform–but hey, when you release Jungkook and he’s taken back to his cell, maybe the blood on your clothes will serve as proof that you roughed him up. Maybe it’s not all bad.

As you stand straight Jungkook brings his wrists to his lap, rotating them and soothing the ache in his wrists with his fingers. He tries not to overthink your putting your tits in his face–but damn, his orange pants are starting to feel fucking tight.

“Hurts, baby?” The way you say baby isn’t endearing–it’s not the way a lover would say it. It’s dripping with condescension–you’re always such a good actress, always treating Jungkook like filth until the second you’re bouncing on his cock. So he doesn’t take it to heart.

“‘Course it hurts,” Jungkook looks up at you, his long chestnut strands that were once a curtain around his face sliding down behind his shoulders. “My ankles do too.”

“I’m not letting you off that easily,” you snort. Then your voice goes an octave lower when you speak again. “Get up.”

“You’re not fucking serious.”

“Get up.”

The second he rises from his chair, you grip the back of his shirt and shove him forward until his body’s bent over your desk. Papers go flying, the metal clip of the clipboard digs into Jungkook’s cheek, and he groans–his chest hurts from his previous fights and this isn’t doing him any favors.

But none of that hurts as much as a swift hit of the baton to the back of his knees.

“God, fuck–” He groans as his body leans harder into the desk.

“I’ve decided–I’m gonna fuck you with it.”

“One of these days I’m telling my lawyer about this shit,” he groans again as his hands grip the edge of your desk.

“Tell him how good my pussy tastes too while you’re at it,” you sneer. You can see Jungkook’s elbows bend up, like he’s about to push himself off the desk, so you use the baton, poking it between his shoulder blades, and push him back down with it until his bloody nose is rubbing into the wood grain of your desk.

“Ah, f-fuck.” His chest really does hurt, but you don’t give him any room to move. You’re way too fucking strong for your size. He would put up more of a fight but the last thing he needs is for the guards to come into your office and for you to act like he’s overpowering you–when in fact you’re the one practically torturing him.

“Stay there,” you tell him as you walk around the desk to the drawers, placing the baton on the desk. “You so much as fucking flinch you’re sharing a bed with Junghyun tonight.”

“You’re the worst,” Jungkook huffs, a pathetic form of a laugh. He can’t do much more, not with that state of his bruised chest.

You open one of the drawers and pull out that all too familiar clear tube–lube. Jungkook grimaces. Damn, you were not joking.

“Yet you always end up right back in my office with your cock as hard as a fucking rock.” You say it like it’s the funniest thing, sticking out your tongue in jest before slamming the drawer shut and taking your place back behind the brunette.

Fuck, he hates that you’re fucking right. That his cock right now is achingly hard against your stupid wooden desk in your stupid fucking office. He hates that he keeps coming back to you like a dog with his tail between his legs, telling you whatever information you want to know about the happenings of the prison and its politics, all to get 15 minutes between your thighs every night. When has he ever been so fucking stupid, so down bad for a woman–and much less a fucking lee. He should be disgusted with himself.

But he whines like a little bitch when you put the lube on the desk next to the baton, freeing your hands in order to feel him up, grabbing at every inch of skin under his orange jumper. He moans when you giggle and stick your fingers in his mouth, pulling him back by his hair to see that defiant look in his eyes when you choke him with your digits.

“Not so tough now, are you, big guy?” You murmur in his ear with that tantalizing tilt to your voice. “What would all your friends downstairs think of you looking like this, hmm?”

He coughs, spit and remnants of blood trailing down his chin when you remove your fingers from his mouth. He feels how damp they are when you slip them under his pants, grabbing his heavy cock into your palm.

“They already think I’m your bitch,” he sighs exasperatedly as your fist slides up from the base of his length.

His breath hitches when you squeeze your fingers around the mushroom head of his cock. “Are they wrong?”

Jungkook only answers you with a deep, breathy chuckle. He’s a gangbanger for christ’s sake. He’s been with so many girls, and he’s rough with them too, always dominant as hell. So why does being with you excite him more than any of those girls combined? There’s a thrill to it, the way adrenaline pumps in his veins and his heart races in his chest when he hears you deride him, when you’re the one who’s rough with him, when you’re the one who’s fucking him.

Maybe they’re right.

Your free hand pulls down his bottoms, and despite being smaller than him he looks submissive as hell from his angle, his ass pressed right against your abdomen with his clothes pooling above his ankle cuffs. You give his ass a good slap and he fucking whines. He moans like that actually felt good and you snicker at the sound.

“I asked you a question.” Your voice is stern, mean even, and your fist around his cock is fucking tight. Are you trying to rip his dick off? He wouldn’t put it past you, actually.

“I dunno, are they wrong?” He says and even now, with his ass out, he has the gaul to act cocky.

“You’re annoying,” you reply, and Jungkook practically chokes when your hand around his cock moves down and squeezes his balls.

“Part of the charm,” he replies, but his voice is strained, the words rushing past his lips in one breath.

“I don’t have time to play your games today,” you tell him, releasing your grip on his dick and reaching for the lube. He winces when he hears the sound of you opening the cap and the gross squelching sounds that accompany it when you squeeze the tube. “Three fights in five days–if I keep you in here too long they’ll think I’m playing favorites, you know.”

“I’m not your favorite? That hurts,” Jungkook says, feigning a pout. “I thought–” he stutters as a cold finger traces his rim, coating it in lube. “I thought we had something going on here.”

“I got a rep’ here too, ya know,” you remind him as he turns his head to look back at you. “Can’t have the guys around here think I’m going soft.”

“Oh, I make you soft?” He titters, a blood-coated smirk on his face and determination sparking to life in his eyes. “That’s very cute, miss lee.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’m putting your cuffs back on,” you say as you shove your finger into his ass.

“Fuck–okay–fuck.” He changes his tune so fast, shuddering as your finger prods his insides mercilessly. Would it kill you to be a little more gentle? He’s at a loss for words as you rush through prepping him, shoving in a second finger as soon as he’s adjusted to the first, and scissoring them to widen him up, all to the tune of his pathetic little whimpers and groans. He feels his abdomen getting slick with his precum, and he hates that he’s so turned on by you. He might just cum, and he hates it. Imagine the look on your face if he actually cums like this? He knows his pride would suffer a wound greater than any of the ones on his body right now.

But the worst wound to his pride is when you reach for that baton. This isn’t the first time, but you still laugh like a fucking maniac when you tell him, “Better punishment than solitary, dontcha think?”

“I know you have dildos in your drawer. Why the fuck does it have to be the baton?” Jungkook grits his teeth as you tap his ass with it (surprisingly gentle, he thinks).

“Because, it’s a punishment, Jeon. I know you like it but–”

“No I fucking don’t.”

“You want a dildo so fucking bad, huh?”

Fuck… now I’ve done it. Jungkook thinks as he hears the annoyance in your voice. He not only hears, but feels the vibrations on the ground as you walk around the desk again in your heavy boots. He doesn’t dare move an inch but it’s too late–you grab a dildo from the bottom drawer, one with a suction cup at the end, and wave it in his face.

“This what you want, princess?” You place it onto your desk, with force hard enough to make the suction cup grip the surface, right in front of his face. “Stop talking and put your lips to good use.”

This is so humiliating, but Jungkook doesn’t back down–not to you, not to anyone. He’ll suck this stupid plastic cock if that’s what you want. Hell, he’ll do it like he’s enjoying it, because some part of him wants to earn your respect, your praise. He doesn’t understand at all what it is that is going through your head but knowing that you’ll reward him at the end–because you always do–pushes him to take whatever you give him.

He hears a pleasant, satisfied hum from you when he wraps his lips around the plastic toy. “Be a good boy and I’ll reward you,” you remind him in a voice that’s sickeningly sweet. But he doesn’t need to hear it, he’s spent so many strange nights just like these in your office that he already knows what’s to come.

When he feels the end of the baton, cold metal against the heat of his flesh, he flinches. There’s another sound–more lube–and then the feeling of you pushing it against his entrance. You hear him groaning against the toy in his mouth, and reach out to shove the back of his head down onto it with your palm. He sputters, drool dripping down his chin and coating the toy, as the toy fills the cavern of his mouth and hits the back of his throat. You wish in your position you could see his face, but that’s okay–you’ll see it later, surely.

You can hear Jungkook’s muffled cry as the blunt end of your weapon makes it past his tight rim. His legs quiver and his back arches–you can’t help but tease him. “What a whore,” you tell him, pushing the rod even more into him. “You like being treated like this, like a set of holes, huh?”

Jungkook grunts, his knuckles on the edge of the table turning white as he grips on tight to it. He feels like a whore, letting you emasculate him like this. But, with one hand on the rod and the other hand jerking his cock again, he’s back to feeling pleasure under your touch.

“See? You like it–you slut.” You punctuate the words by driving the rod deeper into his ass and he feels tears begin to coat his lashes. His pleas, muffled by the plastic cock in his mouth, don’t reach your ears. You realize you miss Jungkook’s vocalizations but the sight of him sucking the toy is hot enough to keep him where he is. “Your cock’s so wet… gonna cum like this, Jeon?”

“Mmph.” he hates that the answer to your question is yes, yes he might actually just cum with your hand stroking him and gripping his shaft so tight. You twist the baton in his ass and he reels as it presses against his prostate, shooting pleasure up his spine like lightning.

“C’mon, pretty boy, cum for me, won’t you?” You coo, your hand moving faster and faster up and down his length. You feel his body tense up as muffled moans hit your ears. And then it happens–he lifts off the toy, drool coating his face as he groans out a low “fucking shit”, his breath ragged as his cum sputters out his length and coats your fingers, your desk, and drips down his skin. His chest, still in pain, heaves as you pull out the rod from his ass and toss it to the floor.

“Up,” you instruct him, wiping your soiled fingers on his shirt like it’s a rag. He turns around with your help (because his ankles are bound, making for an awkward shuffle of his feet). He looks down at you with eyes that are glazed over with tears, pupils dazed and unfocused. The blood from his nose has dried, but his face is damp, caked with tears and drool. The corner of your lips turns up at the sight. “You look so fucked out.”

You reach a thumb to wipe at the wetness on his face but he brings a hand up to push your fingers away. “You’re a crazy bitch.”

“Part of the job description, sweetheart.”

He chuckles weakly, incredulous at how you always manage to outsmart him. And he easily complies, limp like a fucking ragdoll, when you push him back against your desk. His ass hurts, his chest hurts, everything fucking hurts. But still he lets you use him, his heart fluttering in his chest like a fucking simp when you ball his orange shirt in your fist and pull him down for a kiss. It’s so wet, his mouth coated in his spit, but you love it messy. Your tongue delves into his mouth for a taste and he smirks when he feels you hum against his lips. You put on a front but the second your lips are on him he knows you’re just as affected as he is.

His hands come to your hips as you kiss him, and he dares to slip a hand below the waistband of your pants. He’s been a good boy, and so you let him–his fingers snaking in your pants until they find your puffy cunt, clothed by a set of lace panties. There’s no mistaking it–his fingers are drenched even through the cloth.

He pulls away from the kiss just enough to tease you. “You’re fucking soaked.”

“Gonna do something about it?” You ask him, biting back a whine that wants to leave your throat when his middle finger rubs your clit over your panties.

He might still be totally fucked out, his eyes hazy and his mind riddled with endorphins, but he still has enough of a bite in him to say, “Come sit on my cock and find out.”

“You’ve got balls on you, Jeon,” you titter as you bring your hands down to pull down your pants, and your panties along with them.

“Barely–you squeezed the shit out of them earlier, you asshole,” he smiles like that didn’t hurt to all fucking hell, his lips stained red with either your lipstick or his blood–maybe both.

“You deserved it,” you tell him as you push on his chest, steering him in the opposite direction to sit back down on the chair in front of your desk. He winces in pain, gritting his teeth. “Sit back.” He trips over his bound ankles but sits down, bare ass to the chair, as you tell him to. He’s looking at you with a gaze that says he has allowed you to boss him around, and not that you actually are bossing him around, his tongue poking from between his teeth like there’s a joke that only he’s in on.

“What’s so funny?” You ask him as you step out of your pants.

“Nothing,” he says, yet he says it like it’s something. You want to wipe the smirk off his face but opt to sit on his lap. He’ll be putty under you soon enough.

“You talk a lot for someone who just had a stick up his ass.”

“Very funny,” he says, his hands coming to your waist as you crawl onto his lap. His pants are down to his ankles and his cock’s already out, still wet and sensitive from just having cum. You place one hand on his shoulder and the other takes his length into your palm, aligning it with your entrance as you sink down on him. And for the first time that night you let a moan slip, a crack in your facade, as he fills you up with his impressive size. That is the reason Jungkook chuckles. You’re so fucking predictable–every night you treat him like a playtoy, only to find your own pleasure in the end. But fuck it, your voice sounds fucking sexy and your pussy feels like heaven and that makes it worth the shit you do to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands gripping your bare ass as your own hands clamp down on his shoulders. He feels overstimulated, his body’s fucking sore, and your pussy, it’s… “so fucking tight.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, attempting to widen the stance of his legs, but with the ankle cuffs it’s no use. You use his shoulders to steady yourself as you lift up your hips and slam them back down, feeling practically every vein of his dick throbbing inside you. You bite down on your lips, hard, muffling the sob that’s stuck in your throat. It feels so good–his cock always does–but you hate it when that smug face he makes is validated by your pathetic whimpers.

“Don’t do that.” He reaches up his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth, and as you bounce up and down again, a moan leaves your lips unfiltered. “Sounds sexy–you’re desperate for my cock too, aren’t you, miss lee?”

You let go of his shoulder with your right hand, only to grab a fistful of his hair and tug it back, until his eyes are up at the ceiling. You were hoping it would shut him up but, the madman, he laughs. He laughs as you start to gain a rhythm on his lap, like he’s heard the funniest story and you’re the storyteller. You’re riding him, clamping down on him as you chase your own high without a care for him. He’s groaning with how sensitive he is but he wants to cum again–to fill you up with him.

“Fuck me, faster,” he practically growls, his nails digging into your ass. “Faster, I know you can.”

“Ah–” you gasp as his hands begin to help you, pulling you up and pushing you down onto his cock at a faster pace. You dig your fingers harder into his shoulders, your hand tugging harder on his hair, but he’s already immune to the pain you give him, drowning in rapture, the warmth of your heat making his cock fucking weep. The sounds are so loud and obscene in your office, the squelching, the way you gasp and your stern voice turns dulcet with your moans, the way he grunts and grinds his teeth with the pain of you pulling his strands.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the words slip past your lips with every one of your movements. “Gonna cum.”

“God–” Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, his lips parting in a silent scream as you squeeze him so tight when you cum, milking his cock with every wave of your orgasm. He keeps bouncing you on his lap, slowing down his movements when he throbs as he coats your insides white with his cum. For just a moment the office is still, just the sounds of your breaths and Jungkook’s chest heaving, feeling pain with every breath. You’re both slick with sweat under your clothes, Jungkook’s cum dripping down as you peel yourself off his lap.

“It’s been way more than 15 minutes,” you finally say, bending down to pick up your clothes from the ground. Jungkook doesn’t move a muscle, even with his pants down to his ankles–he just watches with keen interest as you bend over and put on your panties, his cum trickling down your thighs from your pretty cunt.

“Wait,” he says, just before you pull up your lace undies all the way.

“What?”

“Come here,” he gestures to you with a nod of his head. You come closer and when you’re within reach, he quickly spins you around and pulls you by the hips, until your ass is right by his face. “Can’t have you working when you’re all messy like that.”

“What are you–Jungkook!” For once he has you flustered as you feel his tongue lick a stripe up your dripping cunt. He holds you still as his tongue flicks over your clit, before lapping up the essence that coats your thighs and seeps from where he’d just been inside. He moans like he’s enjoying a fucking feast, because hell, your pussy tastes divine even if it’s got a bit of salt and bitterness from his cum. This is the reward he really wants, drinking down what you give him like it’s the best thing he’s tasted in years.

Just as he begins to suck on your clit, an alarm goes off overhead–the bell that signals the end of the prisoners’ free time, now time for them to head to their respective quarters for the night.

But you’re so close to another orgasm, and you sigh in frustration.

Jungkook snickers when he hears your annoyed whine. For such a dominating woman you could be a brat sometimes.

“Haven’t had enough of me yet?” He asks with a smirk. You push him away and quickly get dressed, while he sits there and watches.

“Shut up,” you mutter. “Put your pants on.”

He first bends down, to pick up the fabric of his bottoms from his ankles to over his knees. Then, he leans back in the chair, lifting his hips, and pulls up his pants the rest of the way. As he watches you straighten up your uniform, he asks, “Am I free to go?”

You hook one of your hands under his elbow, pulling him up so he can stand tall on his two feet. Then you bend to the ground to grab his handcuffs that you had tossed aside earlier.

“So what exactly did Donghyun say to make you bust his jaw like that?” You muse as Jungkook silently turns around and allows you to cuff him up.

He parts his lips, as if to speak, but before any words can be spoken there’s a knock at the door.

“Is Jeon in there?” Bellows a deep voice from the other side of the door–Officer Lim, you realize.

“Yeah,” you call out towards the door. You pat down your hair and hope it doesn’t look too disheveled. “Come in.”

Lim then comes in to take Jungkook away, back to his cell. Never questions why Jungkook spends so much time in the your office–frankly, he doesn’t give a shit.

“Jeon?” You ask him expectantly, quirking your eyebrows in hopes that he answers your previous question.

He simply shrugs and replies, with a knowing glint in his eye, “Guess it’ll have to wait for our next 15 minutes together to find out, officer.”

#jungkook smut #sub!jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario

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user211201 · 12 days

Text

The Interviews

--- Originally posted on 2021-02-07 by dumb-and-jocked. ---

“Can you guys believe we actually made it?” Elijah exclaimed proudly. Even as the tallest of the trio at 6’7, he had to arch his back to see the top of the skyscraper in front of him. Elijah had worked hard to get his degree in business, so the prospect in front of him made him feel like he was touching the finish line. He had applied for an interning position in the financial department, and the company had been so impressed with his application that they had set up an interview immediately.

“I will admit, it is pretty incredible,” Dylan added. He was in the middle of the three, having a little over average height at 5’11 and pretty good muscular tone. What really stood out about him though was his voice, for it was a powerful bass that could shake concrete walls and was completely recognizable at any event. He too had applied for an interning position in the financial department, creating a little friendly rivalry between the two.

“I’m still surprised we all made it.” Although Joe was almost a foot shorter than the giant Elijah at 5’7, he made up for his height in sheer body mass. Back in college, he had been the star wrestler of the college, giving him a body packed with pure strength and flesh. One wouldn’t be able to guess it, but Joe was also skilled in another area: accounting. He was so talented in fact that he had actually been scouted out by the company.

“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”

“Oh yeah, like that’ll be hard,” Dylan jeered as he walked through a set of grand swinging doors. “My record is pretty well stacked. I think I have the best chance out of the three of us for this position.”

“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence.

“And like I have any competition,” Elijah scoffed as Dylan and himself took a seat on a nearby bench. “Once they see that my name was on the Dean’s List every semester, I’ll get in for sure.”

“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.

“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.

“Did too!” Dylan retorted.

“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.

“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”

“Excuse me, bro?!”

“You heard what I said, coc-”

“Gentlemen!”

A sharply dressed male was staring down at the two bickering companions. The man was furiously tapping a pen against his clipboard, obviously irritated. Standing tall in front of the two, he was wrapped up in a gray 3-piece suit with a checkered tie that fit well against his sculpted body. His face showed that although he acted superior, he had to be a similar age to the two young men cowering below him.

“My name is Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV, and I am one of the Accounting Managers here at the Carmichael Corporation,” he began pompously, effortlessly taking control of the situation. “If you want to work here at the Carmichael Corporation, the first concept you must learn is respect and decency to and in the workplace.”

“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.

“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”

“That’s me.” Joe appeared from behind Yale, surprising the other man a little bit. After checking in, Joe had quickly run to the bathroom to wash his face, finding he had accidentally missed a few hairs when he had shaved this morning. Not noticeable, just a little itchy.

“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?

“Let us make our way to a correspondent room, we have a lot to cover in little time.” Before Joe could comprehend what Yale had said, the other man was already walking towards an elevator. Joe quickly scurried along, waving to his pals before he was lifted up.

“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.

“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.

— —

“Joseph Koroll.”

“Yes?”

Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous–he actually felt quite confident–but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.

“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”

“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.

“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”

“I understand.”

“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas. This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”

“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”

“I do not know or care what went on at your last position, but if you want to succeed in this company, it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Would you be okay with this level of obedience?”

“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.

“That is more appropriate,” Yale smiled. “Now, let us first address the things that need to be changed to be hired. Your attire is the most noticeable facet, as it is unsightly to say in the kindest of terms.”

“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.

“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”

Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.

“Blazers are classic items that work for semi-formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, a blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event. Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”

Yale continued, “Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis and golf; sports you will be expected to participate in and the only sports you will be allowed to play.”

Yale paused and took a deep breath. Once he had finished gathering himself, he looked over at Joe and gleamed with satisfaction. “I believe it is secure to say that you have already anticipated these particular needs of the company. Am I assuming correctly?”

“Yes sir,” Joe quickly replied. He had made sure to dress in one of his casual outfits today, something comfortable yet reputable. Along with a navy blazer that had been hung on the door, Joe had paired his classic navy polka-dotted tie with a blue button-up and wool dress pants. Sheer socks silently encased his Size 11 feet inside expensive-looking Oxfords, while two bright, yellow suspenders and a hefty watch worked as the statement pieces. He’d also made sure to shave his beard into a beautiful stubble, something that really made him seem both masculine and well-kept. Joe had originally been concerned that the look was a little too casual, but the fact that his superior had noticed it brought a smile to his lips.

“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”

Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.

“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”

“Very similar, indeed.” Joe resituated himself in the chair, sitting a little straighter to truly show off his 6’1 height. His tight clothing did an impeccable job showcasing his muscular build, which wasn’t as massive as a bodybuilder’s but definitely imposing. He kicked up one of his Size 14 feet onto his knee, knowing he could now get a little more comfortable.

“You will also need to adapt to our image of masculinity, Joe. This is something that has an adjusting definition for everyone here at the Carmichael Corporation. Do you understand what I am referring to?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“To explain further,” Yale eyes had a piercing gleam to them. “the duty of a man is to understand that when lacking in some areas of presence, he must identify other ways to consume the devoid territory. Men are meant to take up a certain amount of space, no matter their stature. This does seem appropriate, correct?”

“Yes sir.” Joe completely interpreted what Yale was referring to. It was only natural that some men had larger presences than others, so it was Joe’s duty to match that same standard. Readjusting in his seat once more, Joe felt his wide, plump bottom jiggling about, consuming the entirety of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a distinct moose knuckle. The fluid movement accidentally made him hard, but Joe knew no one would be able to see his 4 inches.

“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.

“Our manual refers to multiple accessible forms of dialogue, but you will be working with men of all ages from assets and banking within accounting. Therefore, it would be best if you learned how to speak slower and adapt your vocabulary to something better cultivated.”

“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.

Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone–much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”

“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.

“Finally, if you aspire to work at the Carmichael Corporation, it is imperative that you adjust your title.” Yale moved along calmly, not at all caring about Joe’s confusion. “Joe is a very informal name. Lazy and lackadaisical. It sets you up casually in a professional world, agree with me?”

“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.

“In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries expect a certain standard of professionality, even in your title. And you must give yourself every possible advantage.”

“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.

“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”

“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?”

“No, it is most certainly-”

“Make it German. It will give you a much more asserting presence. And I reckon a suffix would add some competency as well. From now on, we shall refer to each other by our full names to emulate what the atmosphere is like here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Joe was still at a loss over the last few comments. He was starting to feel a little panicked over the thought of losing his own identity to the corporate world, but before he could think any further on the topic, Yale stepped in.

“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”

“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.

“Splendid!” Yale replied. “Then I can confidently declare that you are precisely what the Carmichael Corporation is scouting for. John Millard Koehler III, you will be starting as early as next week.”

“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”

“The honor is all mine, you will be an illustrious addition to our department.” Yale sat back down in his chair and ushered John Millard to do the same. “Before I dismiss you, let us discuss acquisitions and the baseline salary. Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we want to make sure that you can ‘be audit you can be’.”

The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.

— —

“It’s been almost an hour,” Elijah exhaled. “Shouldn’t Joe be done with his interview by now?” The two other men were still sitting on the same bench, waiting for anyone to come and greet them like Yale had appeared before. Countless businessmen had passed in front of them, but all of them seemed so eager to work that they didn’t recognize the recently-graduated college students.

“I don’t know,” Dylan replied honestly, twisting a lock of his curly mane within his fingers out of boredom. “I mean maybe this is the corporate world and everything takes a little longer than expected.” He then stretched to loosen up his joints, showcasing the body of a former running back for everyone to see.

“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”

“Apparently a lot.” Dylan began swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a swing to entertain himself. The Size 13 canvas shoes went to and fro, hypnotizing him more than they should have. Elijah watched on too, somehow entertained by the small amount of movement.

“Ahem.”

The two young men quickly shot up off the bench, standing solid. In front of them was a brawny man between the pair’s heights. He looked to be somewhere around sixty, as displayed by his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jaw, and robust torso. His body was brilliantly exhibited in a multi-layered suit, one that displayed every shade from silver to slate.

“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”

The two men nodded their heads quickly.

“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.

— —

“Dylan Pringle.”

“Yes… sir?”

Dylan watched a small smile creep onto the man’s lips after his little addition. There had been a few minutes of back and forth eye contact from Dylan’s resumé and Dylan himself, but he wasn’t feeling too apprehensive. Although the man seemed extremely uptight, Dylan knew there was nothing in his credentials that wouldn’t seem impressive. Plus, the man had already seemed to take a liking to Dylan, as he had been escorted to an expansive office that Dylan assumed had to be the man’s own. It was simply decorated with a few modern black-and-white pictures and two tables lined with retro leather chairs. There were also a few closets and coat racks holding different suits and other formal wear, probably owned by the man himself.

“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”

The sentence came as a shock to Dylan, causing him to twitch a little in his seat. Dylan was so perplexed that he had to examine the man’s eyes carefully to see if he was telling the truth. He was surprised to discover that they had an oddly charming hue.

“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires… and more!”

“Surely you meant to say ‘Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”

Dylan was once again caught off-guard.

“Hmm, they told me you were more articulate.” The man made a disappointed grimace before moving on. “I was willing to offer you another position working under me rather than in the financial department as it seems you have no competence in the area. That is generous of me, is it not?”

“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.

“Good.” The man walked over to a table and grabbed a rather large book. Dylan was able to catch a quick peek as the man passed by, noticing the pages were lined with questions and guides. Dylan hoped these weren’t all going to be used in the interview for the other position.

“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”

“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.

“Very good. First, we have a completely reasonable dress code here. I know you may not have expected to wear a suit every day, but it will be required. And by a suit, I expect a minimum of 3 layers in some shape or form.” Dylan cringed in his seat barely, knowing that his black turtleneck and jeans probably didn’t make the cut.

“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.

“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”

“It is fair, sir.” Dylan agreed. He always made sure to wear multiple articles underneath his blazer, as it made him feel more polished. Even though he was forced to take off his tan blazer at the door, it had allowed him to expose the other garments on his body. These included matching tan pleated pants that graciously showed off his hefty pouch, a white button-up with matching white suspenders that strained heavily against his pecs, and a striped tie that shared the same charcoal color with his wing-tipped derbies. Readjusting his glasses, Dylan waited patiently for the man to continue.

“I believe it is also appropriate to have a strict haircut policy. Your hair is to be cut every two weeks, and I will refer you to my own barber. You will style it neatly and you will use whatever product I chose.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt.”

“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”

“Completely, sir.” Dylan felt like this task would be no problem, as he already maintained his hair strictly. Brushing a hand across his scalp, he was delighted to feel his sharp quiff still held stiffly in place with not a single hair sticking out. He also made sure to rub a hand across his jaw, feeling up the sculpted beard contemptuously.

“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”

“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.

“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”

“That is accurate, Sir,” Dylan replied reverently in a soft, creamy tenor. He understood where he was on the ladder, and how he’d have to act accordingly. Still sitting in his chair comfortably, the 5’7 man brought his legs closer together, allowing the sides of the Size 8 feet to touch. While doing so, Dylan felt his micropenis twitch eagerly inside his tight briefs, sending an excited reaction to the hole between his two jiggly, doughy buttocks.

“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”

“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”

“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”

“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.

“So with that said,” Sir leaned back in his chair happily, dropping the handbook on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “If I were to ask you to, say, change your name, would you do that for me?”

“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.

“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”

Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.

“Personally, I believe you would be more suited as a Dorrance. And for the surname, well,” Sir chuckled wickedly to himself. “Pringle was never an actual name, just a detrimental snack. You would be much better suited with Peabody. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.”

Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.

“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”

“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”

“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”

“Of course, Sir.” Dorrance followed Sir to a table covered in sheets displaying different suits and styles. He immediately immersed himself into the work, separating out the preferable blacks, navys, and grays from the disgusting other palettes. This extremely pleased Sir, so much so that he wanted to reward Dorrance with something special. So, Sir gave Dorrance’s butt a big appreciation swat as he strutted away, causing Dorrance’s ample rump to shudder within his pants as he continued his work.

— —

Elijah grimaced, noticing the time on the gigantic clock inside the main lobby had only moved by a minute. The wait had been a lot longer than he had expected, forcing him to cancel an event with friends and a hookup from Grindr. It had been about an hour since Dylan had been taken away to his interview, and almost 2 hours since Joe’s disappearance. He was concerned about what this meant for them, but he was becoming more concerned about what this could’ve possibly meant for himself. Maybe he didn’t have a chance within the Carmichael Corporation. Elijah was beginning to feel as if the employers had completely forgotten him when a young man magically appeared before him, answering his plea.

The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw–while covered in a little youthful baby fat–spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.

“Elijah Grove.”

“Yes?”

“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.

“I guess?”

“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”

“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”

“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”

“I am fond of conducting my interviews over promenades,” the young man replied. They steered their way around crowds of businessmen as they ventured into the streets, making random turns here and there. “It shows how well you can think on your feet, literally. It is an aptitude you will need to be proficient in if you want to become an Associate like myself.”

“Associate?” Elijah blinked a few times out of confusion, knowing that he had applied to work as an intern in the financial department. Although he was a few inches taller than the young man, he was having a little difficulty catching up, causing him to fall in and out of the conversation.

“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”

“Sure.”

The two strolled a little further out of the city, moving away from the busy center where the Carmichael Corporation headquarters stood. They came upon streets a little emptier then before until they finally turned into an old park. It was actually quite beautiful, covered in old knotty trees and overgrown plants. Birds were constantly chirping and squirrels chased after each other like there was no tomorrow. It was also littered in large stones, adding an oddly picturesque feel to it. Elijah was surprised that he had lived in the city for so long and had never once been to this place.

After a while more of walking, the man led them to an old picnic table before turning around and offering a large, rough hand. Confused, Elijah accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones. Elijah had kept his body fit since his high school basketball days, so he was surprised to feel such a sheer strength in the young man’s shake.

“My name is Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.,” the young man stated before placing his briefcase down and taking a seat at the table. “Our interview should not extend too lengthily, as I have some imperative work to attend to after this.”

“What would that be?” Elijah asked earnestly, his jovial tone a major contrast to Keating’s flat, molasses-like demeanor. At 6’7, it was fairly difficult for him to get his skinny legs under the table, but he managed.

“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”

“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”

“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”

“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”

“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”

“How could you be such a soulless jerk?” Elijah scolded, getting angrier faster than he had anticipated. He began caring less and less about the job and more about his own morality. Sure, Elijah got how important money was, but he didn’t think he would be able to live with the guilt of destroying an animal’s habitat, let alone an entire population’s. “Don’t you understand what you would be doing? The impact this will have?”

“I’m offended by your tone.” Even after being insulted, Keating’s voice still sounded low, slow, and empty. His eyes however seemed to flare up before he continued. “And yes, I understand exactly the impact this will have. It will create a serviceable, profitable property for the Carmichael Corporation, which in turn will compensate me with enough money to survive. That is what any respectable man like you and I would desire.”

“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them.

“Obviously.” Keating wasn’t defending himself, but instead explaining what he thought was a common fact. “I just bought a house out in Fenwick, the only neighborhood in this squalid city with expansive acreage, tree-shaded streets, and good schools. It is very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood, especially one with the seven bedrooms, four floors, and private tennis court I required. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee alone is $50,000. Looking over your records earlier, I had gathered that was something you desired as well, correct?”

“Yes, that is true.” The idea was buried inside Elijah’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it was embedded deep, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal to move out to Fenwick for corporate shark Elijah.

“I am relieved that that is settled.” Keating opened his briefcase to reveal a combination of different documents, papers, and a massive book that Elijah couldn’t believe fit in the bag. Keating proceeded to pull it out and flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle.

“To become an Associate, you will first be assigned underneath me as a Junior before moving up the ladder. You will still make a good deal of money however, so do not feel too unsettled. Do you understand?”

Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct.” Elijah was here for a position in the financial department, not to be an Associate, so he was embarrassed to point out the error that Keating had made. Not embarrassed enough however to not correct him.

“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects,” Keating answered, once again misreading. “I believe that will be appropriate compensation, am I accurate?”

“Yes, indeed you are,” Elijah replied cheerfully, glad that the issue was all cleared up. He had wanted to start as an Associate right away as he was worried it the Junior position wouldn’t give him the pay he had hoped for, but apparently it wasn’t that far below. Plus, if he did well, he could quickly move up like Keating had.

“Your job will require calls, lots of calls,” Keating droned, his piercing eyes drilling right into Elijah’s. “Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. A few calls will be less productive, with upset protestors yelling at you about our improvement upon the lot. You will have to decelerate your speech to command attention better. Be direct and contain emotions. You will be better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to ever appear energetic or excited.”

The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”

“Yes,” Keating confirmed. “You can try being sympathetic, but you will quickly find that being stern and direct will get them off the line quicker so you can return to work. Based off of what I have already perceived, this will not be a hindrance.”

“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.

“There are many perks of the job, including a corporate gym on the fifth floor which I highly recommend you use.” After investigating Elijah’s long, fit body, Keating brought his eyes back to Elijah’s own. “We expect every man to have a sense of presence at the Carmichael Corporation. Currently, you are far from meeting those standards.”

“What do you mean by that?” Elijah responded. It was hard for a man of his height to keep a healthy weight. A high metabolism meant he was always fairly skinny, but he didn’t expect it would be such a problem.

“The gym is a good source of weight training,” Keating continued, ignoring the question. “I personally workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards. You will be expected to maintain a similar routine. It appears however that you already understand the importance of presence, but if you are interested in a tour of the corporate gym I would not be affronted.”

“Thank you, I would be very fond of that.” Elijah smiled politely after his reply, moving his legs a little under the picnic table. At 6’3, it was a little difficult for him to keep his well-defined legs under the table, but he managed. Although he’d left golf after college (and hoped to get back into it with his admission into the country club) Elijah had made sure to keep his body in excellent shape by working out almost everyday. His proof could be seen through the skin-tight quarter-zip sweater and the black khaki’s that hugged his meaty quads and calves.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we do have a dress code, but it is reasonably undemanding.” Keating turned the manual around to show Elijah. The page that Keating had flipped to displayed a model covered head to toe in a full, very dapper yet very posh suit. Elijah’s eyes fluttered quickly before looking back to Keating for confirmation.

“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”

“I would say so. A suit works as the foundation of a man’s future in business.” Keating closed the handbook and placed it back into his briefcase. Elijah could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of Keating’s mouth during the action. “I appreciate that you have already generated this knowledge.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” Elijah flourished, his voice still plodding. Elijah had made sure to pick out an outfit that had shown off all of his best features. First, a drab, beige, perfectly-cut jacket with matching pleated pants, accompanied by a striped salmon button-up that contrasted well against his pale skin. He had matched his coffee-colored tie to similar shaded Size 13 tassel loafers and a pair of bronze supports that were hidden expertly beneath his coat. Finally, he had styled his blond hair into a fashionable ivy-league cut, making sure to also get a fresh shave earlier that morning. Just the thought of himself in the outfit made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 6.5-inch mast.

“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”

“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.

“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”

“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”

“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”

Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.

“At the Carmichael Corporation, we also have intimate objectives that stand high above the others. You must want to move upwards on the corporate ladder. You must want to fully commit yourself to your work. You must want to embody everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. You must want to be every title a man should own: sportsman, fraternity brother, and avaricious. You want money, do you not?”

“Yes,” Elijah confirmed deliberately. “I want money.” This brought a greedy sneer spread to Keating’s face. Elijah felt like a low, deep, and great truth had awoke inside him. Luckily, the Carmichael Corporation’s principles had aligned perfectly to his own.

“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”

“My name?” Elijah opposed.

“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”

“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”

“Your name is not the only dilemma however, but also your nationality,” Keating resumed. “I believe a British origin would give you a brilliant presence. More mannerful, much more respectable, and it would help establish you as a leading man. Plus, a legacy will give you generational value. What do you think?”

“I-”

“But,” Keating cut off before Elijah could even attempt to reply. “I should not be bashful in saying that you already represent all those factors. Care to agree, Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth?”

“Most certainly,” Emerson acknowledged accordingly in a pretentious accent. He was a diligent, hard-working, and prosperous Brit, and those were only the first words that came to his head. Some may have called him smug and arrogant, but he was really just confident and self-assured. He resembled the epitome of a real man, as displayed by his stunning suit that contrasted his tanned skin eloquently. His dark, chestnut hair and beard also gave off a shocking amount of masculinity. Just the thought of himself and his own superiority made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 9-inch mast. He was by no means a repulsive sodomite, but he could admit a handsome man when he saw one. And he was a handsome man.

“So what do you convey, Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.?” Emerson began, taking a stand with his Size 15 feet planted firmly beneath him. “Do you believe I could become a Junior Associate at the Carmichael Corporation.”

“By all means,” Keating replied, getting up and extending a hand forward. “You’ll be a fashionable fit.” They gave a single sturdy shake before finishing their business. While heading towards the exit, they held a light conversation about stocks, each having grabbed a business edition of the Times along the way.

Gripping the paper tightly as they drifted away from the park, Emerson felt almost restless. The idea of stripping away that atrocity of a park to add in a new, profitable site was so thrilling it was mildly arousing. After his success here, Emerson knew he would receive a promotion, which pleased him mightily. Making their way across a boulevard, Emerson watched the Carmichael Corporation’s headquarters come into view, the place where he knew he would accomplish everything he desired.

#preppification #jocktoprep #gay to straight #straight to gay #cock shrink #top to bottom #bottom to top #lib to con #political #Carmichael Corporation

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thegreathuxton · 6 months

Text

Partner in Crime

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader (NO USE OF Y/N)

Inspired by "Partner in Crime" by Madilyn Mei.

Summary: You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS - Follows book 5 (I've read the books lol). Friends to lovers. Angsty teens, but they find a resolution at the end. Lucy and Lockwood are JUST FRIENDS. Underage drinking. Swearing. Barnes is a huge cockblock. Fluff to angst to fluff. Insinuated height difference (Lockwood is taller than reader).

A/N: NOT BETA RED WE DIE LIKE MEN!! RAHHHH... I went a little Cuckoo Crazy for this one, guys. I'm guesstimating it's between 6k and 9k words. Who knows!

The first time you met him, you were sitting on a bench in Scotland Yard. He was still quite young. Years younger than how you knew him now. He had a bloody nose and sat alone. You had a broken arm and sat alone as well, on a bench opposite of him, all the while filling out some paperwork with your one good hand. Your penmanship was undeniably horrendous, being it was coming from your non-dominant hand.

You felt him staring at you. A little too hard, you must admit. You got through half your case report before you got fed up. You were already agitated because filling out this paperwork was taking twice as long as it should have. You'd be done and gone if it weren't for that stupid, bloody poltergeist and your stupid broken arm.

"Can I help you?" You snapped.

He wasn't slow at giving you a faint smile. Even while holding a tissue to his cherry-red nose in quite an unattractive manner, his charm hit you in waves.

"Quite the opposite, actually," he said so softly. Your wall of anger cracked like an eggshell. "I was hoping I could help you out."

You looked down, partly because you didn't want him to see the blush of frustration blossoming on your cheeks and partly because if you stared at him any longer, your angry act might just crumble all together.

"I'm fine," you muttered.

"You don't look fine..."

The silence engulfed the hall. The ringing telephones were merely echoes, and the voices of people were quiet. It was three in the morning, after all. The only people who would be up at this hour would be the dead, and kids stupid enough, like you, to make the choice to become an agent.

You go back to your chicken scratch. It's a slow and miserable process. There really is no nice way to describe how you had a safe hurl towards you at lighting speed and pin your arm against the wall, snapping it in three places, when the pen you're using is bleeding all over the page and is very well-bound determined to empty itself all over the white paper.

You sat your pen down again out of frustration. You took a deep breath.

You suddenly felt someone draw close, and the clipboard you had been using was lifted out of your lap.

"I don't quite like asking for help, either, you know," he said, picking up the pen and crossing his legs. "But we all have to learn how to do so, eventually. I'll let you off this time."

He was smiling as he read over what you had written. He had shoved a tissue up his nostril to ease the bleeding for the time without having to use his hands. Quite frankly, he looked as stupid as he was exhausted. His hair was messed up. His clean dress shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and his tie was undone, hanging limply around his neck and shoulders.

He said your name, and you snapped to attention. He was still smiling and looking at the paper.

"Beautiful name," he murmured. "Too bad it's the only thing I can read on this piece of paper."

"It's not that bad!" You scoffed, taking offense.

"I beg your pardon?" He chortled, then held out the clipboard. He pointed to what looked like a sentence. It was more of just a blob where you had pressed down on the pen too hard. "What does that say?"

You were silent.

"Can't tell, can you?" He said, his eyebrows raised and the twinkle in his eye agitating you beyond belief. "Neither can I, and I'm sure Inspector Barnes won't be able to decipher this hodgepodge, either. So, let's start over."

He takes the paper you had spent thirty minutes on off the clipboard and crumples it in his hand. There's a fresh, new page beneath it. He then turns to you, grinning.

"Anthony Lockwood, professional scribe and interpreter at your service," he feigned a salute in an attempt to make you smile. Begrudgingly, you let him have that small win. He sat up straight and pretended to push up an imaginary pair of glasses on his nose. He spoke in a hoity-toity voice, like a stuck-up therapist. "What kind of visitor did you have this evening, ma'am?"

To be completely frank, it was hard to resist smiling. He was trying to cheer you up, and, admittedly, it was working.

"Poltergeist," you muttered, hunched over and looking at the floor. He scribbled on the paper.

"And is that what hurt your arm, or is the cast and sling merely a fashion statement?"

You shot him a look. He was still smiling, and he looked at you through long eyelashes. He looked like a dopey, single-tusked walrus with the way his tissue had been so stuffed up his nostril. You looked away again. If you looked at him any longer, your smile would break free. You then felt him gently touch the cast. His fingers merely grazed it. When you looked at him again, his eyes were still on yours, as if he knew you'd look again.

"How'd it happen?" He spoke oh so softly once more.

You sighed.

"It was a situation at the bank on Baker Street. A team had gone in and done away with one visitor and called DEPRAC to come help with the rest and disposal. I show up and go in by myself. The place didn't feel right to begin with, even with the visitor eliminated by a team of agents. I started scattering salt, and all of a sudden..." When you spoke, you used your good hand to help visualize. "A safe just launched out from the wall and pinned my arm there. I was lucky it was just that, but I'm going to be stuck in this cast for a while."

Anthony nodded along and rubbed his chin.

"Are you a sensitive?" He asked and started scribbling on the page again.

You nodded. "They employed me here at Scotland Yard to go on cases and provide extra security to our adult team."

He slowly set the pen down. "I bet working here is such a drag," he said rather slowly.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's the adventure in working for Scotland Yard. You must have amazing skill for them to employ you. You could be an agent, I'm sure..." He casually started to tap the pen against the clipboard. "And, you know, I've been looking for a sensitive in my agency. I'd be happy to interview you."

You scoffed and smiled. "I'm good. Thanks for the offer."

"Oh, come on," he half-whined. "What do they have here that I haven't?

"Free room and board, all on top of good pay."

He was instantly stumped.

"Ah," he swallowed, looking away and slumping back against the bench. "I see."

He wrote a little more on the paper and then cleared his throat. He set the clipboard down but still held the pen intently. He looked at your cast then up at you.

"May I?"

You thought about it for a moment. Again, you decided to let him have this small win.

He helped you gently remove your arm from the sling and rested it on his lap while he signed your cast. He had the faintest smile on his face, and his eyes were so focused on writing as neatly as he could. When he was finished, he put the pen on the clipboard. You looked down to see what he had written. It was a phone number and his name. You wanted to scoff again but held it back. Inspector Barnes had just stepped out of his office and pointed at Lockwood before eyeing you.

"He troubling you?" The Inspector asked.

"Not at all," you muttered back, putting your cast back in the sling. "He helped me finish my paperwork."

Barnes hummed, and Anthony stood.

"Take that bloody tissue out of your nose, Lockwood," Barnes muttered. Lockwood was fast to cooperate. "Follow me."

Barnes disappeared into his office again. Anthony looked back at you. His gaze was soft and his smile softer.

"Stay out of trouble and away from haunted banks, won't you?" He beamed. "I'd quite like to meet again."

"Lockwood!" Barnes barked from his office and made you both jump before you could respond.

"You better go," you murmured. "He often gets quiet cranky when four o'clock hits."

You watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath.

"Noted," he murmured back. He gazed at you for a heartbeat longer, then turned and disappeared into Barnes's office.

You and Lockwood became good friends over the following months. You would see him on many cases and occasionally went out to lunch or breakfast with him and his associate, George Karim. He would make excuses to come to Scotland Yard to see you if he wasn't on a case. If he was on a case, or if he was pulled to the building by Barnes, he would go out of his way to find you and see you while he was there. You came over to Portland Row, his agency, more often than not. Sometimes, you'd even spend the night because you'd stay after supper for a cup of tea and get to talking into the late hours of the night. He's told you many things. He's told you about his sister. He's told you about his parents. George had even noticed that you'd become more trusted by Lockwood than he was.

What locked and sealed your bond was when he showed you the family graveyard, where his parents and sister had been buried. It was something even George knew nothing about.

An incredibly close companionship started there. When Barnes noticed, he warned you about the trouble that came with Anthony Lockwood, but you didn't listen, and that is what became your downfall.

"He throws caution into the wind at every chance," Barnes scolded you after you turned up late one evening after spending the night at Portland Row. "You'll get yourself killed."

Again, you refused to listen to his harping.

It was one winter, a year after you'd first met Lockwood, the last year you'd laid eyes on him, when cases spiked all over London. The London Underground had suddenly been infested with clusters of visitors. Many agents had already died by the time you had been brought in. You were assigned as a monitor/supervisor. The rest of Scotland Yard's supervisors were all scared shitless to go anywhere near the Tube, so they sent you instead, since you still had Talent.

Three teams from three different agencies were brought in that night. Fittes, Rotwell, and last, but not least, A.J. Lockwood and Company. That last one made you giddy and nervous all at once.

The clock had struck ten, and all the teams were gathered around in the station in little pockets of groups. Lockwood had a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder, regaling you and George on a story. George couldn't have been less interested. He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. You, on the other hand, were enthralled. It had been days since you'd last seen him, then. Just having him close to you was a great pleasure.

It was a quarter until eleven when you all decided to start moving deeper into the underground. One of the sensitives from Fittes claimed to have heard a scream echoing. You were too enraptured in Lockwood's words, so you hadn't really been alert enough to confirm what she had heard.

All three agencies, plus one (you), moved deeper into the tunnel. Each team took their own readings but continued to come up with nothing but rubbish. Lockwood stuck right by your side with one hand on his rapier and his other hovering just above your lower back.

"I missed you," he muttered into your ear. You grinned.

"You're just saying that, so I'll tell Barnes to up your pay," you joked.

"No, really," he said. His thumb ran a tender line down your spine, distracting you from the skittering noise that your ears had just picked up that came from down the tunnel. "You'd be surprised by just how hard it is to get you off my mind after I've seen you. I still wish you'd quit this lousy job and come be with me... Us, I mean." He corrected himself and cleared his throat when George looked his way.

"You know good and well that there's no room for me in that shoddy house," you chortle and mindlessly check your thermometer. You unconsciously register the slight temperature drop, the deeper you travel into the tunnel.

"There's plenty of room!" Scoffed Lockwood. "The attic is always available. Or, you know, you could always stay with me in mine." He wiggled his eyebrows at you. You elbowed him in response.

You all walked about half a mile into the tunnel when you heard something that the others didn't and stopped. Lockwood was the first to notice. You listened for a moment longer. Those who were also sensitive to sound started picking up what you were getting as well.

"Flashlights off," Lockwood ordered for you without you having to say anything at all.

You couldn't help but cringe when overhearing another agent mutter the words "kiss ass" beneath their breath. It wasn't the time to get snippy, though. Something was coming. You could hear it, but the fact that you couldn't see it unsettled you. The long and dark tunnel before you made your hastily grasp the handle of your rapier.

It was a very faint clicking and hissing sound at first. It wasn't until it got just the faintest hint louder that you realized what it was. The air itself seemed to start shaking, and the ground trembled beneath your feet.

"Everyone get to the side!" You screamed. Lockwood pulled you to him, then pressed the two of you flush against the wall of the tunnel, and all three teams divided unevenly on either side of the tracks. Not but a few seconds later, the air screamed past you and rattled everyone's equipment. The rush of a speeding train made everyone's ears pop, and the wail of the dead came with it. There was no visual. Just a foul smell and a sharp, piercing scream. It lasted for what seemed like an eternity, then abruptly stopped. The clicking and hissing and a faint whistle of a train died away.

"Ghost train," you grumbled. "Lovely."

Lockwood was the first to open his eyes. You were next. Your heart dropped.

One by one, visitors of all kinds started to morph out of thin air. Not a single one of them were recognizably human. The reimagined corpses were singed flesh in bone. You could actually smell the burning, and it made your eyes water.

"I read that there was a crash down here in 1980," said George suddenly, loud enough for everyone to hear as you all brought out your rapiers and salt bombs. "Fittes documents say that it's been taken care of... but I guess it wasn't taken care of well enough."

The Fittes agents had no time for witty retorts. More and more visitors started forming, and their sorrowful wailing was becoming too much to bear.

"Is it even possible for sources to reappear?" Lockwood mumbled.

"No clue. That, or Fittes didn't take care of it properly in the first place," you mumbled back. "I don't see anything that could be considered a source. There's no wreckage or bones or anything. Not even a stuffed animal. They probably just scattered salt and called it good..."

You looked down. The railroad tracks were rusted over and stained from ectoplasm burns. You had a feeling your theory was correct.

"There's too many," said one of the Rotwell agents.

"You all were assigned this job for a reason. You get it done, or you don't receive pay," you said. Later, you cursed yourself for this. You had spent too much time with Lockwood and started to pick up on his reckless habits. He still stood next to you as if personal space didn't matter.

You took a step forward, much to Lockwood's chagrin. The closest visitor, a tar-black skeleton with a dangling jaw and a few wisps of charred hair clinging to the dead scalp, raised its head and reared back. Orange fire engulfed it as it screamed and drew the rest of the visitors to attention. It charged, and you readied your rapier.

A salt bomb exploded behind you and sent your flying forward before you got the chance to swing. You missed the visitor by the meekest of scrapes. You scrambled to your feet. The sleeve of your coat steamed from the slightest touch of ectoplasm. A Rotwell agent was ghost locked, standing in the middle of the tracks. The visitor was still charging, now heading towards the agent on the tracks.

"Move!" Someone screamed, trying to get the agent's attention, but it was too late. Another Rotwell agent threw a bomb but sorely missed. The panic had turned the lot completely stupid. It exploded against the wall and blinded everyone in proximity, including you.

You covered your eyes for just a second. Your ears were ringing, and your vision was blurry when you looked again. There lied the Rotwell agent, flat on their back, jaw dropped and eyes a pure, milky white. Their body twitched and spasmed, then fell still.

Someone screamed. The rest of the visitors followed and started charging. You sat there and watched the body, feeling entirely numb, until someone grabbed your hand and pulled you free from the state of shock you were in. It was Lockwood, of course. He had his rapier drawn and protected you with his life, swinging at visitors with the passion and excellence you were so used to.

Fittes agents joined him in his fight and held their magnesium flares high, but the visitors were fast to reform, and there were too many to look for a mass source.

Out of bombs, flares, and steaming with ectoplasm, you all had retreated. The visitors still screamed in their agony. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, still held your hand and held it tight. He didn't let go until you were back at the station.

Everything passed like a blur. The Ghost-Touched Rotwell agent had been left on the tracks. The team would go and retrieve the body in the morning when it was safe.

DEPRAC was called and brought in. Inspector Barnes came to you first, and it wasn't a pretty sight. He went rumbling right past everyone else, straight to you. Lockwood had been consoling you before he'd seen Barnes, and the color left his already pale face. Barnes screamed at you for your reckless abandon. The fact that a Rotwell agent had been killed only made it that much worse.

Lockwood tried to interject, but Barnes quickly had him pushed away.

"You were supposed to supervise!"

"I was! It's just that--"

"There are no excuses. You had one job, and you blew it. Now we have another dead agent, and another mountain of paperwork to fill out before this section can be cleared!" Barnes didn't want excuses. When he looked at you, you crumpled. Your self-worth lowered with every searing second.

"She was doing her job, Inspector," Lockwood came back and cut in again. He tried to get close to you, but Barnes quickly cut him off.

"You," Barnes seethed. "If it hadn't been for you, she would have been fine."

"Don't blame this on him!" You interjected. "He didn't do anything!"

"He did plenty," barked Barnes. "He's been distracting you and knocking you off course for the past few months. And I speculate that he's been doing it on purpose, too." He switched and looked to Lockwood. Lockwood had a sudden stillness about him. He was stiff and quiet, neither denying nor agreeing with Barnes's statement. Barnes's eyes narrowed.

"You've been trying to get me to fire her, haven't you, you little shit?"

Barnes using such foul was virtually unheard of to you. You wanted to get Barnes to stop, but once he was going, there was no stopping him.

"Just so you could add her to your own grubby crew, huh? Is that what you want?"

"I have to say, it's been quite tempting," Lockwood said very quietly. He still did not move. "She's quite an agent, sir. And I believe she deserves to be with us, rather than waste her time in a place like Scotland Yard."

Barnes's eyes went wide with anger and shock. Without turning to look at you, he spoke to you.

"I'm transferring you to the Liverpool sector."

"What? You can't just--"

"Yes, I can," said Barnes. His word was final. "Until you can get whatever this little twat has done to you out of your head, you will be working with the DEPRAC stationed in Liverpool. End. Of. Discussion."

You stood there, frozen. It felt like your world just shattered into a million and one pieces. Lockwood was calling your name, but it all seemed like an echo. You felt warm hands on your cheeks. Your vision came back into focus. Lockwood had his forehead pressed against yours, getting your attention so abruptly.

"He doesn't mean it. He couldn't possibly," he muttered relentlessly. You said nothing because his words weren't registering in your mind, and the tears stung your eyes.

If there was anything you had learned about Barnes over the years you worked with him, it is that he never went back on his word.

"It's over, Anthony," you muttered and squeezed your eyes shut.

"What?" He whispered, brushing back your hair. You could feel his breath fanning your face. "No, no. You can't be serious. He's not serious at all. You are NOT leaving. That's not how this is going to go. That's not right."

"You can't decide how the world works," you said. You reached up and placed your hands over his, slowly getting him to lower them. "If that were true, all this wouldn't be happening in the first place."

You opened your eyes again and wanted to do nothing but start crying. His big, brown eyes searched yours so desperately. Every time you tried to lean back, he'd chase after you and keep you right up against him.

"Don't go," he whispered.

"I don't think I have a choice."

"I need you here," he wrapped his arms around your waist. "I need you to stay with me. Stay forever."

"Lockwood, I--"

"Please..." He buried his face into your shoulder and held you tighter. "I can't lose you. I need to be around you. I swear, I'll go crazy if I can't see you."

His hands shot up to hold your face in his hands again. His thumbs gently brushed over your cheeks, and his lips seemed impossibly close to yours. Too close. You had to break free. If he got any closer, you knew you'd quit your job just to stay with him. Stay there in London. God, the longer it repeated in your head, the more irresistible it seemed to be. He was driving you crazy.

"I have to go," you whispered.

"I won't let you."

"You have to."

"I don't, and you know it."

He kept getting closer, and he spoke more breathily. His lips barely touched yours. They ghosted, then finally pushed fully against yours. His lips were soft and sweet. His kiss wasn't demanding. It was full of something you've never felt before, on top of need and desperation. You had to yank yourself away because you could feel yourself slipping. You actually had to shove him because every time you tried to peel yourself away, he would follow and keep you with him.

He stumbled, and his hands fell to his sides. His cheeks were pink, and his eyes were wide and wild. His lips still moved like a fish out of water, gasping for air. His shoulders, heavy with the burden of running an agency and the guilt brought on by past, rose and fell with heavy breaths. You just stared at him, unable to define whether he was an image of beauty or longing.

You then turned away before he could speak again and call you back like a siren. You had to cover your ears. Even as you rushed out of the station, you could hear him calling your name.

Years had passed since then. You hadn't seen Lockwood since the morning he escorted you to the train station. Even then, that was filled with silence and his longing glances. Getting on the train was the hardest part. He would have followed you up the stairs if the conductor hadn't stopped him.

For months, you exchanged letters with him until he stopped replying. It made your heart ache. You waited weeks for a reply, but it never came. You gave up on waiting after a year. Barnes also checked in with you and constantly made sure you kept busy. You wanted to thank him for it. You managed to forget all about sometimes, thanks to the shit-ton of work he had provided you.

On your spare time, you would buy copies of The Times. More often than not, you'd find Lockwood somewhere inside. Pictures of him from yet another successful case. Then, there was suddenly the mention of another girl that had joined his team. A sensitive by the name of Lucy Carlyle. True, your jealousy festered and bubbled, but you didn't let it explode. Instead, you stopped buying copies of The Times and focused on your work.

Well, that all lasted until news of the death of Penelope Fittes and the collapse of the Fittes agency altogether came into light. And Lockwood was at the center of it all.

You'd never bought a train ticket so fast.

You swept off the last traces of dirt from your clothes and pocketed your gloves, since they were dirty as well.

On the train ride, you'd read all about Lockwood's excursions. You'd read how many times he's been shot and stabbed. It made you sick to your stomach, just how much this boy had gone out of his way to get himself killed.

And now here you were, just outside of Portland Row, about to face him for the first time in years. It was obvious from each tabloid you'd read that someone needed to put him in place. If Barnes, George, or this Lucy Carlyle girl wasn't going to do it, then you would.

The first knock on the door sends an electric bolt right down your spine. There was once a time, you remember, when knocking wasn't even necessary when you came to Portland Row.

A dark skinned girl in a navy pinafore dress answers the door. You're a little taken aback, but if that shows on your face, the girl doesn't express it.

"Do you have an appointment?" The girl asked curtly.

"I need to speak with Anthony Lockwood."

"Many people want to speak with him, but with the recent collapse of the Kingdom's biggest agencies, he is kept occupied. Please, make an appointment and come back then," she moves to close the door, but a hand that isn't yours stops it. A familiar face is at once at the door, and it puts you at ease.

George replaces the girl in the door. He gives you one look, then moves to clean his glasses on his shirt. Once he fixes them back on his face, he motions for you to come inside, and you enter Portland Row in a split second.

While the girl closes the door after you've come in, you are met with an unexpected and grappling hug from George Karim himself. It sends you into a shock. You give him an awkward hug back, so unsure of what all that was for.

"Thank you for coming back," George mutters. He fixes his glasses once he pulls away from you. "I'd given up all hope of your return months ago, and I'm sorry for being so straightforward, but..." His eyes flicker from side to side. "Now that you're here, I can't help but think that Lockwood might go back to normal."

"Back to normal?" You scoff quietly. "He was always reckless, but from what I've read, he's way past that. He's suicidal!"

"He's mopey and hung up, is what he is. And I've only known him for a few months at best," the girl suddenly mutters. Her arms were folded.

"That's Holly, by the way," mutters George. "She's... our assistant. And you haven't met Lucy yet. I think you might like her. She almost got Lockwood out of his spunk, but not quite."

He shuffles around on his feet for a moment.

"He's out with Lucy right now, by the way. Got called for another interview. I don't know when they'll be back..."

You take time to look around the home. It's changed so much. What catches your eye most is the door on the landing. It is wide open. The house no longer smells of burnt toast but of fresh paint and new carpet. Everything smells new. There was no death glow beaming down the stairs. There is nothing. Just an empty room where the paint continues to dry.

"Where's Jess?" You whisper, and George joins you in looking up the stairs at the swinging door.

"He's managed to move on from some things," mumbles George. He fixes his glasses. "Just some things, though."

George then turns and goes into the kitchen. You and Holly follow. George starts the kettle and takes a seat at the kitchen, as do you and Holly.

"How's Liverpool? Last time I heard from you, you said it was quite drab," asks George, trying to make some nice conversation.

"It still is," you chortle and poke at the new thinking cloth on the table. It made you sad. Out of all the things you thought would remain the same, you didn't think the thinking cloth would be an item to go. "It's not as bad as London is, most of the time..." Your thumb rubs over an ink blob that contains Lockwood's handwriting. You stared at the same handwriting on all the letters he sent you for months, and for many more, you wished you could see more of it.

You and George continue to speak quietly. You learned more about Holly as she started warming up to you, too. George fixed your tea, making it just the way you liked it. It touches you that he remembered.

You try not to focus on the time and instead hone in on the conversation at hand. Before you knew it, it started getting late. Really late.

You glance at the clock on the stove. It reads 7:45 PM. When you look, so does George and Holly. The room falls silent.

"You could... spend the night. I know Lockwood won't mind," says George.

Suddenly, you all shift. The front door unlocks and swings open. Three voices enter the house. You all stand. First George, then Holly, then you.

"I'm fine, I told you. Don't touch me! Let me go!"

You recognize that voice all too well.

"Lucy, do you think you can get him upstairs?"

"I don't think so. He's too heavy."

"Lemme go, you bloody idiots," Lockwood grumbles. There was rumbling, and things were knocked over. A glass breaks. "Ach, bloody hell... who the fuck put that there?"

"Aaaand there he goes," one of the voices you didn't recognize sighs. George steps into the hall, and so does Holly. It was too crowded to see much.

"What happened?" Mutters George.

"He got asked a question that was a little too sensitive. Took it too hard and got something to drink because of it. A little too much to drink," says a female voice. "I asked Quill to help me get him home. He kept smacking me away every time I tried to take away the bottle of whiskey away from him."

You step into the hall, finally. Heads raise.

"Who's she?"

The heads turn. You recognize Quill Kipps, an agent who also frequented the pages of The Times. You also recognize Lucy Carlyle. You look down. Long legs in dress pants are slipping and sliding on the tile floors, trying to stand. You look away, back up at the eyes staring at you with curiosity.

"Hi," you murmur and introduce yourself. "Pleasure to meet you all."

"Who the hell..." More things rattle. Your heart races as you watch him stand. He swipes his hair back, eyes closed, and a cocky, drunk smile on his face. His eyes open slowly, and they then focus on you and stop. His smile wavers.

"Here we go," mutters George.

Your eyes burn with tears, and you stand straight as he stumbles slowly forward. He shoves Kipps and George out of the way when they try to steady him. Nothing stops him from reaching you.

Lockwood's long arms wrap around your waist, and his nose buries into the crook of your neck. You feel him breathing you in and starting to melt against you. It's all silent. He starts to shake, and you hold him to you, afraid he might fall and actually hurt himself.

"I missed you so much, my sweet girl..." He whispers. His breath is hot and shaky against your skin. You feel hot wet tears streak along your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper.

You put your hands on his shoulders and try to push him away so you can see his face. He allows only that. His brown eyes search yours. His pupils are blown, and his pink lips are slightly agape. He goes to push his forehead against yours. His lips are so close to yours again. You can smell the whiskey on his breath.

"I waited for you for so long," he whispers and leans in.

Before he can get too close, your instincts kick in.

You smack him across the face so hard his body tilts to the side. The sound echos through the hall. He stumbles again and has to put his hand on the wall to catch himself. He raises his hand to touch his stinging cheek. It's bright red, and he immediately flinches as soon as his hand comes into the slightest contact with it.

George suddenly grabs Lucy's sleeve and starts dragging her away. Kipps and Holly follow as well, a little too quickly. You and Lockwood are then alone.

"That wasn't very nice..." mutters Lockwood, pouting like a petulant baby as he puts himself back together.

"I hoped it wasn't," you mutter, wiping the tears from your face. "Maybe it'll fucking sober you up so I can finally tell you what a piece of shit you are and have the chance you'll listen to me for once."

He actually chuckles and leans his back against the wall. He rubs his cheek and looks at you, as if he still can't believe you're here. He's smiling, and the tears are still present in his eyes. You stand there, unable to look at him and rocking on your heels. You keep rubbing away the tears, then fold your arms, trying to quiet your sniffling.

"The fuck is your problem, Anthony?" You hiss again.

"Don't believe I've got one, sweet girl," he chuckles again, tilting his head and taking his hand off his smarting cheek. "But we could make one. Me aaaand you. In my beeeed."

He slowly tilts himself forward and stands up straight. He glides across the hall in one long step. You're tempted to slap him again. Instead, you just shoulder-check him and head straight to the door. You shrug on your coat and open the front door.

"I've got something to show you," you say to him and point to the road outside. "So get your sorry ass out of the house, and you better sober up a little before I smack you again and make you."

Lockwood looks at you, his lips pursed. He wipes his mouth and blows a raspberry. He looks at the ground, rubbing his shoe on the new entrance rug.

"Whatever you want, sweet girl. You know I'd die for you."

"Aha, I think I know where you're taking me!" Lockwood beams and grunts as he pulls himself up over the ledge of the small graveyard. He drops down and dusts himself off. He still has that dorky, drunk smile on his face as he looks up at you, and he puts his hands in his pockets. You have to turn away and walk deeper into the tiny cemetery, shuffling through knee-high grass and over abandoned tombstones.

"You know, if you wanted me to cry out all the booze I drank, you could have just hugged me back when we were at the house," he chortles, but once he came upon his family's graves, he stops. There is a freshly dug grave sitting right next to his sister's. The shovel is sticking up from the mound of dirt beside it. His smile drops as soon as he sees this. You see it, and as soon as he sees you see it, it pops right back up like nothing has changed.

"What is all this? Certainly not the... homecoming gift I was hoping for..." He says, breath lost and choked up. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

You walk right up to the head of the empty grave and point at it.

"Get in," you say.

"Pardon?" He stutters.

"Get," you point again, "in."

"Why?"

"Well, you've obviously had a death wish since I've left. You made England's biggest agency collapse and nearly died doing that, too. You've been shot and stabbed I don't know how many times, and it's driving me insane that you keep doing this. You keep getting hurt, and it's not by ghosts. You're getting yourself into shit that I don't know about and I'm so afraid that, one day, I'll pick up a fucking paper and your obituary is going to be the first thing I see," you tried to keep yourself from yelling. "So you wanna die so fucking bad!? Then die then! Get in the grave and see what it's like! Show me what I came all the way from fucking Liverpool to see!"

He just stares at you, almost in disbelief.

"This is a nice joke," he laughs. He raises his hands and beams. "You got me! I'm sober! I'm good!"

"I'm not joking."

You storm back around the grave to face him.

"Get in the grave, Lockwood."

He scoffs and laughs. His eyes roll and he shoves his hands in his pockets again. His tongue clicks and he leans forward, getting face to face with you.

"No."

Oh. His smile makes you want to slap him twice as hard. You purse your lips, and your jaw ticks from side to side. Upon your silence, his smile keeps growing.

"This was nice, but now it's time to go back home and get something to eat--"

You grab him by his collar and shove him toward the foot of the grave. He spins, his arms flailing wildly to try to catch his balance. He gets his footing, just as his heels teeter right at the very edge. His arms still whirl around like windmills. His look of panic transforms into flushed embarrassment. He smiles again. God, that smile.

You pick up a rock and chuck it at him. Unfortunately, that's the one thing to send him over the edge.

Your eyes go wide as he yells out and comically falls backward into the grave. You heard him land with an 'oof' and loud thud.

You run up to the edge, get on your knees, and look down. You are worried at first, but slowly feel that worry ebb away.

He is lying on his back, legs up in the air. His navy blue socks, covered in a sailboat pattern, are now covered in dirt and dust. You huff and glare at him as his legs fell to the ground. Another cloud of dust plumes at his theatrics. He coughs a little bit, trying to catch his breath after the fall. You watch him take a deep breath and huff.

"Did it hurt?" You ask.

"When I fell from heaven? Not really, but I scraped my knee pretty bad crawling my way out of hell--"

You throw another rock, and it pings right off his chest. He yelps and croons. He curls himself into a little ball, as if that will shield him from being pelted further by rocks.

"Okay! Okay, I get it. No jokes. All serious," he let's out another deep breath but remains in his protective ball formation. "Yes. It hurt quite a bit."

"Good. And you deserved it too, since your the biggest twat I've met on this side of the world."

"You've met other twats like me?" He teases.

"Sure. Never as big as you, though."

You sit there in silence for some time. There are so many questions running through your brain, but your mouth runs dry, and you don't want to ask any of them. You force yourself, though. If you were going back to Liverpool the next morning, you'd be going back with long awaited answers.

"Why did you stop writing back to me?" You ask.

He sighs. He doesn't respond. You clump up a wad of dirt in your palms and throw it at him.

"Hey, will you cut that out!?" He barks, looking up at you. You throw another wad of dirt and hit him square in the face. It knocks him back onto his back. He's spluttering and snarling at the same time.

"Are you gonna answer my God damn questions? Or am I going to have to keep throwing dirt at you? I could do either, honestly. Seeing you look this pathetic makes me feel powerful."

"Oh? Does my misery turn you on?" He mutters, wiping dirt from his cheek.

"Shut up and answer me."

He sits up and tries to shrug off the rest of the dirt on him. He clicks his tongue and leans his back against the wall of the grave.

"Barnes found out I was contacting you," he says softly. "And told me to quit."

"And you listened?" You scoff.

"Not initially, no," he says in defense. "But I had to, eventually. One day, he just showed up at our doorstep and told me if I sent one more letter, I'd be fined."

"That sounds like bullshit," you say, folding your arms. You take a seat at the edge of the grave and let your legs dangle.

"I thought so too," he laughs, "until he hand delivered me a blue slip saying I owed one hundred pounds for an obstruction of privacy between a privately employed agent, and an employed agent of federal law. I still thought it sounded like absolute rubbish and sent another, but in came just another fine. Then, I was two hundred pounds in debt. I actually just got that paid off, by the way. There was a time when I tried to send another, but George nearly lost his marbles when I attempted it. Another hundred added to our debt was the last thing he wanted. That bloody bastard wrestled the envelope from my hands. He's actually much stronger than what he lets on."

You smile. The thought of George actually initiating physical contact with Lockwood amused you. You look up at the setting sun. The sky is a beautiful salmon and orange color. You sigh.

"So when you stopped talking to me, it wasn't intentional?"

"Of course it wasn't," chortles Lockwood. "You're my favorite person in the entire world. God would smite me before I'd ever purposely give up on talking to you. And I'd been planning on sneaking away to Liverpool for a holiday, but... well, I've had quite a few pairs of eyes on me for some time now. I didn't want to bring the danger to your front door."

"Anthony, your trouble in a man-shaped package. There's always some danger lurking in your corner," you laugh and he laughs too.

The silence is more comfortable now. Less tense, now that some weight has been released.

"I really did miss you," he then whispers. You almost strain to hear him. "I tried so hard to find someone to fill the gap you left, but I... it was impossible. There's no one like you out there in this world. No one as special. No one I could love as much as I do you."

Your heart stopped.

"You love me?" You whisper.

"I'm crazy about you. Of course I love you. Ever since I met you in Scotland Yard and I signed your cast," he smiles fondly at the memory. "I know that was probably at my least attractive point then, with a bloody tissue shoved so high up my nostril, it tickled my brain, but I just knew there was something about you. And when you first called, my heart was going so fast. You can ask George about it when we get home. He'll tell you all about how I nearly collapsed at the sound of your voice."

You laugh again, and it's like the sweetest song he's ever heard. He'll do anything for that sound. He'll do anything for you, alone.

"I saved all your letters," he says. "I have your picture by my bedside. I dream about having you by my side, every single night."

"Now you're just starting to sound cheesy," you scoff and smile. He keeps smiling right back up at you. That million giga-watt smile. He had your heart in a steadfast hold, and you knew it.

"Cheesy is my middle name," Lockwood hums. He picks himself off the ground and stands up. His hair is riddled with dirt, and his white shirt is stained brown in many spots. He watches curiously as you hop down into the grave. You teeter and struggle to land on your feet, but he's there to save you, like he always is.

His arm wraps around your waist and pulls you close to him, preventing your fall. His free hand cups your cheek and brushes away a small tendril of hair.

"So now you know my story," he beams. "I get to ask a question now. So, I missed you. That much is obvious. But... did you miss me back?"

You stood there, looking at his smile, feeling the way his thumb traced your spine just how you remember and ogling him. Not too long ago, you thought you'd never see him again. You're so glad that you were wrong then.

You lean up and kiss him. He's fast to kiss back. You don't push him away this time.

He lets you breathe once you both are satisfied and breathing hard. He looks right into your eyes.

"Grant a crazy man one wish?" He murmurs, eyes sparkling and rejuvenated. This was the return of the Anthony you knew. "Stay forever. Here. With me."

"Crazy man doesn't mean reckless or suicidal man, does it?" You giggle.

"I will fight to the very last inch of my life if it means I get to come home to you again," he whispers.

"Then you've got yourself a deal."

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood and you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood/reader #anthony lockwood/you #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lucy carlyle #i love them

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