Thinking about teacher!reader who works in an elementary school who is dating ceo!price but the relationship is private and your coworkers don’t know…until your car breaks down on the way to work and Price sends his driver to come pick you up in the Ferrari—because it’s just his day car—and you arrive in the middle of morning drop-off. Cue the hundreds of questions from students about the super cool car you’ve arrived in, and a hundred more from your coworkers.
Your car goes to the shop. You arrange a pick-up for tomorrow morning with another teacher only to arrive home to find that Price has dropped off a brand-new Porsche—which, surprise, is all yours. Paid off and in your name. And don’t worry about taxes or insurance. Price has it handled.
You insist that it’s too much. That you can’t accept it. Funny. Because it’s not a gift. Not transactional. You have your independence—your own money—but that doesn’t mean Price won’t provide.
thinking about ceo!price's assistant who hates him having to field phone calls every damn day from women you're sure he's paid for spilling their entire life's story and relationship to price to you simply because you were foolish enough (paid) to pick up the phone.
you don't know what possessed these people to lay out every dumbass thing price did to them but they call all the fucking time. which makes it really hard to field calls from people who actually should be on the line (clients, board members, managers) because you end up held hostage by women who want to tell you about how Mr. Price is the greatest lover they ever had and he's so cruel to leave them with not even a phone call. you sit with your head in your hand staring daggers at your boss's door hoping you'll burn a hole through the wood and straight through price's head.
you've put more women on hold than you care to admit due to the simple fact that you needed to answer the shareholder who was calling for the fourth time.
you know he's doing it on purpose, either giving out the company number at every bar he's hitting or else hiring people just to ruin your day. you suspect its the second, but just in case it's the first you start giving out his personal cell to any man who seems like they'll send you a dick pic after a few drinks.
Price groans internally when he sees you stepping out of the elevator at the end of the hall, dragging that damn phone stand behind you. The legs are still sticking straight out at odd angles rather than folded up nice and proper like they should be. It's a hazard, really, the way you haul that thing around.
The scene that ensues is almost comical; his employees having to dodge the rubber feet while you march past the cubicals towards his office, completely oblivious. He'd figuired you were only here to milk him of content.
With a shake of his head, he wipes the smirk from his face and greets you in his doorway. His arms are crossed and his expression is unreadable when he peers down at you, watching you set that dreaded tripod down.
"What is it?" His voice is gruff, but not unkind. "What d'you want?"
"Hi, Mr. Price. Do you have a minute?" You ask, tucking a peice of hair behind your ear. His eyes narrow at your not-so-innocent smile.
"I might." He grunts, still not letting you by. "What for? Another one of your little videos?"
The way he says it makes it seem like you're merely indulging in some guileless hobby rather than, you know, doing your job? The very thing he hired you to do?
"Yes." You say slowly. "But I won't make you learn another dance again, I promise. All you have to do is read a list of words and that’s it!"
The only reason Price had agreed to learn that stupid fucking dance in the first place was to see you smile. He wasn't very good at it, even though you had tried to convince him that he "left no crumbs". Whatever that meant.
"That's all?" He raises an eyebrow. He'd heard that one before.
"That's all." You chirp, swaying with your hands behind your back.
"Alright then." He inclines his head. "You want to use my office again?"
"If you don't mind."
You've perched yourself on the edge of Price's desk, crowding him just a little to fit into the camera's frame. Next to your hip, he has one hand propped against the flat surface, and the other clutches the list you wrote for him. An impish grin splits your face watching your boss glance over the curly gel penned letters.
"Just start from the top." You encourage.
"Right, thank you." He shoots you a withering look of mock displeasure before reading off the first bullet point.
"Skibidi rizz." He pauses, a crease between confused brows forming. "Moonbeam icecream. Put the fries in the bag. Mustard."
With a sigh, he lowers the page, sounding more and more vexed with each line.
"I think you've given me your shopping list."
"No I haven't." You giggle behind your hand. "Just keep going."
Price shakes his head in exasperation when he reads what's next.
"Dwerk off? Don't even want to know what that means." He mutters beneath his breath. "Sounds like it would probably get HR onto us in an instant."
It probably would, you tilt your head in assent. That's exactly why you'd left some of the more suggestive brainrot on the drawing board. Because you weren't trying to get your boss to say 'start digging in yo butt twin' or worse, 'show me your willy.' Melissa from human resources would most likely have an aneurism if she heard about that.
"Uh..." Your eyes flick to the recording phone like you're letting the viewers in on the joke. "Let's just say, I won't be explaining it to you."
"Hm." He hums, looking very much like he's got half a mind to demand you tell him anyway, just for the sake of it. "Shall I continue?"
You nod. "Yeah."
His ring finger taps his desk in a gesture of near imperceptible approval.
"Aura Farming." Price resumes blankly. "Ballerina Cappuccina and Tung Tung Tung... Sahur. This makes absolutely no sense to me, you know that, right? Is this even English?"
"Tung Tung Tung Sahur? Well, no, I think he's Indonesian or Italian or something." Shrugging lightly, you lean in to read what's next, pressing your shoulder to his. He can't help but to let his hand slip a controlled inch, allowing his pinky to put a subtle pressure against the denim on your hip.
"Oh, keep reading, you'll love the next one." He watches you speak again, eyes soft too soft for his stoic face.
"Labubu. Oh, fucks sake-" He frowns, close to throwing up his hands in defeat. "Labubu matcha Dubai chocolate."
He turns to you, utterly baffled. It's helplessly endearing. "What on earth does Labubu mean?"
"It's sort of like a keychain thing." You try to explain, gesturing with your hands. "They're kind of fuzzy little creatures and have evil teeth. But cute! They're super popular, I've got one on my bag. I'll show you it later, if you'd like."
"I'm really not sure I would." He snorts, "But if it makes you happy..."
A genuine smile curves your lips. He's the nicest employer you've ever had- your favourite by far.
"Right. Last one, thank god." He grumbles, but you know by now he's not truly bothered. "Nothing beats a Jet2Holiday. Is this your way of asking for a vacation, love? Christ, I could certainly use one after this."
"No." You laugh, taking back the paper that he hands you. "It's a meme right now. Doesn't really make any sense at all now that I think of it." You tilt your head. "But it is funny."
"I'll take your word for it." He crosses his arms and makes room for you when you slide off the edge of his desk. "Though I'll tell you what- never make me read one of these bloody lists again, and I'll bring you along on my next buisness trip."
"Wait, actually?" You freeze, folding the list between stunned fingers.
"Sure. You can make some travel videos, eh? I'll take you to Italy in honour of your beloved Cappuccina Ballerina."
Idk if i like this or not 💀. Listen guys, I am not up on brainrot lingo exactly bc I am not really on tiktok or instagram SO if I used old brainrot IM SORRY (skibidi will always be relevant to me, idc). Also please tell me someone got the reference to the 2nd coconut water video 🙏
I know I know- this is not After Midnight Part 3. That will come out, I promise I haven't abandoned it. My health went down a bit recently. It's easier (ha) for me to write silly little things like this right now that aren't very plot heavy, or that I don't have to worry about it being up to my personal, unrealistic standards. Like girl its literally x reader cod fanfic, its not that deep. it doesn't need to be Shakespeare 😭 yes it does
cw: am i even doing this right, ceo!price x secretary/personal assistant!gn!reader
Price and you had this little arrangement pretty much from day one. the attractions was immediately there and undeniable, hard to ignore even if it was more than just a little bit unprofessional. it had already started from the job interview when he had asked if you were good at following commands - he genuinely had no intentions behind it, but if you wanted to work for him you'd have to listen to him without questioning him - and you just gave him a flustered nod with a quiet "yes sir". now there you were, you had been with him for about six months and everything had gone smoothly, you seemed to be an idea team to the others.
of course they didnt know about the arrangement you had, nobody did. it might cost both of you your jobs if anyone found out, so you did your best to keep it secret. you always found ways to work around restrictions, making sure the two of you could hold up the little game without anyone knowing about the dynamic between you two.
no one really noticed the way you always stayed within a few feet of him, no matter where he went. nor did they notice that he would always pick your food for you, whether it was just ordering lunch or a business meeting. they didnt realise that you only spoke when spoken too, or that all the clothes you wore around the office suddenly were the same brand he wore and always matched his colours. nobody really questioned it when your desk suddenly got moved into price's office. nobody noticed the simple day collar that could've been passed off as a pretty necklace - of course they didnt see the engravings on the back of the little gem dangling from it. no one questioned the roomy cage he kept in the corner of his office by his desk, they knew he had a big dog at home. no one questioned the locked door in the back of his office, after all it was just his 'personal supplies'.
no one really questioned why his office was always locked for precisely 30 minutes every morning since you arrived, they just accepted it when he said that the two of you had a maintenance meeting every morning to make sure everything would go smoothly. no one saw the ankle cuffs that were attached to your desk, to which only he had the keys. people did sometimes question the soft, metallic clanking that sounded whenever you walked around with him, but he always put it off as the old building and its little flaws, telling them he'd have to get the pipes checked out soonish, it was due. the quiet buzzing that sometimes radiated from you was a little harder to explain, but if someone was poking around a little too much one strict look from him was enough to shut them up.
CEO!Price and his darling desk support assistant ☀️
☀️tags: NSFW/AFAB
You were given a high position from the get-go; even though you had no experience in whatsoever in the department you were placed in. You never knew why, only that Price said he urgently needed someone to help with his massive workload.
The job was easy enough, paid great, and Price treated you well. All you had to do was what you were told. The days often consist with you on your knees, hands wrapped gently on Price's massive thighs, mouth working to take all of his meaty cock down your throat while he focused on the stack of papers on his desk.
Your throat used to burn from the stretch of his length, but now, you were used to it after working there for a couple of months and at this point you could tell when Price needed to take a load off. Especially after he deals with a stubborn client, your poor boss wore a deep scowl, cigar place in between his lips as he sat at his desk angrily, leg shaking rapidly.
What a sight when he was like this. Price's expensive suit seemed to mold against his very skin. Muscles bulging against the seams, brows furrowed, and heated swears muttered under his breath.
Nothing anyone did could brighten his mood, Johnny's charm fell flat, Simon outright refused to get involved, and Kyle, who used to have your position until he was promoted, was too busy to help.
You were immediately called to Price's office, finding him already in the motion of unzipping his pants, a familiar routine the two of you performed. "You called, sir?" You said with a coy tilt of your head.
"Don't play games dove, come 'ere." Price growls out, his gaze searing hot, almost as if it could burn your clothes off.
You didn't need to be told twice, closing his door behind you and sliding off your panties to avoid Price ripping them off during your service. The moment you drew close, his hands descended onto your hips, hoisting you onto his wide lap.
Price fisted his cock, coating his length in precum then rubbing his tip against your sodden folds. You were already wet for him, how could you not? Despite the circumstance of your job; Price was aged by things beyond your knowledge but still undeniably attractive, his hardened chestnut eyes never leaves your form when your around. He's always undressing you with them, looking at you so lustfully that it was hard not to feel aroused.
"Always ready for me." Price mutters hoarsely, taking his time to push you down onto his aching shaft.
Your body shakes, the familiar stretch of his length parting your walls causing you to suck in air. He's massive; taking up space inside you as if he was meant to be there. You try to adjust yourself as quickly as possibly, hands finding perch on his shoulders, hips meeting his.
At first, Price seems like a patient man taking his time to really savor what's in front of him, but once he gets what he wants, he becomes insatiable.
Price starts off slow, thrusting gently, watching where the two of you are connected, biting down on his lip hungrily. Price never gets tired of seeing your puffy pussy lips devour his cock with such ease. It doesn't take him long to pick up pace, gripping your hips tightly, nails tearing your blouse.
Your body felt like a furnace set ablaze in the harshest of winter, the hotness of his body suffocating you despite being on top. You were unable to stop the breathy moan, leaving your lips, the head of his cock prodding at your cervix making you squeal out.
"The whole office will hear you." Price taunted against your skin, kissing and biting at the skin possessively, proudly watching your mouth fall open with pleasure.
You couldn't respond, and Price knew this.
He was an arrogant bastard; proudly fucking you in his office where the walls were thin and anyone walking by could see you split open on his sex.
Price lifts you up slightly, then slamming you back down onto him. Your toes curl and your walls clench around him greedily upon feeling him enter once more. He treats you like a mere doll for his amusement yet pays you handsomely just to get fucked day in and day out.
Not that you were complaining. It beats a regular 9 to 5.
"Mr. Price." You whined, angling your head for a kiss, eyes wide and pleading.
How could he resist when you're so compliant?
Price clicks his teeth, leaning down and kissing you feverishly, forcing your lips apart to taste you even further. He doesn't let up, jerking forward brutally, beginning his new savage pace, leaving you breathless as he chases his own high.
You're close too, being able to keep up with Price and his libido despite being used so often. Just as you were about to reach your peak, the sound of the door opening caught your attention, yet Price didn't stop. He simply looks up, seeing Simon stand there unfazed, fresh files in hand.
"Meeting in five." He states plainly, glancing over you, not caring about your current predicament.
Simon's words make Price's anger rise once more. He grumbles, rolling his eyes and pulling out of you swiftly, sitting you on his desk while ignoring your sweet pleas for him to continue.
"How long is it?" Price asks, tucking his semi-hard cock away, fixing himself up to look presentable.
"Two hours, possibly longer with what their asking for." Simon says, giving the papers a quick look over before handing it over to Price who looks as if he's about to snap.
"Fine, take care of her for me. It's part of your job now." Price gestures to you, sitting pretty, all whiney and pouty.
Simon raises a brow, turning to protest, but Price had already side-stepped him, leaving the two of you alone.
You look over at Simon, smirking mockingly, echoing Price's command, using your superiors' real name so carelessly. "Yeah, Simon, it's part of your job."
Simon remains silent for a moment, coldly sizing you up. Suddenly he steps forward and grabbing your face roughly, forcing you to look up at him and all of his dark eyes glaring down at you. "I ain't the old man, dollface. You'll see the difference soon enough."
Okay Im gonna need thoughts on this; Taylor Swifts Guilty as Sin with Price. Just hear me out...
CEO!Price in a loveless arranged marriage that he can't get out of (some arrangement of they can't divorce until a certain number of years or until the companies merge and or settled, I havent decided yet) where they are more like roomates than husband and wife. He meets this sweet little thing in a packed coffee shop where the only available seat is in front of her and she kindly offers it to him, shes working away on her laptop and he strikes up a conversation. Finds out shes a PhD student in her final stretch and is working to get an article published and her smile is the most beautiful thing Price has ever seen and so he keepes her talking just to see it until he has to go to a meeting. He comess back again and again, each time sitting beside her and getting to know her (he never wears his ring). This eventually evolves into an affair, its 5 months in and she is so deeply in love with him that when he tells her hes married she doesnt care because she knows he loves her. This continues on for a year until a paparazi spots the two cuddled up together and it snowballs into Price finally filing for divorce, daming the conditions of his arrangement and his family (not like they could do anything, he had slowly replaced members of the board with his men so if his family tried to vote him out theyd loose). When his family meet Prices sweet girl, they're hostile and mean but she takes it on the chin knowing they were going to crucify her. Eventually they warm up to her, they see a light return to Price that they hadnt seen in years, a happiness long forgotten and locked away.
Thoughts? Feelings? Criticisms? It needs to be fleshed out a bit more and fully written but the brain rats would not leave this thought alone
How’s John’s assistant doing? I feel like he turns the heat on in the building in the summer.
Oh absolutely sweltering. It's bad enough that the building is about 90% window and reaching for the sky like it wants to catch the sun. The only saving grace is (or should be) that there's central a/c. Yet you are sweating damn near through your blouse. You'd moved from long sleeves to short sleeves to a now sleeveless top just trying to combat the persistent heat that seems to follow you through the office. You think your floor's a/c must be on the fritz or something, but Mr. Price seems entirely unbothered by it.
Or, not entirely unbothered, just not bitching about it. He isn't any more immune to sweating than you are, and you've started avoiding him more to keep from seeing the way his sweat sticks his button down to his chest, wetting the fabric just enough to see the dark chest hair underneath, his jacket discarded and his tie on the table beside his computer, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hair starting to cling to his forehead... He is hot, undeniably hot, and yet he hasn't said a word about the a/c except to ask if you have any shorter skirts you could be wearing.
You do, and you wear them on the days you know he's out of the office just to spite him. Somehow the air conditioning is miraculously working on those days, and you end up freezing in the office, forced to swipe one of Mr. Price's spare jackets from his closet just to stay warm. If you ever find proof that it's him messing with the hvac system on this floor, you're going to kill him. Paycheck be damned.
When he said he'd take you on a "vacation" he meant it. It wasn't a holiday for him- John was headed to Italy on buisness, but he kept his word and let you tag along since you hadn't asked him to read any more of those ridiculous lists.
You documented your first trip on a private jet, raving over how open it was compared to passanger flights and how every seat was a window seat. Even the food was far superior to that of a commercial airline's, and the pilot had agreed to film a sketch with you and the flight attendants to advertise your company.
John had arranged to land at a rural airport so you could take a train through the countryside before entering the city. It turned out to be more than worth it- like something straight from the pages of a fairytale. Green roving hills stretched on for as far as the eye could see, occasionally spotted with trees and the odd cottage. Truthfully, he himself had never been outside of Milan on previous work trips, but he found himself more enamoured by your reaction than the rugged, natural landscape itself.
The hotel room he'd booked you into was almost as gorgeous. It was swanky yet tasteful, and very stylish. Elements of metals and natural woods and fabrics all blended together seamlessly and you had possibly the best sleep of your life on that pillowy mattress. The window facing the streets boasted an incredible veiw in the mornings when the sun glittered and caught on the glass and chrome of the city below.
While John was caught up in meetings during most of the days, he encouraged you to go out and explore for yourself. So you did. You visited a few cafes for the best coffee and Italian treats you'd ever tasted. The museums were spectacular, boasting intricate architecture from thousands of years ago, while the antique bookshops you'd found were no less charming.
When he was finished with his buisness for the day, Price would take you out to the most divine restaurants. They were the lavish kind that didn't bother putting prices on their menu's because they knew their patrons wouldn't read them anyway. You were a little unsure about letting him pay for everything, but he insisted it was all going on his company card. In truth, that did ease your hesitations well enough.
The final video you'd filmed on the trip was captioned 'first corporate conference, kind of nervous'. Price had led you to your seat with an anchoring hand on the small of your back before taking his own place with the rest of the guest speakers. Rows of chairs before the panel fill up quickly with stern looking businessmen and women alike. Cut to you kicking your feet nervously and glancing around the hotel ballroom rented for the summit, feeling a tad out of place. You include a clip of John when it's his turn to speak and it doesn't escape your notice how he keeps an eye on you the whole time, subtly signalling you to make sure you were comfortable.
Behind the camera you smile back and flash him a thumbs up, reassured by his attentiveness. And if your cheeks were a little pink when he nods at you, satisfied and looking proud? Well, that was just the warmth of the Italian summer getting to you. The air conditioning was working full blast. Surely.
