Red Ink | B.I Smut
Pairing: Hanbin x Reader
Genre: Office AU, Hanbin is your boss
Count: 1321
Warnings: 18+ (Mature Readers Only). This is a one-shot inspired by the 2002 film Secretary and contains explicit sexual content, boss/secretary power dynamics, light BDSM elements (spanking, dominance/submission), and suggestive language.
Kim Hanbin always marks your mistakes in red ink, and maybe, he's enjoying it a little too much.
In the month you’d been working as Hanbin’s secretary, this was the first time he stepped out of his office to call you out—over a freaking typo.
“You missed a letter,” he muttered, tapping the error with his pen on the document you’d printed. His cologne hit you—musky and leather, a scent that pulled at your senses.
“Do it again,” he said, voice firm.
“Yes, sir. My apologies.” You snatched the document back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your fingers.
You were about to begin the rework when you noticed he still hadn’t moved. His fingers hovered on the edge of your chair, tapping against it.
You glanced over your shoulder and caught him looking at your blouse—not in a sexual way, but in that piercing, assessing look that made you swallow. There was a hint of annoyance in his eyes. “Starting tomorrow, I want you looking presentable for our clients.”
He turned away, already heading back to his office, but added one more thing: “And stop biting your lip when you type. It gives the wrong impression.”
You almost bawled your eyes out the moment his office door clicked shut.
Hanbin hadn’t stopped testing you since that day. It was as if he were always looking for a fault in your work—in everything you did. You dressed better. You prepared his coffee exactly the way he liked it. Still, he’d say, “You forgot an extra teaspoon of sugar.” So you made it a habit to leave a packet beside his mug. You even trained yourself not to bite your lip anymore. Yet, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe he was just waiting for you to quit.
And of course—the damn red ink, circling your typos. Why did he have to act like a professor grading papers? You’d had enough.
So when everyone finally went home, you stayed behind and walked straight into his office.
“Come in,” he said. You found him by the window, watering the small plant he always kept in his office.
“I need to talk to you.”
He set the watering can down and faced you, his expression unreadable.
“I always do what you ask, sir, but I don’t know what else you want from me.”
He said nothing at first—just stared. But when his voice came, it was calm—too calm. It rattled you more than if he’d raised his voice.
“Do you?”
“Y-yes. No offense, sir, but… I think you’re doing it on purpose.”
His brow lifted. “Is that what you think?”
He stepped forward, slowly closing the space between you, inch by inch.
“You’re a perfectionist. Maybe even controlling,” you said, fighting the urge to shrink back. “But I won’t give up easily. You can’t break me, sir.”
You kept your eyes fixed ahead, his presence still clear in your peripheral vision.
Something ignited in his eyes—interest, challenge.
“Really?”
“Try me,” you said, surprised by how steady your voice sounded.
Silence.
Then he ordered, “Bend over the desk.”
“Excuse me?” you breathed, unsure you’d heard him right.
“You heard me.” His voice left no room for confusion, something darker simmering underneath.
You froze, pulse spiking. The air around you grew thick.
Hanbin stood behind you, like a predator circling its prey.
“I said, bend over,” he repeated, his voice now dangerously low.
And you did. You obeyed, bending over and pressing your palms to the cool wood of his desk, heart hammering in your ears as you waited for what would come next.
Hanbin began by caressing your back, and your body shivered under his touch.
Carefully, his hand drifted lower, reaching your skirt. He paused, lifting the fabric just enough before letting it slip away.
He took in the sight of the black lace underwear barely visible through your stockings, eyes tracing the curve of your ass down to the back of your thighs. You waited, breath held, your body aching for the return of his touch.
At last, he unfastened your stockings and slid your underwear down with maddening control. His palm pressed against your bare skin—testing, feeling—as if searching for the perfect spot.
Without a word—slap!
You gasped, the sudden sting stealing your breath.
Another strike—harder this time.
Then another. And another.
He didn’t stop until you’d lost count. By the time he was done and satisfied, your ass throbbed, red and burning. You winced as you pulled your skirt back up, the fabric scraping raw against your skin.
Leaning in, he whispered in your ear, “Now, go home.”
That day had changed everything; going to work each morning thrilled you like never before.
Hanbin felt it too—though he made sure you’d never know. He maintained his composure, face impassive, speaking only when necessary—usually when you made a mistake, which, more often than not, you did on purpose.
“What did I say about commas?” he’d scold you, tone clipped.
“Sorry, sir. I’ll fix it.”
“Do it again.”
“Yes, sir. I will.”
“You’ve been slipping.”
“I know.”
“I gave you more responsibility because I thought you could handle it.”
“I can,” you said through clenched teeth.
You couldn’t tell if he was convinced. His gaze locked on you in a way that made you feel exposed—like he was dissecting you, as if you were something to be figured out.
And yet, he made you feel seen.
“Bring them back to me as soon as you're done. Don’t use your hands.”
“Understood, sir.”
Again, you obeyed him.
An hour later, you entered his office, the papers clutched delicately between your lips. He saw that your lipstick had been wiped off, leaving only the clean imprint of your effort. He watched as you placed the papers on his desk neatly—no smudges, just proof of your attentiveness. His expression didn’t falter, but you were almost certain his fingers had tightened around his pen.
He hated to admit it, but he liked it. He liked when you improvised—how you found clever ways to accomplish every task he gave you. And this time, you’d used your jaw, your mouth. A mouth he often thought about kissing. Hard.
You both kept it up every day of the week—undetected by anyone else at the firm. No one suspected a thing.
You two were unconventional—didn’t even hold hands in the break room.
But Hanbin had his ways.
He would leave notes on your desk in that annoyingly perfect handwriting of his. Little praises. Daring challenges. Sometimes, just your name written in red ink—like a secret only the two of you understood.
In the following months, Hanbin noticed how much you’d changed. The woman who had often avoided his gaze now looked him straight in the eyes—the same woman who used to apologize even for minor things. You stood taller. Spoke clearer. You had learned to be confident in yourself.
As for him, you weren’t just the fire in his loins—you’d become a light in his life. A light he wanted to keep. For a long time.
One night, after everyone had gone home, he found you still at your computer, typing away. He knew you were pretending, as you always did—finding excuses to stay late so you could wait for him.
“You never give up, do you?”
You looked up, a playful smile on your lips. “Never.”
Hanbin’s gaze glinted. “Can you do this… twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”
“You know I can,” you replied, daring, matching the spark in his stare.
For the first time ever, you saw Hanbin smile. God, he looked so good when he smiled—it made your heart jump.
“I’ve made reservations at this Italian place… for us.”
Your smile widened. “Are you asking me out on a date, sir?”
He nodded.
“You know what this means, right?” you teased.
“Yes,” he said softly. “It means this.”
Hanbin walked around your desk, took your hand, and gently pulled you to your feet.
Then he kissed you—not rushed, not demanding. Just real.
