Jun 18
yass
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yass
Mr Unprofessional
SWEET INHIBITIONS | PARK SUNGHOON
summary: you know what they say, never answer a call from your boss when you’re drunk off your mind—oh, and never tell him that he desperately needs to get laid.
word count: 6.4k
warnings (18+): smut. swearing. pet names (sweetheart, baby). alcohol. kissing. heavy petting. spanking. semi-public sex. rough sex. office sex. unprotected sex. light teasing. minor brat taming (?). slight dacryphilia.
MINORS DNI!!
A/N: been dying to do an office siren fic for the longest time, lol. and being a huge fan of ‘the devil wears prada’ this just had to be done.
People-watching was a secret pleasure.
When writer’s block struck or your motivation dipped, your gaze naturally wandered across the sea of Vogue employees—the editorial department, buzzing with energy, some typing furiously, others fighting off yawns as they cradled half-empty lattes.
It was a vibrant chaos, punctuated by the occasional sound of heels clacking or phones ringing.
For the past week, your unofficial subject of interest has been Audrey Klein, one of the junior beauty editors.
Every day at precisely 1:00 PM, Audrey would reapply her signature lipstick—Dior Addict 922, a sultry red that had headlined Vogue’s “Power Lips for Winter” feature last month.
She’d peer into her compact mirror with laser precision, tousle her bangs into submission, and sashay toward the pantry with the confidence of a supermodel strutting the red carpet.
Her heels echoed through the bullpen, catching a few glances like she anticipated. The cacophony of staff chatter and the steady hum of keyboards seemed to fade when she passed.
“She’s at it again,” Anton, your cubicle neighbor and the office gossip, murmured as he perched on the edge of your desk.
He nodded toward the pantry where Audrey now leaned against the counter, laughing at something your features editor, Park Sunghoon, had just said.
“Do you think he even notices her?”
Park Sunghoon was practically a Vogue institution. At a young age, he gracefully ascended to Features Editor after a meteoric rise from editorial assistant.
With his impeccable tailoring, razor-sharp instincts, and a résumé that included stints at L’Officiel and Harper’s Bazaar, Sunghoon embodied everything Vogue stood for: brilliance, beauty, and an aura of untouchable mystery.
But the real excitement around the office? Sunghoon was devastatingly handsome. Unfairly so, as Anton liked to say.
He was like a dreamboat from Ancient Greek mythology, beautiful eyebrows, perfectly aligned moles, hypnotic brown eyes that seemed to see right through you—and a smile that drove the young seasonal interns crazy, though that was a very rare occasion.
And yet, he was maddeningly aloof, entirely unbothered by the countless women who lingered a little too long at his desk.
“Dedication or desperation?” you mused, glancing at Audrey. “I’ll never understand why everyone worships him. He’s…exhausting.”
Anton snickered, twirling a pen effortlessly between his fingers. “He’s also fine.”
He stops, tapping the pen against his chin in pensive thought, “I guess his beauty is an apology for his scary personality.”
Anton was only partially right.
Sometimes, you hated the way your stomach would twist whenever he glanced at you during a meeting, willing away your unfathomable fantasies—because, at the end of the day, his looks couldn’t overcompensate for his personality.
Park Sunghoon terrified you.
Not in the obvious sense though. He wasn’t loud or explosive. Sunghoon didn’t need to raise his voice to make his point. He could slice through your confidence with a single look or a flat, unimpressed tone.
And yet, despite the intimidation, you couldn’t help yourself.
You were stubborn. Always had been. And that stubbornness meant that every time he ripped apart one of your articles—usually with a sigh and a biting comment—you couldn’t just sit there and take it.
You’d defend yourself, argue your points, even as your palms got clammy and your voice wavered just slightly under the weight of his simmering gaze.
“You’re insufferable,” Sunghoon said once, after a particularly heated debate over a piece you’d written about emerging fashion tech trends.
You’d stayed late in his office, going back and forth until he finally waved a hand and let you keep half your original draft.
“And you’re impossible,” you’d shot back, clutching your notes to your chest like a shield.
But you’d do it anyway. You’d rewrite your drafts, re-interview sources, and pull all-nighters just to meet his exacting standards. No matter how stubborn you were, the truth was you always gave in.
You did everything Park Sunghoon requested—eventually.
And maybe that was what frustrated you most. Because no matter how hard you fought, he always won in the end.
It wasn’t just you, either. Sunghoon had a way of getting under everyone’s skin. You’d seen seasoned journalists break under his criticism, storming out of meetings or retreating to the bathroom to cry.
He was unrelenting, unapologetic, and always right—or at least, he acted like he was.
Still, despite everything, you weren’t like the others. You didn’t quit. You didn’t crumble.
And that, in itself, was something of a miracle.
Sunghoon had once acknowledged it in his own infuriating way—after tearing apart one of your drafts and sending you back to rewrite for the third time, he’d leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re stubborn. But you’re good. That’s why you’re still here.”
It wasn’t a compliment—not really. But coming from him, it almost felt like one.
So yes, Park Sunghoon intimidated you. He frustrated you. Sometimes, you even despised him.
You grumbled, returning to the half-written article on your screen. “101 Tips to Get the Guy” wasn’t your finest pitch, but it had been approved begrudgingly.
Now you were stuck trying to make a glorified listicle feel worthy of Vogue.
“Oh- three o’clock,” Anton whispered knowingly before retreating to his own desk.
The sound of Sunghoon’s voice startled you.
“(Y/N),” Sunghoon greeted, appearing beside you. His tone was just as sharp, cutting through the din of the office.
He held a coffee cup—likely a black coffee, cold foam, his usual drink of choice—and a clipboard tucked under his arm.
“How’s the article coming?”
You turned, only to be met with the sharp lift of his brow. He adjusted his glasses, the motion precise and maddeningly deliberate.
“Don’t bother lying.” His voice was cold, laced with quiet disdain. “I’ve seen you staring at Audrey all day.”
“I wasn’t…” you trailed off, voice growing small as his brown eyes narrowed slightly, looking away as your face flushed.
“Sure,” he said dryly. “Bring me what you have. My office. Ten minutes.” Sunghoon didn’t wait for a response, striding back to his glass-walled corner office.
You winced, shrinking into a puddle while Anton flashed you a sympathetic smile. “Great,” you groaned under your breath, scrambling to pull your draft together.
Sunghoon’s office was as intimidating as the man himself: a sleek mix of polished mahogany and chrome, with towering shelves of art books, Claude Monet impressions and archival issues of Vogue.
He leaned against his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking like a dreamy editorial spread come to life.
But this somehow felt more reminiscent of a REM Nightmare.
“Let’s see it,” he said, motioning for you to hand him the printout of your article.
You stood awkwardly, clammy hands clasped behind your back as he scanned the first few paragraphs.
The silence was deafening.
Crashing a friend’s psychology class one time in college, could only tell you so much about body language.
Furrowed brows, then raised. Short, irritated huffs between each paragraph—the bottom line? It wasn’t looking good.
After a moment, he sighed—long and dramatic—before dragging a hand through his hair and shoving his glasses up into it.
Why did he have to look so hot when he was disappointed?
“This… reads like something out of Seventeen magazine.” Sunghoon dropped the pages onto his desk with a thud.
“Excuse me?” you said, trying to keep your voice even.
“This isn’t Vogue, sweetheart,” he continued, ignoring your indignation. “This is…fluff. A cute checklist for teenagers who are still figuring out contouring. We don’t do fluff here. We do substance. Style and sophistication. This? It’s juvenile.”
Your fists clenched at your sides. “With all due respect, Sunghoon, the concept was approved. I’m simply delivering exactly what was asked for.”
Sunghoon straightened, his sharp gaze pinning you to the spot. “And I’m asking you to elevate it. Vogue readers don’t need ‘101 Tips to Get the Guy.’ They need insight. Depth. Why not reframe it? Something like, ‘The Science of Seduction: Beauty Hacks Proven to Work.’”
“That’s…” You paused, begrudgingly acknowledging it was a better angle.
“It’s Vogue,” Sunghoon said simply, leaning back. “Rewrite it. And please, try not to bore me this time.” He waved you off like a rejected textile, dismissing your presence as he made a call.
The walk back to your desk felt much like a walk of shame, slamming your notebook down with a frustrated sigh.
“Rough?” Anton asked, biting into his sandwich.
“Rough is an understatement. Sunghoon called my article juvenile,” you hissed, collapsing into your chair.
Anton shrugged. “He’s probably just stressed y’know? Winter issues are always chaotic.”
“Yeah, but chaotic doesn’t give him the right to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Honestly, he just needs a good lay.”
Anton almost choked on his food, “with his face?” He smirked, “He probably gets more action than anyone here.”
“With his personality?” you countered, turning to his office.
Over the frosted partition, you could spot him pacing, grateful you weren’t the one being yelled at over the phone.
“Highly doubtful.” You continued.
Anton raised an eyebrow. “I…wouldn’t be so sure. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you wouldn’t mind finding out yourself.”
Your glare could’ve melted steel. “Not even in my worst nightmares.”
But even as you said it, your mind wandered—briefly—to how Sunghoon had looked leaning against his desk, adjusting his tie with his sleeves rolled up, tearing your work to shreds.
Infuriating. And annoyingly hot.
But he was still an insufferable prick. So, you pushed the thought aside and focused on your screen, hammering out an article that might—just might—finally earn a fragment of his approval without the usual snide remarks.
The city sparkled under the glow of Manhattan’s nightlights, alive with the usual buzz of life roaring in the busy streets.
The day of work was finally over, and you, Anton, and Yunjin, fresh from the trenches of Vogue, stood on the corner of Fifth Avenue impatiently flagging down a cab in the gelid air.
Yunjin had her coat draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape, exuding effortless elegance as always, while Anton clutched a bag of takeout fries he’d snagged from a food truck on the way out.
“Where are we going again?” you asked, voice slightly muffled by the scarf you were wrapping around your neck.
“Lustra,” Yunjin beamed, checking her phone with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Chic but not pretentious—and they make a mean Moscow mule that’ll change your life.”
Anton let out a low whistle, his breath slipping through the sharp hisses of cold air. “It better for the prices they charge. You sure they’ll let me in? I’m just a humble journalist. Not exactly a hot commodity like you two.”
“Oh please, Anton,” Yunjin scoffed, stepping gracefully into the cab that had finally pulled up. “You’re literally gorgeous, they’ll let you in.”
Lustra was everything Yunjin promised: dim lighting, plush velvet seating, and a DJ spinning music at just the right volume to feel alive without completely drowning conversation.
The three of you nestled into a corner booth, Moscow mules in hand, and dissolved into the kind of freewheeling, tipsy conversation that made you forget the stress the day had given you.
Yunjin, as usual, was glowing—slightly moving to the music’s beat. “Did I mention Scarlett and I hit six months last weekend?” she said, her tone humble yet smug.
“Congrats!” you said sincerely, raising your glass as the man beside you gave the beaming girl a congratulatory hug.
“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Anton groaned sarcastically. “Meanwhile, I went on a date with a girl who ditched me the second I started talking about my favorite filmmakers. Can you believe that? How do you date someone who doesn’t know who Coppola is?”
You paused, a bit confused, “wait, Francis or Sofia?”
“Sofia.” Anton simply states and Yunjin snorts into her drink, “Okay, very tasteful but you really need to leave the fanboying for like, fifth dates, Anton.”
“What about you, (Y/N)?” Anton asked, eyeing you amusingly, nudging your shoulder. “Any love life updates?”
You swirled the remnants of your drink. “Not much to report. Between deadlines and Sunghoon riding my ass, I barely have time for one-night stands,” you paused, downing your drink, “let alone a relationship.”
Anton chuckled. “Oh, here we go again. Another Sunghoon rant incoming.”
“No, seriously!” you insisted, waving your glass.
“That man is the bane of my existence. He’s so uptight, and his looks—fine, I’ll admit he’s hot—do not make up for his sour mood. And you know what he needs? A good one-night stand. Someone to take the edge off so he’ll stop ruining my life.”
Yunjin raised an eyebrow, her lipstick-stained glass hovering mid-air. “And who, pray tell, is this mysterious someone?” She shot a brief conspiring glance towards Anton who smirked.
“Yeah…do we know her?”
“Oh, shut up,” you shot back with a roll of your eyes, laughing. “It’s not me. I wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole.”
“Hmm,” Anton said, smirking. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
You were just about to retort when your phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen making your stomach drop.
“Oh, no,” you groaned.
“What?” Yunjin asked, leaning in.
“It’s Sunghoon,” you said, swiping to answer. “I’ll be right back.” You sifted through the crowd, briefly apologizing for the noise as you stepped out.
Outside, the winter breeze bit at your skin as you stepped away from the club’s noise. Sunghoon’s voice finally came through the line, crisp and formal. “(Y/N), I need you to come into the office. Fifteen minutes.”
Your eyes widened as you slowly processed his words, holding back an incredulous laugh—at this hour?
“Are you serious?” you asked, irritation creeping into your tone.
“Very,” Sunghoon replied. “Unless, of course, you’re too busy… gallivanting at clubs.”
Oh you could taste his sarcasm on your tongue, and you would’ve let it slide if it wasn’t filled with such derision.
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Gallivanting? People with hobbies call it living, Sunghoon. You should try it sometime.”
His radio silence on the other end—or maybe the alcohol—suddenly gave you the courage to keep going.
“Screw it, you know what your problem is?” you said, words spilling out faster than your brain could process them.
“You’ve got a lot of pent-up anger, and you know what the cure is? Getting laid. Seriously, you’d be doing everyone a favor. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a miserable ass all the time.”
“Excuse me?” he said, his voice colder than the air around you.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re gorgeous, fine. But your personality? Yikes. That’s probably why women run the other way. Just…” you groaned, “let your inhibitions go for one day, Sunghoon.”
“Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing in the fucking cold because of you!”
With that, you hung up, your heart pounding.
You brushed the setting panic away as you stepped back inside.
You didn’t remember much after that. Brief flashes of hitting the dance floor, and sipping a couple more drinks flickered in your memory, until Anton took you home.
The next morning, you stumbled out of the elevator nursing a hangover that could bring a lesser mortal to their knees.
Sporting oversized sunglasses and clutching a venti black coffee, you mustered up weak smiles to your coworkers in greeting, before you slumped into your chair.
“I must say, those glasses go with your blazer quite well.” Anton greeted you with a knowing grin.
He handed you a Tylenol, and you pouted at him with a grateful smile.
“Rough night?”
“You could say that,” you muttered, sipping your coffee.
“Remind me to never drink like we’re in college again.” You groaned and your best friend chuckled, “but it was fun, our first night off since like, ever.”
“At least I could sleep in after that.” You whined, recalling your haphazard morning routine when you missed your alarm.
Anton leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ooh, looks like someone else had a rough night, too.”
You followed his gaze to Sunghoon, who was pacing the office, angrily critiquing an intern's layout with the precision of a surgeon.
You watched the intern subtly dab a tissue at her eyes when he walked away, immediately restarting her layout.
“Uh-oh,” Anton whispered. “What’s his deal?”
Wait…
Your jaw dropped in horror, as the memories of your call flooded back, ducking under your cubicle.
Anton noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”
You turned to him, eyes wide. “I think I know why he’s in such a bad mood…”
In a hushed, frantic whisper, you told him everything, recounting your drunken tirade from the night before.
Anton stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and glee—grin growing by every word and detail you dropped.
He placed his croissant down slowly, like he needed his hands free to fully process the chaos.
“You what?” he whispered, leaning in so close it felt like he was about to crawl into your lap.
“I told him to get laid!” you hissed, slumping further into your chair. “I basically said his entire personality is why women run screaming! And I said it while I was drunk in the middle of the street!”
Anton’s face twisted as he tried—and failed—to suppress his laughter. “Oh my God, (Y/N). You didn’t just burn the bridge. You nuked it.”
“Not helping, Ant!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Anton paused, his grin so wide it looked painful.
“Let- let me get this straight. You—our beloved, mild-mannered coworker—called Park Sunghoon, the Ice King of Vogue, an uptight, sexually frustrated killjoy who needs to let loose. Do I have that right?”
“Essentially,” you muttered through your palms.
Anton sat back, folding his arms with a hum as if to fully savor the moment. “You realize you’re my hero now, right?”
“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, peeking over your sunglasses to make sure Sunghoon wasn’t within earshot. “He’s already in a bad mood. What if he fires me?”
Anton waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Sunghoon doesn’t fire people. He just makes their lives a living hell until they quit.”
“Great,” you deadpanned. “Super comforting.”
“Honestly, though,” Anton said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “he probably needed to hear it. You’re not wrong. He is an uptight control freak, and let’s be real, he could use a night of… recreational activities.” He let out a chuckle, stopping himself when he noticed your glare.
“You’re supposed to help me, not encourage my demise.”
Anton smirked. “Fine. Damage control time. First, don’t mention it unless he does. Second, be professional, act like nothing happened. And third…” He trailed off, eyes lighting up mischievously.
“What?” you asked warily.
He grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing out, “if he does bring it up, double down. Tell him you’re just looking out for his uh well-being.” He covered his mouth to avoid another giggle from slipping through.
You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “I’m doomed.”
At that moment, Sunghoon walked by your desk, his perfectly tailored suit somehow making him look even more intimidating.
He glanced in your direction—just a flicker of his sharp dismissing glare—before continuing down the hall.
Anton leaned closer. “That look was…scary.”
“His looks are always scary,” you muttered, though your stomach churned with nerves.
“No, this was different,” Anton stated. “This was like…‘I’m planning your funeral and choosing tasteful florals for the casket’ scary.”
Before you could respond, Yunjin appeared, holding a stack of mood boards and looking utterly unbothered. “Why do you two look like someone just died?”
“Oh, no one’s dead,” Anton said cheerfully. “But (Y/N)’s career might be.”
“Thanks, Anton,” you said dryly.
Yunjin raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”
Anton wasted no time filling her in, embellishing just enough to make your drunken tirade sound like a full-on Shakespearean monologue.
Yunjin listened, her expression shifting from confusion to horror to amused admiration.
“Well,” Yunjin said finally, “at least you were honest.”
“That’s not helping!” you snapped.
She giggled with a hopeless shrug. “Look, if he hasn’t confronted you about it yet, maybe he’s letting it slide. Or maybe he secretly agrees with you.”
Anton snorted. “Yeah, because Sunghoon is definitely the kind of guy to take constructive criticism well.”
Yunjin looked thoughtful. “Or,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “he’s planning to make you pay for it in the most passive-aggressive way possible.”
You groaned again, face sinking further into your hands. “I need a time machine.”
“Or a therapist,” Anton said.
“Or both,” Yunjin added.
The three of you fell silent as Sunghoon reappeared, this time striding toward his office with a stack of proofs in hand.
He didn’t look at you, but the tension in his jaw was impossible to miss.
“Yep,” Anton concluded. “He’s plotting your doom.”
You shot him a withering glare. “I hate you so much.”
“Don’t worry, (Y/N)” Anton said with a grin. “If he does fire you, I’ll buy you a consolation martini.”
“Because that’ll fix everything,” you muttered sarcastically as you mentally prepared for whatever wrath Sunghoon was surely about to unleash.
The office printer room was its own little world—tucked into the far corner of the writers floor, dimly lit, and constantly humming with the soft whir of machines churning out drafts, proofs, and pitches.
It was the perfect place to avoid people, particularly a certain brooding features editor who had taken up far too much real estate in your thoughts since last night.
You spent the morning successfully avoiding him, hiding back in your workspace and typing whatever nonsense to look busy, pretending to speak to coworkers when he passed by and making your coffee in the fashion department.
But, of course, you couldn’t evade him forever.
Every passing moment was spent trying to find the right words to say something when your worlds inevitably collided.
You tapped your foot impatiently as the printer sputtered and beeped, taking its sweet time with the twenty-page document you needed for your pitch meeting tomorrow.
You glanced at the door nervously, praying that fate wouldn’t bite you in the ass.
What would you even say? You’re sorry you told the truth? You’re sorry you got “unreasonably” upset that he called you off work?
“Six more pages,” you muttered under your breath, watching the slow machine spit out the pages like it was mocking you. “Just six more…”
The door creaked open, and for a brief, foolish moment, you thought about pretending you hadn’t heard it. But then you caught a whiff of cologne, that telltale wood scent with notes of vanilla and bergamot.
Only he would wear Tom Ford.
“(Y/N).” His voice was low, clipped, and far too close for comfort.
You forced yourself to look up. Sunghoon stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a folder.
Even without the blazer, he looked effortlessly immaculate, his white shirt sculpted to perfection, his expression a familiar mask of indifference—except for the way his jaw ticked slightly when your eyes met.
“Mr. Park,” you greeted, your voice straining for neutrality.
You turned back to the printer, focusing on the flashing green light like your life depended on it.
Sunghoon took a few steps closer, the sound of his leather shoes on the tile making your pulse quicken.
“Avoiding me?” he asked casually, but there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach drop.
“No,” you quickly lied.
The printer suddenly shut off, and you cursed under your breath—grabbing whatever stack of papers remained.
You didn’t even bother aligning them, too focused on your escape. “Just busy. You know how it is.”
You turned to leave, but Sunghoon sidestepped, blocking your path. “Busy club hopping?” he asked, arching a brow.
Your face burned.
Of course he remembered.
“I had a night off, it was a personal evening” you said, clutching the papers to your chest like they could shield you from his piercing stare.
"Hmm. Personal," the tall male repeated, the word dripping with irony. "Interesting. Because I recall a very personal call from you last night.”
You cringed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
“Something about my... personality? Stressed. Uptight. And my supposed need for, what was it again? Oh, right-getting laid." Sunghoon’s voice was calm, but the restrained anger in his tone was palpable.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, your brain scrambling for something, anything, to say. “I—well, I was…drunk.”
“Clearly.” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Drunk enough to think that telling your boss at midnight to psychoanalyze his personal life was a good idea.”
You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.
“Drunk enough to suggest that I—how did you put it?—‘let my inhibitions go.’”
The way he said it made your face flush even hotter, and your thoughts briefly betrayed you, wondering what it would look like if he ever did.
“Look, I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “It was unprofessional, and it- it won’t happen again.”
Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.
“You’re right,” he said after a moment.
“It was unprofessional. And reckless. And frankly…” He leaned in, just enough to make you feel the heat of his presence. “…you’re lucky I don’t have HR on speed dial.”
Your heart was pounding now, and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear, embarrassment, or the undeniable air crackling between you.
“I said I’m sorry,” you said, your voice coming out softer, more desperate than you intended. “I shouldn’t have said—any of that.”
Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. He simply stepped closer, gaze locked on yours, unreadable and unrelenting.
“Sorry doesn’t fix it, sweetheart.” he said, his voice low and almost dangerous.
“You don’t just…” he trailed off, his eyes dragging over you slowly. “Get to say whatever you want and walk away.”
You stepped back again, only to feel the cool, unyielding surface of the printer against your back.
He was close now—too close. The scent of his cologne made your head spin, and you couldn’t tell if it was the lingering hangover or his intense presence.
“I wasn’t trying to—” you stammered, your throat dry. “I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what?” Sunghoon interrupted feigning confusion, his hands braced on the machine on either side of you, trapping you in.
“Didn’t mean to call me uptight? Didn’t mean to tell me I needed to get laid?” His tone was sharp, but his gaze softened ever so slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.
Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and you hated how your breath hitched as his face inched closer.
The atmosphere between you was suffocating, the air charged and stifling all at once.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.
“I—I was drunk,” you reasoned again, your voice barely audible.
“And yet,” Sunghoon murmured, leaning down slightly, his dark eyes boring into yours, “you said it. You think I don’t know what you meant?”
You could feel the faintest brush of his breath on your skin as he bridged the thinning gap. Your knees felt weak, and your grip on the papers loosened slightly.
You turned your head, trying to look anywhere but at him, but he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face back toward him.
“Look at me,” Sunghoon said, his voice quieter now, almost a command, but it wasn’t harsh—it was soft, almost…intimate.
You obeyed, your eyes flickering to his, and that was your mistake.
His gaze flicked down briefly to your lips, and your breath caught as his face drew closer, his lips just inches from yours.
The tension was unbearable at his point. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Every logical part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to say something, to step away. But you couldn’t.
And then, before you could think it through—before you could stop yourself—you surged forward, crashing your lips against his.
The stack of papers in your hand fell to the floor in a forgotten mess as your hands reached up instinctively, clutching the fabric of his well pressed shirt.
He groaned against your lips, his voice rough and full of something you couldn't quite name.
For a second—a fraction of a second—you thought Sunghoon might pull away, but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.
It was everything you didn’t know you needed—hot, consuming, and utterly intoxicating. The taste of espresso and something uniquely him lingered on your tongue as his fingers tightened around your waist, anchoring you to the moment.
You only briefly pulled back, gasping for air, before Sunghoon’s lips chased yours again, kissing you with a force that almost made your knees buckle.
It was frantic, needy and messy in a way that came from too much tension snapping at once.
Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your hands rushed for his buttons, each one revealing a much more intimate vision of him only the naive interns could dream of.
Your hands landed on his chest as his lips grazed along your jaw, planting kisses on your neck that made you fall back in breathy sighs.
They traveled up his neck and into his soft dark strands, moaning softly as he skillfully unbuttoned your blouse, palming your breasts over your lace bra hungrily.
Without any warning you were quickly spun around, and bent over the printer, a soft gasp escaping your tingling lips at the cool contrast of the machine on your hot skin.
“Is this what you meant?” He asked, hating the way your heart skipped at the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you.
His hand crept up your skirt, sending shivers up your spine as he hooked his fingers around the band of your panties, tugging them down without care.
You felt your cheeks flush at the cool air hitting your glistening cunt, practically aching for him.
“Hmm?” He mused, awaiting an answer before landing a sharp, yet pleasurable smack on your ass.
The sound of your gasp echoed off the walls, gripping the machine as you anchored yourself, swallowing a choked moan.
You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your sensitive clit. You let out a breathy moan, trying to rock yourself backwards to feel him inside you.
Sunghoon’s hand pressed firmly on your back, holding you in place with tut. You felt another smack on your reddening skin, holding back a whimper.
“I need you to answer me, sweetheart,” he instructed, “is this what you wanted?”
You nodded, begging he would take the hint.
Of course he didn't, continuing to tease the both of you as his hand caressed your backside, his lips planting kisses across your exposed skin.
When you didn't say anything else Sunghoon spanked you once again, a louder whimper escaping your mouth this time.
"I can’t hear you," he instructed, a smirk tugging his lips, "is this what you wanted?"
"Yes! Fuck." You rushed, with desperate cries.
Without a moment of hesitation his cock slid inside of you, both of you lowly moaning in pleasure.
You had never felt so good in your life.
His hand found its place on your waist, gripping tight as he started a rhythm, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you willed yourself not to moan.
The last thing you needed was for the whole office leaning their ear against the printing room door in scandalous curiosity.
“Don’t make a sound, ‘hear me?” He instructed, with every slow thrust, inching deeper as you whimpered in response, nodding hastily.
"That's it, sweetheart," he praised, his cock meticulously stretching you out with every passing second, "So fucking tight.."
You shudder under his tight grasp, swallowing a few moans as he slowly bottoms out into you with every drag, arching into him as he bites his lip at the pornographic sight.
“You take me so well, don’t you?” He groaned, practically sensing the cocky smirk on his lips as he reveled in your sweet whimpers.
He was such a prick.
“You’re— you’re a— fuck.” you cry, biting your lip to stifle your moans.
Sunghoon leaned over, his groans tickling the shell of your ear like he wanted you to break, “I’m a what, baby?”
Your brain was too foggy to form a coherent sentence, irritation a mere afterthought as he hit every spot, his cock filling you perfectly. You couldn't even remember the last time someone fucked you so full.
So much for declaring that you wouldn’t even touch Sunghoon with a ten foot pole.
You let your guard down for a few seconds before his hips experimentally snapped into you, lewd moans tumbling past your lips before his hand instantly clamped your mouth.
“You never listen, do you (Y/N)?” Sunghoon grunts, grabbing your hips and slamming himself into you, his cock reaching even more profound places as you cry out, desperate moans muffled by his palm.
His brows furrow, low groans escaping his lips, “so fucking stubborn.”
Your hands search for any surface to grip onto, surging forward from the sheer force of his hips snapping into you, gasps drowned into his palm.
“Walking around challenging my authority?”
You couldn’t respond, pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head, eyes fluttering shut as he pounded into you, making sure to hit the most pleasurable spots inside you.
“Mr Park? Are you in here?” a voice called through the door, loud enough to cut through the haze of everything.
You froze, rising up in alarm before he pushed you down. Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, indifferent to the reality of the situation that teetered on the lines of danger.
“Yes,” he called back, his voice calm and steady, yet still rutting into you.
His grip finally left from your side, instead slipping a hand between your thighs and circling over your sensitive clit, jolting as your muffled cries of pure ecstasy were heard by him and no one else.
The voice on the other side hesitated, then added, “I have the updated layouts you asked for.”
Your nails dug into the skin of your palms, fighting the urge to scream as he hitled himself deeply, making a mess of you as he fucked into you over, and over again.
You were damn near the cusp of falling apart from everything, yet the fact that he had the audacity to be so calm and collected while stretching you out, sent you over the edge.
“Leave them on my desk,” Sunghoon replied coolly, not even glancing toward the door.
The footsteps retreated, and you closed your eyes in sheer relief. You were a teary mess now, crying at the dizzying sensation of fingers on you, velvety walls tightly hugging him as his thrusts picked up.
“You crying for me, princess?” He moans, and the soft delivery of his words makes your cunt flutter around him.
He finally moves his hand away from your mouth, as if challenging you to make a sound.
“Sunghoon, fuck.” You cry, in a broken whisper, clenching around him uncontrollably as he tries to hold you still.
“I know baby, I know.” He cooed, savoring the way your legs shaked, pupils blown wide with lust as his pistoned in and out of you so easily.
With his fingers, he continued his assault, working your clit in tight circles as your hips bucked wildly. He groaned, feeling your walls squeezing him, threatening to bring him over the edge.
But he wouldn't cum before you.
Sunghoon’s lips ghosted over your ear, his soft guttural moans shooting straight to your core, “such a pretty mess for me, aren’t you?” his lips curled into a grin as you finally tipped over the edge.
A soft, yet long moan that slipped was quickly muffled by his hand as he fucked you through it, your toes curling and thighs quivering.
White hot pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in sheer bliss. But just when it was starting to subside, he was slamming his cock into you.
The sound of his skin meeting yours was like music, and his fingers returned to your clit, sending you spiraling back into ecstasy.
Your weak cries of pleasure only seemed to encourage him more.
Sunghoon moaned, a beautiful sound leaving him as his cock twitched. With a few hard erratic thrusts, he came, filling you up completely, not wasting a single drop.
He groaned softly, riding out your highs before you whimpered at the feeling of him slipping out of you, both panting.
The silence between the two of you was mutual as you caught your breaths. Sunghoon leaned down, sliding your panties back up and pressing a soft kiss on your asscheek.
It was infuriating to admit that, just as good as he was with everything else, he was really good at fucking.
Work break. The weather is getting so nice. I can feel the depression evaporating off of me.
ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ
you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)
reed richards x assistant!fem!reader
you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?
masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)
The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.
You’d seen that look a hundred times.
It meant he was close to a breakthrough.
It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.
You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.
Ten months.
That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.
He hadn’t looked twice.
You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.
And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.
Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.
Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.
“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.
“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”
He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.
You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?
Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.
Like how you lingered in his orbit.
Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.
Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.
Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.
God, you were losing it.
You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”
He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”
“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.
“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”
He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”
You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.
He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.
Your pulse skipped.
Your patience is snapping.
You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.
It was a new day, but nothing had changed.
Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.
You weren’t pretending very well.
This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.
Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.
You sat your coffee down a little too hard.
“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.
“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”
Of course it had.
You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.
You were starting to feel stupid.
Or worse—transparent.
You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.
“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.
He glanced up.
You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:
“…Do you want lunch?”
He blinked. “No, thanks.”
You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”
A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”
That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?
“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.
Still, you stayed.
He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.
Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.
You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.
You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.
And more importantly… you were starting to plan.
Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.
You started small.
A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.
Still, nothing overt.
But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.
So you adjusted variables.
Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.
You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.
You smirked, barely.
He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.
His eyes flicked to you more than once.
Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.
When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.
Just for a second.
Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.
You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”
He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.
You kept working. Quiet. Focused.
But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”
You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.
He stilled.
You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”
His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.
There it is.
It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.
You’d pushed the threshold.
And Reed felt it.
It happened again.
Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.
And for once, he noticed you noticing.
You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?
“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”
You bit back a smile.
Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.
“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”
He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Liar.
You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.
You kept it casual. Calculated.
You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.
He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.
You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.
You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.
Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.
You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”
He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”
He coughed. “I’m distracted.”
You didn’t say anything.
You didn’t need to.
By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.
You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:
“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”
You didn’t look up. Not yet.
Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.
And he was.
Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.
It was working.
He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.
So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.
You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.
You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.
His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”
You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”
He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.
Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”
He turned his head, barely. “Off?”
You tilted your head. “Distracted.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”
That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”
You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:
“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”
Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.
“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”
You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”
He looked stunned. Then—guilty.
You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.
“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”
Reed was frozen in place.
“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”
You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.
“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”
His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.
“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”
You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”
You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.
He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”
“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”
His jaw clenched. “Yes.”
Your breath hitched.
“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”
You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”
And that’s when Reed snapped.
He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.
You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.
“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”
“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”
He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—
“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.
“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”
Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”
“Reed—”
“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”
And then his fingers stretched.
Not just in confidence. Literally.
You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.
He was everywhere.
“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”
You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”
“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.
And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.
“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”
You did.
Just to see.
A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.
He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”
He did.
God, he did.
He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.
“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”
You shivered.
Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.
Your hips jolted, and he smiled.
He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”
Then he finally—finally—tasted you.
His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.
And then the muttering started.
Low. Incoherent. So Reed.
“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”
“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”
“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”
You moaned.
He grinned. “Good girl.”
That made your whole body jolt.
Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”
His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.
You looked down.
Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.
“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”
You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.
“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”
And then he did it all at once.
Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.
“Oh my god—Reed—”
“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”
You shattered.
Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.
You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.
When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.
And then—his belt hit the floor.
“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”
He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.
“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”
And then he pushed in.
All the way.
Slow and deep and perfect.
You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.
His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
He started to move.
Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.
“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”
“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”
“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”
And he did.
He lost it.
His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.
You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.
“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”
“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”
He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.
You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.
It took a full minute before either of you spoke.
Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:
“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”
After.
The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.
Neither of you moved.
Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.
“...I think I blacked out for a second.”
You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”
He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.
And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.
Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.
When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.
“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”
You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”
He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.
The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.
Then he joined you.
And just… looked at you.
Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.
His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”
You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”
“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”
You swallowed.
He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.
He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
Then you reached for him.
His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.
“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”
You smiled. “You want another trial?”
His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”
dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike
{ig: iamgia}
I’m sobbing I love your office siren little dude… is it possible we can get more of him :3 freaky info mayyybee
you asked and you shall receive... the first part are pretty sfw, the second part is not exactly a smut, just some freaky infos like you requested hehe.
Yandere! Office Siren Boy! x GN! Reader. : More SFW + NSFW Infos.
cw : male yandere, power play in a workplace, creepy old boss, mention of killing once, mild nsfw for the second part but nothing explicit.
an : you can just read this one alone but it's better to read the previous part first, the freaky info is a bit short bcs i don't really have anything in mind lolol (I can't write smut for shit).
previous .ᐟ masterlist
yan! office siren boy recently got promoted to become the CEO's personal secretary. i originally wanted darling to be the CEO (the CEO and secretary trope) but again, it's way funnier if you're just... some random office employee.
because if you're the CEO, of course people will treat you differently. you have power, money, authority so it only natural that special treatment comes with the title.
but you're literally just another worker in a sea of cubicles with average performance, average paycheck, basically an average life.
which only makes everyone wonder.. how the hell did you catch micah's attention?
like the same micah who has the entire company wrapped around his pretty little finger either from infatuation or fear, it's still one of the office's greatest unsolved mysteries.
the managers adore him, the department heads practically compete for his attention, clients purposely extend meetings just to hear him talk, even the CEO—a pathetic old man with a wife, three children, and a reputation to maintain—has shamelessly embarrassed himself trying to win micah over.
gifts like flowers, expensive jewelry even as far as a luxury vacation disguised as "business trips." micah rejected every single one with the same beautiful yet professional smile.
"...i'm flattered, sir." no he wasn't, he want to wrap his lithe fingers around the fat of his neck until he turned blue.
but micah is a natural flirt and everyone knows that, it's one of the reason why people practically grovel on the floor for him. he smiles sweetly as he compliments people, laughs softly at their jokes, his effortless charm is enough anyone's heart skip.
but those charms are nothing compared the way he look at you, or interact with you. it's SO obvious that you are his favorite since he's not afraid to show that you're off limits even though you two are not a thing (yet).
he'll lean against your cubicle wall while you're working, tie already loosened from the day.
"you're ignoring me again."
"...i'm finishing this spreadsheet."
"...the spreadsheet gets more attention than i do."
"...it's due in thirty minutes."
"...and i'm due for your attention."
he says it with the most pitiful little smile imaginable, before reaching over the table and fixed your tie effortlessly, his fingers lingering a tad bit too long on your collar before pulling away with a sweet smile even though you never darted your eyes away from the computer.
everyone is always pretending they aren't eavesdropping, some even gritting their teeth in jealousy and he absolutely abuses the fact that he's prettier than almost everyone.
tilting his head in a faux innocent, resting his chin on your shoulder and looking up at you through embarrassingly long eyelashes. his voice drops into that soft, velvety tone that makes entire conference rooms fall silent. just like a real siren. whether it works on you or not it totally depends on you btw.
micah only acts genuinely tempting around you and never anyone else. people mistake his public flirting as promiscuous behavior, but it's all surface-level—practiced smiles, playful teasing, just enough to keep people enchanted without giving them the real thing.
with you tho? he'll worship the ground you walk on, and would kill just to get your attention all for himself.
yes, he'll do anything to get your attention. his sleeves are rolled up because he knows you've absentmindedly stared at his forearms before. his cologne changes to the scent you once casually mentioned was "nice."
he'll loosen the first two buttons of his dress shirt after work, claiming he's "too warm," before wandering over to your desk just to ask if you're finally ready to go home.
he'll lean in close enough for you to hear him over the office chatter, his minty breath paired with a scent of peach balm he just applied-brushed over your skin as he talked with a slow and quiet voice so only you could hear him.
sometimes he'll catch you absentmindedly straightening his collar or fixing his tie, he's definitely not going to touch the tie until he clocked off afterward. yes he'll walk around with it crooked for hours if it means keeping the way you touched it.
now let's get into the spicy part (you can end here if you want to skip the nfsw part).
micah is a power bottom, no debate in this. he likes to be the one who receiving but of but also still pretty much in control. because honestly, control is pretty much the thing he's always good at.
he like to use toys pretty decently, not a really huge enthusiast but he'll use them whenever you like or whenever he's in the mood.
he loveeee to dress up, mostly lingerie, he'll even wear it underneath his work uniform.
he's not exactly vanilla nor a hard bdsm guy, he's perfectly in the middle, just a perfect ratio of praise and degradation, if you're into punishment or something like that, he'll be happy to do it (or if you want to punish him).
he's a person that is open to try anything new, whatever the hell you want, he'll do it. no matter how freaky or weird it is like bdsm, cnc or roleplaying, etc. though what he's not open with… is sharing you.
he's fine if you want to see him get fucked by other people if you're into that, but seeing you with other people? hell nah, he'll shut you up even before the idea came across your mind. he's not sharing even if it's only for one time thing.
he's a whimpered and moaner btw, is not afraid to get LOUD, so expect a noise complaint from your neighbors or his by tomorrow morning.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁🌸⋆˚｡⋆. ݁ Pick a Picture: What timeline Are You Aligning With? ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁🌸⋆˚｡⋆
❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️
✨️ᴘᴀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢꜱ (astrology and tarot) Open!✨️
ᴋᴏ-ꜰɪ | ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ #2 |
🌸⋆˚｡⋆ Pile 1:
Hi pile 1! I see that a LOT of new people are coming towards you, and this can be scary but you should not be. I see that this is good people that will allow you to step out of your comfort zone. You have been in a hermit mood, and i feel like this has to do with your own priorities and the fact that you have not been putting yourself first. I think you are all work and no fun.
It is time to find some balance, allow this new people to change your routine and life a little bit. Be more open to plans and new things to do!!! Believe me, you will see that you ahve so much more things that are amazing in your life, not only your career/studies/work. You need to start living a little, have fun even if you have a lot to do. You deserve to enjoy the things that you do, so allow the universe to put you in this timeline of fun. Also, this can open the door of meeting someone new, a potential love interest that can make things so much lighter for you. SO BE OPEN PLS. Good things are coming if you let go of control.
🌸⋆˚｡⋆ Pile 2:
Hi pile 2! I see that you will have a lot of eyes on you for better or for worse, but you will def know how to handle this. I see you thriving financially and socially; maybe you have had a lot of energy vampires around you but im happy to say that this is OVER. I see that you might stop talking to people suddenly, and that is OKAY. The universe is cutting out all the toxic people in you life.
You could also change environments fast, im seeing either changing schools/jobs or just starting to hanging with different people. I see that you will be greatly welcome in every place that you want to be in, so use that for your benefit lol. Make sure to apply to the opportunities that you want, go out, travel, etc. Its just a really great time to try new things, people and places; i see that a lot of things will come easily to you during this time. Make sure to enjoy this and dont live so much in the future, everything takes time and when the future comes, you will be able to face it. SO, enjoy and thrive!!!!
🌸⋆˚｡⋆Pile 3:
Hi pile 3! I see that you will be finding your place during this time. You might have been feeling like the things that you are doing or the places that you visit are not really "your" places. I get a lot of "black sheep" energy from this pile. But i see that you will be seeing your purpose in life more clearly, and it might suprise you a lot. This feels like a really destine oriented pile, like it feels almost divine lol. You are answering your divine calling and it will SO clear to you that youa re on the right path.
Im so happy for you!!!!!! You will not longer feel out of place or out of touch, i see clarity and happiness aligning for you. This can also bring abundance, so its a great time to spend on yourself and the things that you enjoy. I think going out with friends will be truly benefitial for you, you will "recharge" with them. You will know your path, no longer doubting pile 3!! I think this is the clarity that you have been looking for a long time <3.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁🌸⋆˚｡⋆ Thanks for reading and let me know if it resonated ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁🌸⋆˚｡⋆