Secretary!reader who is incredibly shy. The boys love messing with you, like to see how you squirm. You’ve started getting used to the comments and innuendos, your face hasn’t gotten any cooler, though.
Without fail when they walk past your desk in the morning, they’ll throw some quip your way.
“Well aren’t you a sight for me sore eyes, bird.” Johnny is always the most dramatic, and spends the most time loitering.
“Lookin’ as delicious as ever, sweetheart.” The captain throws a wink your way, he’s a walking HR violation.
“Mornin’, pretty.” Simon’s gruff voice is muffled from under the mask. You’re sure if you told anyone he said things like this they would get you checked.
“You still being good for us?” Kyle raps his knuckles on the wooden top of the desk, barely sparing you a glance as he struts past.
And without fail, you’ll flail and flounder and the blood will rush to your cheeks and they’ll just laugh and walk away like you weren’t contemplating your whole existence.
Of course it sent you into overthinking hell, because why did they keep doing it? Were they bullying you? Did they just think you so obstructive that they needed to bring your poor, long-untouched hopes up? Were they testing your tolerance? Did…did they actually mean the things they said? That one was obviously not the answer, but gosh they made your thoughts run away.
You never knew how they actually felt about you until your desk got moved to a more central location.
Someone retired and you blessedly got to abandon your rickety old desk that was next to the fan unit that never shut up. What that meant though, was you were now in the central path of travel into base instead of snuggled next to the side door only the 141 used.
You figured you’d seen the last of them because of that, after all why would they change their routine simply because your desk got moved?
Your theory was quickly disproven when the following Monday they strutted in through the main door to swing right past your new desk.
“Tryin’ to get rid of us, love?” John leans over the new desk, elbows splaying on the ledge, bare forearms exposed and flexing. You avert your gaze fast.
“No…desk opened up.” Your gaze flits back to the paperwork you’re completing.
“Old one wasn’t good enough for ya?” Inquires Ghost.
You raise your eyebrows and snort to yourself, keeping your eyes on your computer, “pretty sure it had termites.”
“Ah! Wouldn’t ya know, you can make jokes.” Johnny joins the ‘leaning-on-your-desk’ party.
You roll your eyes. This is just like in high school when the popular kids would say you were just so quiet. Or in elementary when the meanies would tug your hair or clothes. They were totally making fun of you. (You wish they meant what they said. That they actually had an interest in you).
“So can I expect you to change your route to bother me here, now?” You finally find their eyes. Deciding enough was enough and you should start to push back a little (even if that meant your hands were shaking aggressively).
“Yes, love.” Confirms Kyle with his stupid smile, “see you tomorrow!” He laughs and pats John’s shoulder like a signal. They all walk away. You convince yourself you don’t miss them.
And you try to ignore everyone else’s nosy gazes.
The actual realization came the next morning, when instead of the familiar faces of the 141, another gruff military man is standing at your desk.
Now, that wouldn’t be too weird except you weren’t that kind of secretary. You didn’t direct people or answer questions, you mostly just handled some paperwork. So you were a little confused on what he might need from you…maybe he was lost?
“Oh! Hello! Can I help you?” Might as well assist him while he’s here.
His gaze is no where near your eyes, rather roaming your body in a way that sends a shudder down your spine. (Nothing like how you feel when your the boys look at you).
He’s licking his lips and still not looking you in the eye when he answers, “I think you very much can, baby.”
Ew.
You try to keep it together but you’re not very good with conflict or uncomfortable situations, “um, sir…if you’re lost you can be directed by that gentleman over there,” you point to the secretary that does direct people.
“No…no I think I’m right where I need to be.” He smiles and finally makes eye contact, which is somehow worse. “How bout you stand up for me, baby, and we can see what we’re workin’ with.”
Oh you’re going to throw up. You’re flustered, and not in the good way, and you have no idea what your next move is when a large hand lands soundly on the desk next to his. Another slaps firmly onto the creep’s shoulder.
“We have a problem here?” You never thought you’d be so grateful to hear John Price’s stupid little accent in your life. For as much as they flirted with you, they never made you feel uncomfortable.
Even talking directly to this man, John’s gaze is solely on yours. Your shoulders drop. The rest of the 141 are behind him, practically surrounding the new guy.
He turns around, sensing the new status quo. “No! No problem here. Just tryin’ get some directions from this pretty thing here.” He keeps digging his hole.
“Well I suggest you find them somewhere else.” Simon’s tone leaves no room for argument. Besides, who in their right mind is disagreeing with him, ever.
All of their faces are dark, which is a stark contrast to the smirks and smiles they normally have for you. You’re beginning to comprehend why everyone finds them so intimidating.
Luckily, the creep knows when he’s lost and he scurries away.
There’s a silence for a moment before John turns back to you, “‘m sorry ‘bout that, love. Won’t happen again. I’ll make sure of it.” He gives you his stupid eye-crinkling grin that you pretend to hate before they all leave you alone again.
The next time you see Corporal Creep he’s sporting a black eye…you’re not going to draw any conclusions about that.
Simon who loves Secretary! reader's curves and dips and her shy expression. Since that one night, Simon has been acting a little weird with Secretary! reader. How? Well, he keeps feeding her everytime she was close to him.
In the meeting room during a briefing, his hand would be on her thigh, squeezing the supple flesh, then without anyone noticing, he'd hand her a cookie under the table, whispering in her ear, "Go out and eat it, mama".
Or in the hallway, he'd pull her by her waist and hand her a big sandwich while saying, "Gotta eat it, mama."
Or when she goes to give him some files in his office, he makes her sit and offers her tea and cup cakes, saying, "keep yer tummy full, mama."
Or in the recroom while everyone chilled, he'll order a lot of takeout and sit with her to eat. If Soap dares to take a bite, Simon sets him back with a glare. He'll make her eat until she can no more.
It was strange. Simon wasn't the type to keep snacks on him or order food for anyone. If that was not enough, secretary! reader's new weight was 1 kg more than before...in the span of only two weeks.
So, when one day, she was tasked to deliver another pile of files in Simon's office, she decided to ask 'why?'
She entered his office, put the pile of files on his desk with a, "Captain sent these for the next briefing." When he told her to sit and eat before leaving, she asked finally, "Lieutenant?"
Simon replied, "yeh, mama."
Secretary!reader, flustered, now that he spoke in that tone again, asked stuttering and low, "W-why do you keep feeding me every chance you get? I'll get fat..."
To which, Simon paused. He set his pen down and hummed. He leaned back on his chair and fixed her with a look before saying, "Com'ere a sec."
Secretary!reader, who was already feeling so flushed and not to mention being alone with him and his words were reminding her of that night, she just stared back at him. She didn't move, just sat there hesitantly.
It wasn't long before Simon spoke again, deeper and with a little more authority this time, "Com'ere,mama. There's no point at being shy after we crossed that line already." He pat his thick muscular thigh as he continued, "don't make me wait, mama."
She felt like her head was spinning. Even so, she stood up slowly and with tiny steps and her head low from being shy, she went closer to him. Before she could say or even glance at him, he pulled her on his lap.
He mumbles a low comment as she was sat on his lap, "...I don't see where you're fat...". Then he answered her finally, "You've got such soft curves and dip, mama. Sooo beautiful and supple. But for sometime, I've been noticing that you're not eating well. Can't afford to loose these curves, mama." He pulled her closer and whispered, hot and low, "Gonna make you a mama someday. So you gotta eat everything I give you, 'kay, Mama?"
That, made her mind go all fuzzy. She could only nod. Her fingers fidgeting and breathing uneven. She could feel all of her body going hot and her guts twisting.
Maybe be he knew she was trying to loose weight, but well, not in his watch. He needed those tits that jiggle when he fucks her in missionary, her ass that ripples when he fucks her in doggy, that thick waist he likes to squeeze and those thick thighs that suffocate him while he eats her. He needs it all. So, no, if secretary!reader thinks she's going to loose weight, Simon won't let that happen.
Part-1. Part-3
A/n: It's kind of an extension of the previous one I wrote. If y'all like this one, let me know if I should make smut or fluff based on this storyline next.
Part 2 to this post since a few people have asked!
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who's pissed that he can't get your stupid little face out of his head, day or night, awake or asleep.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who has made a valiant effort in trying to avoid and ignore you completely, but you were everywhere he went. You must have been following him, he decided. You were literally 141's secretary, what did he expect?
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who watches while Kyle and Johnny treat you sweetly, thank you for helping out with their paperwork, even squeezing your hips or carrying your stuff for you, like you were some pathetic, weak, useless thing. You were in his eyes, but that didn't warrant special treatment, if anything, you should've worked harder.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who decides he's finally had enough when he watched Captain Price ruffle your hair, calling you a good girl for being so on top of things. That was his Captain. And being on top of things was your job, why were you being praised??Though Simon couldn't really decide whether he was jealous seeing you with his Captain, or whether he thought it was because you didn't deserve to even see the light of day. He would admit neither.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who finally corners you one day after a team meeting, waiting for the others to leave the room before slamming a hand on your desk, leaning over you menacingly. 'Stay in yer lane, rookie.' he barked out, getting annoyed at the fact that he found your confused face cute.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who had to reign himself in when you look up at him, touch his arm and gently ask 'Is... everything okay, sir?' God, were you trying to piss him off??
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who quickly leaves the room, feeling his ears heat up under his balaclava, muttering something about insubordination and a last chance to cooperate.
Simon 'Ghost' Riley who wishes you'd held onto him a little longer, and hates himself for it.
A/n: Ty for all the love on the first post, it was my first time writing! Lots of love! I'd really appreciate any critique or any direction you'd wanna see posts take, so just send me an ask!
“ fuck sweetheart . ” those are probably the least offending words you ever heard him say . his fingers tightened on your hips , skirt caught up around the circumference of your waist and panties pulled on the side while his dick disappeared in your gummy walls . you could feel the fabric of his costume pants brush against your thighs at each of his thrusts. a few moans spilled from your lips and and you started to wonder how you'd ended up there .
stan edgar asked you to go fetch soldier boy from whatever shit he had been doing and bring him straight to his office . you weren’t surprised when you found him high on the immense couch dominating his penthouse living room .
the french tips of your nails dug in the leather material of the couch.
“ you’re tighter than a fucking virgin—look at her dripping on my fucking cock . ” his thumb slipped past the rims of your butthole and you immediately clenched both around his thumb and length. your slick gushed down the girth to form a white ring at the base of his cock .
there was something wrong about hearing the wet squelch of his dick driving into your weeping cunt and the grunts that escaped both of you in ben’s quarters .
“ you sure love it raw , yeah ? didn’t know you were a dirty little slut . ”
"Hey! Anything...A-anything interesting today?" Clark asked as he entered the Daily Planet.
“Nope!” You chirped as you lifted a folder to him. “But Jimmy wanted me to give you these photos for your article” he takes the folder, his fingers purposely brushing against yours for a moment. "Gosh-you are such a peach" he praises with a grateful smile. "Only doing my job, Clark"
Clark knows he's not the best at flirting, but was he really this bad? He's done everything he thought of! Constantly complimenting, making every excuse to go back to your desk just for you to be completely oblivious to his intentions. He was really trying, you just had no idea.
"...New top? Looks nice" he asked whilst motioning to the low cut sweater you wore. Your sudden gasp startled him instantly, almost made him drop the folder. "Oh my gosh, Clark! You're the first person to notice-thank you!" The way you lit up, the way your smile practically beamed at him
He couldn't help but smile back, like yours had an effect on him. "No problem. Looks real pretty on you." He gave you one last compliment then walked off, trying to rush off before he ruined the moment by stumbling over his words or dropping all the photos you just handed him.
Maybe you were just more simple than he thought. Maybe it was just the little things that you appreciated more than the constant compliments he's very sure you're used to by now.
Can you write a price x younger reader? Like price is 40 and reader is 20
-🪿
✧˖*°࿐ price and his sweet lil’ secretary…
a/n: thanks for the req 🪿!! sorry i’ve been so inactive fam.. send in reqs and ill get to them! comment if you want a part 2 <3
price was a captain - established, well respected and feared.
but he couldn’t help softening up around you, his the task force’s sweet little secretary.
he could hear you popping that pink bubblegum from his office, often fantasising about putting your pouty lips to a different use,
sure, he knew it was your job to be helpful. filing and following up on reports.. but he felt the special attention you reserved just for him!
delivering his coffee just the way he likes it to his office with a bashful smile, color coding his reports in pastel shades… he had to find a way to thank you for all your hard work!
and being the attentive man he is, he often observed the way your plush thighs would clench together when he rested a firm hand on your shoulder with corresponding praise,
“wha’ a sweet girl, bringin’ m’coffee just like a good assistant, hm?” he’d have you mentally cursing him, clearly knowing what his words do to your body when he stalks away with a smug smirk and signature deep chuckle..
you’d just have to return the favour somehow…
get him just as worked up!
you spent all night planning your work outfit for the following morning, nothing too sexy.. but just enough to push the gruff captain’s buttons!
synopsis: after a long day in the office, you, the ever so hardworking secretary of hiromi higuruma was getting ready to leave after sorting through documents and other important legal stuff. it’s only when you hear mumbled curses and a low dimmed light so you decide to stay and see what’s going on.
pairings: hiromi higuruma x secretary!reader
warnings: mature content (18+). slight d/s dynamic, dubcon, workplace environment, power imbalance, cunnilingus, fingering, cum eating, overstimulation, head pushing?, dry humping, mention of getting caught, belittling, higuruma is tired but not too tired to not eat you out. // MDNI!!
count: 3.5k words
a/n: HEAVILY INSPIRED by the movie secretary 2002.
❝ …You're not shy. You're a lawyer. ❞
It had been a long night.
The base of your heels had been hurting the second the clock hit 6:30. It was inching closer to midnight now and you still found yourself in the office. Letting out a soft whimper with each click of your heels you made a point to go down the very intricate checklist and steps your boss had left for you.
Align briefs for the next week’s advance, check. Manage clientele communications, check. Docket deadlines, check check. Make sure the place is nice enough for the morning advances…
The last one has been something new added, as you had been the newest hire it was of the upmost importance for you to proof yourself. Or at least that’s what you heard your coworkers laughing about over day old donuts and shitty coffee. They assumed you hadn’t been paying attention or that you were too anxious but their words stuck with you.
I give it a month tops.
Hell no, with Higuruma she’ll last probably till the afternoon.
Doubtful, very doubtful.
It was all a lot for you. Especially since you’d made it longer than anyone had expected. With each entrance into a room or phone line directed they continued to stay shocked. You had made it, proving yourself time and time again to be a reliable addition to this small yet powerful organization. The only problem that lingered however had been Hiromi Higuruma.
Head defense attorney and all around asshole. Or at least how you categorized him. Stern.
He wasn’t like most bosses who nodded off with every worry or complain anyone in a lower tax bracket would have. He was in all but few words…particular. He had a hand in everything and anything you had ever and will ever do with this company. It was his way.
And it sent chills down your spine when you first started, the checklists, the intensity, the structure. Hell when had you ever known a boss to tell you to wear pencil shirts, dark red heels, rose blooming fishnets and your hair pinned up nice and proper.
No straggling hair, no mistakes.
Always on point.
But it wasn’t as hard for you as you thought it would be, being told what to do and how to do it. You actually in many cases enjoyed it, left little time for wandering thoughts or trickling anxieties about being a new comer in this intense world. Higuruma liked that.
Liked how obedient you were.
It’s why you’re still here, after everything had been done and checked three times over and even the janitor had said his goodbyes. You were still here. Walking past the very few cubicles, nodding along the way. He would be proud of his place. Would be proud of you.
At the end of the small hall you see it.
A dimly lit room, his office. And right across had been your very own. It was an open space. Where people could see you and ask questions about personal inquiries regarding their own cases but the placement hadn’t made sense. At least when you really thought about it, you secluded from the rest of the workers, right across from him. The kind of space where if you hadn’t known any better swore you were being babysat or at least watched.
You remember his gaze, the first time you sat there how it stirred fear and something else you couldn’t quite place. You had to look away, but still felt his eyes on you, even as his coworker droned on and on about some missing case file needing to be redirected immediately. Hands crossed and placed against the bridge of his nose, glasses tight against his eyes.
Boring into you. Devouring you.
Thinking about it now made your knees weak.
Back then you had been fearful of being lost in the ways of a man who had thrown out coffee in front of you if it had one too many sugars. Black, no crème, (three not four sugars) and red straw neatly tucked between your forefinger and middle to keep it from stirring itself.
Things are different now, his gaze still just as sinking, all knowing making you fall into every word. But needing it more than anything else. He could tell you to do anything and you’d do it without hesitation. Perhaps that’s why he kept you around, he knew you were the kinda girl who listened.
Your heels clicked softly against the floor, the sound coming to an end when you finally reached his office door. It had been left open, unusual by his standards. Remember to tell the janitor about that in the morning. Is what you noted in your mind before hearing a cough, snapping yourself out of it you then heard a muttered strand of fucks and dammits.
Higuruma had always been the one to keep his own. Unlike the few lawyers that decided to give this place a chance with loud and brazen need to feed their egos Higuruma held his silence and stature. That was what made him a great lawyer, he worked with thought rather than words unless needed. Justice carried him not the filth of rich clients that wanted an easy out.
And that of course came with its stresses. The number of times you remember Higuruma yelling was few and far between, a rare occurrence that made everyone’s attention snap towards the man. He rarely spoke regularly, your relationship was continued emails, small phrases, phone line mergers and those looks.
Biting your lip you knocked on the open door before fully allowing yourself to enter. When you had, it was like you weren’t even there. The presence of him was all consuming. His world, his space, his livelihood. It was all in the palm of your hands at a constant beat, but when he wasn’t there. The lush rug that clung to the floor muted his anxious foot tappings. The lamp on his office desk near the end of the table flickered once, twice before keeping a steady hum.
“Isn’t it a bit late for someone of your position to be lingering about?” He didn’t even look up at you, too consumed with the papers scattered across his desk. How could even get a handle on what he was doing?
“I was just…” Nervous still you coughed, he looked up then, goading your response and when you hadn’t answered immediately just shook his head.
Saying your name firmly he began. “It’s late. Don’t tell me the checklist consumed the entirety of your night. That simply won’t work.”
“No Sir!” You spazzed, it was then he stopped his insistent flipping through pages. Not bothering to look up again he beckoned you forward.
“Come here.” His two fingers lulled you into a false sense of security. You allowed yourself to move turning behind you at first as if he had been talking to someone else. Your brain was clouded, of course no one else was here. It was just the two of you.
“It’s not a good look for my secretary to be tired on the job.” Higuruma notes, and with each step you caught your breath. “What will they say? Hmm? Are you trying to give me a bad look?”
“N-no Sir, I was actually about to leave.” You motion, his gaze still transfixed on his work, only this time his hand was out for you. Raising a brow you look at it confused before moving towards him, sickeningly close. “I just wanted to make sure everything was prepared for the meeting in the morning.” Higuruma nods, pushing his glasses forward with his other hand.
“And?” He continues,
“Everything is in tip top shape.” You say with a twinge of nervousness, “Except for…”
“Except for my office. Yes.” He finishes for you with a sigh. “It would seem I have a long night ahead of me.” It was then you took the time to look down, your eyes scanned the merrad of words, all of which could make you dizzy. Deep red marks circling words that hadn’t made sense to you and highlights against things that truly mattered. It was all so methodical and maddening. Just enough for him and him alone to understand.
“I’m rather tired myself.” He cuts. He rubbed his face, glasses rising and falling again. “So tired…”
It was an invitation, something to bond over yet all you could do was nod. Words caught at your throat as you opened and closed them back again.
“It may be best if you—” You start to mumble, staring at your feet before you feel your body tugged against your better judgment. He’d pulled you towards his desk, towards him. That’s what the outstretched hand was for, you pieced.
“What are you doing here?” He mutters.
“I told you sir I-”
“What are you really doing here?” It was a question that would linger in your mind, you hadn’t gone to law school, hadn’t yearned for justice the way others who had worked here had. Hadn’t had the ego boost or inflamed sense of need, you just needed a job. A balance in the world rather than losing yourself like you had plenty times before. You couldn’t find an answer or at least one that you knew would goad Higuruma’s approval. All he could do in return was sigh, now pressing his head against your stomach.
“Mr. Hig- Sir.” You gulped. “I don’t know if this is…”
“You’re my secretary aren’t you? Fulfilling my needs is apart of the job…all my wants…needs…” The line had been blurring, you knew that all too well. It started the moment he stared you down, that time when you wore what he asked and when. And now.
You laced your hands in his hair, both letting out a sigh of relief and tension you hadn’t known you’d been harboring. Like a need that was reaching its peak. “Decompression is an important part of the job,” He starts again, his breath hot against your clothed skin, you almost swore you’d heard a whimper in his words. “If a case consumes me…it’s hard to come back.”
“We can’t let that happen.” You whisper, your fingers twirl absentmindedly against his hair, tugging slightly and anxiously not knowing what it was doing to the man, your boss, below.
He hisses at the remark before shaking his head. It’s then he looks up at you, red dancing on the edges of his eyes and bags covered by his glasses. “Sit.” He says, reluctantly pulling himself away from you and motioning towards the desk.
“What about your work?”
“Sit.” Higuruma repeats, this time with more emphasis before leading you. Rolling his chair back he allows you to step in front of him, skirt rising as you adjust yourself on top of the desk. The silence of the room, warmth of the air and crinkle of papers below leaving you absolutely breathless.
You go to cross your legs only to be stopped. Grabbing the back of your leg Higuruma comes close to you, still seated he places your heel against him. It only takes a second before you’re both breathless, shocked at his boldness though it feels as though this had been a thin line waiting to be crossed for a long time now. You press down softly, feeling what could only have been his growing size. Your mouth opens wordlessly, trying to find something, anything to say to this but simply couldn’t. Transfixed against him now he hold you there before moving his seat closer, pressing your heel firmer.
His other hand is what allows the sinking feeling that was bound the rise. It goes to a place you had never once thought could. Trailing up your rose patterned fishnets he groans, further and further until he hits the edge of your skirt. Closing your mouth you go to swallow spit, his gaze is consuming you again. Shaking his head more so to himself he almost pulls back.
Please. A voice hits the air, you couldn’t tell if it had been your own or some omnipresent entity who couldn’t handle it all. What you do know is that your hand goes against his and his breath staggers.
“Let me.” He practically begs and you’re already nodding. Leaning forward he’s pulling at your tights now, slowly he lets your bare legs out and slowly releases the tension you held in your feet. A tongue darts between his lips before looking to you again, his glasses hung low against his nose bridge before looking back again.
“Lace.” You answer knowing the question pending in his mind. His eyes close almost in bliss before looking back down to you. His hands are warm, rough as they reach for your panties. It was then you realized the pool of wetness that began, your nerves trickling in as you reached the peak. “Black.”
A hand reaches out for him to stop and he only moves them away. Don’t. His body says for the both of you. Don’t ruin this. We’ve gone this far.
His finger slips between your legs, hitched breathing as he slides your panties to the side, gaining access to your slit. He practically falls over himself, knowing what he’s done to you. That this was all for him. Only him.
“Mmmph-” You let out a moan, eyes already watering from the tension.
“This is why you stayed isn’t it?” Higuruma muttered before leaning down against your legs. Peppering kisses against your legs. “You wanted to help me… finish up?” The last part of his words were laced with intent and before you could even answer your skirt was off. Lifting himself up from his chair he laid your body bare against the table, legs spreading, wetness pooling around.
“Hig-” You hiccup, feeling a sharp nip against your inner thighs.
“Shh.” He muses. “This case is tough as you know. Hard to focus when I’ve got other things on my mind. Things that worm their way in even when you think they’ve given up.”
His hot breath fanned against your now exposed body, you try to close your legs at the sudden change in temperature but Higuruma snaps them back open. He tuts your hips forward before places two fingers to your mouth. “Suck.” He mutters, his eyes not daring to leave your whining pussy. Clenching around nothing you obey, drool pooling from your mouth and onto his long tentative fingers. They play with the pad of your tongue before delving deeper and deeper until you’re short of breath, a slight choke that sends him reeling.
“Fuck you’re so-” He starts before closing his eyes and breathing deep. “Thaaaat’s it.” And you, so desperate for it now continue on, sucking and imagining it was another part of him you begin to moan, so needy, so willing, so his.
“Please Mr. Higuruma, Sir I need.” He shushes you again. “I know, I know.” Shaking his head and making a clicking noise. “She’s just as restless as we are.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth he goes back to your now dripping hole. He slides one finger in, its length probing you as you suck it in so tight. “Fuck, it’s like it doesn’t want me to leave does it?” You shake your head, eyes closed, mouth open wide still. Drool dripping from your tongue to your chin Higuruma’s eyes blow out wide beneath the rims of his glasses.
“Have you always been this needy?”
Embarrassingly you nod and that does it. “For you Sir, only for you.” Inserting a second finger Higuruma is above the talk now. He prods at your pussy, fingers delving deeper to find your most intimate of spots and when he has it, curling against you making your face form that pretty little O he knew he could pull from you the minute you stepped inside his office it snaps him back. Yes he’d been a professional with his words, used lines and such to make a show of his justice but you, here before him now spread so prettily for him, so willing.
That left him with a blossoming feeling of recompense. The yearning he’d felt and the urge to satisfy even in his tired state. “Fuck. I need to taste you.” You nod quickly, biting your bottom lip as he continues his scissoring motion inside you, back and forth, pulling at you, molding you.
“Please Sir…I need you…” And that was all he needed, the go ahead to absolutely devour you. He didn’t even bother taking off his glasses, too tired from work and too hot with want to take them off. He didn’t bother with the niceness of it all, didn’t kiss or rub your clit with his thumb no.
The man was nothing if not thorough though.
All he wanted now in this moment, was you. In any way you’d let him. And if that meant he’d spend the night devouring your pussy like a fucking animal, he’d be here all night just to prove he could. Work be damned.
Your high pitched moans make him dizzy, with every sharp tug and slurp he had within him. It only made him more desperate, it was as if he’d been thinking about this forever. How he’d do it and when.
“Fuck Higuruma.” You hiss now putting your fingers through his hair grabbing strands like you did once before, now in a more intimate nature. Still professional enough with the name, perhaps that’s what got him off. Because now his fingers are out and his mouth took center stage.
Like a man possessed he eats. Sticking his tongue nice and deep trying to get every single thing you’d held in out. Moaning as his nose bumped against your clit and yet he still doesn’t look at you. Not the way you want him too. Not the way he had that one day.
“Please please please.” You’re bordering senselessness. His words muffled back, don’t talk, just feel. And you do, you feel everything so much. You’re floating now or at least that’s what it feels like, the way he circles your clit then dives back deep. Over and over until final you feel yourself about to come. You clench again this time harder you swear you’re afraid you’ll suffocate him.
Pulling at his hair at the same time he knows your release is coming. He can feel it around his tongue.
Slipping his fingers back inside of you he pulls. “C’mon, let me see you. Don’t hide from me.” He’s looking at you now. Glasses fogged up, nose and lips absolutely covered. You can’t even speak, it’s all high pitched inaudible babbling. “She wants you too.” He says motioning to your pussy. “I want you too.”
And with that a flood of your juices finally peak, you’re practically shaking as come undone beneath him. Eyes blurring and showing white as you moan out his name.
“Yesss.” He drags finally getting what he wanted. “You did good, you did so good.” He’s pulling his fingers out now, glistening under the lamplight.
“That was….” You’re breathless, that much was clear, your chest heaving and hair a falling from its perfectly neat place. You didn’t know what you looked like now but you’re sure HR would have a field day with the sight. And all Higuruma could do was stare, if he could take a picture and frame you in this moment trust the whole office would get the sight.
And to top it off you weren’t expecting the kiss to come right after. Your boss, yes that very one kissing you. Sticking his tongue down your throat and practicing begging for you to suck it or at least fight back. And you do, you so do. Tasting a mixture of yourself and his spit. It’s all teeth and tongue, all so new you never wanted it to end.
But alas, all good things…
He pulls away, fixing his suit and somewhat ignoring the not so subtle bulge in his pants. “You should get going Miss.” He coughs, leaving you in shock. “I have a lot of work to do and you’re needed for the meeting tomorrow. No sleeping in even if you’re tired.”
And you nod, pulling yourself up. The fantasy was over as quick as it came. “And you, no rest for the wicked I assume?”
“Funny.” He responded dryly, before looking back down at his work. “And be sure to reprint the needed files for tomorrow. These ones are no good.”
“Yes Sir.” You spoke. Grabbing your things and shifting your panties back in place you begin your departure. And you don’t bother looking back, don’t wonder if Higuruma is staring you down and thinking the same thing is you. Would this happen again? Was this just some midnight rendezvous bred out of pure tiredness and lonesome desire? Had it been anyone else would he have done this to them?
You didn’t know. You didn’t want to.
All you knew for certain, was that you would keep your job for another day.
18 and up we’re playing with morals and ethics like barbie dolls
lines blur, HR guidelines are disregarded, and meetings are tuned out of as you realize your boss might feel for you the way you do for him. your love affair is all-consuming, mixing obsession and lust into a heady cocktail as mr. drake grows vulnerable and does the unimaginable: shows his hand.
5:00 AM
Monday mornings are the worst day of the week—
For everyone but you.
You live by the philosophy that the beginning of the (work) week is a fresh start. That whatever happened last week can be forgotten to make way for new schedules and situations. It makes it a lot easier to face your boss, pretending like you weren’t writhing on his cock all last week. Like if you cover up the hickeys spattered across your breasts, they’re just pretend. A figment of your imagination.
The dress pants you pull on are tight in all the right places, tailored perfectly to fit you. The blouse you tuck into it is flowy, romantic. The type that makes you look like a romance heroine. In your dreams.
Romance heroines don’t have to print copies for their dark-haired bosses.
8 AM
Like clockwork you’re ready, slapping down the company report for last week on your boss’s desk. The sound of it against the dark wood of his workspace is all too familiar, and you’re reminded of last week, the harsh smack of his hand over your asscheek. He’d found you to be far too apologetic to the men in the office that day, and was drilling into you the ideals he runs his company by. The memory’s played in your mind on a loop since it happened.
It takes everything in you not to clench your thighs together. Your stupid boss: he’s all you can think of, and he makes sure of it.
Going out this past weekend was a complete bust, men buying you drinks left and right—but none of them handsome enough to tempt you. Every other man looked ridiculous compared to your boss, the memory of him standing over you with his hair in his eyes pulsing from your mind into the sweet spot between your legs. The look he gets, when you start thrusting back into him.. it’s like you’ve given him the map to El Dorado.
9:04 AM
“Hey, girl!”
“Hey,” you reply, exhaustion seeping from your tone. “How was your weekend?”
“Good, I just stayed home with some wine and my cats,” your coworker says, smiling. “Your weekend looked crazy, though! The pics online were so hot.”
Mr. Drake passes by as the words leave her mouth, and a mental image of you reaching over and covering her mouth with your hand rushes into mind. He can’t have heard that, right?
You huff out a sheepish laugh. “Thank you.”
9:30 AM
An extremely distinct sound hits your ears as you push open the door to your boss’s office: Your own moans. Heat washes over you, your neck growing warm as it spreads up to your ears, your cheekbones.
“S-sir?”
“C’mon in, honey.”
You shut the door behind you, something in your subconscious leading you to lock it before you walk towards his desk. Instead of standing before it, like usual, you’re drawn to circle around the desk, to stand next to your boss to see exactly what it is he’s looking at.
The large screen of his computer monitor holds what’s clearly security footage of his office, dated from last week. You’re bent over his knee, panties at your ankles as his hand cracks across your ass. The camera quality isn’t great, definitely not 4k or anything, yet you can still make out the glistening of your pussy as he punishes you, over and over.
“You’re nasty.” you sneer, a secret delight igniting behind your ribs. He wants you. All the time, without shame, clearly and openly. Fully and totally.
“You like it,” your boss replies, his voice strangled enough that it causes you to look down at where he’s reclined in his desk chair. His fist is tight over the bulge in his suit pants, knuckles white like he’s trying to stop himself, even if he clearly needs relief. Desperately.
“How come only you get to watch this stuff back?” You ask, the words leaving your mouth before you realize the implication you’ve put behind them.
A dark eyebrow raises, and it’s all you can do not to squeak as his hand finds your inner thigh, tracing circles on your tweed pant leg.
“Am I supposed to email the files to you?” He replies, sounding amused.
You roll your eyes, and his hand reaches higher, his index finger pressing the seam of your pants to your slickened folds.
“What’s your username.” Your boss says. (It’s clearly not a question.)
“M-my what?” You stammer out, thoughts causing a traffic jam in your head.
“On the sites. All of them.”
You remain silent, his meaning truly lost on you.
“I think it’s ridiculous that we haven’t disclosed them with each other yet.”
“We don’t even text, sir. Why the sudden interest?” You retort, face scrunched as your hand finds your hip. His tone of voice is making you raise your haunches. He could pay someone to find it, for christ’s sake! Didn’t he make his start with the company in the tech department himself? Can’t code a program to decipher what your username could possibly be?
Yet you’ve gone too far. There’s a glint in Mr. Drake’s eyes, an eerie tone to his regular cheshire-cat smile. You’ve crossed the line.
“I was gonna be nice,” your boss says, his voice dangerously even. “But I think you need to get on your knees, instead.”
The fact that your mouth immediately begins to water at the thought is a little humiliating.
10 AM
Meeting. (Good thing the economy’s so distracting, lest you have to think about the implications of your boss having you grind your pussy on his dress shoe while you gagged on his length.) (Or the way he carefully cleaned up your smeared makeup, wiped the tears running down your cheeks.)
10:31 AM
Meeting. (Blueprints are droll compared to the thought of Tim Drake scrolling through your pictures from this weekend, glittery and scandalous, in one hand while he uses the other to—)
“Did you get that?” he asks you, his pale, strong hand pointing at the pad of paper in front of you on the table.
“Mm-hmm,” you reply, clicking your pen as you try your best to avoid his gaze. Like he’d be able to read your mind if you made eye contact. The outline of the veins on the top of his hand is imprinted on the back of your eyelids.
10:45 AM
Meeting.
10:46 AM
Sprinting to the copy room in your heels because someone (you) forgot to print the meeting agenda. Running on your sore knees feels like torture—they just about buckle by the time you stop, leaning on the copy machine like it’s a fainting couch.
10:50 AM
Trying not to pant as you smooth down your hair before quietly slipping back into the board room.
10:52-11:15 AM
Mr. Drake eyeing you instead of looking at the speaker.
11:30 AM
The final meeting of the day is the business classic: a three-martini lunch. Your boss wants you there, not only as an analytically-minded individual, but as a pretty face. You’re sure.
Sometimes it feels like you’re his security blanket.
But martinis make you lose your appetite. It’s not hard to push food around your plate and make small talk, however, so you always indulge him.
1 PM
Third martini—yet you seem as though you’ve forgotten the lunch part.
Underneath the tablecloth, Mr. Drake’s squeezing a sensitive spot: where your knee meets your thigh. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you feel the alcohol buzzing through your system, missing the scolding he’s giving you with his eyes.
Luckily it’s a party of almost ten, allowing you to sink into the background without a whisper as your company’s CEO segues into talking about the deal they’re trying to agree on. It’s taking everything in you, trying not to think about the way he’d been gripping himself thinking about you. Mr. Drake makes a well-timed joke, and you join in on the laughter, auto-pilot engaged.
2 PM
“I will not touch you,” your boss growls through gritted teeth, like it’s taking him great strength. “While you are this drunk.”
He practically had to pour you into the company car, fighting off your hands from his belt the entire ride back to headquarters. He’d find it cute if he wasn’t so worried about you. You’re a professional, capital P. You’ve never been this inebriated around him, ever.
Yet you won’t stop pressing up against him, teasing him like a tipsy girlfriend. It’s worrisome how endearing Tim’s finding it.
“Sir.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not even, like, drunk.”
He sighs, pinching his nose as he peeks at you through the hair hanging over his forehead. He really needs to start bringing a comb and gel to the office to keep in the en suite. What if people think he’s unkempt?
2:03 PM
You’re set on the couch facing away from the window, your heels haphazardly placed as Mr. Drake stands, moving to lock the door.
He’s still exasperated when he returns from his short walk across the long room, dragging himself away from where you lay on the dark red leather and choosing his desk chair instead.
Tim drags his hands over his face and gets to work, the soft clicking his mouse and keyboard lulling you to sleep.
3:30 PM
There’s a glass of water next to you, a takeout container from your favorite restaurant next to it.
He didn’t, you always want to think—but every time, he has. It’s something you’re still trying to get used to.
You can’t see your boss from the couch, the huge monitor he’s pulled to the center of his desktop blocking your line of sight. A quick check to your watch reveals the time, and you’re awash with relief. You’re so glad you didn’t sleep any longer, (even if you definitely need it) you wouldn’t want to take advantage of his kindness.
3:32 PM
“You’re awake.”
“I think so.” You reply, head pounding.
“Drank your water?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hungry?”
The thought makes your stomach roil. “..No.”
“C’mere then, beautiful.”
3:50 PM
Straddling your boss’s lap without him inside of you is not a position you ever saw yourself in. Your head’s on his shoulder, his free hand brushing through your hair, rubbing your back as he reads emails. You could fall asleep again like this, and it almost feels like he expects you to.
There’s a couple of clicks on the mouse, and then he leans back, peering down at you through his wire-rimmed reading glasses that dog your fantasies when you touch yourself.
“What’s going on today?”
His tone is clearly probing but also empathetic, too caring, and you can’t handle it.
“Nothing’s going on, Mr. Drake.”
Acting like he knows you.
“You, of all people, are allowed to call me Tim.”
That’s the nail in the coffin, for you. It’s all starting to feel a little too real. Losing the dream quality that clouded your better judgement. So you stand up. Clamor off of his lap, out of the little perfect bubble he’s made for you, and walk out of his office.
A look backwards would reveal the slightly hurt, shocked look on his face, the sadness set deep in his features. But you don’t look back. You can’t.
You’re losing yourself, acting inappropriately, behaving in ways you never in your life imagined you would at your place of work.
You have enough time saved to take a sick day, and you let the senior manager know with an email you send from your computer without even sitting down.
It’s probably time to start looking for a new place to work.
WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN???
send me a headcanon about these two, my inbox is OPEN!!
(( credit to mimi again for this. everyone thank her, seeiously. there would be no ceo!tim fics without her 🤎🤎 ))
