#tankthrust x reader

You wanted Bryce. Badly.

Your first night together had been the subject of your sweet dreams and distracted mind at work. Three times you’d forgotten to reschedule her meetings. Three times you’d filed important documents in the wrong folder and had to search the entire file cabinet for it. Twice you’d gone quiet and simply stared at her watched her in her element, such as the time you walked into her office while she was on the phone.

“You want maternity leave? Oh, but Janet, I have meningococcal meningitis and I still came in to not do my job.”

She looked up at the sound of you entering, briefly meeting your confused and concerned expression. She waved you away to let you know she wasn’t being serious before rolling her eyes at whatever was being said on the phone.

The other time, there wasn’t anything particularly interesting going on. She’d been sitting at her desk for a while, reading and signing off on a heap of documents. Every now and then, she mumbled something about “entitled needy assholes” while going through the payroll budget for the projected year. She lit a cigarette, taking a drag between pages. 

You were supposed to be organizing the file cabinet and shredding any “unsavory items.” You tackled each drawer one section at a time and made slight adjustments to the system for clarity. Though, like other times when you were in close proximity to her, you worked slower than normal. 

For weeks, you’d been building up the courage to ask Bryce out: typing out scripts on your phone, realizing it was weird before deleting them; practicing in the mirror between bouts of laughter and cringing; watching YouTube videos; LOTS of pep talks that inevitably led nowhere. It didn’t help that every time you had the opportunity, someone or something stood in your way. 

One day the copy machine got jammed and wouldn’t connect to the network. You spent the rest of the day trying to fix it with a technician who barely spoke English, going back and forth between your limited knowledge and a translator app to get the task done.

Another day two employees got into an argument over the last donut in the break room.

Another day had FIVE MEETINGS with various employees and potential investors, droning on and on until your brain was on the brink of shutting down and your hope for going outside for fresh air seemed like a fever dream. Surely your detestation for humanity couldn’t get any worse.

But that day would be different. It HAD to be.

Just ask her out, you thought. The worst thing she can say is no. Or fire you. 

You held back a sigh, focusing on the paper in your hands before your thoughts could spiral further. It was from a few years ago, out of place in the sea of recent documentation. You turned to ask her if she wanted to keep it, though the words caught in your throat.

She took a long drag from the cigarette, visibly deflating as the smoke flowed from between her full red lips. Then she tossed the pen onto the desk, leaning back in her chair with a mildly bored expression. The movement spun her in your direction though she looked to her left out of the window at the busy city below. The late afternoon sun beamed through the open blinds, casting an uneven glow that accentuated her brown eyes and made up features. Her auburn hair shone, the neat curls framing her face in an almost angelic way. She wasn’t Bryce, the beautiful yet shrewd CEO envied and feared by millions. She was just Bryce, a beautiful woman going through the motions of life.

 Her eyes met yours.

Your heartbeat stuttered, heat traveling up your neck. Her lips twitched.

“I, uh, I don’t know if you want to keep this one or not,” you said, holding the paper out for her to take.

She took it but barely glanced at it before balling it up and tossing it over her shoulder. You caught a whiff of her perfume, a light floral scent you willed yourself not to inhale too deeply. A familiar tension filled the space between you, one that was as exciting as it was intimidating. It was a silent dance, one where she ruled without hesitation. She crossed her legs slowly, a knowing glint in her eyes as you struggled to focus. A dare.

“Actually, there was something else I—”

Her phone started ringing. You bit back a sigh, your nerve evaporating at the drop of a dime. She pressed her lips into a thin line, crushing snubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill. Reality settled back in as she snatched her phone from the desk and answered it. Your blossoming hope that it was Donovan quickly faded when she fell into a series of business jargon with one of her shareholders.

Later, you thought while tiptoeing out of her office. It’s not a big deal. 

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

It was several days later when you finally got another chance.

You had been busy the entire day. If you weren’t at your computer, you were looking through a series of files to enter data into your computer. If not that, you were attending meeting after godawful meeting that dragged on longer than should be legal. You happened to be on your way to doing the latter, barely paying attention to where you were going in your frantic search for a particular page of charts needed for a presentation.

You had to pass by her office to get to the conference room. Unfortunately you didn’t get past the first door as it swung open, colliding with your forehead and arm holding onto the files. The bundle scattering across the floor was the least of your concern as a sharp, throbbing pain spread through your head. 

You cursed, hunching over while pressing a hand to the area to ease the pain. 

“Damn it, Donovan! Do you know how hard it is to find good employees?”

Bryce was in your space in seconds, her soft hands and perfume falling over you. Suddenly the pain didn’t seem too bad.

“My apologies,” Donovan said.

“It’s fine,” you said, wincing. “It was my fault for not paying attention.”

“Do you have a concussion? How many fingers am I holding up? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Bryce asked.

You huffed out a laugh, a smile settling on your lips.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Can I get you anything?” 

You started to reassure her once again that you were fine until a thought came to mind. It was inevitable that the meeting would run longer than the stated two hours. The workday would practically be over, not that Bryce would stay until then. How long would you continue to push the date off? Until tomorrow? Next week? A month?

No, it was now or never.

“Some ice and maybegoingoutwithme?”

She turned to Donovan to order him to get the ice when she paused, glancing back over her shoulder at you.

“What did you say?”

You took a deep breath before you laid your heart out.

“Will you go out with me?”

Time crawled at a snail’s pace as you waited with bated breath for her answer. It was always nerve wracking when she got quiet. Usually, it meant she was two seconds away from putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, engulfed by a composed yet no less terrifying fury. (You found this out within the first couple of months of working for her.) Now, however, her face was mostly neutral but after so long of studying her way of doing things and staring far more than you’re willing to admit, you could tell by the subtle lift of her eyebrows and a certain vulnerability behind her eyes that this was new territory.

After a few agonizing seconds, she finally spoke.

“I’d love to.”

•─────────────•°•❀•°•─────────────•

The days leading up to Saturday night were…interesting.

Maintaining your usual professionalism proved more difficult than you expected. Every time you and Bryce were in the same room, your eyes always found each other’s. You both created every excuse to be near each other, sitting side by side whenever possible and lingering in your offices between tasks. And the touches—the way you thought back to each brush of her fingers when handing her something to the self-assured way she linked her arm with yours to drag you off to some unknown place…. You were smitten to put it lightly. 

A simple picnic in your backyard was what you decided on. When your grandparents still lived there, they’d started a garden, one which was heavily juxtaposed with the rest of the house. Light brown fencing closed it off from the outside world. Stone paths separated the food plants and patches of flowers from the small seating area. The seating area was enclosed by its own fencing, its entrance a white wooden archway adorned with pink and white flowers.

The night before Saturday, you raked away stray leaves, swept and hosed down the paths, and scrubbed the furniture. Luckily, you had a long extension cord in the attic so, on Saturday afternoon, you placed your grandparents’ well loved Victrola that somehow still worked on the coffee table, setting a box of records from well known 20th century crooners on the ground.

Two hours before you were due to pick her up, you gathered up and lit every candle you had, lining a path towards the seating area. You placed a bottle of champagne in a bowl of ice and sat it on the side table next to the loveseat. Next: the food.

You figured a charcuterie board would be a nice idea. Setting all the ingredients out on your counter, you pulled up a few inspiration pictures on your phone and got to work laying out the various meats, vegetables, fruits, cheeses, and crackers onto a baking sheet. Though you didn’t have one of those wooden boards and the colors weren’t as complimentary as in the photos, your stomach grumbled while admiring your handiwork. 

You checked the time, your eyes widening. You were supposed to pick her up at eight. It was half past seven, and her house was thirty minutes away. 

After shoving the tray into the fridge, taking a quick shower, and destroying your closet for something to wear, you were off. It was twenty minutes after eight o’clock when you pulled into her driveway and started up the path to the door. 

You straightened your clothes, swiping at stray pieces of lint and taking a deep breath before you rang the doorbell. Not even a minute later, she opened the door. 

“Hey, sorry I’m…late…,” your voice trailed off as you took in her appearance.

Her clothes were more casual than your previous date though no less luxurious. A red sweater dress and black thigh high boots clung to her body. Her makeup was light, her nearly bare skin glowing beneath the bright porch light. You thought she couldn’t possibly get more attractive yet there you stood, speechless.

“Hey,” she said.

It took a second longer for you to process her speaking to you and another second to force words to leave your mouth. 

“You look great.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Only great? I recall being ‘ravishing’ the last time.”

“No, you’re perfect. I mean—” you stopped talking as she smirked, your face warming with embarrassment. 

“Ready?”

You willed yourself to calm down, settling for a nod instead of words as you two headed for your house.

After pulling into your driveway, you went around to help her out of the car, tamping down the goofy smile threatening to overcome you as she continued to hold onto your hand. Hers was warm, soft, her blood red nails glowing in the dim light.

As you guided her to the sidegate leading to the backyard, she took in your old home, a far cry from the finery she surrounded herself in daily. You supposed it could’ve been worse. It could’ve still been barely standing after the wind pushed the tree in the front yard onto the roof. Your grandparents thought tarps and security cameras made up for cold nights and hot days in a house already overlooked by any thief adamant on not wasting their time. 

Though the inside was a step up from the exterior, you were grateful that they cared for the garden as much as they did. The moment you unlocked the gate, it was like a completely different place. The trail of candles casted an enchanting glow over the crops and flowers, the light breeze intertwining with a constant fresh earthy scent. 

The short walk to the end of the yard was filled with silence, though a glance out of the corner of your eyes told you it was a good one. Her eyes were slightly wide as she took in the space, brown irises shimmering with curiosity and warmth.

You guided her to sit on the loveseat before excusing yourself to retrieve the charcuterie board, juggling that plus two champagne flutes between your fingers. You carefully lowered the tray onto the coffee table, managing to find a bit of space left to sit the glasses down as well. You made one more trip, plugging in the extension cord on one end and dragging the other end back to the seating area to plug in the Victrola.

“You’ve thought of everything,” she said, her voice soft.

“I may have went a little bit overboard,” you avoided her eyes, “I wanted everything to be perfect.”

“I’m not with you because I expect some grand gestures.”

She reached out, taking your hand within hers again and pulling you down to sit next to her. You swallowed down your gasp. It took everything in you not to combust, her warmth and perfume and natural aura radiating towards you.

“W-Why then?” You managed to ask.

She looked at your joined hands, the silence stretching on as she got lost in her thoughts. Eventually, she sighed before returning your gaze. Her expression was relaxed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. It was reluctant, honed from many instances of disappointment, yet its edges were lined with a spark of rare hope she had long buried beneath her rich facade. 

“You stayed.”

Those two words lingered heavy in the air between you, heartbreaking and touching all at once. Questions ran through your mind, pondering what happened that shaped her into who she is, how many times she’d been let down by the people she trusted. All you knew was that you wouldn’t be like them. You wouldn’t, not with her looking at you like someone who was already important to her. 

Your eyes flicked down to her lips for a split second.

“Bryce--”

She beat you to the punch, closing the distance between you. Her lips pressed carefully against your own, just as soft as you imagined too many times before. Your eyes closed as the rest of the world slipped away, bringing your free hand up to cup her face. Her confidence grew every second that passed as the kiss deepened. You were on cloud nine, your heart thudding against your chest, your thoughts jumbled with her, the way she leaned into you, and reassurances that you weren’t dreaming.

You squeezed her hand after you both pulled away, a bashful smile on your face. 

“You’re alright, Tankthrust.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, though she squeezed your hand back. 

A gentle calm settled in the air as you both ate and talked about anything and nothing, reveling in each other’s company to the smooth ballads floating in the air. 

• When you agreed to a “simple, friendly dinner on the company’s dime” with Bryce, you knew that it would be the exact opposite. For one, she sent a limo to pick you up—not to drop you off at the restaurant or even have her already waiting in the limo. No, it took you straight to Bryce’s shoreside mansion.

• Her sheer beauty made up for it, however. Walking out of the glass doors was your boss clad in a skintight, spaghetti strap dress—blood red. Her auburn hair was pinned up with the right amount of messiness and she was adorned with diamond jewelry.

• You looked down at your best clothes with a critical eye, making sure there were no loose threads or wrinkles.

• “Bryce, you look ravishing as always,” you commented when she entered, trying to maintain your composure as the intoxicating scent of her perfume filled the air.

• “Don’t I?” She smirked, crossing one leg over the other. “I suppose you clean up nicely, as well.”

• She booked a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town. You tried not to make eye contact with the other patrons, worried they would see right through to your lackluster bank account if they hadn’t already. The neatly arranged variety of silverware that cost more per piece than you were paid in a month sent further doubts in your mind.

• What the hell did Bryce see in you? She could have anyone at the drop of a dime, could have anyone with the most luxurious cars and homes, give her the universe if she asked for it. But you, you were only an executive assistant. You lived modestly in a home that your grandparents lived in before you were born. Your car was their hand-me-down from almost ten years ago. The outfit you wore hadn’t been worn since you got it to wear for your grandparents’ funerals.

• You were just…you.

• Naturally, you tried your best not make your discomfort known, instead taking notice of which fork was meant for what as to not look like a complete idiot.

• Everything was going well. Bryce wasn’t as bad as she seemed in the office. She was more real, gentler. You had more in common than you thought possible. Then, the soup was served.

• You and Bryce were so engrossed in conversation about your favorite artists that you hadn’t noticed the bowls of soup being placed on the table. She had moved to sit beside you a while ago; her proximity was enough to handicap your senses. Suddenly, her hand that reached towards yours on the table had knocked the bowl of scorching hot soup into your lap.

• You cursed loudly, face contorting into a pained grimace. She handed you a napkin which you took to frantically wipe away the scalding liquid. You excused yourself to the bathroom, ignoring the multiple pairs of eyes staring and Bryce as she tried to form the words to apologize.

• Wiping at the spot with a wet towel did nothing to remove the stain. You doubted it would come out. Hopefully the dry cleaners could do something about it.

• When you returned to the table, Bryce was wringing her hands, mood obviously fallen.

• “I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?” She asked in a quiet voice, tone suggesting that she already knew the answer.

• “Of course not,” you reassured. Her head snapped up. “It was an accident. No big deal.”

• The corner of her mouth tilted up. She proposed that you two get out of there and you couldn’t have said yes fast enough. Since you hadn’t eaten much, you insisted that you stop at the local fast-food place for a combo meal. She looked disturbed that you wanted such junk, but after taking a hesitant bite from a fry you offered, she demanded that the driver go back around and order her a meal as well.

• You ended your adventure on the near abandoned top floor of a car garage. Both of you were sitting on the hood of the limo, eating your food and watching the city life below. You burped. Before you could excuse yourself, another loud burp reverberated through the night. Your eyes wide, you turned to Bryce who was cupping her mouth with a sheepish expression on her face. You burst into laughter. She didn’t know how to react at first, but eventually joined in with chuckles of her own.

• “You’re alright Tankthrust,” you said, nudging her shoulder with your own.