Aaaand I present you the second prompt:

hatsunecherry answered: me!me!me! What about Boss!Levi x Mikasa? Office AU

I really liked this prompt and the AU setting; might as well write a sequel or two /winkwonk

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Enjoy! Reviews are appreciated! xx

II. Devil Of A Boss

"I don't get paid enough for this," she mutters darkly under her breath as the wind whips wildly about her and throws her shoulder length hair in a disarray state. Up a small set of stairs Mikasa goes, her umbrella nearly flies away from her grasp but the automatic doors open and she hurriedly enters the hall, secure walls keeping the cold wind outside and away from her slightly shivering form. The security guard by the entrance takes the umbrella from her hand and rolls the dark material around its metal shaft for her, seeing as one hand is occupied with a paper cup from the local coffee shop and the other is trying so hard to comb her hair back down into place.

After voicing her thanks and taking the umbrella back, she goes as fast towards the elevator as the slippery soles of her shoes let her, short heels clicking on the cold floor and mingling with the low volume of the television in the waiting area. She leaves a trail of wet footprints in her wake, it's so hard to remain dry and warm when there's a storm raging outside, but her damned boss asked for coffee and she had to be the one to go get it. Yes, she was his adjutant, yes, he was the second most important man of that corporation, but that still didn't give him the right to treat her as a maid.

The elevator ride is peaceful as she goes up a couple of floors in the company of a sand-haired man and his freckled workmate. She remembers them from the days before she got promoted, from that one time when everything was fine and she didn't get to work with that spawn of the devil – no, scratch that – the devil himself. They keep a conversation going; they crack jokes and even manage to make her smile a little, and all is good as her muscles slowly relax and the elevator slows to a stop on the fifth floor.

A bell rings and the doors slide open, only to stop two thirds of the way when thunder cracks outside and the entire block is engulfed by darkness. Her breath catches in her throat, her wide dark eyes glance around and try to adjust to the sudden blackness that took over her vision, then there's a small square of light coming from her left, and she looks at it as if it's an otherworldly being. "My battery is about to die," Jean says with a slight shake of his head and turns the visor of his cell phone towards the gap between the metal doors to light the way.

One hand rests on the small of her back and gently pushes forward. "You go first," Marco instructs, and she nods, sucking in her breath and her stomach as she squeezes her way through the opening.

They follow her out soon after. Jean guides the way through the hallway until they come across the door to the stairs, and Mikasa stops before it, hand already twisting the doorknob. "Take it with you," he offers her the smartphone, and she only stares at it uneasily. "It will help you for a while longer. We're already on our floor, anyways." The girl nods her head and takes it from his palm with a thanks, and they wait until the door closes behind her back to find their way through the dark.

"I absolutely," she grits her teeth when her feet miss another step, "don't get paid enough for this." She had already gone up five sets of stairs; two and half floors in total, and there were six and a half more to go. Mikasa had to lower the brightness of the screen and put the phone in airplane mode if she wanted the battery to last for a few more minutes, but it was already at three percent and there still was a long way to go.

Then the time comes when the screen goes black and she is left alone in the dark. The storm still rages outside as she stares blankly at the wall, palm pressed against the surface, and she breathes in deeply through her nose. The handrail is cool to the touch and guides her in the dark, her pace much slower than before, and her feet scream to be released from the confines of her shoes. She complies, takes the leather articles off and tucks them under her arm so she can still hold onto the metal and go up and up.

Lightning brightens up the sky and light seeps into the place, paints a clear square across the tiles and she uses the fleeting moment she is being given to see in which floor she is. Twelfth. Only two more.

She rests her forehead on the final barrier standing between her and the hallway that leads to his office, right hand trembling and fumbling with the knob, but the door doesn't budge. A short cry of exasperation leaves her lips and she moves away, places the paper cup, her shoes and Jean's cell phone on the floor, discards her thin blazer and simply throws it close to the other items, then turns to face the door. Her toes are unbelievably cold and her soles hurt, but they're about to get worse as she hitches up her dark blue pencil skirt and kicks her right foot out at the door.

It bursts open after her fifth try. She gathers her things and makes her way to her destination, acting as if her hair isn't slightly disheveled and her clothes aren't wrinkled and her skirt is too far up around her legs. There's a brand new thick stack of papers on her desk waiting to be delivered to him, and she places it in the crook of her elbow before entering his room, feeling her heart beating in her throat.

She sees his silhouette in the darkness, sitting poised in his leather chair and staring unseeingly at the blank screen of his monitor. Fingers entwined together and hands pressed to his lips, his grey eyes flicker over to her when she approaches his desk, and he merely casts a glance at the paperwork that is placed by the circular pen holder to his right.

Levi tugs on his jacket draped over the back of his chair as Mikasa walks around his table, his hand finds her legs in the dark, callused and warm palms coming to rest on the cool skin of her thigh, and his arm hooks around her hips and tugs her to his lap. She shivers and curls into him for warmth, and her devil of a boss places his jacket over her shoulders, previously protected only by a thin layer of clothing.

She passes him the paper cup; he sips his drink as if it had never gone cold and even hums in appreciation. "Good god, Mikasa," he says into the dark, arm tightening around her form when her cold nose buries itself in the crook of his neck; "I love you for this."

Outside the storm rages on, and she smiles against the skin of his throat. Maybe she does get paid enough for this.