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reiderwriter · 9 months

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Margaritas and Mistakes

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, smut coming in the next part (it's already written it just felt best to post them separately lmao).

Warnings: Suggestive language, dirty talk, some heavy petting and mention of sexual arousal. 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: On a group night out, you get a little more drunk than you want to, and when Spencer shows up looking like the love of your life and not just your coworker, you realise that the margarita’s are having more of an effect than they should be.

A/N: Welcome back, it's my week off currently so I've been writing a copious amount of smut, so please enjoy this 3.6k word build up to more smut coming soon. Requests are still open, and you can find my masterlist here!

PART TWO!

You truly made all of your worst decisions when under the influence of alcohol. You blamed it on the fact that you really didn’t get the chance to go out all that often now that you were a full time member of the BAU Team. But the job was sometimes rewarding, and considering you’d been working on consultations all week and not a full time case, you were really looking forward to stretching your legs this friday night and getting some much needed relaxation in before you had to stare evil in the eye one more time.

“Girls’ Night Out! No male detectives, partners, Special Supervisory Agents, Unit Chiefs, OR Doctors!” Penelope cheered as you arrived at her apartment that night prior to your eventful outing.

“God I needed this,” Emily sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t remember the last time I got to kick back with a glass of chardonnay.”

“You sent me a picture of your drink two days ago, and it didn’t exactly look like water,” JJ laughed.

“Ah you see, my dear JJ, that wasn’t kicking back. That was therapy.”

“Honestly, though, it’s going to be good to get out of the house. I swear, the only places I’ve been for the last month have been my apartment and work,” you sigh, downing the last of the drink Penelope had handed you on the way in.

“What happened to that guy you were seeing, Y/N? Was he that bad?”

“Don’t even mention it. He took me back to his place and he didn’t even have a mattress on the floor, wanted us to do it on his couch,” you groan. “The couch that was also housing all of his laundry. And I’m not positive it was even clean laundry.”

You really had been having the absolute worst luck with men recently; other than your aforementioned tinder date, the only men who had shown any interest in you being serial killers who wanted to murder you and married cops looking to fool around with an FBI agent. Not the most auspicious of dating pools.

“Okay, operation get Y/N laid is a go. Ladies, your jobs tonight, should you choose to accept it, is to become the best wing-women this town has ever seen!” Penelope joked, and you found yourself giggling at just the idea, thankful that they were taking the time to try to cheer you up.

“Oh I’m all in. I’m warning you now, Y/N, my wing-woman success rate is pretty high. I’ve helped multiple couples achieve not only orgasm, but also marriage and kids.” Emily boasted.

“Emily, next time you might want to think about the wording of that one,” JJ laughed. “But I’m in too, you could use a little unwinding.”

“Not you too, JJ. You were supposed to be our voice of reason tonight.” You giggle into your cup, feeling the effect of your starter alcohol already.

“Nope. We’re having no responsible adults in our midst tonight. That’s why I’ve already arranged for our favourite Doctor to come and pick us up when the last of us falls tonight. He’s at a screening of some Indie Russian flick until 2am which is probably about perfect for our plans.”

This is the first you’ve heard of Penelope’s plans, but you’re not against it. With a solid escape route, you can let loose as much as you want tonight and know that all of your friends are fully able to have as much fun as possible tonight.

“Well, that’s the plan for us, sweetcheeks. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” Penelope winked at you with a nefariously innocent look on her face. And suddenly you weren’t quite as sure you trusted her…

–X–

After your first margarita at the bar you were still feeling fine. Sure, you were talking a lot louder than you usually did, and if you saw yourself in the mirror you’d probably start giggling instantly at the stupid, semi-permanent grin on your face, but you were feeling so relaxed that it was of no consequence.

You’d moved swiftly from Penelope’s apartment to the nearest downtown bar. It looked pretty seedy to you, and the lighting was so low you could barely make out the faces of your friends in their seats at the same table as you, but you were sure some of that was just the alcohol blurring your vision.

Your hearing though was still in top shape, which was why when Penelope asked her next question, you almost spit the drink out of your mouth, rushing to laugh.

“Okay, fuck, marry, kill, Hotch, Morgan, Reid.” She giggled as she posed the question to her teammates.

“Oh come on now, that’s not fair.” Emily laughed at the question posed.

“You’re right, I don’t know a woman alive that doesn’t want a ride on my chocolate thunder.” Penelope let out a faux dreamy sigh and took another swig of her drink.

“And marrying Reid just seems wrong. He’s like our brother at this point.” JJ points out, just shuddering at the thought.

“So we’re all in agreement? Fuck Morgan, marry Hotch and lovingly bury Reid six foot under?” Emily laughs and the other two nod.

“Nope,” is all you manage to get out before going for another large gulp of your drink.

“Well, well, well, Y/N what would you be doing differently?” Emily snaps her head around to look at you, eager for the juicy details.

“None of you are curious what the doctor is packing?” You reply, almost innocently, unaware of the many plots culminating in the minds of your friends at that very second.

“Not at all. “Nope.” “That’s pretty gross, actually.” They all seem to reply at once, but Penelope pushes another drink into your hand as soon as you’re done and gets ready to launch a counter-attack.

“Are you curious about it?” She leaves it at that, and if you weren’t so drunk, you’d have seen them all lean into you, desperate for your answer and ready to hang off of your every word. "Do you think about you and him… You know?"

“Every night,” you sigh dreamily. And you’re telling the truth. In the recent months, you’d found yourself waking up a little hot and bothered after some rather steamy midnight encounters with the Good Doctor. You’d become close to him over the few months you’d worked with him as a member of the team, but it wasn’t like you’d had a crush on him or anything. It was more like your body had an unconscious appreciation of his body. Or at least for certain parts of his body.

“His fingers are really nice, you know. And they’re big, too. Just makes a girl curious, s’all.” You down the proffered drink, hiding your remaining shame behind the glass.

“No, no, no babycakes, we’re gonna need more details than that if you’re gonna claim that you want to fuck Reid more than Morgan.” Penelope insisted, more forceful now than before.

“And what exactly does every night mean, Y/N? Something you should be telling us?” JJ wiggled her eyebrows at you and you lost it for a few seconds having a giggling fit.

“Okay, okay, it’s just… You’ve seen how he looks, right? And there was that one case three weeks back. He confronted that accomplice, and when he was about to bolt he slammed him against the wall and held him there like he’d barely broken a sweat. And you know how it is, we see Morgan kicking down doors on the daily, so I thought I wouldn’t be that interested in feats of physical strength, but my only thought in that moment was that I’d rather like him to slam…me…against that …wall.” You slowed down your speech at the end, looking up to see what looked to you like the grinning faces of three wolves staring down at their prey.

“And now I need another drink, anyone up for another round?” You squeaked out, changing the topic before any of the others could make their own comments.

–X–

Your second round of margarita’s was probably where things went irreversibly wrong for you. You’d returned to the table with two rounds of shots for all, having queued up four songs on the ancient jukebox you’d seen in the corner, hoping to entice the girls away from conversation, and it had worked.

After you’d bought the first two rounds, JJ had bought you another, and then Emily had splurged on another three, and then Garcia had rounded the hour out with one more shot, this time with sparklers attached.

So by the time you got back to your table and took a much needed swig of a drink that didn’t have to go down all at once, you were feeling well past drunk, to say the least.

But with the free-flowing alcohol came the lack of inhibition, so you really didn’t care. True to their word, the girls had been doing their best to convince you to dance with some of the guys in the bar since you’d gotten up, but truthfully none of them had enticed you.

But now, the night was running out, and the alcohol had you a bit hot and bothered, so when you felt a nice, hard body press up gently against yours, you decided to take advantage of the situation. Without looking back, you wrapped your hand around the one of his that had grazed your hips and held in there, moving your hips back and forth and beginning to grind back into your mystery man.

He was a little bit still at first, but eventually began making some slow movements along with you, and you could see the others cheering for you from a distance, Emily especially whooping from her perch at the bar.

You felt the voice lean down to your ear after a minute or so, and you tilted your neck up to hear the tall man a little better.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” He whispered against your skin, still letting him guide you through the music. Had you been sober, you’d have realised the voice was more than familiar, especially since he’d said your name, but you were not, and so you did not.

“Well, if you’re lucky, tonight I’ll be doing you?” you giggled back, looking up at the man quickly. But with the hazy lights of the bar and the copious amount of alcohol you’ve ingested, you don’t catch a good enough glimpse of the man to realise he’s your coworker.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he says, when you start to pull him towards the bar, his grip on your hips tightening, accidentally pressing you back into what you expect to be his semi-erect cock, straining against your clothing.

“Oh, what, wanna take me home right now? That’s okay with me, mister.” You giggle, grinding back into him more intentionally this time. You grip his hand and try to force it up to touch more of you, utterly carefree about throwing yourself on what you presume to be a stranger in the middle of a bar.

Before you manage to, however, he lets out a frustrated groan and turns you around by your hips, forcing you to look him in the eye for a little bit longer, and all of your senses finally start working once again.

“Yes, Y/N, we’re going now. Penelope called me 15 minutes ago and said you were ready for that ride home and I can see now that she was right,” Reid leant down so you could hear him enough, but your brain was short circuiting.

You’d been grinding on your coworker. The one that had been the cause of so much of your sexual frustration for the past god knows how long. Spencer was right in front of you, and he hadn’t loosened his grip on you that much. Spencer was right in front of you and his erection was poking into you.

Really, your following actions shouldn’t be held against you in the slightest given the situation.

“Are you going to take me home, Doctor? Lay me down in bed and get me nice and comfortable?” you giggled up at the man, now enjoying the way your insinuations were making him blush.

“Y/N, you’re not being fair. We need to get the others and go,” he shot back, irritation dripping from his tone.

“Oh I’m sorry, am I being a bad girl?”

“You’re certainly being very difficult- what are you doing?” He jolted as you moved your hands to his fair, beginning to play with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“It’s softer than I imagined it would be,” you giggled again, pressing yourself forward to press a kiss against his neck.

“Okay, we need to get you home,” he panicked, grabbing both of your hands, pressing them against your sides, spinning you around and walking you back towards the other girls.

“Hello Spencer~” the girls all giggled as you approached. You struggled against his grip a little, but he kept you firmly in place, man-handling you slightly, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Who let Y/N drink this much? Don’t answer that, you’ve all been drinking the same amount, right?” He left out a frustrated breath, and ran one hand through his hair. You attempted to move again, but he’d practically pinned you to the table. Your hips were pressed into the edge of it, his hips pressed against you, forcing you up against the table in a way that should have been uncomfortable. His other hand was resting near your discarded glass, caging you in almost entirely.

“Cars out front, lets go,” he said, his jaw twitching with anger now.

“No need, lover boy, taxis are coming to pick myself, Penelope and JJ up as we speak,” Emily slurred the words, but got the idea across well enough. “You’ll just be needing to take this little kitten home and you’re done for the night.”

They were all giggling now, as you let out a childlike yay, your excitement evident on your face.

“We’ll wait and see you all off together at least, so outside now. She needs some fresh air or something,” he was practically talking to a wall at that point, but after a few repetitions, the women acquiesced and moved outside.

“Ooh, that’s my taxi, gotta go,” Garcia practically runs from you the moment you step outside, and you wave at her whilst wrapped around one of Reid’s arms, stumbling with each step.

“Use protection my sweet babies,” she shouts as she slams the car door just as her car drives away, leaving a spluttering Spencer unable to respond that he’s not touching you tonight while you’re in this state.

The taxis for Emily and JJ arrive swiftly as well, and the two soon depart with similar messages and soon you find yourself alone with Spencer once again.

“So, your place or mine,” you smirk, looking up at him and batting your eyelashes in the sweetest way you can manage.

“You’re drunk, Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Drunk I may be, Doctor, but I absolutely know what I’m saying. I’m saying I want you to shove me against a wall and finger fuck me until I don’t know how to walk anymore.”

“Goddamnit, Y/N, someone’s gonna hear you.”

“Oh you want me to be quiet? If you take my panties off and push them into my mouth maybe you could shut me up for a few minutes.”

“Get in the car, now.” You stick your tongue out at him, but hop into the passenger seat. He slams the door in your face and takes a few deep breaths before moving around and getting in himself.

–X–

Despite having the window open the entire car journey, hoping that the fresh air will do you some good, you’re still on top form when Spencer pulls up to your apartment.

“I didn’t even give you my address,” you pouted, as you tried, unsuccessfully, to remove your seatbelt.

“I memorised your file, now let’s get you into bed,” he unclasps it for you, and you use the close proximity to drop a kiss on his cheek.

“Only if you get into bed with me, hot stuff,” you wink at him and make for the door. “You know, you’re going to remember everything I said in the morning, right?” You asked him.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he muttered under his breath as he caught you just as you were about to teeter into the hedge on the shared green space. You wrapped your arms around his neck for the second time that night and stopped him in his tracks. Looking deep into his eyes, you took one of your hands and traced it gently over the side of his face and down his neck, your eyes following your fingers. He gulped involuntarily when you hit his adams apple, and you snapped your eyes back to him.

“Chances are that I’m probably not going to remember any of this, right?” You smiled up at him.

“Alcohol induced memory blackouts tend to occur in binge-drinkers whose alcohol levels have hit at least 0.16%, and further studies show that 50% of adults will experience some kind of alcohol-related memory loss in their lives, so yes, I’d say you’re probably not going to remember any of this.” He shot back, almost entirely still in anticipation of your next move.

“Good, then I might as well enjoy the moment while it lasts right.” As soon as the words were out of your mouth, your lips crashed into his, and after a beat, his reciprocated, moving over yours just as hungrily. He moved now, walking you back to your door, lips still locked in a ferocious battle for dominance, until he pinched your arm slightly. You gasped a little, ready to pull back and complain about the pain, but suddenly his tongue was in your mouth and you were back at it all over again. He tapped your legs, signalling that he wanted you to jump into his arms, and you did, wrapping your legs around his centre tightly as he finished making his way to your apartment door.

Pulling away for the briefest of moments, he pulled your keys from your back pocket, and made quick work of your door.

“Bedroom, now Spencer, please I need you,” you whimpered in his arms, pressing kisses against his jaw and neck. Unfortunately, he had other ideas.

“No. We are going to the bathroom, where you’re going to wash your makeup off, brush your teeth and change your clothes, and then you are going to get in bed and sleep.” He unceremoniously dropped you at the door of your bathroom, and you slid to the ground.

Pouting up at him, you felt the tears well in your eyes.

“No! I don’t want to go to bed yet,” you sounded like a petulant child and Spencer cursed a little under his breath when he looked down at you.

“Y/N listen to me very clearly, you’re not thinking straight. You’re way past the legal limit, you can’t consent to any of this and I’m not going to sleep with you and then have you forget it in twelve hours.” His tone was harsh, but you listened to him.

Picking yourself up off the floor, you followed his instructions and got yourself ready for bed.

“Okay, I’m all done now, Doctor,” you grumbled once you were done. You half expected him to have left you there, choosing to retreat whilst you cleaned yourself up, knowing that he’d already done what was asked of him by getting you home. But he was still there perched on your bed, and you made one last attempt to get what you wanted.

As he made his way to stand up, you used the last of your strength to push him back down again and climbed into his lap. This time though, you made no attempt to take anything further, just wrapping your arms and legs around him and burrowing into his shoulder. You had to admit, you were getting particularly sleepy now.

You let out a small yawn and burrowed further into his neck just as he opened his mouth.

“Y/N, please, what are you doing?” He sounded tired now, but didn’t attempt to push you off again.

“You said I was probably not going to remember this in the morning. That’s not going to fly with me. So you’re gonna sleep here with me and tell me everything I forgot in the morning.” You informed him.

He scoffed at you, but you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

“So you want me to just sleep here next to you? No pushing you against a wall? No panties in your mouth?”

“Nope. Like you said, ‘s getting pretty late and it’s been a long week, so it's probably for the best if we…” You tried to finish but your tongue was so heavy in your mouth that you just couldn’t use it anymore. You felt the warm rumble of his answering laugh of disbelief as he manoeuvred the two of you under the covers, taking the time to kick off his shoes and remove his coat and shirt.

“Sleep well, Y/N, because when you wake up I’m going to make you feel all of the torment you’ve put me through tonight tenfold.”

And he held you there against his chest as both of you fell deeper and deeper into your slumber.

PART TWO

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

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love on the floor - i. | njm

exactly when does vice president na turn from the company’s worst nightmare into your favorite daydream?

pairing: chaebol!na jaemin x secretary fem!reader rating: vaguely M, but will very quickly escalate into a hard R in coming chapters genre: romance, fluff, (eventual) smut (in later chapters), chaebol!au warnings: jaemin isn’t really a total asshole but he isn’t great at the beginning either and i think that should be a warning, there’s probably some language use that deserves a bit of caution i GUESS, but tbh nothing much here because we want to pretend that this is a fic of chaste circumstances and not a lead-up to raunchy, depraved smut word count: 16.4k

author’s note: first of all, the development of this fic is absolute SHIT because i love context too much and refuse to shut up at the beginning only to get antsy for the ending so if the pace is a little stop and go … it’s because i’m a Fewl !! and i totally own up to that !! and second of all, this is actually just a set-up for about two more shorter (?? what’s shorter) works that i’ve already been wanting to write but felt like i would be remiss in doing so without some kind of build-up to the relationship so :^) here we are ! heavily unbeta'd and miss lucy is a bit rusty but we carry on for the sake of enjoying oneself (and practicing writing once again) muah enjoy!

At least this job gets you free medical.

Actually, all things considered, this is an excellent job with limitless benefits. You never have to worry about the three-level insurance, you have monthly paid-for visits to the dentist, and you sometimes get to use the company car for personal errands for as long as you meticulously check everyone else’s schedules and butter up the head secretary, Son Seungwan, just enough so that she feels mollified enough to let you have this favor (but not too much to the point that she catches on and gives you a ten minute lecture on the rising prices of gas post-the-turn-of-the-decade). Your rent’s well paid-for, and the apartment you’re staying at is comfortable, albeit a little smaller than most, although that’s just because you prefer spending your money on once-in-a-lifetime type things, like front row seats to a Paul Kim concert. You get 50% discounts at the company cafeteria, which boasts a pretty nice salad bar with more than just perilla leaves as the greens. The bathrooms even have luxury soap installed into the automatic hand dispensers, so you always come out clean and fancy smelling.

All in all, the job’s pretty perfect, to the point that you don’t think leaving will ever truly be in the cards — except for the fact that you barely see your boss, which, as nice as it sounds on paper, is actually the most stressful part of the position.

You’ve always been of the opinion that if Vice President Na Jaemin put his mind to something, he’d actually do it very well, but the running issue is that he hardly ever puts his mind to anything, especially when it comes to work. In fact, the only thing he ever seems to take seriously is having eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep, which you personally think is an extremely hard thing to achieve, leading you to the firm belief that if he channeled that energy into something less dead-to-the-world and a little more productive, things would be amazing.

And maybe things would also be a little less distressing if his family would just accept him for who he is instead of expecting too much (or, actually, anything) from him, but Vice President Na is the only son of the family that owns the largest telecom company in the country, so his parents have a ton of huge expectations for him. His father, in particular, is clearly trying to prepare him to take over the entire business, something that the Vice President clearly isn’t keen on doing, based on the many arguments you’ve had to sit through alongside Head Secretary Son. The result is a lot of tension that’s only exacerbated by the Vice President’s desire to avoid more conflict, which he does by suddenly disappearing from the office for hours — sometimes days — at a time.

So for as much medical, dental, and reasonably priced caesar salad as you’re getting from this job, you’re not entirely sure how worth it those things all are if they come with the task of you having to sit through twenty minutes of lecturing in place of Vice President Na Jaemin himself.

“This is the last time,” President Na roars — not necessarily at you, but at you, in your general direction, while you stand helplessly in front of his desk, your hands folded across your lap and your head hung low. You don’t really feel terrified or hurt — more than knowing that the President isn’t shouting at you for your incompetence, you’ve also gotten used to being on the receiving end of these weird, indirect lectures and have thus come to know the exact standard of ‘sorry’ that you have to look for it to be over as quickly as possible. Still, you’re kind of annoyed that this particular spiel is taking up precious minutes from your afternoon break. Then again, you don’t know what you’d expected to begin with when you’d come back from the cafeteria after lunch and found the Vice President’s chair abandoned, leather cold, indicating that he’d been gone for quite a while. It’s about four o’clock now, and he still hasn’t come back, and all your messages to him have gone unread, as you’ve also grown used to. “You tell my no-good son if he isn’t back within the hour, he can live the rest of his life without my last name.”

You’re not sure if the implications of that will really sink into the Vice President’s heart enough to trigger the guilt it’s clearly trying to elicit, but you know better than to voice your opinion. You nod once, then bow at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Four years of this, and he hasn’t learned a single thing,” the President continues, completely ignoring your useless and vaguely insincere apology. “Where’d he run off to this time?”

You don’t know. You never really know. Since he actively tries to avoid all work-related things, he also actively tries to avoid you, something he does by never picking up the phone or telling you the details of his daily schedule anyway. You can only share what you do know, which is very little and, therefore, extremely useless, but you try to say it in a way that appears relatively helpful. “His schedule says he was supposed to have lunch with the foreign investors that are trying to connect Prime Video to the Korean market, but it seems he didn’t show up for that.”

Which essentially translates to: you have no clue. Again, all parties in the room — inclusive of Head Secretary Son, who constantly has to bear witness to the many threats Vice President Na receives via you — know this isn’t your fault, but it doesn’t make the vein that’s about to pop out of the President’s temple any less pronounced, nor does it stop you from bowing and apologizing again when he says “get him back in here before five o’clock or tell him he’ll never be able to step foot in this building again!” even though you know that the threat would probably sound more like a gift than anything else to Vice President Na.

“And you,” the President points a vaguely accusatory finger at you. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “If he isn’t back here at that time, you can kiss your job goodbye too. You go ahead and tell him that. Let’s see if Jaemin will finally get off his ass if he knows someone else is going to have to suffer for his behavior.”

The only person who sees your jaw fall open is Head Secretary Son, who’s now leading you away from the President’s desk and towards the door; the President has taken to staring at this huge family picture of himself, his wife, and the Vice President that’s hanging just behind his executive’s chair, all looking considerably happier than anyone in this situation feels. You hear him mutter something that sounds like “where did I go wrong with you, you punk?” before the door shuts close behind you.

“I’d say he doesn’t mean that, but we don’t actually know to what lengths he’ll go to get the Vice President on board.” Head Secretary Son admits, lifting two fingers to gently shut your mouth, still agape. “If I were you, I’d figure out how to keep him on a leash. The fact that he’s never around is probably ninety-percent of our current problems.”

“I can barely get him to respond to schedule reminders,” you groan; your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose like this will somehow stop the oncoming migraine. “Let alone get him to stay still. I was just about to put in a down payment for a car of my own, too.”

You’ve never really been considerably attached to this job, mostly because there isn’t much to actually attach yourself to, but if you think about it now, it really is better than most, and this economy isn’t really kind to people who get fired from their jobs. You feel like puking at the thought of losing the free unlimited coffee in the pantry and trading it in for a life behind a convenience store counter, which is probably where you’ll end up, pessimistically speaking.

You excuse yourself from Head Secretary Son, who has the heart to look a little pitying as you trudge towards the elevator. You don’t even know where you’d start looking for the Vice President, especially since he spends quite a lot of his efforts trying to avoid having to communicate with you. You don’t even know what his habits are, which means you can’t make educated guesses on where he might have run off to, so the only route to go is to look in the immediately surrounding area and widening your search diameter as time passes.

Until five o’clock, of course — a deadline that, if unmet, will likely mean you also won’t be returning to the office either.

You start off at the nearby bookstore, extremely skeptical that the Vice President would ever willingly go to a place that requires more effort even after you make a purchase. As expected, he isn’t there, but he isn’t in the nextdoor candle shop (also unlikely) either, nor do you find him in the hand-cut noodles shop next to that as well. You walk down the entire street for a good twenty minutes, pressing your face against the windows of stores shamelessly, to the ire of many startled and disgruntled staff, trying to look for a familiar head shape in the small crowds in them, but to no avail. Then, you think about calling him again, but when you pat the pockets of your jacket, you realize your phone is still on your desk, where you’d left it when you’d been summoned to see the President. With a loud groan and an annoyed clip clop of your heels as you stamp your feet on the pavement, you walk back to the office.

In your frenzy to find the Vice President, you’d gone quite a distance, and your shoes simply aren’t made for long, aggravated walks; they start hurting your feet halfway back, and you’re pretty sure you have a blister behind the strap of the left one. Pride would tell you to tough it out, but you’d thrown that out at the thought of losing your job at the expense of a single man, so you don’t even hesitate to take them off and run back to the building. The big digital clock above the elevators says you have ten minutes left to find your boss, and you start thinking about using that time for better things — like packing your stuff up neatly in a box for when you get sacked.

With the situation seemingly hopeless, you trudge to the first floor cafe, where the return counter has a pitcher of water and a stack of tiny paper cups. They’re tiny tiny, like the size of your thumb, so you have to keep refilling it just to start feeling a little more human.

You’re on your third refill when you hear a giggle come from across the space. The barista’s just finished laughing at what must have been an extremely hilarious joke, or she might be flirting with whoever’s leaning over the counter to talk to her. A whoever that seems to be the exact same height and build as the elusive Vice President of this company.

You accidentally toss the paper cup in the plastics bin in your desperation to get moving, worried that if you’re not fast enough, he’ll disappear into thin air again. Luckily, his attention’s completely focused on the barista, so he can’t go anywhere when you finally reach his side and huff, loud enough to interrupt what seems like an intimate-ish conversation between them.

“Sorry, I was just — oh, it’s you.” The Vice President’s smile fades when he sees it’s you, someone he can’t charm out of what they’re supposed to be doing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Vice President smile at you in any capacity, anyway, except for maybe one or two slightly sarcastic smiles that are probably more fit to be classified as grimaces. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you, sir,” you say, stiffly and a little quietly because you still don’t want to embarrass him in front of the slightly confused barista. “You haven’t answered my texts.”

You don’t have any way to check, but you’re pretty sure this is a safe enough assumption, which is corroborated by the Vice President bringing his phone out and checking the screen lazily before turning it back off.

“Sorry. I don’t answer unknown numbers.”

You guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to save your number when he hates hearing about work, which is all you really try to communicate with him about, but it still stings considering it’s been two years and you’ve been using the same number since high school. It’s fine, you think. You really can’t expect much from him.

“Well, your father’s been looking for you, too. He wants to meet you.”

“I’ll take a rain check, but thank you.”

“Sir,” your voice quivers with poorly quelled exasperation. “This isn’t an optional thing. This is very serious.”

“I can see that, Briar Rose,” his eyes are trained towards your shoes, still dangling from your grasp, with a level of unabashed amusement. “Did he summon me from deep within the woods, or is this a new casual Friday look I should get in on?”

When his words are met with a stony silence, he sighs, pushing himself off the counter. His half-finished Americano is collecting a small pool of condensation under it, and you offer him the little handful of tissues you had gotten from the return counter and had originally been planning to use to wipe your tears in case you cried after getting fired so that he doesn’t waste time looking for something to hold his cup. He takes them without even a word of thanks, opting to instead say ‘lead the way, miss.’ You don’t miss the fact that he meets the barista’s eye with a considerably more genuine grin, raising a hand in goodbye to her before he strides ahead — before you even get a chance to lead the way at all — towards the elevators with you, hobbling on one foot to slip your shoe back on, not far behind.

The President’s office must be sort of soundproof for instances like this. For the first time, you’ve been asked to wait outside with Head Secretary Son as the Vice President gets chewed. It doesn’t matter; you don’t really want to be in the middle of yet another round of shouting that has nothing to do with you in the same afternoon, plus you also know how the conversation usually goes: the President making very agitated threats and talking about his heart condition (even though the medical reports from their private doctor say he’s in perfect health) that the Vice President, who just spends the time looking boredly at his nails, will inevitably trigger. When you press your ear to the door for a minute, you actually hear something like ‘... strike you out of the will so that when you kill me, you won’t get a single won!’, and you can imagine Vice President Na’s exasperated sigh punctuating the statement.

Ten minutes later, the room has gone quiet, and you step aside just in time for the Vice President to open the door and step out. You don’t even understand how he can look so unaffected after being ripped apart, but you suppose he’s also heard the lecture as many times as you have and is pretty much immune to all the insults. He doesn’t really have to make a show out of not caring, though, with his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed to allow him to whistle idly as he strolls down the hall to his barely used office. He’s been in it so few times that after long, inexplicable vacations, he sometimes forgets how to get there. You’ve always had to walk behind him just in case he gets lost or, worse, tries to make a run for it. You’ve never had to tackle him to the ground reciting the Miranda warnings, or anything, but he has faked left a few times just to give you a mild heart attack for the fun of it all.

This time, he just walks, not bothering to joke you into trying to create a human wall he could just as easily push away. When he gets to his office, he lazily plops down onto his couch, extracting the Rubik’s cube he’d been working on for a few weeks now from underneath himself and spinning the top layer idly. He’s only ever finished the blue side.

You just stand there, kind of perplexed and unsure of how to start the conversation. He’s still whistling, and you’re not sure if talking over him will count as interrupting him, which isn’t something you’re supposed to do. Thankfully, he stops after about two minutes of fiddling with the yellow side of the cube, looking up at you with a slightly surprised expression that somehow makes you want to cry.

“Can I help you with something, Secretary ___________?”

“Well, I…” You stutter for a bit, unsure of how to politely point out that he should be asking you for help with his job instead of the whole other way around. “Because… I just thought…”

“You can always leave a message with my secretary if you need time to figure it out.” He grins. “Oh, wait a minute.”

“Sir, don’t you think you should… I don’t know. Figure out your schedule, or something? Prepare for… anything?”

“What’s that smell?” He lifts his nose to the air, suddenly curious, and because he looks so serious, you also start sniffing, but you can’t really smell anything out of the ordinary. “Smells… fresh. Very clean. A little like green tea.”

“Oh.” You awkwardly shift your weight from leg to leg. “I think that��s my perfume, but I don’t see w—”

“You smell very expensive, Secretary _____________.” He sounds genuinely surprised that you do, like he’s somehow saying he hadn’t expected you to have good taste. You have no idea where this conversation is coming from, so you chalk it up to him wanting to derail you from talking about work. “I like it. Very classy. Not too strong.”

“Sir, I don’t think now’s the time to be talking about perfume scents.”

“You’re actually quite pretty.” He sounds genuinely surprised again, but this time, it stings a little more. “I never noticed that before. How come?”

You want to say that it’s because he spends most of his time and energy playing long-term hide-and-seek with you, but there’s also no polite way of putting that into words; even if there were, with the way you’re now bristling under his gaze, you’re not really sure you’d go the courteous route, anyway. You just decide to ignore the comment and question entirely, which you almost get to do.

“Wouldn’t you like to take a look at some of our upcoming projects? For instance, we’re just about to start negotiating the terms of this new partnership with Huawei —”

“You’re pretty, but you’re also pretty tense.” He cuts you off again, now looking a little dejected at this newfound information. You can’t understand why this disappointment in you actually hurts your feelings a little. “I think the cafe downstairs serves some tea, if that kind of stuff helps you.”

“Sir,” the one syllable is laced with weariness, and you knot your fingers together in front of your lap. It probably looks polite, but it’s mostly so that you can feel like you have some semblance of control over anything, even if it’s just your own body fighting off the urge to grab him by the collar. “Please. If you could just take a look at your schedule — even just for tomorrow —”

“What’s the point?” His shrug is nonchalant, and he’s turning the cube over in his palm now, more interested in looking at it than witnessing your tired expression. “It’s almost six o’clock. I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow, you know what I mean? If my dad finally loses his marbles, I’ll deal with it all then. In fact, I might actually be okay with losing this department if it finally actually gets him off my back. I’ll also deal with that when it happens, probably.”

Another long, uncomfortable silence blooms as his words sink in; not for the first time today, President Na has threatened the existence of your job, now alongside a good twenty other people’s, all for the sake of snapping some sense into the Vice President. However, like everything else, it seems to just be backfiring; Vice President Na doesn’t seem to care about anyone else in this department, most likely because he’s barely interacted with anyone else. You’re surprised he even remembers your last name, considering he once called the department accountant ‘Heejin’ even though her nametag clearly spelled out ‘Jinhee.’

It makes sense that the threat of abolishment means absolutely nothing to him, but it doesn’t make the knowledge of that any less distressing. He watches you curiously as you tug back at your ponytail, like it’ll once again stop the crawling migraine.

“Sure a cup of chamomile tea isn’t in the cards today? I think I have the company card in here somewhere, although I can’t be sure that it hasn’t been cut off, based on my dad’s last threat—”

“I’m fine; thank you.” You mumble, checking the clock. He’s wasted what’s left of the hour anyway, and the lack of change in his position just means he’s not going to change his mind for the rest of the time. “At least let me give you tomorrow’s agenda.”

“Boring, but okay. Give it to me, then.” He yawns to make a point, and you offer him the tablet you tote around with you everywhere you go, just in case Vice President Na finally decides he wants to do his job. To clarify: that’s two whole years of you carrying that heavy thing around, with the Vice President only having touched it a handful of times. You’re mildly shocked that he actually opens it to check, because he barely does even that, but that all goes away when he yawns again, his expression glassy as he scrolls down aimlessly. “This is a lot. Can’t you just clear my schedules tomorrow? Actually, if I can make demands for real, I’d like to clear out my schedule for the rest of the year.”

He stretches when he stands, ignoring your slightly agog expression as he pats you on the back, smacking his lips sleepily. “Good day’s work, Secretary _____________. Want to grab a beer? Have ourselves a little intra-department party? I’m pretty sure ‘intra’ stands for ‘us two,’ or am I wrong?”

You sincerely hope he doesn’t mean a goodbye party, but with his attitude right now, that might very well be. You shake your head, and he shrugs, like he wasn’t really expecting you to agree in the first place. “No thank you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s already halfway out the door, waving dismissively with his back turned to you. When you peek out of the space he leaves by opening the door, you can see about half the entire department’s watching, not even bothering to pretend to scurry back to their seats as he saunters out of the office. He calls out to you, his voice ringing clear even though he’s already out of sight.

“We’ll see about that.”

You come up with a master plan, but not before you scope potential jobs.

You actually stayed an hour overtime at your desk looking for positions, but all of them pay lower than average or are about an hour’s commute away from where you live, so none of them seem worth it. The search ends when some people from the department come over to say goodbye and see your computer open to SaramIn, at which point they connect the dots and start to panic about their insurance. You shut your monitor off and spend another useless twenty minutes calming Jinhee, who’d started having a mild panic attack.

In that time, your resentment builds. Why can’t Vice President Na simply get his act together? You suppose that there’s some indescribable burden to being in his position, but between him, a rich heir who owns two sports cars and lives in a paid-for house, and you, a public-transport-using, pays-by-the-month nine-to-five worker, you can’t really understand why he would be having it worse than everyone else who works under him. If he worked even just half as hard as everyone else did here, he might scrape by.

You can’t know if President Na’s anger was only short-lived or if he actually meant to downsize the company by getting rid of your department entirely, but you also know that if he’s serious, then there’s nothing much you can do about it, short of terrorizing the Vice President into stepping into bigger shoes.

So, that becomes your master plan.

It isn’t very refined, mostly because you think about it on the bus home, but the heart and spirit are there, and those are probably the most important things anyway. It’s that heart and spirit that motivate you to get up an hour earlier than you usually do, dressing quickly for the day before taking the company car from your place to downtown Apgujeong. You usually don’t take it on days that Vice President Na doesn’t come into work, which is practically every other day, but this time, you’re determined to see him into the office. The ride with Hyunsung, his official company driver, is quiet, save for the question he asks when you roll up to the Vice President’s driveway.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No,” you admit. He’d probably seen you chewing down on your thumb, some of your confidence taking a hit when you belatedly realize you could be shot with a huge privacy lawsuit if this doesn’t go the way you plan. But you do know a lot of secretaries that do the morning calls for their superiors, so this should be fine. Not that you’ve ever heard from those secretaries ever again.

Vice President Na’s laziness seems to extend to all aspects of his life, including the fact that he doesn’t ever change his door’s passcode; it’s still the same numbers as it had been when he first bought the house a year ago and had you install his lock while he was missing in action from work, yakking it up with some farmers up in the Netherlands. He likes to do that — ‘see the world,’ or whatever, even though his wanderlust makes everyone else’s lives very difficult. At least it makes your life easy now, and you step through the door and walk quietly across his unnecessarily large living room.

You’ve never been in here exactly, and you only realize very belatedly that this house’s design would be very frustrating for a break-and-enter criminal because nothing seems to be where it’s supposed to be. You learn the owner’s suite is actually on the basement floor, so all the climbing of those slippery stairs was for nothing.

Vice President Na’s bedroom is bigger than your whole apartment, which also means he has a sizable bed and, thus, is completely out of sight under his gigantic covers. The only indication that he’s even still in there is that they’re rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. You stand by the edge of the bed, on the side he’s closest to falling off of, clearing your throat at the tuft of hair peeking out from under the comforter.

“Vice President Na? It’s time to go to work.”

Your voice has been tempered down by years of this professional work, and this is easily the loudest and most demanding you’ve ever heard it. You’re not even sure you can do it again, but the muffled groan from under the covers is all the motivation you need to try.

“Sir, you have a ten o’clock meeting with Samsung’s representatives for Apple. President Na also asked that we contact Amazon right away to reschedule the Prime Video deal.”

“How,” his voice comes out first before he does, squinting up at you, completely disoriented. “The hell did you get in here?”

“Sir, I’m your secretary.” You sigh, skimming over the fact that you’d walked into his big kitchen twice through two different entryways before coming into his bedroom. “I’m supposed to be able to get in here.”

“Except this is a first.” You think he’s about to get up, but he just shifts his weight, rolling over so he can cocoon himself tighter into his blankets. “Goodnight. There are eggs in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“I’ve already eaten, like a normal, functioning human being with a very important job that starts precisely at nine o’clock would.”

“This seems like a very targeted comment, Secretary ____________. I’m not sure I appreciate it.”

“Since we’re already having this conversation, I’m guessing you’re conscious enough to get dressed.”

To your relief, he actually does throw the covers off of him, leaning up on his elbows. You try not to balk at the fact that he’s shirtless, although you’re also not sure why this should surprise or bother you to begin with. He doesn’t even seem to mind; he just yawns, wide and unashamed, as he looks over at the clock.

“It’s seven-thirty. This is insanity.”

“No, this is a wake-up call.” You offer him a neatly folded towel that he eyes suspiciously. “We need to get you in the office on time.”

“There’s really no point,” he sighs, scratching his head idly. “It’ll just be another boring day of talking to people I don’t care about. Someone who cares about it should talk to them. You care about it, don’t you?”

“I won’t talk to them for you, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t get paid enough to be doing that.”

He once again stares at the towel like he’s trying to will it to evaporate, but in the end, he only sighs louder and takes it from you, kicking his blankets off completely. You look up at the ceiling, not in prayer but to avoid the more embarrassing fact that he’s only in his boxers after all. Well — it’s embarrassing for you. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Something’s different.”

“Usually I don’t wake you up,” you offer the painfully obvious. “Or come here. Or talk to you.”

“Yeah, all that stuff,” he says dismissively, halfway through a yawn. “Did you have a life-changing experience recently?”

“Something like that.”

“Couldn’t it have been one where you decided to leave me alone for good instead?” He grumbles, more to himself instead of to you. It doesn’t matter, anyway; you already see he’s up and fishing socks out of his drawer, so you’re marching out of his room to avoid having to hear more of his complaints (and, quite frankly, to avoid looking at his broad back).

However, the day thereafter doesn’t go as planned. You thought that waking Vice President Na up for an early day of work might shock him into doing something with the knowledge that it was urgent, but you’re not sure why you didn’t anticipate a scenario in which he’d fall asleep in the car on the way to work and you’d have to shake him into waking in the stuffy parking lot. He spends the rest of the morning out of sorts, ignoring you point blank when you try to brief him on the meeting. The meeting in and of itself doesn’t go any better, with him excusing himself fifteen minutes in by saying the pitch doesn’t seem all too exciting and innovative. You didn’t even know he knew the word innovative and, by the shocked faces of the Samsung people, they were of the same mind.

By lunch time, you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever been, and a part of you is wondering why you wanted Vice President Na in the office in the first place when you’re already used to the much simpler routine of get up, work, eat lunch, get yelled at, work again. Sometimes, on slow days when Vice President Na is completely out of town for the week and President Na is out of things to yell at you about, you even get to just sit back at your desk and play old crossword puzzles.

Now, you’re basically handholding him, but the weight that keeps him down is so heavy that you’re being dragged down, too.

“You mean people do this every single day?” He shuts the folder with a contract that requires his signature that you’d given him just now, not even bothering to peruse the first page, much to your rapidly increasing ire. “This is ridiculous. Working makes no sense.”

“All employees come to work to do that, sir. It’s literally what makes up half their lives.”

“Except it shouldn’t,” he sighs, like this is a true global issue and not a problem of his own making. “Everyone needs to be able to do what they want and live life to the fullest.”

“Not everyone can,” you point out flatly. “Some people don’t have the luxury of time even for that.”

“Then, they should. The more I’m in this situation, the more it feels like it might be better for everyone to have a little work break for — I don’t know. The next year or so.”

Vice President Na has his arm outstretched, handing the folder back to you. You don’t know if it’s what he says that causes your blood pressure to rise, or if its the completely unconcerned look on his face, or if it’s the fact that he’s holding the folder so lazily that the papers are starting to slip out on your end, requiring you to use two hands to keep them all from falling apart and creating a mess you’ll end up having to clean up anyway. Whatever it is, you snatch the folder from him with a little more aggression than necessary (or that you’d even care to admit). Even though it’s out of place, you can’t help but feel a small sense of triumph at the slight surprise in his eyes.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, sir.” You pause, mostly because you can tell he doesn’t believe you — Vice President Na is nonchalant, not stupid — and you want to give yourself a little bit of time to grapple with your pride before you admit the truth. “Yes, sir. It isn’t fair to your entire department for you to talk that way.”

“I’m saying the entire department doesn’t have to work this hard. It’s senseless. How are you supposed to live a good life if all you’re doing is sitting behind a desk?”

“Like I said, not everyone has the luxury of living your life. If they want even a little bit of that comfort you enjoy, they have to work very hard for it first.”

“Then they should at least do something they enjoy. If this department goes down the drain —”

“If this department is abolished,” this is your first time interrupting a superior, and it already makes you want to throw up. “Then people will have a very difficult time finding a job in this market. More than that, a lot of people enjoy working for this company — quite genuinely, in fact. I don’t think it’s right to think that they’ll be happy while they’re jobless and floundering in this economy.”

“So you’re happy like this? You really want this job — this whole working under me situation?”

“Well…” you trail off, your voice taking on a slightly thoughtful tone. It’s been a relatively long time since you’d entered this job, but you do faintly remember the feeling of excitement at getting this position — the desire to want to learn from the best in this industry, the anticipation of being able to meet and network with interesting and important people. Your first few weeks of work had involved wanting to spend as much time in Vice President Na’s shadow, in case you could pick up some important business tidbits from an entrepreneurial master… until, of course, you realized there wasn’t much you could stand in the shadow of to begin with. “These days, it isn’t ideal. But this job is a really good thing for most of the people who work here.”

“Then it sounds like you have more to gain from me working hard than I do.”

You can’t contain your disapproving frown, and your voice comes out a little sharper than you intend. “Doesn’t it bother you at all, sir? Knowing almost twenty people could lose their jobs in the blink of an eye? Think about all the people who look up to you and rely on you — they’ll have to suffer because of this. They might never find a job that matches their needs, and a lot of them have families to take care of, too. If you can do something to make sure they have these good lives you keep talking about, why not do it? I know you’re capable of that. You’re capable of doing much more than what you’ve been doing thus far.”

Vice President Na is quiet for a moment before leans over on his desk, lacing his fingers into a loose combined fist and putting his weight on his forearms. One of his forefingers detangles itself from the pile of digits and curls inwards, beckoning you closer. Your grimace is probably obvious, and you lean in a little warily. He lifts himself off his chair slightly so he can whisper in a low voice, as if you two aren’t the only people in this wide office.

“If you care about it so much, then ask a little more nicely.”

Your light breakfast almost makes a reappearance, and you draw back in mild shock. He also leans back, significantly more relaxed than you, looking unperturbed as he settles back against his chair. You two engage in a very uneven staring match, until he gestures for you to proceed, looking expectant.

“You want me to beg for my job?”

“Not what I meant, but I could accept that,” he hums. “I just think you could throw in a please while you’re guilting your boss, at least.”

Gawking probably doesn’t suit you, but you do it anyway, wondering how you managed to find yourself in this position. This morning, you had been strictly guiding him through what to do, and now you’re paralyzed in front of the Vice President, feeling very foolish for saying so much out of turn. You couldn’t even get through a whole work day before seeing your grand master plan slip down the drain.

But there is, at least, some small comfort in what he said — the part about guilting, which, if you squint hard enough, seems to be implying that this conversation has left him with a small amount of guilt. You don’t think it’s that much, but it’s a miracle he feels it at all, so you take the horribly subtle win and inhale deeply.

“Please, sir.” The words are very thick and reluctant, unsticking from your throat. “This department really needs you.”

He stares, very unnervingly, without saying anything, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you vaguely certain he’s actually thinking about it. In fact, he actually looks a bit serious, which isn’t anything you’d ever think you’d be able to characterize him by. That impression easily falls apart when he claps his hands, once but very loudly, startling you into jumping a little.

“Ah, how could I turn down such a nice request?” Vice President Na is grinning from ear to ear, something you’ve never seen him do in the context of the office, much less a few feet away from you. His smile is actually kind of nice, if you don’t think about the fact that it seems to be smug at your expense. “Since you asked, I guess I’ll have to try my best, or whatever it is people do in this damn company. I guess that means you owe me now, Secretary ____________. You’re very welcome.”

The silence that once again blooms as you stand, motionless, in front of Vice President Na is suddenly interrupted by the sound of chairs scraping back all at once. The floor vibrates a little as the entire department troops out to the elevator area so they can go to lunch. You only watch stupidly as he also stands, shrugging off his jacket and flinging it over the back of his chair. “See you, then.”

“Where are you going, sir?”

He looks a little surprised that you even ask. “To lunch. Do I have to ask for your permission for that, too?”

“Are you… coming back?”

“You want to come along with me and make sure I don’t run away?” He smiles even wider, which you didn’t even think was possible. It makes you awkwardly uncomfortable to know he’s taking a lot of pleasure in joking around with you, mostly because you were kind of hoping you’d get him to take things seriously in a serious manner, not in a … whatever this is that’s making you feel like you’ve lost a game manner.

“A little bit.”

“Ask a little more nicely, then.”

“Never mind,” you mumble. “Have a good lunch, sir.”

He snaps his fingers a little comically before turning to the door, flinging it open so he can join the now thinning throng of people leaving the floor. “Thought I almost had you there. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me. Or not.”

In the end, to your utmost relief, Vice President Na does, in fact, stay inside the entire time he has lunch. You’re not sure if this is the product of you sitting two tables away, trying to will an imaginary chain to his wrist so he doesn’t bolt off or because he’s still feeling a little affected by everything you said earlier on, but whatever it is, it works. He just eats his club sandwich in peace, picking off the crust easily and double dipping the fries that come with it in his ketchup. At some point, he looks up and notices you burning holes into his torso, so you quickly have to avert your eyes in shame. You think he laughs at this, but you can only see out of your peripheral vision at this point, so you can’t be sure.

You’re supposed to have one hour for lunch, but he eats quickly and gets up before the whole hour is over, so you end up throwing your half-eaten wrap and following him. Again, you’re not sure what’s funny, but he’s chuckling to himself as he holds the elevator door open, waiting for you to run in next to him.

“Relax, miss secretary. I already said I was going to do my best.”

“No offense, sir, but I don’t know what that looks like, so I have to be careful.”

“Fair enough.” He hums, letting the door close on its own. “But you should still take it easy. You’re pretty t—”

“Tense. You said so yesterday, sir.”

“That’s two times you’ve cut me off in a single day.” He doesn’t sound very annoyed about it; in fact, he’s still got that amused, inside joke tone to everything he’s had all morning. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gunning for an insubordination report.”

You don’t think that’s fair for him to say, especially since you haven’t really had much of an authority figure to be subordinate to for most of your career in this company, but you keep your mouth shut since saying so is exactly what would be on the first line of an insubordination report.

When you arrive back at his office, you take the time to discuss what you should be doing from now on. It’s an extremely messy exchange, with you two grappling between terms you can’t agree on. For instance, Vice President Na thinks that it seems only fair that he should really only be coming in after one o’clock, but you’re insistent on making sure he gets to work on time, since most important meetings happen within that time period (a fact he already seems to know but chooses to ignore anyway). You end up agreeing on bringing him in for the standard nine-to-six for as long as he never has to work overtime. You also find it necessary to iron out the fact that if he has lunch outside, he has to actually come back, a statement he once again finds very amusing for some reason, as if you’re the weird one in this conversation.

And to his credit, he tries to stick to his word. It isn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially not during the first couple of weeks, but you suppose that habits are very difficult to break when they’ve been so easy to acquire and nurture over many years. More than once, you’ve arrived late to meetings to the disapproving gazes of Head Secretary Son and President Na. However, the latter finds he has less to say these days because Vice President Na’s presence in said meetings had, before this time, been nothing but a pipe dream for everyone.

You also notice he starts taking the time to ask about things he doesn’t understand, as opposed to his initially brash or sometimes completely unresponsive approach, which has turned out better results when it comes to business lunches with investors and potential partners. Even the Samsung people, who are extremely wary of him during the callback meeting, come out of their next encounter with the Vice President looking vaguely more satisfied than they did the last time (the bar isn’t that high, considering they’d left shell-shocked previously, but you’ll still take the improvement).

Of course, with all the time you end up spending with, chasing after, and vaguely lecturing (only when the need truly arises) Vice President Na, you also learn some things about him that you hadn’t expected, like how he doesn’t really like milk in anything he drinks (but especially coffee) and that every third Sunday of the month, he meets his old high school friend Lee Jeno, the son of the guy that owns half the residential high rise condominiums on this side of the Han. Apparently, they play badminton together — he had told you that when he’d caught you wondering about the super out of place little kid’s karate trophy among other more adult, official ones in his living area. The trophy goes to whoever wins the match of the month, and according to the Vice President, he’s been ‘wiping the floor with that bastard’s handsome face for half a year straight.’ Although you can’t verify this by anything more than the slight blanket of dust on it, you think it takes nothing out of your pride to applaud him like this is an amazing thing. It also does you no harm to see him swell with misplaced pride about a kid’s karate trophy.

You also notice that despite how healthily he eats at the office, he has a bad habit of craving deep fried food in the afternoon, which is why, over the last few weeks, you’ve been accompanying him to the corndog street stall two blocks away, a few days a week. He’s even had to borrow loose change from you a few times to because he always forgets that no street vendor likes to receive crisp, fresh-out-of-the-bank fifty-thousand won bills, but you just let him have it; his heart’s in the right place when he orders an extra one for you without even asking. You realize that he has a fairly good memory for as long as he’s concentrating, and that he likes to spend late nights watching the shittiest horror movies ever known to man (his words, much to your bemusement), and that when he listens attentively to you telling him about the day’s agenda, his left ear twitches a little when your voice hits it.

Somewhere along the way, you realize that Vice President Na is a charming, outgoing, and fairly capable person, and in doing so, you also realize that he seems to be, for lack of a better word, your style.

You can’t really believe it either, and you’re not even sure when it started. In between sitting with him in the company car and handing him forty-page agreements he has to look over carefully (very carefully, as you’ve taken to reminding him, so often that he starts saying it before you do now, which has only somehow endeared him further to you and not annoyed you the way you were sort of hoping it would), the small non-work related part of your consciousness had decided that it needed a more complicated situation now that things were going relatively well.

To be fair to yourself, liking him isn’t a huge distraction; most of the time, you’re both so engrossed in something you desperately have to finish that you don’t even have time to think about it. Instead, it kind of catches you off-guard, like when he’s double dipping his french fries into his ketchup, or when he smiles at you (politely to him, probably, but overwhelmingly charmingly to you) before he leaves the office, or when his brow’s furrowed in (a total shocker) concentration as he reads.

Then again, everything about Vice President Na seems to be catching you off-guard these days. This much is proven by the fact that instead of the normal silence that you’ve grown accustomed to being greeted by when you enter his house, there’s a lot of noise coming from one area that can only mean either that someone had broken in to mug him or for some reason, he’s up before you need to wake him.

It’s nothing you have to call 911 for, but it still paralyzes you to see him, surrounded by opened jars and a particularly dirty bread knife as he stands in front of his fancy toaster, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

“If you have a minute to spare, could you bring my laptop into the car?” He asks without turning around. His hand, still holding the bread knife, points towards the bar counter on the far end of the kitchen, where the laptop is still whirring away.

“Of course, sir. Um,” you gingerly shut the monitor, putting the laptop to sleep and tucking it under your arm. “Were you… working this morning?”

“No, I was playing a riveting game of bridge against the computer AI.” He turns to you, grinning. “Of course I was working, miss secretary. What do you think I’d be up this early for?”

You try to think of an answer, but nothing comes to mind — Vice President Na hasn’t ever woken up early for anything to your knowledge, anyway — so you just nod and bolt, unwilling to bear witness to his smile this early in the day. When you come back, particularly less red in the face, you find him topping one of two sandwiches with the last slice of bread to complete it. He takes one, as you expect he would, and you stand there, trying to look polite as you essentially observe him eat.

This isn’t something very unusual; ever since the first time you’d done it, you’ve been watching him out of habit. So far, only the motivation’s changed from you wanting to make sure he doesn’t bolt to you simply enjoying the view of his profile when he eats. Of course, he probably doesn’t know this, but he’s also just gotten used to you watching him and probably finds it funny — as suggested by his perpetually amused expression — that you still think, after all this time, that he’s going to make a run for it. You don’t actually mind it; you get to watch him for free, and he has something to laugh about, so everyone kind of wins.

He’s halfway through the sandwich when his expression turns quizzical. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Eat,” you echo hollowly. “Eat what, sir?”

“A delicious, handmade, gourmet peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich.” When you don’t move, he pushes the plate with the untouched sandwich forward towards you like he thinks you can’t understand anything he’s saying. “What? Are you allergic to something?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

There’s no but; you don’t have a good reason to decline other than the fact that accepting it feels weird, but refusing him when he’s looking at you this expectantly is just as awkward. You rub the back of your neck as you walk over, not missing the look of triumph that crosses his face as you pick up the sandwich and take a bite. It’s good, but you don’t really think that has anything to do with his culinary skills, based on what it is; still, he looks like he’s patting himself on the back for this feat.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Secretary ____________, I hope you can count this as a momentous occasion for the both of us.” He chuckles. “You get free breakfast made especially for you by your direct superior in the comfort of his own home, and I finally get to learn what all the settings on my toaster are for. Between you and me, I think mine’s the better achievement.”

You’re still in the middle of eating when you laugh, and you hastily raise a hand to cover it — only Vice President Na catches your wrist halfway through, so quickly you vaguely choke on the bread that’s only partially down your throat.

“I’ve never seen you laugh,” he looks as surprised as you feel, although probably for a different reason. “I don’t even think you’ve ever smiled at me, specifically.”

“Oh.” You need time to respond, mostly so you can swallow but also because you need to collect yourself from your shock. There seems to be a lot of that going around this morning. “Sorry. Should I do that more often?”

“I mean, if you ask like that, it’s kind of disingenuous,” he laughs. “But I like it. I like knowing you’re not just in a constant state of stress because of me. Feels even more momentous than the toaster thing.”

He loosens his hold, and you manage to take your hand back, now refusing to meet his eye. “I’m not… stressed by you.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, and he looks particularly delighted when he sees the corners of your lips turn up again. “Not for a while. And not that my opinion matters, but you’ve been performing above expectations, sir.”

“You’re right,” he hums, taking the plate and putting it in the sink — a problem he seems to be saving for later. “It doesn't matter. But I like it, all the same.”

You’re willing to chalk the morning off as a wonderful anomaly, especially since the rest of it passes as it normally does, with a generally quiet car ride (you’ve also learned that Vice President Na likes to listen to rap music on days when he wants to avoid falling asleep in the backseat, which is equal parts amazing and amusing) and a fifteen minute briefing of what he has on his plate today. He disappears for the better part of the morning and even the whole lunch hour, but you expect this because he has a business lunch with the representatives for some Norwegian appliance company that’s looking to break into the Korean market. You can’t imagine many people want a state of the art rice cooker alongside their monthly internet bill, but it’s polite for him to go anyway, and the prospective partner seems very on edge about company secrets. It’s one of those meetings you aren’t allowed to come along to, which means that you’re missing out on a few hours of Vice President Na trying to iron details out with a couple of old guys.

While you eat, you’re once again struck with the random notion that it feels weird not to be around the Vice President. You’ve been working together regularly and in a very close capacity, which basically means that you’re always in his shadow. It’s the life you were kind of hoping to have at the beginning and were deprived of for a good two years. Now that you have it, it feels weirdly natural — so natural that it’s unnatural to not have his voice ordering you around in that easy tone or his aftershave lingering in the air directly above you.

You throw the tissue you used to wipe the oil from your egg toast off your mouth onto the table, crumpled and wilted.

You miss him, which is ridiculous considering you don’t even know what there is to miss. Your relationship, while admittedly lightyears ahead of the starting point it had been at back then (again, not a great standard, considering you didn’t even have a relationship before this period of time), is nothing close to the point of being what it should be for one to miss the other.

And yet, you look forward to seeing him, watching him do something from afar, helping him whenever he needs you. You like the fact that he still sometimes fakes left when you’re accompanying him back to his office, and you do this thing where you pretend to be annoyed even though it makes you happy to know he won’t go anywhere. You like the little sounds he makes when he eats his super unhealthy corndog as if he’s eating it for the first time every single time (see: very unnerving and slightly disturbing but altogether amusing mmmmmmmmmms). In fact, if you didn’t have a vivid memory of telling him off from way back then, you feel like you could easily convince yourself that things had always been like this — that you two had always been together, happily at work.

You’re not surprised that he isn’t back from his meeting even when you get back to your desk after lunch, but you do feel a pang of dejectedness that lasts for a few more hours — time which you spend lazily looking over a contract he’d signed yesterday that needs a fair amount of amending and re-signing. It’s hard to pretend to care today, for some reason, especially since your mind keeps going back to peanut butter sandwiches and some ridiculous vision of Vice President Na standing in the middle of your tiny studio apartment’s kitchen area.

Your reverie’s broken when an envelope falls onto your desk, covering the page of the contract you’d been glassily staring at for the last hour and a half. You’d drawn the same circle about twenty times already, and the paper’s all dented from your efforts. When you look up, Vice President Na is staring down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Miss me?” He drums the envelope, the paper muffling the noise of it all. “Oh? I was joking, but it looks like you actually did. That’s twice in a single day, Secretary ____________. You’re setting a very high record.”

You try to tamp down the smile on your face upon seeing him, clearing your throat so that you have an excuse to press your lips together. You guess it doesn’t work because he just keeps smiling, anyway, or maybe he’s just in a really good mood. “Did your meeting go well, sir?”

“Is Lotteria the national fastfood chain? Too bad I don’t work for anyone because it kind of feels like I deserve some kind of reward.”

“Could we say that this partnership is its own reward?”

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” he sighs. Once again, his forefinger taps the envelope, calling your attention a little more clearly to it. “I know we’re on a tight schedule for this, and I hate to ask this so late of you, but —”

“Of course, sir; I’ll have it in your hands first thing tomorrow.”

You’re already gathering it up along with your other (vaguely unfinished) paperwork when his whole palm comes down, trapping the envelope and everything else you’d been intending to carry under it. Your hands go up like you’re being held at gunpoint, your eyes wide.

“On second thought,” Vice President Na muses, a little too serene for someone who’d just scared the living daylights out of someone else. “How about I take care of the Samsung deal you’re looking over, and you can handle the Norwegian contract?”

“I haven’t… really made a lot of headway with it, if I’m being honest.” You’re hoping he doesn’t ask you why because you’re too embarrassed to come up with a lie on the spot and will inevitably have to confess your random attraction to him under these terrible circumstances if he does. Luckily, he just shrugs.

“All the more reason to split the work, then.”

The still mildly stern part of you is begging to point out that he’s giving you a whole new set of documents to look over anyway, so it’s not even like you’ll have less to do, but the larger, more endeared part of you tells it to shut up and mind its own business. “I thought the crux of our agreement was that you’d never have to work overtime.”

“Because I look like such a stickler for the rules, don’t I?” He snorts, waving you in with the same envelope, and you concede.

Working next to Vice President Na isn’t anything new to you; you’ve been doing it everyday for a while now, especially if he needs you to be quick on call. Ever since you’ve realized his presence makes your heart beat a little faster, you’ve promised yourself not to let that fact show at all when he’s around, something you’ve been quite careful about perfecting.

Something’s different, though, when it’s after official hours. Maybe it’s because the floor is quieter than it is during the day, so there’s nothing you can listen to but the sound of pen scratching on paper and Vice President Na’s steady breathing. The only real interruption is when Hyunsung knocks on the door to ask if the Vice President is going home; the look on his face is panicked and confused, like a puppy that’s just been dropped off at the mouth of a dumpster site, when he’s told that Vice President Na will drive himself home, so he can just leave the keys.

Maybe it’s also because it’s pretty dark outside, and while you’ve worked into the night a few times, it’s usually alone or with some other poor sap that has even more backlog than you do — it’s never been just you and the Vice President, who seems supremely unperturbed by the fact that he isn’t at home doing… whatever he does at home after work. You can only guess at it (or wish you knew).

That makes one of you that’s keeping busy, although you know it should be two. The fact that you’re distracted by his presence all of a sudden is only exacerbated by the mutually exclusive headache that the paperwork you’re looking over gives you. You don’t know why you had expected it to be in Korean, but you and your intermediate level English struggle to keep up with all the little things you have to look through. Sometimes, you can’t tell if the clauses are actually confusing or if you’re just the poor product of your middle school education. It strikes you more than once that Vice President Na had gone through this, somehow, himself — talked to people in a completely different language, probably with ease. You can at least be proud of yourself for being right: for as long as the Vice President puts his mind to something, he’s able to do it — perhaps even well.

What shocks you after an eternity of silence is the hand that extends towards you, forefinger lightly nudging your chin. You sit up straight like a bolt of lighting had gone through you, meeting Vice President Na’s thoroughly and inexplicably amused expression. Your jaw slackens in shock, but his finger just stays there, like it isn’t invading your personal space. Like it just belongs there.

“What are you doing?”

“What—” you splutter, bemused at the fact that you hadn’t asked the question first. “What are you doing?”

“You keep moving your mouth. What — are you praying or something?”

“No, I —-” You gesture at the contract page you’ve been trying to stumble through for the past twenty minutes. “No, I’m just… I’m reading?”

“You’re…” The start of a laugh escapes him, and you really don’t know what’s so funny. “You’re reading aloud?”

“I wasn’t making any noise, I think,” you grumble, sounding a little more defensive than you’d care to admit.

“You read silently aloud, then.” His eyes twinkle at this information, although why it should elicit this reaction also completely escapes you. “Why? Because it helps you memorize it or something?”

“My English isn’t that great,” you admit begrudgingly, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “Sometimes I need to mouth the words to understand it.”

And he does the most outrageous, inexplicable thing: he gently cups your chin, making sure you can’t turn your head to look away in embarrassment. Now you have to look at him, red in the face and close to exploding.

“Don’t you think that’s a little too much, miss secretary?”

You can’t ask what; your voice isn’t working. You just open and close your mouth around the syllable, and after a couple of attempts, he starts copying you, evidently having a better time than you are based on the grin stretched across his face.

“What? What? That you’re doing something this cute in front of me is what I mean. You’re obviously going overboard, and I don’t think it’s very nice.”

He retracts his hand as quickly as he’d used it to close the distance between you, and your hand immediately comes up in its place, almost cupping your jaw like he did. It definitely doesn’t give you the same tingly feeling, so that’s an obvious bust.

You and Vice President Na have a sudden staring contest with amended rules: you blink a hundred times a minute at him while he laughs quietly, leaning back on his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It confuses you and kind of enrages you, but you also find your heart thumping away in your ears like it’s trying very hard to remind you that Na Jaemin makes you feel alive.

“I— I just—”

“Coffee? I could use some coffee. You look like you could use some too.” He stands, buttoning his blazer with one hand like he has someplace important to go. You’re still so shell-shocked that you don’t even try to stand up to help him, a fact which he notices very clearly. “Oh no, I’ll do you this favor. You sit tight and read your contract. I’ll be back. Keep doing that cute thing with your mouth.”

Vice President Na finds you exactly as he left you: still wondering if you should be offended at his teasing or enamored by his touch and, more importantly, what the hell his deal is. You have a million questions that need answering, but the only thing you blubber out when he comes back is “Why?”

“Because you’re amazingly fun to tease,” he responds simply. “And because it’s true. I find it extremely cute. I find you very cute, Secretary _____________, in a kind of good girl, cool girl kind of way. It’s a little confusing to me too, but I think this slightly stern but overall gentle aesthetic of yours is actually growing on me a little.”

“Sir, I—”

“While we’re taking a break,” he interrupts you. You guess it’s probably the right time for a break considering there’s no way you can work in peace now. “Do you constantly have to call me that?”

“What else would I call you?”

“My name,” he suggests, taking a sip of coffee. You ignore the shit, that’s hot that comes out of him as he puts the paper cup down gingerly on his desk, looking a little bit betrayed by his drink. “Jaemin. Many people call me that.”

“People who are close to you, you mean. Like your family or… your friends.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we’re close? Or that we aren’t friends?”

“Sir, I work for you.”

“So by that alone, we simply can’t be friends? Et al?I think you really are being too much now, Secretary ____________.” He folds his arms across his chest, tutting disapprovingly as he leans back on the edge of his desk. You try not to think too hard about the fact that he does it very close to you, at an angle optimal for viewing the leanness of his form. “After all those times you broke into my house—”

“To get you ready for work.”

“— walked into my bedroom—”

“Only whenever necessary—”

“— gone through my things while I’m half naked in bed like you’re trying to organize a charity drive—”

“Because you need to get dressed, not because I have some perverted agenda —”

“—eaten the food off my kitchen counter, too—”

“You told me to!” You get to your feet, the contract slipping from your lap in your enthusiasm to defend yourself. “You offered it to me!”

Whatever happens next is completely out of your control, and you know this because the room spins without you moving by your own will. Vice President Na must have been an expert dancer in his past life, or something, because after that one dizzying moment, you find yourself leaning against the edge of the table he had been just a second ago. Warm hands are on your waist, tucked under your cardigan, the heat bleeding through your shirt.

And the Vice President’s smile is inches away from your face, still mischievous but much gentler than any other time before.

You’re not sure if you’re paralyzed or if you just don’t want to move, but the reason doesn’t affect the outcome: all you can do is stare up at him, once again dumbfounded after a small outpouring of words that ends in some kind of forced defeat. Except this particular surrender doesn’t feel so sore, for some reason.

“Even when you’re angry, you’re still pretty, you know that?”

“I wasn’t… angry,” you mumble under your breath, afraid that talking louder will scare him off. You don’t even think he’s listening all that much to you, considering that all he does is tuck your hair behind your left ear and completely change the topic.

“So, tell me, Secretary ____________. Is this still a situation where we’re not close at all?” He pauses for a moment, probably to let you answer, but you don’t say anything. You’re pretty sure your swallowing nervously is the only true sound you make. He seems to be eager to do a lot of the talking anyway, which is absolutely fine by you. “Or have I completely misread all your cute little signals?”

“Well — no, but I didn’t send any signals.” Obvious ones, at least. You’d been pretty sure you had tried to keep it under wraps as much as possible, but you’re starting to realize it’s a little possible you’re not as great at pretending as you think you are.

“Not on purpose, probably. Although you really almost got me with the one-man show vibe you have during lunch hour.”

“I… didn’t think you knew, if I’m being honest.” Honesty is the only thing you have right now, anyway, especially since Vice President Na has pretty much confirmed, in his own way, that he knows about how you feel. Now you can only wonder if he’d noticed before you even came to terms with it yourself, and the thought of that being a real possibility urges you to grab the still-steaming cup of coffee and douse yourself with its contents.

“For a while, I was pretty sure you were messing with me. I would never,” he adds just as you say it too, mimicking your astounded tone up to the lilt. “Which is why I started thinking about why else you might be looking at me so intently. You weren’t sitting there objectifying me, were you, miss secretary?”

“Sir, I would never,” you repeat, and he mouths the same words again in his amusement, although silently this time.

“I think I would have been okay with it if you were. Or would be, even until now. For the record.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You sure? No shame in it. Totally fine. Not sure about anyone else, but I’m totally okay if someone else thinks I’m eye candy in the privacy of their own minds. I am, I think, a fine specimen of a human, if I do say so myself.”

“I really wasn’t, sir.”

“You should have, then. Lost opportunities.””

“I could argue that I was just worried you’d leave and not come back.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” he hums. “Not anymore, anyway.”

The ‘to you’ is what stumps you into another silent spell, but this time, Vice President Na doesn’t attempt to fill in the void. He just starts running his eyes over your face, like he’s trying to read something there or maybe memorize your features, or something. At some point, you start thinking about how this kind of silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, contrary to your expectations and with interesting consideration of the fact that he’s still holding your hips. Apart from the idle skimming of his thumb over the curve of your pelvic bone, he doesn’t move — nearer or closer, which is probably for the best since you don’t know which one you really want more at this point.

Again, when you gather some part of your wits, the only thing you still know how to ask is “Why?”

“Because,” he replies immediately, simply, like the answer has always been very clear and you’ve just been too ignorant to figure it out. “You said that I could, not that I had to.”

It’s hot. Isn’t it hot? You don’t know what he’s talking about, but your body already reacts on principle, and you have to stand-half-lean there with your entire face burning and Vice President Na’s body heat washing over yours like an electric blanket.

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

“It means I didn’t do this for my dad or just because you told me off in the comfort of my own office.” He bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from laughing (yet again) at you as he witnesses, from the best seat in the house, your face turning almost purple with the effort of keeping down your embarrassment. “Although that played a bit of a factor in it. I couldn’t tell if it was rude of you to say so much or kind of cute that you did despite knowing you were being rude. But that’s besides the point.”

Good, you think. If he manages to hit you with another cute in this timeframe, you may easily cease to exist.

“You know firsthand, anyway, what my dad always says. You must take on the responsibility you were born with. You have to do your job. You must remember that you owe your life to my achievements.” He mimics his father’s gruff, booming voice amusingly well, to the point that you can’t stop yourself from laughing. His facade breaks easily, and you think you hear him mumble cute under his breath again, although you choose to ignore it so your knees don’t buckle completely (something that you think would be very embarrassing with you so close to him). ��I don’t think he’s ever once said an encouraging word to my face. And if there’s anything I can confidently say I won’t do, it’s doing what people only say I need to do. It’s my life, you know what I mean? I’ll do what I want.”

“You’re saying you suddenly wanted to work because I said you could?”

“More like I wanted to see if you were right.” He muses. “I was pretty sure I didn’t have the personality for it. Or the attention span. Or the skill, either.”

“I think a couple of those things are still up in the air, sir.”

“One compliment and you’re already gunning for another insubordination report.” Vice President Na’s voice is a low, casual hum, but you notice the grip around your waist tightens for a brief moment. “At first, I figured I’d just show up to get everyone off my back, but I realized along the way that I’m pretty good at this being at the helm business. I’m sure you’ll agree. Hopefully because you want to, not because you also have to.”

“I do agree.” Your reply is wholehearted, and the Vice President’s smile widens. Your chest swells so much that you think you might explode right in front of him. “Because I want to.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, miss secretary. I’m not attributing all my successes to your impulsive words.” He teases, although his eyes stay gentle despite his tone. “The efforts were still all mine. However, I’m not too proud to admit I had a very responsible first mate by my side, for whom I am very grateful. Although I hope this doesn’t mean she’ll pluck up the courage to ask for a raise considering how well I pay her. I think. Does she get paid well? Maybe I should ask Park Jinhee from accounting.”

“She won’t,” you laugh softly, not missing the fact that he’s finally learned her name. “And she’s not really doing this for the salary, even if it is a nice bonus.”

“What’s she doing it for, then?”

As a job, this was really mostly about yourself — or it was, in the beginning. You’d terrorized Vice President Na to some degree because of the innate tendency towards self-preservation, and when that felt a little one-sided, you also considered everyone who might lose their jobs if the department got cut. It had been, for the most part, an act of pure desperation, so strong that you were willing to point fingers and raise your voice (only a few decibels, because you’re not a crazy person) at your boss. Now… that wasn’t really part of the equation. Maybe you had gotten used to the fact that the Vice President wouldn’t be going anywhere, so you’d stopped worrying about your and everyone else’s jobs, which all seem to be on a smooth path alongside the captain of the ship.

But if you had to be honest to yourself, part of the reason you’d grown a bit complacent about thinking about the fate of the department also had to do with the fact that you genuinely enjoyed being next to the Vice President. Mornings spent helping him prepare for work were regular highlights in your week, and the looks of approval you received from him every time you helped him finish a particularly difficult task were second to none. Always being close to him, always being the first and last to see him in the day, simply being able to look at him -– silly as that all sounds, they now play an undeniable factor in your desire to wake up and go to the office every single day.

“I did it for you.” You answer, and because the answer’s honest, it feels completely natural to say. A pause slowly lengthens between you two, though not nearly as tense or borderline uncomfortable as you thought it might be this time around. A slow smile stretches over the Vice President’s face, but his words don’t easily take the straightforward route this time, either.

“Should I take up with the human resources department the fact that you’re outright breaching the terms of our contractual workplace relationship? How am I?” He speaks over, with you again, your voices overlapping. You can’t help it — you laugh at the absurdity of how well he’s come to know your responses, from the word choice to the lilt in your voice that signals some level of affront. When, exactly, did Vice President Na start committing the things you said and did into memory? “You’re seducing me, miss secretary. Before you say you’re not — you are. You are, without even knowing it. You’re winning me over, telling me all these sweet nothings to tickle my heart — I believe in you, Jaemin. I love working with you, Jaemin. I did it all for you, Jaemin, because you’re obviously the best in the whole world, ho ho ho.”

“I never said it like that.”

“You might as well have.”

“Should I stop believing in you so that we can avoid a scene, then, or is the damage to your good standing too far gone?”

“Rather than stopping something already in full motion, I think it might be better to make certain amendments to our current agreement.” Vice President Na reaches for the pen tucked into his breast pocket — the gold clip catches the fluorescent light and momentarily blinds you as he brings it up between you. He brings it to one side, then to another, and your eyes follow it, amused but also admittedly a bit hypnotized.

“What kind of trance are you putting me under, sir?”

“The kind that gets you to stop calling me that,” he chuckles. “Among other, more important things on my agenda.”

You have an excellent view of Vice President Na’s stellar smile from the back of the meeting room.

The deal he closes three days later goes even better than expected; not only does he bring Amazon into the fold after weeks of (surprisingly consistent) hard work and no small amount of beguiling charm (owing to the fact that he’d offended said Amazon representatives earlier on in his still relatively short-lived career), but he also manages to snag Samsung Electronics’ participation. As an already existing subscriber to the company-provided phone plan, you’re pleased to find out that you’re entitled to twelve guilt-free months of Prime Video as part of a new promotional deal, which you can now enjoy on nights you aren’t working overtime — something you’ve racked up more of as you’ve found yourself striking more of a work-life balance, thanks in large part to the Vice President’s steadily active involvement in all things on the ‘work’ aspect of the scale. Your first goal is to finally get past the first episode of an animation everyone in the department is raving about (but that you haven’t seen more than five minutes of, in actuality, because the horrible subtitles and sluggish 144px stop motion-esque have, until recently, adamantly deterred you from enjoying anything about the story).

Standing a fair distance away from the executives, you wait for the flurry of handshakes and accompanying congratulatory statements to die down; it takes quite a while, considering the sheer volume of people, and the thickest throng has come to gather around Vice President Na. At one point, all you can see of him is the slightly unruly lick of hair that’s sticking out above the rest of the considerable crowd of balding men around him (the sole crow’s feather a mountain range of gray). All their voices overlap, and you’re only able to catch key phrases — brilliant young mind… knack for business! … just like the President… bright future ahead, you know?

Fifteen minutes of conversation and bellowing guffaws pass before Vice President Na emerges, adjusting the front of his blazer as a result of too much handshaking. Behind him, still speaking to one of the marketing executives, is President Na, who shoots his son a surreptitious look you’ve never seen him wear in your considerable number of years in the company’s employ — one of triumph and pride. The Vice President, however, is intently loosening his tie and scanning the room, stretching himself just a fraction taller above everyone else to get a better view throughout.

You wait, wondering if he’s looking to speak to someone, lost in that host of black and gray suits — the Amazon media director, perhaps, or the in-house designer that also seems to be trying to catch his eye, for some reason (you sense the needy greed for a sudden promotion that seems highly unlikely in such a setting), but even though his vision passes over them, however briefly, Vice President Na doesn’t seem satisfied.

That is, until his eyes land on the corner of the room you and Secretary Son have backed yourselves into to allow the higher-ups room to mingle.

One beat later, and the corners of his mouth are pulled up — a soft, knowing smile directed in your general direction. You glance at Secretary Son, maybe out of instinct, maybe somehow out of panic — as though you worry she’ll somehow come to chastise you, but she’s too busy trying to re-buckle her thin coat belt with rapid-fire tsks. She seems acceptably preoccupied, so your eyes flit back to the Vice President, whose eyebrows are now slightly raised, the telltale signs of a growing grin now playing on his lips as the front of his teeth begin to peek out from the seam. Another cock of his eyebrows, lifting them higher, tells you he’s waiting for some kind of message — an indication that you see him too, maybe, or… perhaps, oddly, any sign that you’re as proud of him as everyone else in the room is.

You can’t help it — you laugh, louder than you’d have originally liked to, a hand coming up over your mouth as Secretary Son’s head snaps up from her waist, bamboozled at your quick but sudden outburst. She throws you a look that suggests she firmly believes your mind has snapped, quite like a stale breadstick in a derelict Italian restaurant, but it’s worth it; Vice President Na looks satisfied at this — though, why he would be, you haven’t a true clue.

As the managers and members of the board file out of the room, both you and Secretary Son inch closer to your respective direct superiors; you both stand a few steps away as the last of the executives drag their feet, still hoping to share one last handshake with either of the two, until an elderly Mrs. Kwon’s surprisingly firm grip is finally shaken off by a sheepish President Na. He turns to his son, who’s still hosting the remnants of a genial smile on his lips, clearly poised to say something. For some reason, you expect the senior to berate the former, simply out of sheer habit, but he does nothing of the sort.

“Jaemin-ah,” his voice is gruff but not at all begrudging; it’s a low rumble of triumph. “Who’d’ve thought? My boy… you brat…”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now, dad,” the Vice President teases, to which the President chortles heartily.

“Old men like me have the right, much more than anyone else.” You’ve never seen the President wear an expression even remotely close to softness, but you see it in his gaze now; it strikes you, then, that although you’ve always known the two to be related, this is the first time you can confidently say they resemble each other to the cores of their being — a view of happiness, somewhat mirrored in each of them. “I’m proud of you, son. You did everything I hoped you would — no, no… more than that, even.”

“I’ll take most of the praise, thanks,” Vice President Na replies with his characteristic cheek. For a moment, so quickly you think you may have missed it, his eyes flicker to you. “But I can’t say I could’ve done it alone.”

“Punk,” President Na snorts, yanking on his son’s earlobe; you and Secretary Son have to avert your eyes with expert speed to avoid being caught snickering at the slightly juvenile “ow, dammit,” that the Vice President groans out. “One big closed deal, and your head’s this big? I better not catch you floating away to a Las Vegas casino after all this.”

“Give me some credit; I’d at least visit the desert first.” This time, when the Vice President glances at you, his father’s head turns too, and you stand up straighter at the unprecedented onslaught of attention. “Besides, I’ve got someone here to keep me anchored now.”

“Good work, Secretary ____________,” President Na offers you a rare smile that truly has you feeling like the world has turned upside down: the President in an agreeable (almost ecstatic, though you’d never say that out loud) mood, the Vice President doing his job not just in general but actually commendably well, and not a single strand of baby hair sticking up from out of your ponytail. Inconceivable.

You bow, murmuring a thank you, and Secretary Son quickly follows suit for the formality of it all before she strides over to the President, who’s leaving his son with one last thunder-like clap on the back before he’s leaving the meeting room, still jovial when he catches up with the suspiciously lagging figure of Mrs. Kwon by the door.

Vice President Na starts to follow suit, walking towards the other end of the meeting room; you quickly scurry behind him, still clutching your tablet, blinking a low battery warning, to your chest. You’ve come to grow accustomed to the ‘secretary’s pace’ over the last few weeks as well — always close enough to help, never too close enough to step on a superior’s toes.

But in the moment you fumble to silence your device, you end up stepping into someone’s shadow; glancing up at the Vice President, you find yourself looking at not the familiar view of his back but that of his side profile (one you’re actually also familiar with, though you refuse to admit to the level of familiarity). He’s slowed his pace considerably, allowing you to naturally fall into step with him, and even this, he expects a response from you somehow — he asks for it with yet another wiggle of his eyebrows. You laugh again, shaking your head, and yet, inexplicably, it seems to be exactly the reaction he hopes to see.

The department floor erupts into applause when the two of you pass through the glass doors; a flash of mollification crosses the Vice President’s features before he’s back to his signature light humor, raising a palm up in receipt of praise. Park Jinhee is clapping with only her left hand smacking the side of her mug, a few drops of coffee streaming down the handle side on impact. One of the team managers rushes forward, eager to shake Vice President Na’s hand, and, riding his high, also yours, pumping it up and down with so much vigor that you mumble a quiet ow behind a strained smile. Only the Vice President’s hand on your shoulder, steering you away, saves you from what feels like possible dislocation.

He’s still waving at them like this is a pageant and not his day job, even as he guides you towards his office door; you have to use your elbows to push it open and effectively help you both avoid ramming into frosted glass. The applause dies down as your somewhat conjoined figures disappear through the doorway — you first, albeit convolutedly, your heel still holding strong in the job of keeping the door wide open enough for Vice President Na to saunter through before you let it swing shut to a now relatively silent office floor.

His hold on your shoulder doesn’t let up, though; it’s still urging you forward, towards his desk, and you open your mouth to say something along the lines of I’m gonna break my hip if we keep going this way, but just as your throat conjures up the first syllable, he turns you around, letting you rest light against the edge of the table.

In a pattern reminiscent of three days prior, Vice President Na’s hand finds its way to your waist, utterly comfortable in a way that mystifies you; he acts like it belongs there, as natural as the smile that’s still playing on his lips.

“Sir, you realize it’s the middle of the day?”

“You realize that we had a deal,” he corrects you, brow furrowing in feigned sternness. “Hold up your end of it, miss secretary.”

“Only if you stop calling me that.”

“Now, that absolutely was not part of the contract.”

When you laugh this time, he chimes in; there’s a harmony in your voices that has your posture softening. You feel airier, your heart much lighter, and when you look up at him, you can’t help but flush at his expectant gaze.

“You realize it’s the middle of the day,” you repeat, carefully, the words suddenly somewhat unfamiliar on your tongue — the next two syllables, most of all. “Jae… min.”

Odd as it is, you’re rewarded with the pleased look that takes over his features; he takes a moment to exaggeratedly revel in this new occurrence.

“Better. Much better. You could still be a bit more comfortable with it, I’d say, but… baby steps?”

“Please re-prioritize your day, si— Jaemin.” The terse tone you’re going for is brutally marred by your blunder, which has his shoulders shaking from laughter. “Someone could very easily walk in.”

“Who’s going to fire me?”

“I can think of one person.”

“You heard him. I’m proud of you, Jaemin. You’ve completely exceeded my expectations, Jaemin. You are the light of my life — my favorite son, Jaemin, ho, ho, ho.”

“Sir,” you sigh. “You’re his only son.”

“We had a deal,” he repeats, letting the return to habits slide, and there’s a laughably childish air to his words. “I’ll… file an insubordination report. Breach of contract as well. Tsk, tsk, miss secretary. Not on such a momentous occasion.”

“Some might classify this as threatening behavior.” Your eyes are soft, though, when they meet his humored gaze. “If you want a reward… ask a little more nicely.”

A soft snort — his fingers dig lightly into your waist, and the next second, he’s lifting you off your feet and settling you lightly atop his desk. his palms never leave you, even after you’ve been placed; they’re increasingly warm beyond the fabric of your top.

“____________,” he murmurs, saying your name so naturally that you could almost believe he’s referred to you as nothing else for as long as you’ve known him. “Kiss me.”

Your own hands find their way behind his neck, but he does most of the work in closing the gap anyway; you’re not even sure who, between the two of you, gave that first sigh of longing, of relief. Perhaps it was both of you, all at once.

Jaemin still tastes like the coffee you’d given him this morning — not a trace of richness, but a bittersweet and earthy twang that’s signature post-Americano. There’s even a hint of mintiness from the nervous handful of Tic Tacs he’d had just before the meeting started; you find that out the moment his tongue swipes against yours, leaving behind the invisible bite of menthol. And then there’s you, a clean taste that settles against his teeth, subtle first but growing stronger until you’re satisfied with the notion that you may linger there for some time — even after you pull away, slightly breathless.

“Congratulations to me,” he breathes out, trademark grin flashing bright again. “So what happens if I close next month’s Disney Plus deal?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; his hand’s already skimming down, over your hips, following the path of your thigh. Your hand reaches out on instinct to stop him, but he’s oddly more aware of his surroundings than you give him credit for (or maybe, you’re just that predictable to him). He meets your palm, fingers lacing into yours and allowing him to lift your wrist to his lips. There, you feel the warmth of his kiss again, and he uses his hold to bring himself even closer, until he’s able to press his face into your neck.

“Sir—”

“Jaemin. You call me Jaemin from now on, remember?”

“Sir.” You’re adamant. “It’s work hours.”

“You’re not tense.”

He doesn’t move his head; in fact, you feel him burying his face further into your shoulder. In this position, there’s no real way for you to pull away — there’s also no real desire for you to do so, anyway.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Warmth again on your skin — his lips leave an invisible mark just above your collarbone. “I like you best like this.”

“What? Not tense?”

“Happy,” he corrects for accuracy. “Happy that you’re with me.”

You fall silent, not because you’re not sure of what to say, but because you don’t need to tell him that he’s right.

Moments later, his fingers find their way into your ponytail; the index hooks into the elastic, bringing your hair down. You feel his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, he’s inhaling your perfume again.

“Green tea. Something floral. Jasmine? Maybe a little bit of citrus.” He lifts his head but stays close, warm breath washing over you. “It’s so you. Fresh. Pure. Beautiful.”

The gap between the two of you doesn’t last for too long thereafter; he kisses you again, and your heart lifts to find that your taste still lingers somewhere there. It’s longer because it’s slower — less playful and more exploratory, until he pulls away to a much more breathless you. How he finds the air to talk even after is miraculous to you.

“Be mine, miss secretary.”

You blink — once, twice, at his serious expression, wondering if it will break and give way to more humor. But he waits, unwavering, until the last piece of resistance you’ve clung onto is washed away — the last thing that made you, for a second, deny that you were in love with him.

His smile slowly mirrors yours as it grows.

“Like you could ever get rid of me, Na Jaemin.”

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obsessivelullabies · 3 months

Text

growing older with john price.

i see a lot of “price’s younger gf!!” but what about meeting him when you’re both in your early twenties?

john romances you sweetly and carefully. he invites you out on a dinner date, having a cheesy smile as he sees you all dolled up.

i imagine price was much more carefree and less serious when he was younger. he’s head over heels for you to a point it’s almost childish.

on your dinner date, he’d overload you with questions about yourself, asking you what you like to do, what you like to eat, what movies you like, everything. he wanted to know it all about you.

by some miracle, you agreed on a second date. john was overjoyed. he catered the second date to what he learned about you on the first, whether it be the movies or going dancing, he’d do it just for you.

after the second date, you two were sat on a bench outside, giggling and talking about the night. john nervously asked if he could kiss you. when you two kissed for the first time, john knew he was gonna marry you. he just knew.

when you finally became his girlfriend, john never left you alone. he was young and hopelessly in love. when he was deployed, he’d have pictures of you taped to his wall in the barracks. if another man mocked him for it, he didn’t care. he just loved his girl sooo much!

john also always sent you letters. he’d request even more photos, tell you how his deployment was going, ask about you. whenever he got a letter back, he’d shuffle back to any place with a bit of privacy, eagerly reading your letter.

when john got back, he’d make up for it by giving you sweet kisses and taking you out on any date you want. he made sure his time deployed wouldn’t strain your relationship.

after a year and a half of dating, john asked you to marry him. he catered the ring and proposal down to exactly what you wanted. it was the best day of his life when you said yes.

at your wedding, john definitely cried when you walked down the aisle. bawled like a baby.

you moved onto base with him after you two got married. a nice new home, a perfect relationship. john knew how lucky he was.

as you two got older, certain things happened to john that made him.. more mature. things changed for him. he went through a lot. the remaining factor was you. his perfect wife. every time things got rough, he’d look to you.

after a particularly rough few months gone, john came into your shared bed. he crawled into your arms, exhausted and sore. you held him tight and rubbed his back, maybe kissed his forehead. you reminded him how much he needed you.

the dates and romancing don’t stop with john once you get married. he loves seeing how happy you get when he playfully asks you out on a date, just like how he asked you on your first date.

as you get older, you began to stress about your appearance. you weren’t exactly a young woman anymore.. when you brought this up to john, he scoffed, boasting about how you’re the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

john firmly believes this. if you ask him if you think another woman is prettier, he denies it. it could be a top supermodel and he’d insist you look better in your pajamas.

john’s favorite time with you is in the morning. you’d make the coffee, he’d cook breakfast. you two would eat together and wait the morning news snuggled up on the couch.

john and you truly were soulmates.

does anyone want a smut version of this :( or a parenthood version i love this

masterlist! | requests open. comments and reblogs appreciated.

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #john price headcanons #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x female reader

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unholyhelbig · 18 days

Note

I just want to say I'm already hooked on the beast you made me. I can't wait for the next chapter!

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 5151

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, fatal injuries, animal bones, mentions of death, containment, and horrible grammar because I don't proofread

[a/n: Thank you all for the overwelming support on the first chapter! I truly didn't expect that much reception. I'm going to be traveling for the next week so the next chapter might be delayed a bit]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

1917, Rural Pennsylvania

A sweeping river cut through the patch of sweetgrass on the south side of the farm. It emitted a gurgling sound that often soothed your nerves. There was a rocky clearing sandwiched between the tree line and the plain of grass that had become a perfect spot for you to settle in and read the hard-covered books you’d gotten from the corner store.

Your father would bring back any book you requested from the city during his travels. You devoured them faster than he could provide them and had read ‘Eight Cousins’ ,Lousia May Alcott’s foray into the adventures thirteen-year-old Rose, enough to nearly tear the pages from the binding.

The book itself held the clean honeyed scent of the earth, of the secluded spot that you called your own. Your muscles would thrum from loading the bales of hay into your fathers ford. Your fingers were calloused, and dirt caked around your ankle in a dark ring. All of that vanished when you cracked open the book about a girl that was so much like yourself.

It was easy to lose yourself in the paragraphs, the hum of the river sometimes lulling you to sleep. Your mother would pack you a sandwich on warm, hand-kneaded bread, usually some salted meat and mayonnaise. She’d pack sweet tea and send you on your way, knowing that you wouldn’t return to the house until you saw a flicker of a firefly.

Today, you’d fallen asleep under the sun. The book was discarded, and your forearm draped across your eyes. It was easy to drift, and easier still to dream about leaving the small dairy farm for something bigger- the very city that your father would return from with new literature and arts, and spices that made your mouth buzz with flavor.

You were in a haze when the ear-piercing scream cut through the air as if it were a natural solid. Your ears pinched at the sound, heels digging into the coarse sandy shore. Maybe it was a dream. It could have been an animal that had sunk its pointed teeth into the artery of another.

So, you waited, panting with your heart in your chest and the corner of the book barely lapped by the muddied water. And there was this sound. It was no fox caught in a trap or bovine tangled up in the barbed wire fence around the property- no, this was familiar. This was your sister.

Helena was quiet, often described as demure and borderline submissive. Despite being younger than yourself she carried a certain poise about her. Mother would often boast about how she would have no trouble finding a husband, how the boys already fawned over the child of hers that was not feral and unkempt.

Her cry was the loudest you had ever heard her and it had you on your feet, scrambling up the bank. Once past your small world of wonder, you were greeted with an endless sea of sweetgrass that was waist high in some areas.

A warm breeze created waves against the landscape, the farmhouse a small speck among the expanse of land. Your head was spinning, it was hard to track exactly where it had come from. It took another cracking screech to set you North.

Your legs pumped until you were consumed in a blind speed. You’d been renowned for your quickness, for your dedication to get from point A to point B. The kids in your town often joked that you were steadier than a steed. Not only were you the fastest in the class, but the fastest in the county according to some. Still- only a child of fifteen, and no man would want to wed someone with speed. It wasn’t a practical skill.

There was a pit deep in your stomach whirled, instinct knowing precisely where Helena was yowling from.

Jorge had gotten there at the same time you did; his brow was leaking with sweat and he panted against the hot air that surrounded you both. Your older brother was tall and lanky, serpent-like with beady black eyes and pitch hair to match your father’s. His shirt hung low against his midsection, his skin pale despite his hours in the sun working the fields.

“Stay back, y/n.” He demanded sharply.

The old well was a mere foot in front of you both but neither made the effort to move forward. The aged wooden plank that covered the stone shaft had been splintered through the middle, worn from age and weather.

Helena’s soft cries echoed up. When your father had first acquired the property, the previous owners explained that it had been boarded up after of the bulls had fallen down and snapped it’s neck. It was too large to pull out and they left it to starve and then rot.

Your father never let any of his children peer down into the well. You wondered if something had pulled Helena here, or if she had simply forgotten of it’s existence. Jorge dropped down to his knees and did a cautious crawl as if his own two feet couldn’t’ hold him anymore.

You saw the exact moment his skin became waxier, almost a gray porcelain paleness that had a green tint. He was swallowing too much, his white shirt coated in the red clay dirt.

“What?” You asked, voice breaking “What is it?”

“Go get Mama.”

It would have been easy to listen to your brother. He was the man of the house when your father wasn’t there but with him pleading for your mother, for an adult, you got a rancid taste in your mouth.

Against your better judgement you edged close enough to the abandoned well. The sun was setting in a fire-filled orange haze with enough color and angle to get a good view of the bottom; a slosh of fallen grass and rainwater, and muck, and yes; the bones of a beast once left to decay and rot in its own silence.

Your sister was wedged within the ribcage of the befallen bull, almost as if she replaced the beating heart that stopped pulsing long ago. Her hands gripped at the sun-bleached bone, knuckles nearly the same color.

It took you a moment to make out the slick, and the red that stemmed from the center of her stomach. The head of the bull had shattered under her weight, all expect the stretching length of it’s curved horn. That was wedged through her abdomen, surrounded in a vibrant rose red that puddled and had already coated her hands.

Prints from her struggle were against the limestone edges of the well. Her eyes pleaded up at you; your kind and caring, and animal-loving sister was trapped inside the remains of one. You fought back the urge to vomit, the rash thought that if the bone ripping through her flesh didn’t kill her, then infection would.

“Y/n get mama!” Jorge hissed again, and this time you didn’t hesitate. You nearly tripped over your own boots with the fever it took to back away from the scene, the metallic scent of blood mixing deliciously with the turn of rotted soil.

You had never run so fast in your life.

Wanda Maximoff had never felt the cold that wormed its way to her bones before. It was the type of cold that almost wasn’t, a stinging, horrible feeling that had her startled from the folded metal chair. It collapsed within itself as the blinked the wine-dark color from her eyes.

She stumbled backward, only to be brought back to the starkness of the room by a soft grip on her elbow. Wanda allowed herself to be held, if not for stability but for comfort. Steve Rodgers had a welcoming hand on the small of her back, the other steadying her.

He was a solid force, and her reaction stirred him.

“Fuck,” the expletive fell from her lips, “Jesus Christ.”

There was quietness to the room in the aftershock of the fallen chair. It was nicer than a standard holding cell. The walls were cream colored, triple enforced to keep people like you inside. There was a bed bolted to the wall, a bunk that was almost like a summer camp endeavor.

A charged glass wall was blocking you from the rest of the world. It was seemingly unbreakable, and in this moment, so were you. Wanda didn’t want to test the glass, nor did she know how to make sense of the memories- your memories- that had flooded every inch of her body.

You were asleep, chest rising and falling at a normal pace, as if none of what Wanda had just seen was flitting around your mind. Soft snores pushed past your lips, one arm hanging over the side of the bed while the other followed the flow of your breathing as it rested on your chest.

Wanda didn’t understand the secrecy and the precaution that surrounded you. The Avengers compound was a constant ebb and flow of different heroes, Inhumans and mutants. What made you so different? What made you an 0-8-4?

It was a term that Natasha had used only once that was usually attached to objects, not a person. It was an object of unknown origin and in that case, it was a power-filled object from space. Space. She’d been through different dimensions, but that, for some reason, struck her as terrifying.

0-8-4’s were never brought here, but then again, they’d never been alive either. Steve had told her that your energy signal was off the charts, and that they wanted her to dig around your head. Something that she denied doing at first. It was an invasion of privacy.

But, there was a certain pleading within Captain America’s eyes that scared Wanda more than the personal rules she set for herself when it came to her power. What she had seen, what she had felt was barely scraping the surface of what your mind contained. She wasn’t keen on pushing past that barrier for the conclusion of that story. Was it even yours?

“What? Wanda, what is it?”

“I… I don’t” She shook her head, eyes hardening as she stared into Steve’s “Where did you find her?”

He hesitated to answer, his eyebrows furrowing before he looked away from the witches’ prying eyes. She’d been part of this team for years now and they were still reluctant with what they were willing to share. Wanda clenched her jaw, then unclenched it before her stare flashed back to your resting form.

There was a small frown that creased your features. You looked so… harmless. You had shifted, folded into yourself as if you were scratching the surface of what flashed before her. Your arm was folded under your head, knees flush to your chest. A small, beautiful whimper escaped you.

“She’s in distress, Steve.”

“Discomfort, more like. It’s better for all of us that she stays in there for right now. The last thing we want to do is harm anyone but if that requires some temporary-“

“Imprisonment?”

“Containment.” He said firmly, eyes hard. Wanda crossed her arms over her chest but stayed silent, letting him continue. She was sure she wouldn’t have been asked if not for her ability to worm her way into minds, to rearrange things. “What did you see?”

“A memory, one that can’t possibly be hers. The timeline doesn’t fit, this is a woman in her mid-twenties and who I saw was barely a teenager on a farmstead. To experience that much tragedy, that much fear and heartache.”

She started to pace, trying to not only work through her own thoughts, but yours as well. It could have been a story, and she was convinced of the fact save for the vividness. There was the feeling of grass tickling her arms and the sharp, undeniable stench of blood.

“Her younger sister died, fell through some rotted wood and fell to her death.” Wanda’s fingers pressed against the edge of her hairline. “She could have lived, but I have my doubts.”

He lifted a perfectly sculpted brow at her. His expression betrayed his compassion towards you, his stance uncomfortable with the topic. While the revelation was heartbreaking it hardly made you extraordinary. They’d all lost people, none had stirred Wanda as you did.

Wanda’s stare found his after darting to you once more, “Steve, I have the sinking feeling that what I saw was only scratching the surface. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of memories that were pressing in on all sides.”

The sensation of being observed is what pulled you from your fitful sleep. Exhaustion had washed over you like a tidal wave, all at once and leaving your mouth dry like a spoonful of salt. There was a stiffness that rivaled that of the grave you’d crawled out of, and you hoped that it was all a dream.

You were in your bed, in your apartment, after having one too many drinks. It was a horrible stretching nightmare that had plunged you into one sea of darkness from another. But even you weren’t that naïve.

Just as you felt a stranger’s eyes on you now, you had felt the dirt under your nails, the cold sodium-filled takeout as you attempted to chew it. More than anything, you remembered the burning feeling of the Black Widow pressed fully against your back, bending you over Jenn’s kitchen counter.

“I would prefer if you kept the feeling of my wife’s body against yours out of your mind.”

You shot up with a dizzying amount of quickness, heart suddenly in your chest. There was an imbalance to the bed that you were laying on. It was smaller than your own and unfamiliar. The room was stark white. It hurt your eyes and you had to blink the color away. You pressed the heels of your palms close to your eyes.

It felt as if you were locked in a glass shower with an audience and stage lights. The more you looked, the more you realized it was a room, something with no personal effects but a bed and a dimmer switch that you itched to utilize.

A pitcher of water was on an end table. It wasn’t color exactly, but it was more than the rest of your surroundings. Possibly with the worst manners you’d ever exhibited, you drank straight from the pitcher, not remembering the last time you had a drink. Suddenly, you were parched enough to soak your collar.

Despite your audience, you continued until you felt your stomach protest. You used the back of your hand to wipe away the moisture, black dirt was smeared across your skin. It was then, and only then, that you forced yourself to look past the walls of your prison, your enclosure.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” The woman said, walking close to the glass. You could see her clearly now, there was an heir of recognition about her, in the same way that there had been with the Black Widow.

“You were in my head.”

“For a while. It’s my job. But your thoughts are also deafening.”

“Sorry,”

This woman was intoxicating. Alluring and beautiful in her presence. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt hugging her form. You weren’t positive what time it was- what day it was- but it could be late into the night. She looked like she was roused from sleep, and a part of you felt guilty for the fact.

“Don’t apologize, sweetie.” Her voice was much more tender than it had been a few moments ago. “You can’t control being brought back from the dead. A lot of trauma comes with that.”

You stood shakily and walked closer to the glass. They’d taken your shoes and the tile under your feet was frigid. You crossed your arms over your chest and shivered into yourself. You didn’t want to think about the fact that they had undressed you, probably taken your clothes for testing. Instead they left you in a blue set of scrubs.

You averted your stare from your own reflection, not willing or ready to look too hard. You’d much rather look at this stranger, your heart not slowing, your head pounding. Nothing but a simple pane of glass separated you.

“And I was brought back from the dead, wasn’t I? That wasn’t a fucked-up dream where I got hit by a car and then poof God, if there is one, decided that me of all people was worth bringing back.”

She lilted her head, quirked an amusing brow at you. A chill flushed down your spine and seemed to fizzle out at your toes. This woman was gorgeous and terrifying and made you want to squirm. But if this was prison, you had to assert dominance. Right? That’s what Wentworth taught you.

This cell didn’t look or feel like Wentworth, and this Warden had an amused smile tacked to her lips like she had heard your every thought. And she had. At least you assumed that she did. She’d mentioned her wife earlier, and the woman’s body against your own was plaguing you like a runaway freight train.

When she didn’t say anything, you clawed to fill the silence “I want to talk to Bruce.”

“Bruce? Honey, he’s off world.”

“Off… world.” You laughed, softly at first but then almost manically, tears forming in your eyes that you wiped away with your cold fingers. “No, no, that’s really cool. I worked a 9-5 and now I can’t talk to Bruce because he’s in Outer Space.”

“Maybe not outer space, maybe another dimension.”

You leveled her with a humorless glare. She had both of her hands up as if she wanted to comfort you, or the caged animal you had become. You had to give her credit, she seemed just as horrified as you were. She offered up a dim, faltering smile.

There wasn’t a way for you to process this in a gentle manner, there was no one to guide you through it other than Jenn. She’d done this before, lived a whole life that was flipped upside-down and she’d come out on the other side. It was the uncertainty that scared the hell out of you.

“You were in my head earlier,” You stopped suddenly, pressing your fingers against the glass. The woman didn’t flinch. Your frantic breath fogged with each exhalation. “Do you know why I came back?”

She shook her head, “No. Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

“No.” A weak chuckle, you let your hands drop. “At least we’re on the same page.”

The nurse they allowed to enter through the side of the containment unit took cautious steps towards you that made your chest ache. All your life, people had said how welcoming and kind you were; how they were never afraid to come to you with their worries. It had bothered you before the incident, before your death, but now you missed seeing the stare of those who didn’t harbor any fear.

She was small, a mouse of a thing that had pale blonde hair and startling blue eyes. Her name tag read Julia. Your mind rushed with the paths she’d taken to this place. She must be interning here, much too young to hold a classification herself.

Your finger twitched on your knee, palm sweaty. It’s heat radiated through the thin blue fabric of the pants they’d provided you with. You hated needles, always had. But, you struggled to stay still and the effect that had on poor nurse Julia was making you fidget more.

There was a scent about her. It was under the layers of hairspray, nail polish, and shea butter. It was a sweet metal that made your stomach swirl. Was it her sweat? You’d never smelt anything past walking by the bomb that was the boys locker room, and it certainly had never been this tantalizing before.

Your eyes met hers, crystal blue and uncertain. “You’ll just feel a little pinch”

This is when you pulled your gaze back and instead focused on the cream colored walls. There was no problem with needles, you’d dutifully sit for your flu shots, but something about the sharp edge pushing through a layer of skin and fat before hitting your vein made you nauseous.

“We just need enough to run a few tests.” Julia soothed.

She was a normal nurse in that one, small way. Your mind was itching, blood seeming to congeal. It refused to cooperate and her burning touch was all but dominant against your skin. You both waited for the small tube to fill with black liquid.

Finally, you felt her press the gauze against the crook of your arm and withdraw the needle. Another small pinch and then a massive relief. Her smell hung around you and filled the room. There was an undeniable urge to sink your teeth into her. To taste her.

You’d stopped the elevator just hours before to assess your penchant for brain consumption, but this wasn’t that. This was an intoxicating pull. This was animalistic, the same rush of emotion that had flooded you without prompting during your earlier conversation.

Julia squeezed your shoulder calmly, not entirely over her own reservations, but on the penance that she was a nurse and this was her job. You kept yourself rooted to the bed, fingers digging into the wood. She left the room and you could hear the compressed lock reseal you inside, breathing a sigh of relief.

That sweet odor lingered, and your reaction to it scared you more than anything. The wood beneath your fingertips splintered, and suddenly that anger, that fear, rolled away to shock. That wasn’t… normal. None of this was normal, but you weren’t exactly picked first in sports either.

You were a middle kid, a I guess I wouldn’t mind having you on my team kid. Suddenly your fingers were cutting through wood like it was butter. You let out an indignant squeak and shifted the blanket until the slashes were covered.

“Is everything alright?”

Wanda, you had learned that her name was Wanda, occupied her usual spot in front of the window. A slick sweat covered your forehead. She was holding a small tray that had a steaming bowl of soup and a delicious hunk of French bread.

“I figured you were hungry,” She lifted her chin towards the panel next to your door. “May I?”

“I’m at your mercy.”

And you were, truly. You hadn’t seen anyone but her since you’d woken up. There were shadows of others, people that made the pit in the center of your stomach grow three sizes. You knew exactly what they were doing, you watched enough true crime with Jennifer to know.

Here was this beautiful and powerful woman offering you food and words of comfort, and you allowed yourself to fall for all of it. Listlessly. Because what did you have to lose? You’d already died, and the thought of putting your family through the heartache of resurrection and then possibly enough committal to the ground was too much.

So, let her Stockholm syndrome you. The food smelled divine.

Wanda didn’t hold the same fear that Julia had. In fact, once the compression of air signified that it was okay for her to enter, she did so without hesitation. She set the food down on the equally dull side table and lowered herself onto the corner of the bed, making herself at home.

She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a simple t-shirt that had the outline of SHIELD on its sleeve. You frowned, for a company that does everything in its power to keep itself hidden, they sure loved that stupid bird so much.

“Go on, sweetie. You can eat.”

Wanda had a command about her that made you fold and listen despite any reservations. You took up a spot on the far end of the bed and shoveled the first spoonful into your mouth. An explosion of heady flavors coated your tongue, coaxing a low moan from your lips.

Blush rushed to your cheeks at the spark in the set of stormy eyes that watched you like a hawk. You rushed to break the tension. “So, what’s the plan here? Run a bunch of tests and keep me locked up?”

“Somewhat.” She paused, carefully thinking of her next words. “Y/n, I have the ability to get inside the psyche. Not only can I read every thought, every action, but I can control them too. It’s not something I like to do, nor something I want to. Not without permission.”

You frowned again. You certainly hadn’t given her permission to enter your mind before, and she tensed at the realization. But, you took another bite of soup and swallowed down the spiced broth. What’s done was done. You didn’t expect her to ask, much less admit to her wrongdoing.

“I prefer to ask. Can you tell me what you do for work?”

“Paralegal, the bar seemed like too much stress. But I’m good at my job. I was good at my job before a car turned me into sidewalk art.”

“Right, and your family, what about them?”

There was no desire to think of them and their perfect lives that you’d shattered with your death. Your mother used to sit in the tepid air on the porch swing, downing a glass of wine before she turned to you with tears in her eyes. She’d urge you to be careful working in the city. She’d plead for you to come home. More than anything, she’d utter the phrase a mother should never outlive her daughter.

“My mother is a seventh grade biology teacher and my father runs a painting business that’s been operating my whole life. They’re not very exciting people. They must be worried sick about me.”

Wanda nodded, “Any siblings?”

“Not anymore.”

She stilled at your words and didn’t pry. You were well aware of the fact that she could push through your deflections and learn the information that she wanted to know. But, you respected that she didn’t. Instead, she stared at you, and you stared right back, suddenly not hungry.

Wanda was someone that you felt the need to open-up to. Unlike the brief encounter you had had with her wife. Not that you let that word stick with you, not in the same way that her touch did. Again, you had to push the thoughts to the back of your mind, even if Wanda wasn’t prying.

Instead, she placed a warm hand on your thigh, sending a wave of shivers through your body. You suppressed a whimper at the sudden contact.

“I had a brother named Pietro. He was fast, unnaturally so. Neither of us ever wanted to be heroes, we didn’t think about the future like that. So, when the Avengers, these so-called saviors of the world, recruited us, we knew about the dangers. But it still shocked me when he died. He was my brother. He wasn’t supposed to be fragile like that.”

You stared at her with an amount of tenderness in your eyes that she wasn’t used to from the others. They cared, sure, but in the way that a co-worker would care enough to purchase cut flowers and a ‘sorry for your loss’ card. You were different.

“They’re our protectors.” You swallowed hard, mouth dry “when something drastic happens, it doesn’t seem real.”

“It still doesn’t.”

There was a lapse of silence that pushed memories in your direction. The burning cold weather on the day your own brother had died. You remember the scream that died in your throat and the way you’d knelt in the cracked snow until you couldn’t’ feel your legs or your fingers. It took an EMT with a heated blanket and a horror story about hypothermia to pull you to your feet.

“Jonathan.” You whispered.

She let out a questioning hum, pulling her feet from the floor and making herself more comfortable on the less-than-comfortable bed. “Your brother?”

“My older brother. I followed him around like a lost puppy, but he never complained. He was a hockey player and a damn good one too. He’d use the lake behind our house in Jersey to practice and one winter the ice broke underneath him. He drowned, and I was too weak to save him.”

Wanda let out a shuddered breath. You couldn’t read her facial expression. It was a mix of confusion, or sadness, but not pity and that was something you appreciated. You’d had enough pity, just as your family had enough grief without you adding to it.

She opened her mouth to reply, but both of you were startled when three quick knocks shattered the silence. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, stood on the other side. She showed no interest in breeching the containment unit. Instead, she leveled her wife with a dark stare and held up a folded piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Wanda whispered, giving your leg a settling squeeze.

She left the plate and exited the holding cell. Her words were muffled, but those unripe green eyes that Natasha possessed kept flicking to you nervously. She too, didn’t’ show pity. It was interest and if you were being honest, you thought you saw the smallest spark of fear.

Wanda took the paper from her wife, squinted at something you couldn’t’ see. You felt like you were at a parent teacher conference, just out of bounds of hearing but you could see their body language; the way that Natasha itched to move closer to Wanda, the fingers that the taller woman pressed to her lips, thumb creasing the paper.

Finally, Wanda turned back towards the glass. Natasha met your stare without issue, hitting the intercom on the other side of the cell. It was her who spoke, her raspy voice falling from the speaker.

“In the spirit of transparency, we want to be honest with you about your blood results.”

You stood from the bed, moving to one side of the barrier. They were intimidating like that, standing shoulder to shoulder with a natural beauty. It made you want to shrink. If not for the paper in their hands you would have curled into yourself at the sight.

“Don’t tell me I’m dying.”

“No, honey.” Wanda shook her head, “Quite the opposite, you’re getting stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

Natasha lifted an eyebrow and pressed the paper against the glass so you could read it. None of it made sense, it was lines of DNA that looked like musical notes. You shook your head, giving her a confused look.

Natasha scoffed, peeling the paper from the surface of glass. Wanda bit her thumbnail nervously. “According to these…You’re Asgardian, Kitten.”

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foreficfandom · 3 months

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POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (1/2)

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader)

Overlords are common sinners that boast many indentured servants to their name. Some also focus on physical territory. Some, like Alastor, don't bother. After all, radio knows little physical limitations.

Every Overlord had their own method of gaining prowess. Know one knows how Alastor became so dangerous. The strongest of the lords. Possibly stronger than some goetia royalty.

You weren't sure, either, but you had an inkling.

Because unbeknownst to anyone, you weren't some common sinner soul.

You were unique. A being originating far from this Christian realm of Heaven and Hell. You were undying, or a reincarnation, or a demigod. But you kept on the down low, 'cause attention would have meant trouble.

You could feel that Alastor's magic was a dark, bloody thing, nestled deep in his chest and hooked tightly like barbed wire. It tasted like sacrifices. It smelled like ultraviolet. And you knew it was borrowed, almost seeing the leash around his neck out of the corner of your eye.

Through a shared interest in the Hazbin Hotel, you and Alastor became acquaintances. Months later, you were proper friends. You could tell that Alastor valued the kind and pure of heart, even if he also believed them pitiful. Because they reminded him of a pleasant, happier life. A hidden part of him wanted to believe in their hope and love.

He thought you were just another sinner soul, and you didn't give him a reason to know any better. You had a job as part of the hotel staff. Their accountant, or security, or maintenance. Or their head concierge, guest service agent, auditor, what have you. Something vital to the business, but nothing glamorous. Labor has always been your most successful mask.

He was growing to love again. His mortal self might have been more recipient of affections and bonds, but decades living in hell has twisted him, and you could see him despair over the lump in his throat. His defeat at the hands of Adam proved his limits. You felt him writhe for weeks afterwards, and you let him reap what he sowed.

Curious, you sneaked away one evening and drew from your well of power to step through the fabric of time, finding yourself on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain to watch a young Alastor drink the blood from a bloody corpse, and spitting it over his shoulder. Some loa watched this bastardized libation from across the crossroads, but what answered was far more malevolent.

Alastor agreed to a very dangerous exchange. He now had hold over magic impressive enough for a mortal, but you knew it to be a relatively bum deal compared to true power. He would hunger constantly for flesh just to feed its energy, which was a cleverly hidden clause to curse him further through devilish consumption. His shadow sprouted antlers and a maw of sharp teeth.

For two decades, Alastor hunted and ate. Always male victims, usually white men, individuals some might damn as monsters themselves - the abusers, the genociders, the murderously entitled. What was once a scared young man grew hollow and fat on the power.

You've seen enough. Stepping through once more, you joined Alastor in cooking an orzo for shrove Tuesday. Sharpening your gaze, you watched his reflection on the shiny metal surface of a pot, and saw the stitches embedded in his face, pulling tight and vicious.

You nonchalantly asked, "How did you become so proficient at the kitchen knife?"

"Well, I was taught that one could eat, or they could eat well," he replied in a sing-song voice. "And practice makes perfect! Hunger is truly the best teacher."

The meat he was pairing was pork, but you knew he's served human flesh for dinner at least once before. You didn't say anything, because they'd grow suspicious at how you could possibly know from just the smell.

Alastor allowed only you to join him in cooking, partly because he favored you so much more, also because you were a right hand at making a meal. You didn't mention that millennia of existence made one a right hand at any skill.

And tonight, he would begin to see it.

Leaving the broth to simmer, you grabbed a small pairing knife and one of the tomatoes. Instead of simply coring and slicing, you inserted 0.013'' of carbon, chromium, and manganese right between where the molecular cells of epidermis ended at the pericarp. In a single momentum of both your knife and the tomato, the skin was perfectly peeled within two rotations.

Alastor wasn't even looking at you. But he froze over the cutting board, rictus smile sharp.

You haven't even used magic yet.

Both the tomato epidermis and its flayed flesh were completely free of any trace of the other, so in one hand, you ignited the skin to transmogrify into a tiny figurine made out of its glycerin wax. In the other, the tomato was sacrificed in a hole of light-bending void for its animal equivalent - the tiny heart of some small animal, possibly a bird or an amphibian, beating calmly as if alive.

Alastor slowly turned his head to watch as a miniature wax replica of himself held the heart in both shaking hands, before doubling over to devour it whole, its relative size and gore very reminiscent of a large, juicy tomato.

A picture perfect snapshot of his fifth or sixth murder while alive. Some world war veteran that still longed for the battlefield and had exercised his frustration upon his mother and younger siblings. The man might have been rotten, but his warrior's blood had burned hot and nourished Alastor's gaping void particularly well.

(NEXT)

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel imagines

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stevenose · 9 months

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this was supposed to be a blurb. it’s not a blurb. it’s rather long. sorry.

contains: reader with a vagina and breasts; mean!steve; tied up reader 🫢; overstimulation; controlled orgasms; toys; squirting; a bit of sub!space for reader; aftercare!

you’d played it up too much.

steve should’ve known it was a joke. well, you figure he does know you were joking. but the man can only hear you boast about your new vibrator so many times before he’s feeling a little left out.

“can’t come over tonight,” he’d said a few days ago, sighing into the phone. “gotta work late, honey.”

“it’s fine,” you pouted, and then you smiled wide. “i’ve got my vibrator to keep me company, anyway.”

steve scoffed into the phone, the lilt of his smile palpable in his voice. “yeah, okay. keep that up, baby.”

and so you did, because if there’s one thing you love, it’s seeing steve struggle. he’s not truly upset - if he was, he’d have told you. but he thinks it’s important that you remember precisely who he is to you, and who you are to him.

walking in on you playing with that stupid thing was just the perfect opportunity.

“what are you doing?”

you can tell by his tone, his hands placed on his hips, that you’re in that not-real trouble that usually ends with you crying euphorically and steve cuddling you. you can stop it here, but you don’t. you want it to continue.

“uh,” you breathe, placing your wand to the side. “i was just getting ready for you.”

he scoffs, removes the space between you two with a few steps forward. “yeah, i don’t think so,” he says, ripping your comforter back to drink up your naked figure. he can smell your arousal, nostrils flaring. he grabs your wand and holds it up, taunting you with it. “this is it, huh? this is what’s better than me?”

and, like, it’s factual. steve does not vibrate, steve does not have the same precision. you’d take him over it in a heartbeat, but, yeah, you’d say it’s better than him. so you nod, fingers playing uncertainly with the hem of your shirt.

“okay,” he says. “then don’t let me stop you. actually - here, let me help.”

now your hands are tied up to your bed frame with some old silk ribbon and he’s bullied himself in between your thighs to keep them spread. your shirt is discarded to the side, leaving you naked for him. he’s still clothed. it gets you hot.

“where’s that other one, huh?” he asks, leaning over you to rifle through your bedside table. “oh, this?”

he pulls out a silicone dildo. it fits you quite perfectly, not long and thick like steve is. it’s comfortable. he brings it to your mouth, watching your eyes widen with satisfaction. “come on, this is how you do it, right?”

you lick it, a little bit innocently, just to watch steve’s eyes darken. he ends up spitting on it before lining it up with your opening and pushing it inside of you with a wet squelch that makes you cringe.

“huh,” he says. he makes no attempt to play with it once it’s in. “fits really nice, honey. definitely better than i do.”

what he’s saying is, you can’t take me. you can’t handle my cock. which is true, but right now you want to prove it false. you frown and lift your hips in an attempt to seduce him, but he just rolls his eyes and pushes them flush to the mattress.

“know how much you like bein’ full,” he mumbles, grabbing the wand and placing it snug against your clit. “actually, sweetheart, i’d say i know exactly what’s best for you. don’t you think?”

you bite your lip and contemplate. “i don’t know….”

“okay,” he says simply, and turns the vibrator on.

you gasp. steve has it pressed up against you cruelly, directly on the head of your clit with ample pressure. it feels good, but maybe too good. you keen and steve continues to keep it in place, spreading his knees so your thighs follow suit. “don’t run away from it. aren’t you obsessed with this thing?”

“mhm,” you moan, teeth puncturing your lower lip. “ah!! it - mmm, feels so good.”

“i’m glad.” he doesn’t touch you as much as you wish he would. he just keeps your legs spread and the vibrator on your clit. “i want to see what this does to you, see what i’m missing out on.”

which is almost a little sweet, but you’re not fooled. you know he’s going to make this hard for you, pulling the wand away right when you’re on the edge and watch you cry for him to fuck you. he just needs his ego stroked a little bit, that’s all.

so you’re shocked when he lets you cum with no issues, just staring down at your face, looking like he’s learning something. like maybe he made a discovery. and you’re even more shocked when the vibrator stays pressed nice and snug between your legs.

“wait -“ you gasp, “it’s - steve - that’s -“

“what?” he asks. “thought you loved this thing, honey, don’t tell me you don’t want it now.”

your legs try to shut, but steve’s in the way. your hands tug at the silk, but it doesn’t budge. you throw your head back and groan, the constant stimulation making your hips jerk. it doesn’t necessarily hurt, but it doesn’t feel good, either. still, the constant vibrations are working on your clit, and it’s not immune to the wand’s magic.

you twist, helpless. you’re no where near backing down or wording out, but it’s overwhelming. especially with steve staring at you with a shit eating grin, drinking you up. “yeah, feels real good, doesn’t it.”

eventually, when his wrist gets sore from chasing your hips, he slams your legs shut with the wand still in between. “keep them there,” he growls, jumping off the bed to find a belt. he secures your thighs together with it, the wand still stuck on your clit, your cunt still filled with a dildo. with this new freedom, steve’s able to really torment you, to watch your body quiver and jerk.

“you were right,” he sighs, big hands moving up the sides of your torso. “this does do a better job than me. i’ve never made you squirm like this before, have i? have i?”

you shake your head, the only sound coming out of your mouth a long, high-pitched whine. though the head of the wand isn’t pressed mercilessly against your clit, it’s still nearing unbearable. your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, making you gasp and shout and keen.

“jesus,” steve moans, palming himself. “you have no idea how hard you make me.”

you’re sweating now, hairline beaded with it. your third orgasm is fast approaching, as if your body knows you’re in for a few rounds and wants to get them out of the way. your toes curl and you twist again, squeezing your eyes shut and gasping. “steve holyfuckingshit shit shit shit shit-“

“what’re you saying my name for?” he asks, pulling himself out of his jeans quickly, jerking off over your form. “i’m not doin’ anything ‘cept letting you feel good. you feel good, don’t you, honey?”

“too good!” you wail, your orgasm building a lot slower and more intensely than usual.

“aw,” he says pitifully. “sounds like you made a mistake, huh?”

you can’t answer as your third orgasm rips through you, knocking the air out of your lungs and any words left dead in your throat. you can only scream after the peak, head thrown back against your wet pillowcase.

“shhh,” steve says harshly. “you always this loud when you use it? gotta put something in your mouth to shut you up?”

“please,” you beg, a few tears making their way out of your eyes with exertion. “it’s so so much.”

“are you okay?”

“shut - yes,” you moan, “just keep being mean.”

he laughs and twists one of your nipples, grinning widely when you squeal. “you can take it, baby. i’m tellin’ you, i know what’s best for you.” he stops touching himself to bend your knees and lift your legs so he can see your cunt. he whistles, something about it making you embarrassed. “you pushed your toy out,” he tells you. you had no idea, but you can tell when he slowly pushes it back into your dripping hole. “jesus, your pretty little pussy is such a mess. i thought that dick was perfect for you, what’d you push it out for?”

you don’t have an answer.

“you think it’s too small?” he asks, resting a hand on the back of your knee and touching himself again, jerking quickly. his balls ache from watching you. “i don’t know, maybe you just need to be better at taking it.”

your eyes fall shut as you squirm again, trying to get away from the relentless torture, away from steve’s prying eyes.

“your cunt’s crying,” he frowns again. “i thought you liked your toys, baby, what’s she crying for?”

your back arches and fingers and toes flex as your fourth orgasm rolls through your body. it’s hot this time, hardly enjoyable. your clit hurts and your core aches, the fake cock inside of you not stretching you like you want. like steve’s cock would.

“i’m sorry!” you cry, shaking your head. “you… you….”

he tsks, a hand squeezing your tit. “poor thing can’t even talk.”

deviously, he moves his hand down your sternum and pushes hard once he reaches your bladder. you gasp and lift off the bed, eyes wide, mind suddenly clear. “don’t!”

“don’t what?” he asks innocently, pushing down firmly with the same pressure. your eyes roll back, a tugging starting from your lower stomach and meeting at your opening. “honey, i don’t think you can squirt from such a tiny cock.”

which proves true as he continues his little pushes, making your tummy dip in - that feeling of letting go on the horizon but unattainable. and now you want it so bad that it’s making you cry. you want to make a mess all over his cock while he pounds parts of you only he knows. everything feels so mechanical now, the wand whirring uniformly, the dildo inside of you stiff.

you’re crying, taking shuddering breaths. steve can’t take it anymore, his cock ready to burst. hell, he might be able to cum a few times, too, just from watching you. “where?” he grits out. “can’t do it on your pussy since i don’t belong there.”

you choke out something that sounds like please, hips pushing up again, but steve’s made up his mind already. he works his way up your body on his knees and angles his cock towards your lips. “you wanna taste?” he asks, slapping it against the bridge of your nose. he knows you’re close with how you’re moving, your eyes crossing before squeezing shut.

“tell me my cock’s better,” he asks, watching a drop of precum hit between your eyebrows. “tell me it’s nicer than your stupid fucking toys.”

“better,” you moan, “nicer.”

he’ll take it. when your mouth drops open, right on the brink, he cums with a growl directly onto your tongue.

his animalistic moans, and the taste of him on your tongue, push you over one final time. you scream, chest heaving, and steve has to use his thumb to keep your mouth open as he strokes out the last few drops of his spend. you keep your mouth open after, fucked stupid, and he gently closes your jaw. “swallow and i’ll let you go.”

you show him your tongue after and he whistles low again before clambering off of you to turn the toy off. you’re panting and twitching and steve rubs his soft hands up and down your hot skin. he gives you a moment to catch your breath before he unbuckles your thighs, removes the toys, and unties your hands. he rubs the raw skin, placing gentle kisses to it.

“you alright, sweet thing?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“uh-huh.” you’re dazed, a dumb smile on your face as you bask in your afterglow. steve kisses you and helps you stretch gently, fingers rubbing soothingly into your aching muscles.

“let me go get a washcloth, okay?” he whispers, and you whine immediately, wrapping your arms around him. his warmth and weight is soothing. you never want him to leave. he giggles and kisses your ear. “aren’t you cold, honey? let me clean you up and get some pj’s on you.”

“no,” you moan, slowly wrapping your legs around his waist, his cock hardening as it hits your wet folds. “need you.”

you always do this. fucked or teased or edged to the point of stupidity and then still crying because he won’t fuck you. he sighs, goosebumps forming on his skin as he slowly rubs himself against you. “you can take it?”

you nod into his shoulder and gasp happily when he pushes inside. he gasps, too, at how tight and hot and wet you are, even after all of that. he’s careful with your clit, only letting his pelvis knock against it. he shivers and moans into the pillow behind you, chasing your wet heat.

“wanna cum,” you whimper, taking one of his hands and placing it back on your bladder. “wanna….”

steve grits his teeth, angles his cock, and pushes down. you gasp and squirt around him with a soft moan, too tired for theatrics, soaking his cock while your lower body shakes. you’d felt stunted until then, and now you’re exhausted. you gently rock your hips as steve cums inside of you, biting your shoulder as he does. “mmmphfuckkk, honey, shit.”

your legs slide off of his hips, shaking almost violently, but you’re pleased, filled up with steve’s cum. he kisses you as he pulls out and away, cupping your tear-stained cheek.

“washcloth,” you mumble, and he nods, standing up on his own shaking legs. “‘n a nap?”

“whatever you want, peach,” he promises, kissing you one more time before ambling off towards the bathroom. lazily, your head shifts to look at your beloved wand, and you shove it off the bed, not caring when you hear it break.

#stevenose posts #steve x reader #ns/fw #mean!steve

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zwolfgames · 1 month

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|Mistakes|Platonic Yandere Alastor x fem!reader

Requested: /

Warnings: Alastor, condescending behavior, off putting interactions.

Parts: Part 1, Part 2 (You are here), Part 3

The two of you sat peacefully on the kitchen floor for quite a while. Alastor asked you about songs and he showed you his favourite's in return.

It was quite a sweet moment, considering the situation. Listening music during an extermination. Who would have tought?

Alastor hums along to a song he put on. You have to admit, he has a soothing voice. Indeed perfect for a radio host.

A violent scream of pain from outside shook you out of the calmness.

You had almost forgotten about the death outside...

Alastor eyes you curiously.

You may not know it, but he finds you calming to look at. No sharp edges... that big jellyfish cap. You look.. lets say, squishable.

Tough he knows better then to touch now.

"You aren't scared, are you?" Alastor hums in a sing song manner. Teasing smile on his lips as usual.

"There's no need to be scared when I'm here to protect you." He further widens his grin. You just nod meekly, opting to agree with anything he may say to spare your life.

"Y/N, dear. Don't you think you'd look better with a smile?" Alastor tilts his head so he can look right at you, trough the veil of stinging tendrils.

"No... not really? I don't have a lot to smile about." You blink up at him blankly. You see him tilt his head to the side in either curioustity or annoyance.

"How about you smile for me?" Alastor seems to smile even wider at his own ideas.

You attempt a little smile as to not get murdered on the spot.

Alastor seems content and had to stop himself from tilting your chin up to see better. Tough the only thing really stopping him were your tendrils.

"Y/N, is there perhaps a way for you to not sting?" Alastor asks.. way too obviously.

"No." You answer without hesitation. And even if there was, you wouldn't ever turn them off. Hell is dangerous and this guy is especially dangerous.

"I see. A shame, you look soft to touch." He admits casually. You almost cringe and resist the urge to back off. Why does he pull out the creepy shit after you two had a nice music moment?

A moment of silence passes, its awkard to you but the radio demon seems nothing but pleased.

"Say, my dear. What else do you presume we do while waiting out the extermination?" Alastor asks as if this is some playdate.

And truly, to him it was.

"Um... I have papers somewhere, we can.. draw?" You offer awkardly, you only have a destroyed kitchen to work with here. But you don't think he'd have appreciated playing minecraft anyways.

"Drawing, are you capable of that?" Alastor asks in amusment. You almost feel insulted at the way he asked that.

You just nod and take some papers from a cabinet. Finding pencils was a bit harder but you managed.

And Alastor defenitly noticed that you gave him the better pencil.... How sweet and considerate of you.

He doesn't know a lot of sinners who would do that...

Second mistake: A show of Kindness.

Well, atleast drawing time went on peacefully. Alastor was humming a tune with that radio effect enhancing his voice, it was quite calming and your stress ebbed away from you slowly as you just focussed on your drawing.

You aren't sure how much time passed before Alastor stopped humming but he snapped you out of your creative trance.

"What do you think ,dear?" Alastor smiles a bit more genuinly.

He holds up his pencil drawing of... you. Just You. With your little smile.

You blush faintly in a rather shy manner and try not to look away from his drawing.

You didn't know he had a talent in drawing. You also didn't know you were drawing eachother. Yours was just todays made up OC.

"Thats.. very pretty... I'm flattered." You mutter out in embarrasment. Alastors grin widens.

"I just wanted to capture you, as I carry no camera's on me." Alastor boasts as if that's the coolest thing ever.

"Thats neat." You stick a thumb up, it therefore comes out under your stinging veil.

You notice your mistake quite quickly as your hand is taken in the Radio demons.

"I knew it, soft. You're quite untouched, aren't you? Well, that would be obvious, seeing your ability." Alastor smirks. It's as if his main goal this whole time had been to grab a hold of you.

He's quite cold, pointy fingers. Kinda eery.

"Oh look at your little startled face. You're adorable." Alastor teases with slightly lidded eyes.

You attempt to pull back out of embarrasment but he holds on.

"Are you scared?"

Alastor asked in a more serious voice.

"Not really, you're just cold." You answer simply, hoping thats a decent enough answer.

"Is that so?" Alastor hums, a twitch in his smile as he lets go.

He stands up and summons his cane.

You refrain a flinch as you fear the worst but he instead just summons a couch and a bunch of books.

"Come, sit. We still have some hours to pass."

_____☆_____

Cool

Tag list: @ceramic-raven , @oo0lady-mad0oo

#yandere #xreader #oneshots #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #alastor #hazbin hotel #yandere alastor #platonic yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel imagines

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wildandsmile · 7 months

Text

☆.｡.:* The Perfect Day *:.｡.☆

Summary: Your boyfriend has been consistently ignoring you, leaving you puzzled. Every time you attempt to engage in a conversation, he remains confined to the kitchen, citing it as part of a personal challenge. However, you find his explanation dubious.

Tw : Miscommunication, Misunderstanding, Clingy Reader (just a bit),

Wc: 3.7k

Kinks : Switch Sanji, Switch Reader, oral (giving + receiving), Cream-pie, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), Rough sex, Mommy Kink and Fuck Toy pet name”

An: Happy day 2 of Kinktober

Enjoy!

On a perfectly ordinary day aboard the Sunny, the golden sun painted the sky with its gentle rays, and the breeze whispered sweetly through the air. Everything felt idyllic, except for one missing piece - your boyfriend, Sanji, who was diligently immersed in the kitchen. You couldn't help but yearn for him to step out, embrace the glorious weather, and share in the perfection of the day. Alas, it seemed impossible, for once Sanji committed himself to a task, nothing could divert his unwavering focus. Why, you wondered, was he toiling so tirelessly that he had no time for his beloved?

The answer to your dilemma is surprisingly straightforward. Sanji had issued a challenge to his father for a cook-off, a ritual they engaged in regularly. Ostensibly, they claimed it was to refine their culinary skills, but everyone understood that it was mostly about boasting rights. However, what truly weighed on your mind in this particular situation was the deviation from their usual routine. Typically, when they embarked on these friendly cook-offs, Sanji would inform you in advance, reassuring you that he'd be occupied for a while. It always eased the solitude you felt. Yet this time, as you instinctively reached out to seek comfort from your boyfriend, you realized he was conspicuously absent.

You casually dismissed it, assuming that Sanji had risen early to prepare breakfast. However, your perception shifted as you rose from your slumber and ventured towards the kitchen. Ordinarily, the air would be filled with the delightful aroma of maple syrup and freshly squeezed juice, but today was a stark departure from the norm. There was no trace of those enticing scents. Instead, you were greeted by the chaotic scene of Chopper and Usopp pounding on the kitchen door, their cries for Sanji to grant them entry ringing through the air. Observing the commotion, you approached the door and inquired of the two lively individuals, "Hey, what's going on?" Your expression remained stoic, secretly hoping they'd pick up on your unwillingness to endure their loud voices so early in the morning. Alas, they failed to catch the hint and both fervently appealed to you for aid in their predicament.

"You have to help us! Sanji won't let us in the kitchen," Usopp exclaimed, his voice quivering in tandem with Chopper's. Fed up with their emotional outburst, you gently shook them off your legs. As you approached the kitchen door, their teary-eyed plea echoed in your ears. To your amusement, you discovered a sign affixed to the door, bearing a whimsical illustration of flames and a warning that anyone stepping inside would become ingredients for his "newest" dish. The childlike touch in the sign made you chuckle.

Though you didn't want to waste too much time, you knocked on the kitchen door, calling out, "Sanji, can we come in? We're starving!" Silence prevailed, prompting you to give it a few more minutes. You wondered if he might be rummaging in the pantry or had the water running too loudly to hear your initial call.

After waiting for another 15 painstaking minutes, your patience ran thin, and you decided to knock on the door once more. This time, there was a subtle rustling from the other side, igniting a glimmer of hope that Sanji might finally open the door. However, instead of revealing himself, he swiftly cracked the door open just enough to slip on another sign.

The new sign read, "Sorry, Mi Amor, I can't let you in right now. But if you're hungry, I've left your favorite snack in our room for you to enjoy. As for the two behind you, tell them to piss off." His reluctance to face you in person began to irritate you, prompting you to knock forcefully on the door, now shouting, "Sanji, you know you could just talk to us instead of putting notes on the door!"

In response, another note swiftly appeared on the door, bearing Sanji's heartfelt message: "I know it's rude, but if I step outside and see your beautiful face, I might get too distracted. I'm battling for something serious, so I can't afford to lose this battle. Please understand, Mi Amor."

"Whatever," you huffed, frustration fueling your actions as you dramatically threw your hands in the air. Storming away, you retreated to your room in a whirlwind of emotions. Anger churned within you, and you collapsed onto your bed, rolling over as if sleep could magically erase your urge to storm back to the kitchen and break down the door just to give your boyfriend a piece of your mind.

Days passed, almost 2 weeks in total, and the longer you distanced yourself from Sanji, the more profound your loneliness and discontent grew. Today marked the day of his impending cook-off with his father. You had resolved that once this culinary showdown concluded, you would corner Sanji and unleash your pent-up frustrations, no longer willing to hold back.

There you were, perched on the deck of the Sunny alongside the rest of the crew, joined by Zeff's crew. Patience was the order of the day as the father-and-son culinary duo emerged from the kitchen, proudly presenting their dishes one by one. The feast began with creamy shrimp and crab bisque for appetizers, followed by a steaming plate of seafood rice. To cap off this delectable meal, they brought out Chocolat au Crumble de Fraises, all of which was washed down with a refreshing cola chosen by none other than Franky himself.

The moment had arrived for everyone to cast their votes. One by one, you all ventured into the kitchen, slipping a piece of paper bearing your name into a box marked with the respective chef's name. As you lingered, waiting for your turn, you strategically chose to go last, hoping Sanji would be compelled to meet your gaze at the table. However, your plan seemed to crumble when all he did was steal quick glances your way before turning back to his business.

Finally, it was your moment, and you pushed back from the table, making your way to the kitchen with determination in every step. There was no shock or surprise about whose box you'd place your paper into; it was a given. As you slid your paper into Sanji's box, you returned outside, casting a fierce glare in his direction the entire way. However, he remained unperturbed, not even raising an eyebrow in response, which only fueled your simmering anger.

When Nami rose from her seat and ventured into the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. She always announced the winner, but this time, your excitement was far from the usual "I hope my boyfriend wins." Instead, it was the eager anticipation of "I can't wait for this to be over so I can give my boyfriend a piece my mind" kind of excitement.

Before long, Nami raised the card high into the air, capturing everyone's attention. "Can I get a drum roll, please?" she requested, and Franky and Brook eagerly obliged, joyously providing the rhythmic beat. With the anticipation building, Nami brought the card back to her face, scrutinizing both sides of the table before dramatically declaring, "And the winner is... Sanji!"

A tidal wave of cheers erupted, and hats and sandals soared into the air in celebration. Amid the jubilation, Zeff strolled over to Sanji, offering him a hearty pat on the back as he remarked, "I'll let you win this time, boy." Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Zeff couldn't help but roll his eyes before retreating back into the kitchen.

With the excitement in the air slowly fading, you made your way over to Sanji, determined to have a private conversation with him. Grabbing him by the collar, you ushered him into your shared bedroom. The voices of Luffy, the others, and Zeff's crew murmured, "Oh, he's in trouble."

As you slammed the bedroom door shut, you finally turned to face Sanji. He sat on the bed with his back to you, seemingly avoiding your gaze. You attempted to call his name, hoping he would face you, but he remained unresponsive. Growing frustrated, you marched over to the bed and seized his face, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"Sanji, why the hell didn't you tell me about the cook-off, let alone that you'd lock yourself in the kitchen for almost two weeks?" you seethed, your voice laced with anger. It surprised you how furious you felt, but Sanji's continued silence only fueled your emotions, pushing aside any other feelings besides anger and rage.

"Fine, if that's how you want to play this, then I'll just leave. There's no point in trying to talk something out with someone who doesn't want to talk anyway!" you shouted in exasperation, rising from the bed and heading toward the door.

However, just as you were about to open it, Sanji's hands enveloped yours, and he gently pressed you against the door. You considered turning around to ask him what he wanted, but he seemed to have anticipated your question.

"I wasn't ignoring you on purpose, Mi Amor. You know I could never do that," he began, his voice filled with sincerity. "Remember when I told you I put a lot on the line for me to win today."

You couldn't quite grasp what he might have put on the line, especially something worth locking himself away for, but for now, you pushed that thought to the side.

"Yes, I remember; you posted it on one of the note on the door ," you retorted in a sassy tone, rolling your eyes at the memory. Sanji's hand slipped from yours at your remark, and he withdrew his touch from your back. It took a moment for your emotions to settle before you turned around to face him.

This time, Sanji was also facing you, and his expression was one of focused seriousness. In a moment that took you completely by surprise, he dropped to one knee, locking eyes with you. From behind his back, he produced a velvet box and extended it toward you.

"Well, Mi Amor, the truth is, I battled my father today to earn his blessing so I could ask you for your hand in marriage," he explained, his voice brimming with sincerity. "Of course, my father, being the obstinate man he is, said he'd never allow some 'worthless chef' like me to marry a girl like you, you know, because of his 'Zeff Pride.'"

"So, Mi Amor, now that I ask you this let me give it a shot," Sanji said, a radiant smile spreading across his face, "Mi Amor, Will you marry me?"

In that moment, all the lingering anger from before seemed to dissolve, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of pure happiness. Without hesitation, you leaped into Sanji's arms, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. When you finally pulled away, your eyes locked onto his, and you answered, "Yes, yes, of I marry you."

A shared sense of elation enveloped the two of you as you leaned in for another kiss, this one longer and more fervent than the first. When you eventually separated, the electric energy between you seemed to demand something more, after all, you finally had your beloved boyfriend back in your arms, and he had just given you the biggest shock of your life. There was only one thing left to do with all this newfound energy.

With determination, you pulled Sanji down onto the bed with you, locking him in a passionate kiss that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Only when your lungs felt like they were aflame did you finally break away, looking up at him with a playful yet seductive tone in your voice.

"You know, you owe me for leaving me all alone all this nights, needy and horny, with no one to turn to but myself," you purred, sending shivers down Sanji's spine. He gazed at you with lovesick eyes, but you weren't ready to give in to him just yet. You wanted him to feel the same neediness you had endured over these past few weeks.

"Yes, I know," Sanji admitted, his voice filled with longing?

"Yes, I know what?" you pressed, your lips tantalizingly close to his. As he tried to pull you in for a kiss, you halted him by placing your hand on his chest. "You heard me, 'yes, what?' I know what?" This time, your tone dripped with a venomous allure, eliciting a quick, submissive response from your love-struck partner.

"Yes, I know, Mommy~," Sanji whispered, and you rewarded him with a swift but savory kiss. Pulling away, you declared with satisfaction, "Good boy~."

☆ ☆ ☆ Smut Time ☆ ☆ ☆

“M’m, Mi Amor.. Please, hurry up and touch me ," he breathes out in a languid, seductive tone, his voice dripping with desire. The subtle quiver in his voice betrays the undeniable arousal building within him, evident by the tantalizing bulge that begins to take shape in his trousers. "Haven't even touched you yet, and you're already driving yourself crazy," you purr seductively, your voice dripping with confidence. With a teasing smirk, your hand glides sensually up and down his trousers, tantalizingly stroking his hardened cock through the fabric. As his eyes flutter closed, succumbing to the intoxicating pleasure, you revel in the power you hold over him. Finally, you sensually unbutton his pants, feeling the anticipation build as each button gives way to your touch. With a gentle tug, his pants gracefully glide down his legs, pooling at his ankles, revealing his desire. As you sensually caress him with your tongue, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from his lips.

“Fuc-, PLease. I'm begging you, just touch me already," he whispers, his fingers lingering in anticipation as he shields his eyes with a seductive embrace. Finally, you sensually remove his boxers, liberating his throbbing com from its confines. His throbbing cock was a deep, sensuous shade of brown, glistening with the tantalizing percum. Not wasting any more time, you sensually began tracing a luscious path with your tongue along the velvety contours of his throbbing cock.

“PLease just keEp touching me Ther-…. just like that…”

“It feels so good…hngh…”

So consumed by your insatiable longing, you succumb to temptation and eagerly reclaim his throbbing cock between your lips, sensually caressing and pleasuring him with your skillful movements. Before long, his strong hands become entwined in your luscious locks, his tantalizing touch igniting a delicious shiver that cascades down your sensuous curves, causing a delightful moistness to blossom in the depths of your desire. "Shi- oh, hold on," he murmurs, his voice trembling as you trail a trail of tantalizing kisses along his throbbing cock.

Your tantalizing lips were sending him into a frenzy of desire. He struggled to restrain himself, but his efforts were futile as he succumbed to the overwhelming desire, releasing his hot load, cascading down your eager throat."Damn, why are you so unbelievably perfect?" Sanji moans, his voice laced with desire as he attempts to calm himself from the intoxicating pleasure. He pulls you closer, their lips meeting in a passionate, soul-stirring kiss, their bodies aflame with longing. In a hushed whisper, he confesses "Now it's your turn," you begin to feel a shiver run down your spine. You couldn't help but wonder what he had in store for you, but the anticipation only fueled your desire. His gaze, dark and intense, locked with yours, igniting a fire deep within. In that moment, you were willing to surrender yourself completely, ready to fulfill his every desire.

So, imagine yourself in a state of undress, sensually reclining on the bed, your legs enticingly parted. Sanji, now positioned between your inviting thighs, begins to grace your skin with delicate butterfly kisses, sending electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing you to quiver with anticipation.You sensually positioned your legs upon his strong shoulders, tantalizingly inching yourself closer, your enticing derrière delicately poised on the edge of the bed. He couldn't resist the temptation, eagerly pressing his lips against your delicate folds, exploring them with a hunger that consumed him. You let out a breathless moan as the electrifying touch sent shivers down your spine. You couldn't resist the temptation to indulge him; he had been so sensually captivating up until this moment.

So when he gently caressed a digit into your passionate embrace, he delicately curved it, exploring for that tender spot within you that would ignite your deepest desires. Oh, my sweet, hushed moans escape my lips! You sensually arched your enticing derriere off the plush mattress, simultaneously enticingly withdrawing from and tantalizingly inching towards his electrifying caress. “Oh, Sanji, yes, just like that!” He then sensually slipped a second finger into your moist and eager cunt, while his tantalizing lips lavished attention on your throbbing clit. His liberated hand caressed the curvature of your enticing derrière, providing a firm support as you sensually undulated your hips, indulging in the electrifying pleasure of his tantalizing oral ministrations.

Holy Shii, I'm cumming, you sobbed as you struggled to free yourself from Sanji's long tongue, but he held on tighter, tightening his hold on your thighs. “ That’s right Mi Amor lose yourself on my fucking tongue," he whispered seductively, causing a shiver of anticipation to course through your body. Sanji let out a passionate moan as your essence enveloped his eager tongue. His wrist and lips throbbed with a delicious ache, but he dared not halt his tantalizing movements as you indulged in the intoxicating waves of pleasure, moaning and panting above him. When you were finally done, you sensually pressed your delicate foot against his shoulder, exerting a tantalizing amount of pressure as you gracefully pushed him away from your alluring body. He sensually collapsed onto his luscious derriere.

You shifted yourself to wear your hovering over his cock, slamming yourself down on him you both let a whimpering moan.

Soon after you place his hands down your waist making him hold you firmly as you steadied yourself. You slowly lifted yourself off his cock only leaving the tip inside before you thrust down on him slowly feeling as his cock sunk deep into your pussy. The steady penetration had you reeling. You needed to feel him, all of him. So you swirled around in his cock a more before you thrust yourself back down on his hard cock. You basked in the feeling of being so full, so complete. You lifted yourself completely off cock, leaving you cold and empty for a split second until you slammed his entire length back into you, repeating and repeating at an unwavering pace trying to slowly over stem yourself and him.

Finally, after observing his graceful rise, you beckon him with a seductive gaze, enticing him to crawl towards you with the allure of a smitten paramour. Gently, you observed as Sanji sensually made his way onto the bed, captivating your attention. However, your gaze couldn't resist the allure of his throbbing cock, already glistening with percum, despite his recent release. You succumbed to the allure of granting him mercy, tantalizing him with hours of playful teasing. But after seductively drawing him into a tantalizingly brief kiss, you sensually withdrew from his lips, your open mouth now leaving a trail of passionate kisses down his sculpted chest and tantalizingly toned abdomen, until your lips finally reached his throbbing, achingly engorged cock.

Each passionate thrust delved so deeply within you, igniting a pleasurable ache that resonated throughout your being. Immediately, the throbbing tip of his pulsating member discovered the depths of your most intimate core, relentlessly caressing your sensitive cervix with every forceful thrust that you eagerly reciprocated. Your seductive eyelids languidly descended, their weighty allure captivating the senses, while your eyes sensually embarked on a tantalizing journey, rolling back with an intoxicating rhythm, teasing the boundaries of ecstasy.

His passionate pursuit was so intense, every tantalizing collision of your hips against his pelvis sent electrifying waves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being. The intense pleasure of his skillful touch, as he passionately explored your most intimate depths, had ignited a fiery desire within you. Your senses were heightened, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of surrender, ready to succumb to the overwhelming waves of ecstasy once more. He sensed it as well, as he unleashed a primal roar in reaction to the throbbing depths of your gummy wall.

He choked out because the sensation of you slamming yourself against him was too much for him to bear. "Fuck you feel so fucking good Mommy," he said."You enjoy these, don't you? Being used as a dirty plaything," you purred seductively, your gaze locked with his, never faltering in your rhythmic movements.

His hands found your hips and he effortlessly lifted you up and down on his cock, fucking himself with your pussy like that was the only thing that mattered. You moaned into him as you clenched around his cock, your limp body fully sir, coming to your feral desires. You started to shudder as your orgasm claimed you with a white-knuckled grip. You whined into Sanji's neck as it hit you with shock after shock, your vision going spotty while your cunt tightened around him.

Your heartbeat raced with a tantalizing thrill. As he sensually caressed your waist, his hands delved deeper, eagerly flipping you over. You sensually writhed, yearning to liberate yourself and reclaim your authority. However, as he firmly clasped your waist, his teeth sinking into your supple shoulder, it became evident that he had no intention of relinquishing control. So you surrender yourself completely, granting him the power to arrange you in any way he desires, igniting his primal hunger to satisfy his deepest desires. His tantalizingly firm hands sensually caressed your supple torso, tracing a path to your alluring back, as he effortlessly lifted you up, igniting a fiery desire within you, as he gracefully rocked back onto his knees. So you allow your delicate visage to caress his neck, the intoxicating scent of his essence enveloping your every sense.

He couldn't hold it any longer, and his cock jerked inside of you as he came. You were still getting hit with aftershocks of your own climax, your muscles bearing down to milk every drop of cum that he filled you with. He held you closer and he thrusted himself as far into you as he possibly could, instinctively trying to make sure as little seed would have the chance to leak out of you as possible.

You hold onto him as your euphoria gradually subsides. Once both of you mellow out, you share one more passionate kiss before snuggling up together. "Sanji, what if the others overheard us?" you inquire, a faint sheen of sweat on your brow. "Don't fret, Mi Amor," he reassures you, planting a tender kiss on your forehead and grinning. "I discreetly added a sleeping drug to everyone's meals," he reveals. You were about to respond but its momentarily stifled by Sanji's fingers gently pressed against your lips. "Don't think on that, just go to sleep, Mi Amor."

You dismiss your concerns with a casual shrug and hold onto Sanji even more tightly. With affection in your voice, you murmur, "Love you," as you begin to drift off into slumber. Sanji responds with a gentle kiss and whispers, "I love you more," just before he succumbs to sleep as well.

344 notes · View notes

yyawnjun · 2 months

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BUTTONS

seventeen!BSSline × reader (separately)

summary: according to an ancient story, the greatest way to confess to the girl you love is to give her the top button of your uniform. Knowing this tradition, here's how I think Seungkwan, Seokmin, and Hoshi would confess their love.

comments, likes, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated. I hope y'all will like it ♡

part1 ; high school romance ; fluff!! ; 3k wc; @kflixnet

the biggest thank you goes again to my fav girl and proofreader ( @sobun1est ‼️) and to the sweetest anon who requested this<3

BOO SEUNGKWAN [ 부승관 ]

None could ever understand how much you feared that guy. Boo Seungkwan. That boy with hazel eyes and dyed platinum-blond hair, walking around proudly and always with a smile on his face, was the most dangerous threat to you.

He excelled in all subjects, and was always ready to answer questions - often saving the distracted part of the class - always punctual and attending class...

You had begun to bond with him after you were assigned as a partner in a project. Before that moment you had never been interested in that boy who seemed only to adore attention and seek approval; but since that biology project, you've become fond of him and begun to know him for who he truly was.

He turned out to be a hardworking boy who secretly cared deeply for his close friends. He was caring, intelligent, and constantly prepared with practical solutions. You noticed how Seungkwan hid his deep insecurity by boasting about himself, yet at the slightest compliment, he would turn away to hide his shy smile.

At the same time, he was able to express his affection through gestures, and often he surprised you with how much he remembered about you. Things you might have mentioned only once were indelibly marked in his heart.

Since you two became friends, he smiled at you more and regularly invited you to participate in class discussions, encouraging you to raise your hand when he was sure you knew the answer.

You had become more interested in classes as a result of his reassurance, and you would always gaze at the person who had encouraged you to raise your hand, still with a bit of anxiety. But he would gaze at you proudly, nodding and lowering his hand to allow you to speak.

Still, you feared that gaze from him because of his power over you. He had been like a burst of self-confidence that had unexpectedly disturbed your life. Time passed, and you decided, for your own and your friendship's sake, to ignore all of the strange emotions that were beginning to bloom…

At school, he was not really well-liked because everyone stopped at his arrogant appearance and few tried to get to know him. Few others observed his intriguing personality; and you were the only one there as much as he sighed with glazed eyes, wondering why he was getting the disliked stares in school. All you could do was sit with him and reassure him with gentle words, that entirely melted the character he had worked so hard to perfect in the sight of others. This friendship quickly developed into a different feeling.

And after a beautiful love confession, you two started dating.

Everyone still viewed you as two close friends... but only you two and a few careful observers noticed your joined hands, brief kisses, and sweet glances which had shown themselves throughout time.

As you became more active in class, many of your classmates showed interest in you. Many people wanted to be your friend, and many boys admired your brilliance and beauty while unintentionally ignoring the horrible stares directed at them by your boyfriend. It had never occurred to you to think about other people's love confessions for you; but on the other hand, your lover had finally revealed his jealousy, which he kept to a minimum so as not to burden you.

On February 14th, it was decided that he would tell the world about the two of you - if you were okay with it. Because you were cool with it - for you, being with an amazing person like him was more than enough - he decided to confess in the final days of the year.

Most romantically, he knew by giving you the first button on his uniform. You had no idea this was part of his plan, so you went to school silently on a hot summer Friday. You entered the classroom and sat at your desk while waiting for your boyfriend to come and your class to start. Like a ray of sunshine, he entered and immediately turned to you, smiling.

He walked up to your desk and after a very quick touch, he at in his seat behind you. You turned to talk to him, but the teacher entered the classroom and interrupted you at the start of class. While the time for you seemed endless, your partner at the back desk was starting to break out in a cold sweat, wondering if his choice to confess to you in front of everyone was a good idea. The next hour, your class had planned a class reunion to say final goodbyes before leaving school. When the teacher walked away, you turned to your boyfriend. Only to find him standing there, his hand clenched in a fist, reaching out to you.

"With that, I promise my love and devotion to you, Yn, thank you for this year together, thank you for letting me be your boyfriend, thank you for taking care of me and letting me take care of you, thank you for letting me know you and for getting to know me, thank-" but before he could finish, you interrupted him with a quick kiss. Your hand had been linked with his, and the button was handed to you. You smiled as you hugged the boy, whose sparkling eyes were now lined with tears due to the anxiety.

The class burst into applause, divided between those who celebrated love, those who saw confirmation of their theories about your relationship, and those who shivered at having lost all chance of high school love on that beautiful last day of school.

LEE SEOKMIN [ 이석민 ]

Lee Seokmin, the theater kid. You and Seokmin loved being actors during the high school years. In the first year, you chose the drama class and from there continued to pursue your passion. It was what brought you closer together, and you had learned to always set aside time in the afternoons to read over the scripts for the show you needed to prepare. Sometimes you two would go over the parts in the park, sometimes at each other's houses, and sometimes even hang out in some corner of a random bar where you would silently act out their assigned parts. You soon become a duo, two friends forever connected by their passion for acting.

Indeed you and Seokmin had both shown skills in acting!

You had at first entered into a friendship competition, but as you grew more mature, you abandoned this useless impression and began to be friends.

Everyone thought you were an inseparable duo now. Teachers were always putting you in roles that showed your collaboration and energy. Your roles varied extensively; most of the time, you were the lead friends or a minor duo.

All this stayed the same until the final play of last year.

This play was based on a text written entirely by your drama teacher. She had admitted that it was an unpublished piece she had written during her high school years, and had never dared to put it on stage. It was based on her personal experience, and in particular on her love story (with the drama teacher!) during her high school years.

As a goodbye to your class and a homage to her past years, she proposed a staged performance of that romantic comedy.

At the revelation of what it was, all of you burst into exultant applause that was soon replaced by silence and some laughter as she began to choose the roles.

Dk was proposed to be the male lead, everyone cheered, and he happily agreed. You expected to have the best friend role, as it had always been. But the silence fell, and your cheeks-along with Seokmin's blushed when it was announced that you would be the female lead.

You smiled and nodded awkwardly as you looked at your dear friend.

So this is how you found yourself, lying on the grass in a park, rehearsing the script with your friend. The show was just a few days away, and you always got to the last scene where he removed the button from his uniform and handed it to you to declare his love. Right after that, there was a simple hug, but, during rehearsal, in that hug, you both lost yourselves a little more than expected - that's why you found yourself repeating that specific scene almost a hundred times.

He would pretend to undo the button on his shirt, and when he handed it to you, there would be silence, and you would approach timidly for a hug. There had never been any awkwardness about physical contact in your friendship, so why was it so difficult to hug your friend without your heart racing and hyperventilating?

Rehearsals soon ended, and you found yourselves on the last day of school ready to perform the entire play. The final scene aside, you had gotten along very well in your assigned roles. You had found that you were very similar to the characters you were to play and very comfortable in your acting. The performance began for the best. A few breathing exercises but soon you were leaving confident and ready. About an hour passed so smoothly, and the time came for the final scene.

When you were alone on stage, the lights were focused only on you, and the room filled with people fell silent.

Dk looked into your eyes and moved slowly towards your face. A knot formed in your throat, and for a brief time, you believed you saw genuine sparkles of love in his eyes. He looked perfect as he removed the first button of his uniform and handed it to you. Without saying anything, you took that button and linked your hands.

He approached and gently pulled you into his arms. You wished that hug could last forever, and hoped to melt with him forever in that moment.

Without you having any more control of your mouth, and without anyone hearing you whisper to him: "Dk, I think I love you." But before he could answer or even acknowledge it, an outburst of applause brought you back to reality.

Yet before you had any regrets, he grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you.

Everyone in the theater class was taken aback; the kiss was not in the script…Was he still acting or actually confessing!?

After only a few seconds, everyone realized he had done what your drama teacher regretted not doing at the time. Your heart began to race, and the audience continued to cheer for the success of your performance. After a few moments, you separated, but you could both focus just on the sensation of the kiss. You blinked many times to ensure that you were not dreaming. And no, you were not dreaming.

You had the most stunning smile you'd ever seen in front of you, and it could warm your heart even in the coldest conditions. And that cheerful and loving smile was dedicated exclusively to you, the one who had always managed to make it possible.

KWON SOONYOUNG [ 권순영 ]

Kwon Soonyoung was the most chaotic and unintentionally funny boy in your class.

He was constantly the center of attention for teachers and pupils due to his too-loud comments, daily naps, and constant delay. He never seemed worried about the tests, so you could only overcome your worry and finish the test with a lot of effort. He did not excel in all subjects, but his calm and cheerful temperament was enough to attract your attention.

You admired him as he laughed heartily about who knows what with his friends. He wasn't rude, and everyone at school loved him. And despite his popularity, he had never become arrogant; Hoshi was still the same funny boy. You had known him for years, since you were neighbors, and you were very close as children; then fate would have it that as you grew up you grew apart a bit and ended up just being friends in the same class in senior year.

Sometimes he would come to talk to you; and occasionally, you would go home together, but he would frequently stay out to hang out with his groups while you were out with some of your friends.

After a hectic week filled with tests, and school projects, you both found yourself rushing to catch the bus to school. Both of you were exhausted for different reasons, and you two found yourself watching the bus pass by, breathless and still tired from the previous days.

You hadn't talked to each other all week because you were both so busy with your duties, and on that Friday, you looked at each other defeated, but you didn't say anything. You two just started to laugh.

Nobody knows why you laughed at your misfortunes, but you both did so passionately after looking into each other's eyes.

"Yn...what if we skipped school?" He suddenly proposed.

You were not unfamiliar with him at times skipping school, but he had never offered it to you.

Just now his eyes sparkled with the excitement that he might convince you, as you hadn't yet declined the offer.

"We can go to the beach, and I will buy you breakfast!"

And, let's be honest, it wasn't that that changed your mind... it was his lovely puppy eyes that would have convinced anyone.

You nodded, and he quickly directed you to a bus that would take you to a beach you used to visit as children.

The simple fact that he remembered that beach you loved so much made your heart melt.

You went to pick up tickets at the station's ticket booth.

Your heart was racing from the anxiety of what you were doing, and a smile gradually appeared on your face because you would be doing it alone with Hoshi. A thousand tremors silently flooded your body at that instant, but the decision had already been made, and you had to stick to it. Trying not to let your fear overwhelm you, you chose to concentrate on Hoshi as he checked the bus timetable. You only noticed then that he wasn't wearing a uniform, but rather a white tank top with a baggy blue shirt over it and long black slacks; he probably hadn't planned to attend school that day.

You also observed his slightly tired eyes, emphasized black circles, slightly cracked lips, and tiring face. He rapidly moved his finger to check the timetable, keeping his eyes half-closed so he could read the fine print.

Your bus would have passed by in two minutes, leaving you waiting for him on the bench at the bus stop. You wanted to ask him how he was doing, as you were concerned about his appearance. But you observed his blank expression and slight smile, so you decided to find a way to cheer him up.

Soon, you were able to start the conversation, and as you did, his eyes brightened and his smile returned, along with a flush on his cheeks. The bus soon arrived, and you got quietly, excited about the experience. Naturally, you sat close to one other, and he handed you the earphones through which you shared music during the entire trip.

You were willing to speak with him, but before you knew it, he was fast asleep; and since you let his head rest on your shoulder, he was eternally grateful for those thirty minutes of sleep.

You quickly found yourself at the beach bar, watching the waves crash on the beach and the sun gleaming in the sky mirrored in the sea. Meanwhile, Hoshi, holding your breakfast, stood mesmerized, staring at you.

He smiled and looked at you as if he were a painter admiring his muse.

Time went between nostalgic conversations and strolls along the waterfront.

And the more you talked, the more Hoshi accepted his feelings, which he had before resisted to the point of tears.

Hoshi loved you.

He'd had this sensation for a while now, and as you watched him, he couldn't help but do the same. He would watch you laugh with others, and constantly talk about you to everyone. He would talk about your past friendship, how much he wanted to be close to you again, and how amazing you were both inside and out.

Hoshi admired your beauty, kindness, and intelligence. He admired you from a distance and gave you quiet glances when he couldn't speak with you. He kept an eye on you from a distance and made sure you were safe.

He made sure you were never alone, and that even when you were exhausted, you didn't let school get to you.

He liked you from afar.

But he didn't realize he was in love (his friends (especially seungkwan) had been telling him every day for at least two months) until he heard you mention your “future partner”.

You were sitting on the coast, gazing fixedly at the horizon and chatting about your future. And he had at last understood that he was the one he wanted to hear about in that way from you.

He wanted to be the one to be looked at by your beautiful eyes like that.

Hoshi was lost in thought. All he wanted to do was let you that he liked you. But why? How? When?

At that moment the impulse took over and...he randomly tore off the button of the shirt he was wearing. It was unexpected; in the meantime, he only managed to say your name, so you looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Here," he said, handing you some buttons taken from his shirt. (He intended to remove only one button, but ended up removing at least three.)

You gazed at him, confused as ever, as you took the three buttons he handed you.

"Let me be the one to stand by your side - he said, staring at you genuinely with his dark brown eyes …pretty, please? "

Words were not enough to express how confused you were. You smiled and water reflected in your eyes, whilst his were lit by the sun. At that moment, no artwork could have captured the intensity of your emotions.

You instinctively nodded, and the whole boy's body relaxed; his gaze softened, and he nearly fainted when you gave him a short kiss on the cheek in answer to his buttons.

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poraphia · 9 months

Text

"I see you standing on the sidelines."

pairing • lvjy!enemies!wilbur x singer!enemies!reader 1063 words • 8.6.23 containing • lowkey enemies, cursing, cheeky insults my masterlist ~! ღ Soot's Pretty Princess ღ on Tumblr

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What do I think about Wilbur?

It's funny you should ask. To put it quite plainly,

He's a total dickhead.

The best way to describe him is like a mosquito buzzing around your head, and everytime you take a swab of smacking it away you end up just completely missing. You're so annoyed that it would serve your reputation best to just stop attempting any form of defense and let it happen.

Wilbur and I have been in a "battle-of-the-bands" heat for as long as our music careers started. However, years before, we were great friends, a perfect pair even, that is until some.. Complications.. Between us occurred.

"You look like you're about to piss yourself." Wilbur snorted.

I rolled my eyes, taking a swig from my water bottle. Every relentless mock, eye-rolling boast, and shit-eating grin felt like nails to a chalkboard. "You never learn when to piss off, do you?" I groaned. He quirked an eyebrow before scooting his metal chair closer, scraping it against the worn wooden planks.

"Not really." He smirked. I looked at him to the side of me, my head not turning to face him. His legs straddled the back of his chair as his arms draped alongside the frame. His lips were pressed flatly, but curled at the ends topped with those signature dimples and squinty eyes.

I inhaled a sharp breath before averting my gaze.

"Lovejoy is on in ten minutes!" A man with a clipboard waved an arm around as various crew members attended to their duties. Will's head perked up to catch a glimpse of the preparation. I looked around as well, that is until his eyes trailed back onto me.

"You gonna come out and watch me play, darling?" He nudged. I properly turned my head to face him now with my ankle resting on top of my opposite knee. I scoffed, pointing at him with my half drunken water bottle.

"Watch you?" I remarked, shaking my bottle as I talked. "I should be looking for some earmuffs right about now, really. God forbid I listen to what trash you've written up since the last festival." I sat back, continuing my rant. "Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if you bitched about another one of your failed rela–"

I was cut off as he held the end of my bottle. I paused, looking at him strangely. His eyes, deep pools of chocolate, stared into mine, shooting a fluttering system in my veins. Stubborn to not express my bashfulness, I grit my teeth and stared at him right back, unfazed.

"Y'know," he started. His grip on the bottle depleted. His fingers now trailing to my hand, gently tracing patterns onto my skin. His face brushed past mine with lips leaning close to my ear. Softly, he whispered. "You should listen closer to the lyrics... You may learn something."

Before I could process what words he uttered, his band members called for him to grab his instrument. He retreated his grasp and then walked past me, instinctively making me turn around to watch the man approach his fellow band members. The scent of his cologne breezing my face.

At first, I rolled my eyes. Was this just some cheap trick to get my attention? And what is there to learn when it comes to listening to the lyrics? I've heard enough of his shitty music to know it's about how much he missed his failed attempt at a girlfriend.

Or rather-- crush he ultimately rejected me for.

Through loud blaring speakers, the stage crew introduced Lovejoy and soon enough the harmony of the bass and guitar echoed throughout the stadium, following the steady heartbeat of Mark's drums.

Truly, I tried my best to ignore it. However, every single time, without fail, I find myself wandering to the offside of the stage, hidden behind the black curtains to not be seen by the thousands of people, but close enough where I can see the glistens of sweat shining on Wilbur's skin.

He was in the midst of singing Portrait of A Blank Slate, the featured song of his latest EP. The crowd jumped and screamed the lyrics back at him. At least, those who knew the lyrics anyway. My arms crossed as I watched the lanky man let his guitar dangle by the strap. He caressed the microphone stand with one hand, another gripping at the handle.

His eyes glanced to the side, before returning back to the crowd, only for his eyes to flash back at me again. What once was a straight, concentrated look on his face turned into an expression of eagerness, as if his want for attention has been satisfied. He took his hand off the microphone stand and started tracing his chest, opening more of his already unbuttoned collar.

I stood there, shell-shocked. The excitement of fans blared somewhat louder than the booming sound devices, but his eyes kept on me. He continued his theatrics, having to almost peel his own gaze off of me to continue performing for the crowd. His hands moved gracefully in juxtaposition with the erratic tune.

His eyes fluttered close, back to concentrating on what strings to press, what lyrics to sing, and what queues to initiate. But my mind was flooded with questions the more I listened to what words he spoke into that microphone. The pleas of wanting to stay with someone, the idea of being perfect for each other, the bitter taste of someone breaking the subject down.

Soon enough, the song came to an end with its final chords and strums. The crowd erupted in a loud cheer, but Wilbur—

Oh, Wilbur.

With one sneaky, watchful glance, he drank in my searching eyes, looking for some sort of answer. My face, dusted in a flustered pink to highlight my cheeks. My mouth was open ajar, but no words could sound out of my throat. With a satisfied smile, he turned back to the audience.

I had to give him the win on this one.

That fucking bastard.

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a / n ~ hihi this is my first official fanfic on tumblr hope u likey

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot oneshots #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur hc #lovejoy #will gold #lvjy #wilbur x reader #fanfic #lovejoy concert #mcyt headcanons wilbur #poraphiafanfics

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fantasyescapes17 · 1 year

Text

Candle (Part 1)

You have always received the best of everything life has to offer: be it education, family, fortune or happiness. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan- one of the ton's renowned villains- cannot possibly bring you happiness of any kind, never mind wedded bliss. But can you evade Jeonghan's charms? Or will you find yourself falling victim to this clever rogue?

Genre: Yoon Jeonghan x female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Wonwoo's sister so your last name is Jeon, but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Part 2 Part 3

Series Masterlist [I would recommend reading the first story in this series, Patience, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]

“It is not that I do not wish to marry,” you explained to the maid that was dealing with your hair. The fine silver comb tugged painfully on your scalp, but you had learned to ignore it through continued practice. “I do like the thought of being the lady of my own estate, and having children and a husband who loves me.”

The maid hummed as she dragged the comb through your hair. “Of course, miss.”

“But why must all the eligible bachelors of the ton be so dreadfully boring? Every conversation feels the same. If you’ve spoken to one of them, you may as well have spoken to them all,” you complained. “They constantly talk about the same subjects and offer the same compliments.”

“What would you like them to say instead, miss?” the maid asked lightly.

“Well, anything that I have not already heard a hundred times before!” you exclaimed as the maid fixed the last pin in your hair and released you. You turned to appraise yourself in the mirror carefully before pouting at your maid. “Daisy, I am not foolish enough to entertain expectations of true love. But is it too much to ask for a husband who will not drive me mad out of boredom? A husband for whom at least a small candle lights up in my heart- never mind a wild and burning flame?”

Daisy smiled. “You will be late, miss. Your family is waiting downstairs.”

“But you offer me no reassurances,” you noted with a frown.

“Do not worry yourself too much, miss. There are plenty of men in London this season that you are yet to meet. I am certain one of them will light your heart’s candle.”

You thanked her and then stood up to appraise yourself in the mirror. You had chosen one of your prettiest gowns for the first ball of the season and were pleased with the way the soft pastel colours accentuated your figure and skin. You were not the belle of the ball- you would leave titles like that to more perfect women than you- but you were certainly striking enough to never be left wanting for a dance partner or company.

God. All this effort to spend your evening listening to men offer you recycled compliments or boast about their fortunes.

"So her highness finally arrives. I thought perhaps you were waiting for the ball to end," your brother Wonwoo remarked as you walked down to the foyer of your large London home.

You paid him little mind. Wonwoo was not truly angry about the delay. He had no great love for social engagements or balls and suffered through them in the same way you did, albeit with fewer complaints.

"Beauty takes time," you replied simply.

"As does the journey to the Hessington's manor. Mother and Father are waiting for us outside."

"It would not be fashionable to arrive too early," you protested.

Wonwoo simply offered you his arm in silence and you joined your brother in stepping out of your large home and climbing into the lavish carriage that waited on the street outside. Your parents were already seated and your mother smiled when she saw you.

"Oh darling! You look quite lovely in that dress," she told you happily as the carriage slowly began to take your family to your destination. "I should not be surprised if your father has a queue of men outside his door to offer for your hand this season."

You smiled. "Thank you, mother. I am sure Father knows best."

Your father raised an eyebrow. He appeared bored. "I know nothing. You are perfectly capable of choosing your own husband. Unless you wish to marry a stable boy, you shall hear no sound from me."

Your mother swatted his arm. "Dearest! How can you say such a thing! It is of utmost importance that our dear daughter is married well and happy- and you must do everything you can to ensure this!"

Mr. Jeon chuckled. "I believe these matters require far more womanly expertise than I possess."

Your mother disregarded him and turned back to you. "Now darling, remember. We are in no hurry. This is only your first season and time and money are on our side. Unlike some of the other foolish mothers of the ton, I know that marrying well is far more important than marrying quickly."

You smiled. "Yes, mother."

"There is no need to accept any offers immediately. Do not court anyone straight away. Wait and watch and analyse. You deserve the very best."

You bit your lip and nodded. You had to admit that your mother's confidence in you made you feel better about your prospects. She was right. There was plenty of time. You were not in any rush and you would wait patiently until the right man for you appeared.

Hopefully he would.

"As for you, Wonwoo-" your mother continued, turning to your brother who had been staring out of the window absently. "Although your sister's marriage prospects occupy more of my time and attention than yours, it would be helpful if you at least indulged in a few dances and did not offend all the young ladies that crossed your path by ignoring them or pretending to be absorbed in a book."

Wonwoo flushed. He had been known to hide behind a book in order to avoid the attention of some of the more determined young ladies. Women frequently left your brother's company feeling snubbed.

"Yes, mother," he replied with a sigh.

"I want to see you up on the dance floor for at least two dances," she pressed.

"One," Wonwoo pushed back.

"Two, this is not a discussion."

Wonwoo decided against arguing with his mother and turned his attention back to the window of the carriage as it clattered noisily along the path to the ball. You chuckled- you could not wait to meet a woman who could put a genuine smile on Jeon Wonwoo's face. A difficult task indeed, but certainly not impossible.

The carriage stopped once your family arrived at the Hessington's ball. It was an incredibly grand affair. Being the first ball of the season, it would set the standard for all social events during the upcoming months. You could tell that this would be a glamorous season indeed.

You almost felt nervous.

"Isn't that your friend?" Wonwoo mumbled to you as your family entered the enormous bustling ballroom full of immaculately dressed men and women.

"Miss Jeon!"

You laughed in delight as a young woman in a bright purple dress came over to you and embraced you warmly. It had been many months since you had seen your dear friend Ella Williams. You wrote to her often but you were no great writer, and letters were not nearly enough to say all that you wished to share.

“Miss Williams! Oh, I am so delighted to see you here! How have you been?” you demanded of your friend.

Ella smiled. “I have been wonderful, as always. It is a pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Jeon!” Ella greeted your brother with a bright smile and a polite curtsey. Wonwoo acknowledged her with a small tilt of his head. Ella was no stranger to your brother’s quiet and unenthusiastic manner- so she merely giggled at him and did not take offence.

“He is upset because he is required to dance twice tonight,” you explained to Ella. “Wonwoo, you might as well ask Ella to dance with you so that half of your promise to mother is fulfilled. Then you need only find one more partner over the course of the evening.”

Ella batted her eyelashes at your brother. “I would not object to a dance with Mr. Jeon.”

You waited patiently while Wonwoo signed Ella’s dance card and then wordlessly disappeared further into the room in order to speak to some of his acquaintances. Ella beamed and turned back to you.

“Well. I shall be the target of much envy when I stand up for a dance with the elusive Mr. Jeon. Oh! But I have so much to tell you, my friend, come with me to the refreshments table and I will show you what I have prepared for us!”

You allowed Ella to take your arm and pull you towards the refreshments. You both found seats on a bench and she pulled a small black diary out of her pocket that she showed you cheerfully.

“Guess what this is?” she asked eagerly, but did not allow you time to formulate a response. “I spent the entire summer doing research and have prepared elaborate notes on every single marriage-minded bachelor that will be in attendance this season. I believe the usual clumsy method of turning up to as many social events as we can and simpering at random men only to be disappointed once we learn more about them cannot go on. We are clever women. We must employ the scientific method.”

You giggled at your friend. “The scientific method? To find a husband?”

“It is almost perfect! And it took me months to compile- I keep adding to it every time I learn more about any of them."

You looked at her book with a laugh. It really was packed full of notes. This was no small feat that Ella had achieved.

"How does this help us?" you asked, confused.

Ella sighed. "My dear friend. Every time a man introduces himself or asks you for a dance, you need only look him up in my little book to know everything about him! Well; perhaps not everything, it is still a work in progress but I am constantly adding to it!"

You looked down at her little book curiously.

"Ella… you may have created something very valuable," you admitted to her slowly. "I am sure many of the young women in the room would love to have a peek at that little book."

Ella beamed. "Yes, but I shall not share it with anyone but you."

"You really are a wonderful friend."

"Of course I am. Now- have you found any dance partners yet for the evening? I am lucky to have started the evening off strong by securing a dance with your brother- it is my turn to find you an equally excellent partner."

You smiled. "I would be very grateful."

But Ella's efforts were not necessary. As you stood, you were approached by your brother and another handsome young man with a very charming smile.

"I believe the dancing is about to begin," Wonwoo said simply as he offered his arm to Ella. He paused to look at you. "Sister, allow me to introduce you to my friend Mr. Kim Mingyu."

Mr. Kim Mingyu took your gloved hand into his own and pressed his lips to your knuckles in a suave manner.

"Miss Jeon. I have heard many wonderful things about you; would you do me the honour of joining me for the next dance?" Mingyu asked.

You smiled. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Kim."

"Excellent. This way."

Mingyu was a very good dancer and an adequate conversationalist. He did offer you some textbook insincere compliments about your dancing skill and your dress, but since he was good friends with your brother, any lulls in the conversation were filled with stories from the time he and Wonwoo spent together at Oxford. There was something very lighthearted about his words and manner. It left you with the impression that Mr. Kim Mingyu did not take anything very seriously-including his own marriage prospects.

"Thank you very much for the dance, Mr. Kim,” you bowed to him politely as the music came to an end. Mingyu smiled and offered you his arm to lead you away from the dance floor.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Jeon. May I help you find your next partner?” he offered generously. "I know multiple young men who would be delighted to be introduced to you.”

"I would be very grateful, Mr. Kim. But I have already promised Miss Ella Williams that she may be the one to find my next partner and I could not bear to disappoint her."

Mingyu nodded. "Very well. Your brother is probably seeking a corner to hide himself in for the rest of the evening, so if you find yourself requiring a dance partner at any moment please do not hesitate to send for me."

You laughed. "Indeed. I shall summon you as soon as your services become necessary."

Mingyu left you just as Ella came over to join you on your bench.

"Well, well," your friend teased. "Mr. Kim is certainly very handsome. And he appears to be an excellent dancer."

"Will you tell me what you have written about him in your little book?" you asked.

Ella withdrew the book from the folds of her skirts and took a moment to flip the pages. "Let us see here…. K for Kim… Mingyu…. ah! Here he is!

"Goodness, the page is full!" you laughed as you saw the page crammed to the brim with notes. There was barely any space left. "Is that a list of women he is rumoured to be courting? Heavens. You shall need to prepare a summary for this man."

"I have one," she replied, her fingers pointing to two underlined words on the top right corner. Notorious rake.

You both exchanged looks and laughed.

"That sounds about right," you giggled before taking her arm. "Now hurry! You promised to find me another dance partner! If we sit on the bench for too long then we might be approached by someone particularly odious."

"Of course!"

Ella grabbed your arm and guided you across the room to a group of men who stood conversing near the balcony. One of them turned and smiled when he saw Ella.

"Ella! I did not know you would be here tonight," he greeted her fondly. He had gentle eyes and a soft smile that put you instantly at ease.

"How could I miss the first ball of the season?" Ella asked. "Joshua, you must allow me to introduce you to my dear friend Miss Jeon. I insist that you dance the next dance with her, for she is so much in demand that you may not have another chance all season! Miss Jeon, this is my cousin Viscount Joshua Hong."

Joshua greeted you warmly. Unlike Mingyu, he made no excessively charming moves to kiss your hand but his impeccable manners put you at ease.

"Of course. It would be an honour to dance with Miss Jeon," he promised you. "But first allow me to make introductions of my own. I am accompanied by my dear friends Mr. Choi Seungcheol and Mr. Yoon Jeonghan."

You curtsied politely to the two men. Mr. Choi was handsome, certainly, but you were struck immediately by how unnaturally perfect Mr. Yoon Jeonghan was. His features were sharp, angular, and he looked like a marble statue sculpted by a skilled artist. Jeonghan had an almost ethereal beauty to him.

And he turned immediately to your friend.

"Miss Williams, may I request your hand for the next dance, if you have not already promised it to another?" Jeonghan asked, as he offered her his hand.

Ella took it without hesitation. "Of course!"

It was no punishment to dance with Viscount Joshua Hong. The man was possibly the most eligible bachelor in the room considering his title, vast fortune and gentlemanly reputation so Ella had done you a great favour. Joshua made light and pleasant conversation as you danced. He was not entirely boring, but also failed to be particularly interesting. You found yourself casting glances across the room at Ella's dance partner.

When your dance with Joshua came to an end, you approached Ella and Jeonghan with the faint hope that you might be chosen as Mr. Yoon Jeonghan's next partner- only to find that the man in question had already left the area.

"What happened to Mr. Yoon?" you asked your friend casually.

"He apologised and had to leave early. Something about his sister- perhaps you know her? Miss Yoon? Fairly pretty woman who is rather well-known for strangely not receiving any offers of marriage since the last many seasons?"

It sounded familiar. "Was he a good dancer?"

"Excellent- but I was terribly nervous throughout the dance, after all, you know what everyone says about him!" Ella said with a shaky laugh.

You did not know. "What does everyone say about him-"

Your question was cut off by the appearance of your mother, who took your arm with a bright smile. “My dear! I can see that you have been quite successful with your dance partners tonight. Not only Mr Kim Mingyu but Viscount Hong as well! Everyone is quite taken with you.”

You smiled at your mother. “Thank you, mother-”

“Come along now. I have many others to introduce you to, we should take advantage of this momentum. You should come as well, Ella. A certain Mr. Lee has been asking about you and you will need someone to make the necessary introductions!”

Ella smiled and took your hand as the two of you followed your mother.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The Hessington’s ball was, in your mother’s expert opinion, a grand success. You had danced almost every dance with an eligible young man and the general consensus among the ton was that you were a delightful young woman who would likely receive her fair share of attention and gentleman callers.

It was difficult to not want to bask in all the attention.

“Mother! May I go to the assembly rooms with Ella and Mrs. Williams this evening? I believe we have no other engagements,” you reminded her eagerly as she attended to her knitting in the drawing room. Your mother looked up at you.

“Will Mrs. Williams chaperone?”

“Of course.”

Upon receiving her permission you hurried upstairs to dress for an evening at the assembly rooms. You had heard from Ella that Viscount Hong would be in attendance. While you had no specific interest in Joshua himself, you could not deny that the Viscount was well-connected and always ready and able to make introductions with other eligible young men.

Daisy helped you into a pretty dress. Since an evening at the assembly rooms was not nearly as glamorous as a ball, you kept your attire simple but could not resist finishing off your look with a string of pearls around your neck.

“You look lovely, miss,” Daisy complimented you kindly. “The pearls suit you very well.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Daisy.”

The Williams’ carriage arrived promptly to pick you up, and you travelled to the assembly rooms with Ella and her mother. You were delighted when Mrs. Williams promptly sat down at one of the many card tables and announced her intention to play whist all evening. The older woman appeared to have no plans of following you or Ella about the room, or being an overbearing chaperone.

"I have decided to cast my net upon Mr. Xu Minghao tonight," Ella whispered to you, gesturing to a handsome young man in the corner of the room. "I shall ask Joshua to introduce me. Would you like to come?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "I might play some cards first. I have been looking forward to it for a while. Do you think it would be impolite for me to sit down at any of these tables?"

"I see Mrs. Patty there. She will surely welcome you at her card table; although I would be careful. I hear her gambling habit can be… excessive. And she gossips even more than she gambles."

You giggled. "I shall be fine with Mrs. Patty. She likes me. Go on and demonstrate your charms to Mr. Xu."

You were welcomed warmly at the card tables by Mrs. Patty and the other ladies, all of whom complimented your success at the Hessington's ball the previous evening while dealing you into their game. You were not a very experienced card player, but it did not signify. The bets were small at the ladies’ table. On the other hand, the table of gentlemen across from you were clearly playing for much higher stakes.

You had a clear view of the men's card table. A few familiar faces were seated there- including Mr. Kim Mingyu and Mr. Kwon Soonyoung. The occupant that was of particular interest to you, however, was Mr. Yoon Jeonghan. Jeonghan had leaned back in his seat in a relaxed and careless manner, a handsome smirk on his face as he observed his cards.

Really, he was unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to focus on your cards when a man as perfect as Yoon Jeonghan sat directly in your line of view? It was hardly surprising that you lost the first round of the game with the ladies.

Jeonghan looked up suddenly and his intense gaze met yours. You were a little flustered at having been caught staring, but the corner of his lips curved up in a hint of a smile. Jeonghan acknowledged you with a simple tilt of his head. You forced a polite smile back and quickly turned away.

When you dared to lift your eyes in his direction once more, he had already turned his attention away from you.

“Really Mr. Yoon? Will you continue to win until you bleed us all dry?” you heard Mr. Kim Mingyu demand from the other table. The other men nodded in agreement; it appeared that Mr. Yoon had won almost every hand this evening.

“You are bleeding yourself dry, Mr. Kim. Perhaps you may wish to study the rules of the game before you hand your money to me?” Jeonghan suggested lightly.

“If I play another round with you I shall be in danger of losing my estate.”

There appeared to be a general consensus among the men at table that they had lost enough money to Mr. Yoon for one evening. You watched with interest as they all left the table in search of refreshments and other entertainment. Mr. Yoon lingered at the table a few moments longer to collect his belongings.

It was a rare opening- you waited until your current round ended and took the chance to excuse yourself from the ladies table.

“Pardon me, Mrs. Patty but I think I have had my fill of cards. I will take your leave now,” you said to the older woman who dismissed you easily.

You took a deep breath. Perhaps it was an… audacious move (if not an entirely improper one) for you to approach Mr. Yoon while there was nobody else in your company. But you were quite determined to learn more about this man with the angelic features and confident gaze. You could not simply wait until Jeonghan decided to take note of you- you would bring the conversation to him.

“Mr. Yoon,” you greeted him politely.

Jeonghan turned to you with mild surprise. This was a crowded room, yes, but it was still bold of you to approach him without a female chaperone.

Although to be fair, Yoon Jeonghan had never been one to put too fine a point on the rules of propriety.

“Miss Jeon, if I am not mistaken,” he greeted calmly. He gave no indication that he found you approaching him to be improper. “We were introduced at the Hessington’s ball last evening. I heard from my stepmother that you had excellent success and danced every single dance.”

“I do not know if I was particularly successful at anything; to dance every dance at a ball is not unheard of. But to win almost every hand of cards while playing a game of chance… that is what I would consider success,” you teased him.

It was a bold attempt at flirtation- you could only wait and see what move Jeonghan would make.

Jeonghan folded his arms across his chest. You could tell that he was biting back a smile. “Perhaps my opponents were simply too drunk to remember the rules of the game,” he suggested.

“Or perhaps you have devised a way to eliminate the influence of chance on the game’s outcome entirely.”

Jeonghan could not resist a chuckle. “Miss Jeon. I must protest this line of questioning. It seems to be in danger of impinging upon my honour as a gentleman. I hope you don’t mean to accuse me of cheating at cards?”

“Res ipsa loquitor, as they say in Latin, or- the thing speaks for itself,” you continued to tease him. “Do you deny it?”

“I shall not deny it. Instead, I shall generously grant you the opportunity to withdraw this dangerous allegation you have chosen to make,” he continued, “for I am confident that you possess no evidence to support your claim. Please- have a seat. It would not do for you to remain standing while we debate my alleged crimes.”

You allowed Jeonghan to pull out a chair for you and he expertly moved behind you to push it back in before taking his own seat. You folded your hands in your lap and smiled at him. You were enjoying this conversation.

“Your words are clever Mr. Yoon, but they do not cry innocence,” you insisted.

“I am not claiming to be innocent.”

“Then you admit you are guilty?”

“I shall not answer your allegation either way,” Jeonghan replied with a chuckle. “But I am concerned for the impact your allegations shall have on your honour when you find yourself unable to justify them with sufficient evidence.”

You laughed. “So you are greatly concerned for my honour, are you, Mr. Yoon?”

“I would be concerned for the honour of any young lady in your position.”

“Then how do you suggest we resolve this? For I find it impossible to believe that you should have been able to win so many rounds of a game of chance without having found some manner of tilting the scales of luck in your favour,” you insisted.

Jeonghan leaned closer to you suddenly. His dark eyes boldly met yours and your senses were instantly overwhelmed by him. His clean scent, the sound of his soft breathing and his handsome face hovering a few inches from your own. Jeonghan’s voice (suddenly low) sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“If you do not withdraw your allegation,” he whispered. “I shall have no choice but to demand satisfaction.”

Oh. This man was dangerous.

He pulled back and you felt a rush of adrenaline. Noone had ever flirted with you quite like this before- and it was, clearly and undoubtedly a delightfully dangerous flirtation, for what man would innocently lean so close and whisper such words in the presence of a lady unless he meant to be unequivocal about his nefarious intention?

It appeared you had walked into the lion’s den of your own free will.

“Satisfaction?” you asked him, trying not to reveal how flustered you were. “I hope you do not intend to challenge a lady to a duel, Mr. Yoon.”

“A duel? No, not at all. I can think of better ways for you to restore my honour.”

“I have no intention of restoring your honour,” you replied boldly.

“Perhaps I shall be able to persuade you otherwise. Tell me Miss Yoon- have you recently lost anything? Perhaps a valuable item that you carry upon your person?” Jeonghan asked in a knowing tone.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You had not carried much with you and you quickly checked that you still possessed your handkerchief and reticule. As you turned your head, however, you realised that there was a strange lightness around your neck.

Your hand flew up to your bare neck.

“My pearls!”

Jeonghan smirked. His arm moved subtly across the table and you caught a glimpse of something white and shiny clasped in his hand just before he tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat. You stared at him in shock and disbelief.

“Mr. Yoon- have you just stolen my pearls?” you demanded in a hushed tone.

Jeonghan looked pleased with himself.

“Not to worry, my lady. I have every intention of returning them to you tomorrow, at the Hongs’ ball- where you shall do me the honour of dancing the final dance of the evening with me. An act which will, I believe, be adequate recompense for the baseless accusations you have brought upon my honour.”

You looked up at him with a smile.

So it was to be a game.

“You don’t play fair, Mr. Yoon,” you remarked.

“Remind me to further discuss the merits of fairness during our dance at tomorrow’s ball,” Jeonghan suggested as he stood from his seat and reached for your hand. He pressed his lips against your knuckles- softly, tantalisingly, and perhaps lingering for half a second longer than appropriate before giving you a roguish smile. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Jeon.”

You watched as he walked away to join his companions at the refreshment tables. Your heartbeat thumped with excitement while the adrenaline from your unbelievably shocking encounter with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan slowly ebbed.

Well, you thought to yourself. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan had certainly lit your heart’s candle.

Indeed, he seemed quite in danger of tipping it over and setting the entire bloody place on fire.

-----------------------------------------

A/N: Thanks to everyone who showed so much love for my first fic Patience, and also thank you for reading Candle! Jeonghan was such a crucial character in Patience that it was always my intention to write a companion fic for him.

I should be able to upload the next part of Candle in a few days, if all goes well. I'm also in the process of plotting for Wonwoo, Mingyu and Hoshi, in no particular order.

Any feedback is welcome! I'm not sensitive lol.

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfiction #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan angst #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen au #regency!au #yoon jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan scenarios

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