jungsaxy - Tumblr blog

[jungsaxy]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

wc: 3.3k

pairing: haechan x fem!reader

cw: smut, bf!haechan, non idol au, alcohol consumption, switch!haechan, switch!reader, praising, teasing, oral sex (receiving), fingering, sensory deprivation, riding/cowgirl, dirty talk, pet names, marking, creampie, unprotected sex, small mention of other idols, small mention of aftercare

song rec: tyrant, sweet ★ honey ★ buckiin’, and riiverdance by beyoncé

a/n: i've been listening to cowboy carter nonstop ever since it dropped, gaining a shit ton of inspiration lmao. happy reading! 🤠

edit: yes title change per @iweirdthingsblog suggestion 🫶🏽

You tap your boot along to the beat of the song, creating a soft thud on the wooden planks below you. The bar hums with activity, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and sawdust mixed with the aroma of sizzling food and spilled beer.

Lanterns flicker overhead, casting dancing shadows across the room as patrons swirled around the wooden dance floor, their boots drumming out rhythms as they engaged in lively line dancing, their laughter mingling with the twang of guitars and the thump of the bass.

"Anytime today, Hyuck," you sigh, resting your chin on the end of your cue stick while you wait for Haechan to make his move.

"I'm thinking," Haechan says, his hand on his hip as he surveys the pool table. The warm glow of overhead lights illuminates the green-felt surface of the pool table you've been occupying for the better part of an hour.

Haechan's gaze is intense, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he calculates each shot. His fingers trace the edge of his cue stick, the wood worn smooth from years of use. Haechan leans over the table, his movements fluid as he lines up his shot.

The sharp crack of the cue ball fills the air as he strikes, the 5 ball nearly making it into the pocket but hitting the edge of the table instead, causing Haechan to curse under his breath.

You smirk, rounding the table to Haechan's side, confidence oozing from your pores, "Excuse me," you lean over the table.

You eye the remaining balls with a grin, your mind already calculating the perfect angle for your next shot. With a smooth stroke, you send both the 11 and 8 balls careening into the corner pocket, sealing your victory.

"That makes it what now, 3-1," you tease, savoring the taste of triumph. 

Haechan hadn't really been paying attention to your game-winning strike, too distracted by you leaning over in front of him, especially in this outfit.

"You know, maybe if you weren't too busy staring at my ass, you'd have a fair chance at winning."

"Not my fault your ass looks amazing in these pants," Haechan smirks, stepping forward and pressing his body flush against yours.

The scent of whiskey and cologne clouds your senses as you refuse to back down and look away even under the immense weight of his heavy stare. 

"Hey—Oh I'm definitely interrupting something," Michelle said, breaking the tension between the two of you. 

"Just me running Hyuck's pockets dry," You break the eye contact, looking over at your friend.

"So nothing new then," Michelle waves off, "Well Yangyang lost in darts, so the next round's on him," she informs you both.

"Say less," You slip from between Haechan and the pool table. 

Haechan closely follows behind you as you join your friends gathered around the table. 

"To victory and defeat," Renjun teases Yangyang, causing the younger to flip him off as he downed the shot. 

"To victory and defeat!" the group echoed, clinking their glasses together before tossing back the fiery liquid and slamming them down on the table. 

"So," You wince, letting the slight burn of the alcohol pass, "Wanna go another round?" you ask Haechan. 

"So you can take more of my money? No thank you," he says, setting his glass down beside yours. 

"Booo you're no fun," you scoff.

Haechan's lips curled into a sly grin, "How about something that gives a more fair chance of either of us winning."

"Like...?"

Haechan's eyes scanned the room before landing on the rowdy patrons lined up for their turn on the mechanical bull, its metal frame gleaming under the dim lights. Cheers and laughter erupted as riders attempted to last longer than the previous one, their determination matched only by the wild gyrations of the mechanical contraption.

"The mechanical bull."

The mechanical bull beckons from across the room. You accept the challenge with a smirk, eager to prove your skills once again.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. "And why would I lose?" With a playful tug, you snatched Haechan's hat from his head and plopped it on your own.

Haechan chuckles, his gaze trailing after the hat. "Because, sweetheart, if you've forgotten, you're about as graceful as a newborn calf," he says.

A grin spreads across your face as you adjust the hat, determined to prove him wrong. "Oh, baby, don't be so sure you know everthing. I've got moves you've never seen," you counter, your competitive spirit ignited.

"You sure this hat isn't too small for your big head?" Haechan teases, flicking the brim of the hat on your head.

"Oh I'm sure. Unless you're scared to prove me right."

"I just don't want your ego to be bruised when you're proven wrong," Haechan says.

"Okay, how much you wanna bet?" you ask.

"How about we make this a little more interesting?" he proposes, his tone suggestive.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his suggestion. "And what's more interesting than money?" you inquire, a mischievous smile on your lips.

"If you win, I'll go home with you tonight and we can do whatever you want," he leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, "If I win, you'll come over to mine, and I get to do whatever I want to you," he says.

A chill runs down your spine as Haechan speaks these words in your ear. You swallow hard, trying not to make it evident how excited you are by his words. 

"You're on, Hyuck."

"May the best rider win," he holds out his hand for you to shake.

As Haechan rose from his seat, a determined glint in his eyes, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. He ventured toward the mechanical beast, his confident stride drawing the attention of both you and your friends. With a smirk, you leaned over to the rest of the table, informing them of the bet you had made with Haechan, leaving out a few of the more intimate details to spare their ears.

"How long do you think he'll last?" Dosie questions as she sat up in her seat to get a better view.

Mark turns in his spot, his eyes trained on Haechan as he mounts the mechanical bull. "I'll give him 10, maybe 15 seconds," he wagers, a playful grin spreading across his face.

As the mechanical bull bucked and swayed, Haechan surprised everyone by lasting longer than 15 seconds, though he was ultimately thrown off before reaching the 20-second mark, much to Yuta's amusement as he operated the machine.

"Have fun trying to beat that, babe," Haechan calls out confidently as he approaches you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Have fun watching me," you wink as you stand to your feet, accepting the challenge laid before you.  

Haechan switches places with you, his gaze fixated on your swaying hips as you walk away from the table. He watches you pass the pen, heading toward the DJ's booth where Johnny stands, whispering something in his ear. You exchange a knowing smile with Haechan from across the bar, a silent understanding passing between you as you prepare to take on the challenge.

As the music changes, signaling the start of your ride, you mount the mechanical bull with ease, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Once you have your balance, you let go of the reins and let the beat of the music flow through your body, trusting your hips to follow the movements of the machine to keep you upright.

Haechan watches you intently as you effortlessly command the bull, practically hypnotizing him as your hips move in sync with the music, and you make it look like the easiest thing ever.

"Tyrant every time I ride it, every time I ride it. Make it look so good-" The lyrics of the song ring out in Haechan's ears as he's unable to tear his eyes away from you.

Haechan's throat feels dry and can feel his cock stirring in his pants, watching you. His mind races, quickly disregarding any repercussions of the bet, wanting to take you home as the desire to have him be the one you're on top of grows with each whine of your waist.

The intensity of the ride increases, and you grab onto your hat, ensuring it stays firmly in place as you continue to ride with no hands, determined to prove a point to Haechan, all the while completely unaware of the turmoil you're subjecting him to.

But as your legs began to tire, you knew it was time to gracefully dismount the bull, bouncing on the airy cushion below before being helped up by Yuta.

"And we have a new record setter!" Johnny announces, causing the bar to erupt into cheers, the crowd raising their drinks in salute. 

"Hey, you have a bit of drool, just right there," Kelcee teases Haechan as he still hasn't picked up his jaw.

Returning to the table victorious, you share a triumphant smile with Haechan, "This now makes it 4-1," you declare, downing the free shot Taeyong had brought to your table.

"We're leaving now," Haechan says.

"Why?" you ask.

"Cause I almost just came in my pants," he admits.

. . .

The entry to your house was heated, as Haechan couldn't wait another second after you got the key in the door. His hands were all over you, desperate to get your clothes off as you both almost trip over your feet, kicking off your boots.

"You're so impatient, baby. What's everyone gonna think of us just leaving so abruptly?" you ask.

"I don't give a fuck," Haechan reaches for your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, "I need you now." he pants against your lips.

You circle your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. Haechan's hands on your hips travel lower, cupping your ass through your leather pants, making you groan into his mouth.

He grabs the back of your thighs, hoisting you into the air, making you yelp in surprise when you feel the ground no longer beneath your feet.

Haechan blindly navigates through your house, bringing you both to the bedroom, slightly knocking into pieces of furniture on the way there. You hop out of his arms when he nears the bed and push him down onto the mattress.

Sitting back on his hands, Haechan watches as you begin to undo the strings of your top, revealing the tops of your breasts.

You can tell he's already growing impatient, nibbling on his bottom lip and bouncing his leg, becoming more fidgety.

"Would you like to do the honors?" you drop your arms to your sides, and without missing a beat, Haechan drops to his knees in front of you. He swiftly undoes your belt, flinging somewhere in the room before making quick work of your pants, pulling the leather down your legs, allowing you to step out of them.

You softly run your fingers through Haechan's hair as he begins kissing his way up your legs. His hands snake up the sides of your legs, pulling you closer as he reaches the apex of your thigh.

"Can I?" he asks, looking up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"Go ahead, my love," you nod at him.

Haechan doesn't break eye contact as he takes the hem of your underwear between his teeth, slowly dragging them down your legs. He licks his lips, circling an arm around one of your thighs, pulling you closer to his face.

You sensually hum, letting your head fall back as Haechan's tongue laps at your folds. His eyes flick up to your face, watching as you lose yourself and begin rocking your hips against his mouth.

"Mhm, that's it, baby," you moan.

Haechan smirks before he catches your clit between his lips, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Hyuck," you gasp, roughly tugging at his roots.

You mewl, feeling your knees becoming weak. But Haechan holding your hips helps you stay upright. He starts shifting in his place on the floor, his cock straining against his pants as he eats you out. Your eyes roll back, the warmth blooming in your lower stomach. Haechan shoves his face further between your legs, his tongue working tirelessly against your pulsing clit.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum," you tell him.

A muffled whimper can be heard from the man before you, desperate to taste all of you. Haechan's fingers reach your entrance, slowly sinking two digits into your pussy.

"Yes, yes, right there," you sigh.

Your eyes meet your boyfriend's wide, lustful ones, seeing the lower half of his face glistening with your juices in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"Cum for me, please," he breathlessly pleads. Determination crosses Haechan's face as he delves back in, his eyes closing, becoming more intoxicated off you.

You grab the collar of his shirt, getting him to stand to his full height, and crash your lips into his. You swipe your tongue along the seam of his lips, tasting yourself when you slip your tongue into his mouth.

You begin unbuttoning his shirt as he undoes the buckle of his belt, letting it clunk to the floor, before kicking off his pants along with his underwear.

With the strings of your vest untied, Haechan pushes the leather off your shoulders, finally getting you fully undressed as he pulls you down onto the bed with him, seating you in his lap.

A soft groan slips from Haechan's lips when you roll your hips into his, and you feel his cock growing more and more erect with each gyration of your hips. You trail kisses down his neck, softly sinking your teeth into his skin.

You push Haechan back onto the pillows, brushing your hair out of the way as it falls into his face.

"So," you start as you reach over to your nightstand, "Remember the part when you said if I win, we get to do whatever I want," you remind him, revealing the blindfold in your hand.

"Oh god," Haechan rolls his eyes.

"What, you said you trust me," you sit back with a pout.

"I do," Haechan sits up, hugging you closer, "I just hate the idea of not being able to see you," now he has a pout on his face, "I love nothing more than watching your face completely melt with bliss as I make you cum on my cock," his fingers dig into your skin, "But of course for you, my love, I'll do anything."

"We don't have t-"

"I want to. Just let me look at you a little longer first," Haechan tucks your hair behind your ear, admiring your features.

You press a kiss to his lips, "Alright, pretty boy," you tie the scarf behind his head, making sure not to get his hair caught in the knot. "You ready?"

"Do your worst," he says with a snarky grin, laying back with his hands behind his head.

"Okay," You lined his cock up with your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his length, "Just relax for me, babe."

"Fuck," Haechan draws out, reveling in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

"God, you fill me up so good, Hyuck," you begin to rock your hips.

His hands reach out for you but he stops himself. "Can I touch you?"

"Hmm, not yet," you say, "Just sit there and take it like a good boy," you kiss the corner of his mouth.

Haechan whimpers and bucks his hips up into yours, balling his fists to restrain himself. You flatten your feet on the bed, giving yourself more leverage. Each time you lower yourself, you feel the tip of his cock reaching the deepest parts of you.

Haechan tries to keep himself from moving too much but fails miserably, too drunk off the feeling of your warm, wet walls, hugging his length with a vice grip.

"Please—fuck—please, you feel so fucking good," he squirms beneath you, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Yeah, is this what you wanted?" you let your knees fall on either side of his waist, slowing down your movements, "Couldn't stop yourself from hoping I'd ride you as well as that mechanical bull, huh, pretty boy?"

His breath hitches in his throat, "Mhm..."

"Maybe you knew you'd lose, and knew you'd get exactly what you wanted anyway."

Haechan laughs, "It may have crossed my mind."

You pull the blindfold from over his eyes, and Haechan blinks his vision into focus, staring up at you.

"God, you got me so fucking weak," Haechan sighs, bringing a smile to your face.

"Come here," you jut your chin toward him.

Haechan sits up, wrapping his arms around and crashing his lips into yours. You tangle your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Haechan's lips muffle your moans, holding your hips and directing your movements.

"Fuck, I wanna cum so bad," he says.

"What makes you think you deserve to?" you tease.

Mischief gleams in your boyfriend's eyes as he holds your waist, bringing you both closer to the edge of the bed. He grabs your ankles, directing your feet to flatten on the bed on either side of him. With the extra leverage, you're able to move more fluidly and curl your arm around Haechan's neck as you ride him.

"Oh my god, hyuck, you feel so fucking good," you whine.

"That's right, sweetheart," he takes hold of your waist, slamming his cock up into you, "Take it like it's yours," he grunts.

You cry out, throwing your head back as Haechan can't tear his eyes away from where your bodies meet, too entranced with the way your sopping heat swallows his cock.

"I feel so close," you say.

"Yeah?" he smirks. He sneaks his hand between your bodies, and a moan rips from your throat as he circles your clit with his thumb.

"Please, Hyuck, oh my god!" your fingernails dig into his shoulder, causing him to his at the temporary pain. "I want you to cum with me."

"Oh I'm right there with you, princess," his voice drops an octave, "Just focus on how good it feels. How much I fill you up over and over again. How your pretty little pussy takes me so well."

"Please, baby, m'close," you slur.

"That's it, sweetheart, yeah," Haechan's jaw clenched, feeling how tight you are right now, "Let me have it all."

Your thighs tremble, and the muscles in your lower stomach contract as you feel the knot inside you snap. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, and your vision goes black. You slump against Haechan's chest as his hips continue fucking up into you, your orgasm sending him into his own.

"Fuck," Haechan buries his cock inside you, letting his seed decorate your inner walls.

"Oh my god," was all you could say as you wrapped your arms around Haechan, trying to catch your breath. 

Haechan tucks his head into the crook of your neck and rubs his hand up and down your back. Soft kisses against the side of your throat bring you out of your haze, and you lift your head to meet Haechan's eyes.

"That was…" 

"Yeah, it was," you both laugh.

"Are you alright?" he asks, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. 

"Yeah, I'm just already feeling it in my legs," you tell him, hissing from the discomfort in your limbs. 

You attempt to stand, almost falling to the floor if it weren't for Haechan grabbing your waist and seating you back on the bed.

"How about you stay here, and I get you cleaned up. I have a feeling you're gonna be having some difficulty getting around for the next few days," Haechan chuckles.

"It was totally worth it," you reply.

a/n: i feel like it’s been so long since i’ve put something out and im so sorry for that 😣 but i’ve missed y’all and i’ve missed writing. i can’t promise my next story will be out soon but i’ll definitely be putting some more stuff out later on in the year. i love you all and thank you for reading <33 feedback is appreciated!!

[jungsaxy]

❧ word count: 2.4k ❧ warnings: cursing, random old man makes reader uncomfy for 0.2 seconds (using real dialogue that a random old man said to me irl) ❧ genre: fluff, enemies to lovers (or are they…), secret dating, getting stuck on a ferris wheel together

“What are you doing?” You asked him through gritted teeth, making sure to whisper quiet enough that hopefully nobody else could hear you.

Sungchan yawned loudly, stretching out his arms until one was wrapped around your shoulders. “Gosh, just got tired all of a sudden.”

You were going to kill Shotaro. As soon as you got down from this Ferris Wheel.

A trip to a pop-up fair on the coast with all your friends had somehow turned into your worst nightmare. The line for the Ferris Wheel was long enough that you’d darted into the restroom while everyone else held your group’s place. Upon your return, though, it seemed that everybody had divided themselves into pairs, leaving you with the odd man out: Sungchan. After pleading with every single one of your friends to switch with you, you got six no’s in a row. Including, incredibly, Anton and Shotaro. You were going to kill Shotaro in particular, who had pulled you aside and suggested that maybe you and Sungchan could finally get over your long-running disdain for each other, because that confirmed your suspicions of this being intentional.

The Ferris Wheel getting stuck, however, you doubted your friends had anything to do with, unless they had bribed the college kid operating it while neither you nor Sungchan were looking.

So now you were perched at the top of a Ferris Wheel, all of your friends in the carts ahead of you, trying not to look at the boy next to you.

“Hey, Y/N, we want Sungchan to make it down in one piece, okay?” Shotaro called up to you.

“Do we?” Seunghan snickered from two cars in front of you.

“Okay, less than five pieces, how about that?”

“I’m going to kill you guys, you know that, right?” You snapped, leaning forward over the lap bar to try to look any of them in the face.

Your sudden jerking only succeeded in making your cart sway precariously, and you let out a squeal as you scrambled back in your seat to safety.

“You’re going to kill us both like that, Y/N,” Sungchan scoffed.

You didn’t respond, simply crossing your arms over your chest and looking in the opposite direction from him again, out to the ocean. From up here you could smell the salt on the seabreeze, hear the calls of seagulls down on the shoreline, and watch the waves as they rolled in. The rest of your friends had gone back to chatting among themselves, paying you and Sungchan no mind.

Which was when you felt the boy next to you slowly slide closer to you, until your sides were pressed up against each other.

“Beautiful view,” Sungchan murmured in your ear.

“What are you doing?” You asked him through gritted teeth, making sure to whisper quiet enough that hopefully nobody else could hear you.

He yawned loudly, stretching out his arms until one was wrapped around your shoulders. “Gosh, just got tired all of a sudden.”

“Wonbin and Sohee are right there.” You pointed to the two heads right by your feet. If they looked over their shoulders, you were sure they’d be able to at least see Sungchan’s change in position.

“And you and I are right here.” The cocky smile was audible in his voice. “Come on, you wouldn’t rob a guy of the perfect opportunity to kiss his girl at the top of the Ferris Wheel, would you?”

“Maybe I would.”

“Funny, what was it you said in the House of Mirrors? ‘No, not yet, just a little longer…’” You could feel the curl of his smirk against the shell of your ear as he kept his voice low. He was of course referring to earlier in the day when the two of you got “lost” in the House of Mirrors, letting your friends wander far ahead of you. You had yanked Sungchan into an out-of-the-way dead end, and came back out with sore lips.

“It was dark in there!” You hissed.

“Okay…” He sighed, his fingertips smoothing circles into the skin of your upper arm. “I guess you really do hate me…”

“Sorry, whose genius idea was it to not tell our friends?” You snorted. “You sure you don’t hate me and want to hide me?”

“Of course not.” He dropped kisses to the crown of your head, then your temple, your cheekbone, your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “Want to keep you all to myself, baby.”

You finally turned enough to look over at Sungchan, perfectly aglow in the sun, and your worst fears came true. He just looked too good, you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his collar and crashing your lips together. He groaned immediately, a sound that you hoped was muffled by your mouth, as he simultaneously pushed you even further into the corner of the Ferris Wheel seat and pulled you closer by the arm he had around you.

Sungchan still tasted like the cotton candy he’d bought earlier, the sugary sweetness permeating the kiss more and more as his tongue sought out yours. You, meanwhile, had faint remnants of popcorn on your lips, turning it salty and sweet. Small whimpers slipped past your open mouth as he nibbled on your bottom lip, and one of your hands tangled in the hair at the back of his hand, trying to ground yourself to something as it felt very much like you were going to float away at any moment.

You ignored the distant voices of your friends trying to play ‘I Spy’ or some word game or other. Using just a second to breathe, you pressed your lips to his again, taking kiss after kiss after kiss while you could.

Suddenly, the Ferris Wheel started again with a jerk, and you bit down on Sungchan’s lip in surprise. He cursed under his breath, pulling back and cradling his mouth, and you were left with a faint taste of metal. You pecked his cheek and whispered a final ‘sorry’ to him before he scooted back to his side. All of the other passengers had erupted into cheers at finally being free.

Back on the ground, your friends were all waiting for you and Sungchan, being the last two to get off. He was still nursing his wounded lip, tongue flicking over the swollen area habitually.

“Damn, Sungchan,” Seunghan whistled lowly and grabbed his chin, tilting his head this way and that to get a better look. “Y/N deck you in the mouth or something?”

“Why do you people always act like I’m going to kill him or something?” You huffed. “I’m not homicidal.”

“Maybe because you say ‘Sungchan, I’m going to kill you’ like ten times a day?” Sohee pointed out.

Sungchan knocked the other boy’s hand away. “I bit my lip when the ride started again. I’m fine.”

“Did you guys hear anything weird, by the way?” Eunseok asked, looking directly at you and Sungchan.

“No.” You said at the same time that Sungchan said, “Weird how?”

“We could hear somebody sucking faces like, the whole time. I think it was the couple behind you guys.” Eunseok and Seunghan had been in the cart ahead of Wonbin and Sohee.

“Yeah!” Sohee perked up. “I thought I heard something weird!”

“You two really didn’t hear anything?” Wonbin raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Yeah, it was like, nasty.” Sohee pretended to gag.

Your skin was on fire, and you tried to shrug and play it off as coolly as possible. “I don’t know, guys, I was trying to block out the experience, not eavesdrop on whoever may or may not have been making out behind me or whatever.”

“Ditto,” Sungchan coughed.

“The first time they agree on something,” Shotaro grumbled, shaking his head.

A little while later found you all perusing the area where various vendors were selling trinkets and cheesy souvenirs. The guys had gotten more food and were taking a break from rides so they could eat it. You were looking over a display of fridge magnets displaying the fair’s logo and many different mascot characters when you suddenly registered a presence walking towards you. Thinking that it was another patron of the booth trying to get by you, you pressed yourself further into the corner to get out of their way, but instead the man stopped right in front of you.

“Man, if I was thirty years younger…” He breathed out, lecherous stare clearly going up and down your body.

You let out a nervous chuckle, desperately looking around both for your easiest route of escape and for where exactly your friends were. Most of them were several booths down the row, engrossed in watching some other guy play a basketball shooting game. You couldn’t even spot Sungchan’s tall head over the crowd.

“Uhm, thank you, but I have a boyfriend,” you nodded and smiled awkwardly, trying to step out to the side of him to go around him, but he met your move to stay in front of you.

“Hey, we were just talking.”

“I said I have a boyfriend.”

“Then where is he? Shouldn’t have left a pretty thing like you alone.”

“I’m going back to my friends,” you told him, setting your jaw as you looked to duck out behind you instead.

The man’s patience was clearly wearing thin, too, as he growled, “I’m not done with you.”

Then, you finally spotted Sungchan emerging from right behind the man, pushing by him to stand next to you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders with no hesitation, offering you a smile despite the vein bulging in his neck, “Hey, baby, is there a problem here?”

“Who the fuck—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped at the other guy, all kindness gone from his tone and features.

You shifted in place, gratefully pressing yourself into his side. You gulped and nodded, answering his question, “Yeah, I’m having trouble leaving.”

“Then let’s go. No reason why we shouldn’t be able to, right?” He was now glaring daggers at the older man.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Sungchan kept himself between you and the man as he practically shoved him out of the way for you two to leave, hurrying back into the crowd.

“I didn’t see him touch you, did he touch you?” He asked fervently, rubbing your arm.

“No, he didn’t, I just couldn’t leave,” you breathed out in relief at finally being out of there. Leaning your head against him affectionately, you added, “Thanks, Sungchan.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone, I’m sorry.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Yeah but I’m your—”

“Y/N, oh my god!” Shotaro exclaimed as he and the others ran up to you two at that moment. “Are you okay?”

“We thought you were going get like—” Eunseok made a slicing motion over his neck.

Wonbin smacked him on the arm. “Not helpful.”

“I’m fine, guys, thanks,” you reassured them with a tense smile.

“Good thing Sungchan is scary tall, huh?” Anton laughed.

“Speaking of—” Seunghan eyed Sungchan’s arm that was still around your shoulders. “You can uh, you can let go of Y/N now, Sungchan.”

“Yeah, the guy is gone,” Sohee confirmed, jumping up and down to see over the crowd. “You don’t have to pretend to be her boyfriend or whatever.”

“At this rate I’m pretty sure Y/N’s going to start screaming for help again,” Anton snickered.

Judging by the tight grip he had on you, you already knew that he wasn’t letting go of you anytime soon. You gazed up at him questioningly. He patted your shoulder, and that was the final reassurance you needed.

“Sungchan wasn’t pretending to be my boyfriend,” you admitted, bracing yourself for their reactions. “He is my boyfriend.”

Dead silence. They all blinked, and looked at you, and looked at each other, and looked at Sungchan, and looked at each other, and looked at you again.

“Wait, for real?” Eunseok asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Like, actually?” Wonbin double-checked.

“Yes.”

Seunghan looked you in the eye very seriously. “Y/N, blink twice if you need help.”

Sungchan rolled his eyes and held up both his palms where they were at on either side of you so they could see his hands. “I’m not holding her at gunpoint, jeez.”

“Seriously, guys,” you laughed. “We’re not messing with you.”

“So all the fighting… It was fake?” Shotaro rubbed his temples, presumably remembering all the times he’d felt the need to step in and break up your little arguments.

“Not really?” You half-answered. “I mean, we really do bicker like, all the time.”

“But not because we hate each other’s guts,” Sungchan added.

“Sorry.”

“Ha!” Eunseok fist-pumped victoriously, then pointed to everyone else. “Alright, pay up, bitches.”

They all started groaning and refusing loudly.

“Come on, don’t be sore losers.”

“No, you said they hated each other to cover up secret crushes on each other,” Anton argued. “You said nothing about a secret relationship.”

“Exactly!” Sohee agreed. “We don’t owe you shit!”

“Same difference!” Eunseok scoffed.

“Big difference!” Wonbin resisted.

Nudging Sungchan with your elbow, you then locked eyes with him, and immediately knew you had the same idea. Right as the two of you turned around and started walking off, however, the loud, accusatory voice of Shotaro called after you.

“Woah, woah, woah, where are you two going?” He was glaring at you with his hands on his hips, reminding you an awful lot of your mother.

“If you guys are just going to keep arguing, we’re going to the games.” You jabbed your thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of all the games.

“I’ve got to win my girl something, obviously,” Sungchan explained, smiling down at you.

You snorted. “If you even can.”

“That doesn’t sound like a girl who wants me to win her the huge cow Squishmallow she was totally eyeing earlier,” he teased, loudly kissing the top of your head several times in a row.

Eunseok gasped and pointed at you accusatorily. “Oh my god, it was you two sucking faces on the Ferris Wheel earlier! Wasn’t it?!”

You figuratively and literally bit your tongue, opting not to answer directly.

“I’m going to puke,” Sohee announced, covering his mouth.

“Anyway, you guys are welcome to find us whenever you’ve figured out your whole bet thing,” Sungchan offered, gesturing to all of them. “If it’s worth anything, I think Eunseok was sort of right.”

“And he totally owes us half his winnings,” you said, then gave them all a cheery wave. “Bye!”

As the two of you took off towards the games, the other six devolved into loud bickering again, mostly ganging up against Eunseok, with the occasional comment about Eunseok giving some of his money to you and Sungchan.

“That should keep them occupied for a good thirty minutes at least,” Sungchan sighed with content.

“Are we bad people?” You questioned.

“Maybe a little.”

“Thirty minutes should be enough for you to win me that cow, right?”

“As if you even need to ask, baby.”

⤷ blog masterlist

[jungsaxy]

welcome to neo culture tech university

known for his playboys, homewreckers, druggies, partygoers and fuckgirls, the college has a reputation in a league of its own. home to the nct lions football team and some of the most famous fraternities and sororities in the country, only the strongest can survive neo tech...

STUDENT ONE - L. HAECHAN [APPLIED]

never ever ever - series masterlist

summary: your and haechan's rivalry is well known across campus, but when your friend groups coincide and you're forced to spend time with him, you start thinking he's not too bad... genre: enemies to lovers warnings: smut, drug use, general college stuff, reader sleeps around a bit

STUDENT TWO - J. JAEHYUN [APPLIED]

always want what you can't have - series masterlist

summary: everyone wanted jaehyun, he was the most popular guy on campus, belonging to the infamous nct lions football team. but for some reason, the only girl he wanted, was the one who didn't want him back... genre: he fell first she fell harder, opposites attract warnings: smut, drug use, general college stuff, this one's quite angsty at times

STUDENT THREE - N. JAEMIN [APPLIED]

sugar spice and all things nice - series masterlist

summary: college was hard for you, making the move across the country to be at your dream campus left you very alone at the start of the semester. but a sweet boy in your photography class is always there to help you out, no matter what you need... genre: the sweetest form of love, so fluffy and sweet warnings: smut, fluff, general college stuff, drug use (neither reader or jaemin)

STUDENT FOUR - L. MARK [APPLIED]

kiss me before you go - series masterlist

summary: you and mark have been friends since you could walk, before that even. but after spending the summer apart, you both arrive at neo tech slightly changed, but that shouldn't affect how you feel about each other, right... genre: childhood friends to fwb to lovers warnings: smut, there's a lot of smut, general college stuff, drug use (reader and mark specifically smoke a lot)

STUDENT FIVE - K. DOYOUNG [APPLIED]

boyfriend for the week - series masterlist

summary: after constant nagging from your mother about your lack of a boyfriend you finally find someone to bring home, your study partner doyoung. but after spending a week like you're deeply in love, how easy is it to pretend everything is normal genre: fake dating to lovers warnings: smut, general college stuff, angst, reader has negative thoughts about body image and suffers with her mental health, this one's quite heavy

STUDENT SIX - L. TAEYONG [APPLIED]

my heart will always belong to you - series masterlist

summary: you and taeyong broke it off when you first moved to college, deciding you weren't able to commit to long distance, but when a football scholarship transfers taeyong to neo tech, will you be able to rekindle the dying embers of your relationship genre: exes to lovers, mentions of cheating, thoughts of cheating warnings: smut, angst, cheating (reader's bf kinda deserved it but still cheating), generall college stuff, drug use, reader smokes and vapes

STUDENT SEVEN - L. JENO [APPLIED]

suck my d*ck - series masterlist

summary: on a drunk night, you and jeno made a bet with some friends. sleep together until one of you falls in love, and the first one to do so loses one hundred dollars. but, you guys have been friends for so long, there's no way you'll fall in love... genre: bet (not to fall in love), humorous undertones warnings: smut, lotta smut, general college stuff, drug use

STUDENT EIGHT - Z. CHENLE [APPLIED]

actions speak louder than words - series masterlist

summary: your boyfriend can often struggle to show affection, and it's something you understand and can deal with. but when other men on campus start to think you're unhappy and try to steal you, chenle has some thoughts on how to 'improve' your relationship... genre: cold bf, jealous bf, kinda golden retriever gf warnings: smut, angst, fluff at times, general college stuff, drug use (chenle and reader never do drugs), lots of smut in this one

[jungsaxy]

I Love To Get 2 On. | N.JM

— Prologue: “Princess a little wider for me, I want a full view of you.”

— Summary: When the alcohol starts to taste like you getting in bed with one of the infamous biker’s called Na Jaemin.

— Genre: Smut smut smut. Minors dni. Biker!Jaemin. Unprotected sex (wrap your willies before you tap it ty.) Love drunk Jaemin. Oral receiving (f). Fingering receiving (f). They do it somewhere in someone’s bed at a party. Alcohol mention and use. Slightly intoxicated Y/n.

— Notes: Wanna Ride? — The Series.

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When they say alcohol can really bring out the real you you weren’t sure if that’s true anymore. You see you’re quite a tame person. You don’t really do all those extravagant stuff and things. You don’t even sleep around with guys much.

You’d never do an one night stand.

Everyone knew it wasn’t a thing you’d ever do because you prefer to get to know the person before getting to those intimacy levels.

But tonight was different. You had quite a bit more alcohol and it’s now starting to taste like you’re getting in bed with one of the infamous people in the party you were invited to. You see your friend was invited but you tagged along hoping to do something that wasn’t staying in and watching a bunch of kdramas like your every night.

You weren’t sure what was happening but you feel almost set free when the young man with a dark honey blonde mullet lead you into some dark room. You followed mindlessly because your brain is intoxicate and you feel like you were floating the next minute when your lips were hungrily kissing the other person now.

It all started out with you catching his eye. You stuck out a little bit. You had the expression that no one else wore that attends this party; expression of slight discomfort between your eyebrows and your corner of the lips curving downwards. Jaemin found it to be quite fascinating how you’re sipping your alcohol but each sip of your drink made you feel looser and more confident and relaxed. It’s like you transformed into a whole another person. You then started to chat with him. He took you for a small dance and eventually that dance lead to many things…

You remember how his hands around your waist felt, they feel rather muscular and scarred. They definitely do a lot of working out things because you never felt such strong grip before. Or you remember the way his eyes watch only you on the dance floor. It was such an intense dance because he didn’t blink an eye away from you. You were all he was wanting to see. And in that moment you remember your breath becoming low, unsteady and rigid.

At first he wonders if you knew who he was. You look like you’re half sober half not sober. It’s like one foot was in and the other foot was out of your reality.

To be completely honest you weren’t sure who he was at first. You heard only a few words from other people at the party. Your friend said that Jaemin was trouble. That alone should’ve been your first and last warning because your friend liked everyone nearly. But Jaemin? She wasn’t quite fond of him.

It doesn’t excuse the way now that you’re thrown on the bed with the same man your friend said for you to stay away from, kissing you so deeply and sternly. There was some sort of bashful feeling about this in your stomach created. You became more unaware of your surroundings and your own actions that you ignore everything and more to do with your own reality con-coursing. The biker felt your own mouth press to the kiss as if you were starting to accept the feeling. It’s not like you pushed him away before but you weren’t exactly ready to give yourself in until Jaemin was on top of you kneading the bedsheets with the knuckles by the side while his head tilts more to deepen your lips on lips contact that’s been happening for a few minutes.

Your breathing became unstable fast meanwhile the man above you, Jaemin, seems to be completely fine with everything that’s going in. He looks unfazed and it makes you question if he’s done this before. Who are you kidding, he probably did do this before a lot more than you can imagine and count. You’ve never exactly slept with someone when you’re tipsy and not much sober. You haven’t slept with a man at all that you never knew about.

You didn’t even know his name, it strikes you.

Your teeth slips out of the kiss as your tongue brushed out the bottom lip Jaemin frees from the makeout once you pull away abruptly. The dark eyes now open staring down at you and he can hear your voice softly come out like a silvery whisper. “Wait… what’s your name?”

That’s a first, Jaemin thought. No one has ever asked him his name before when he was about to sleep with them and have an one night stand.

It’s kind of cute to Jaemin. It was a first shocking but very sweet small gesture. But even if it was small it turns out it’s not that small of a gesture to him anymore. Jaemin liked it a lot more than he’d expect. Even if you’re drunk out of your mind you managed to ask him for his name.

The gratitude he has for you grew a little by little and Jaemin’s face leans closer taking small kisses on your jawline planting it down and down till he met the sides of your sensitive nape causing you to burst into a frenzy of goosebumps. He saw you shiver by his actions and now he finally spoke.

Your ears caught quickly on his deep voice. You wonder in your own thoughts if it was naturally this deep. “It’s Jaemin. Na Jaemin.” He whispers causing your skin to stay like a prickle cactus. He really caused your body to react with overpowering goosebumps and emotions just by speaking. Jaemin loved to see it.

The clothes scatter themselves around the room like it was a bunch of maps marking on them with a red pin point. It felt like a large medieval map becoming more and more marked the more clothes were taken and slid off. The shirt was the first thing the biker took off. Jaemin admires the bra you wore. He skilfully with one hand undos the strap which leaves your chest exposed in his front sight like a portrait art canvas piece he could stare at all day. You could become part of an art gallery he thought with how perky your beautiful breasts art he might as well lose his mind over then. Then slowly your lower clothing didn’t last long either which wasn’t a surprise when you notice how fast he worked his way on your body. It seems like Jaemin was nearly as expert as you thought he was.

Maybe a little more.

The room’s temperature was quite below what your normal temperature of your body was but thanks to Jaemin’s kisses travelled across your chest. Licking between the folding pink nipples that shine and glisten with the saliva on them, it was scorching your body more and more with his mouth warmth. You found yourself becoming even more heat-full than you anticipated. Your face experiences hot flashes from how good he works his way down your body you would never expect this to happen.

Your body was more than aroused at this point. You feel your mind breaking which was exactly what the biker wanted.

Jaemin wanted to see you become loose and loose. You caught his eyes and you keep catching his eye even now even though he has you underneath him grasping your groans between your slithering teeth. He found your reactions to be amusing too.

He knew you wanted more by the time he was down below your regional part and so he gave you what you wanted. Jaemin didn’t need to hear you begging for him because your body did that for you once his mouth took a turn on your beautiful pussy that looks to be leaking for him already. It must’ve been embarrassing for you however because you don’t even remember how fast you got wet. You just did. Jaemin worked magic on your body it seems and the biker took pleasure in giving you more of what you were aching for all along.

The way his tongue laps around your clit like it was a race. It drove you out of your own non-sober mind. You’re clenching the pillow underneath your head with the two firmly balled fists. You didn’t know this could ever happen in your life where you’re losing your absolute right mind back and forth over getting yourself ate out by the infamous biker.

The biker that your friend specifically told you not to get involved with. Your friend is going to be absolutely thrilled you feel like when you tell them what you did.

“Princess a little wider for me, I want a full view of you.”

Jaemin now said when you feels your legs aren’t as open for him as he wanted to be and you shift your hips forward and forth between Jaemin’s face where he took a home residing between your two thighs down below your pussy waiting to be pleased. You feel your cheeks heat up when he called you ‘princess’ and you wonder if he was always this much of a charmer or not.

“That’s it princess, good girl…” Jaemin softly praised going back to devouring your down below now as he leans and dives into you further more. You were so caught off guard how he spoke to you with his deep husky voice you couldn’t believe what you’re hearing from Jaemin.

Your voice was cut off many times from your incoming groans and your head starts to spin the more Jaemin pushed his mouth further on your pussy connecting with the saliva and your own lubricant. It was a sweet treat for him rather because he enjoys seeing you squirm and each time your pelvis made a movement against his face he found that to be eccentricity.

You look even better from the down angle as he saw your stomach clench when he with his teeth brushed along your clit. You were becoming more sensitive. To add on to your sensitivity that you’re so going overload with Jaemin was so kind enough to slip in a finger into your hole and then pushing in and out which caused your voice to come out even more clearer now.

The pleasure doubles when his mouth and fingers work together as he multitasks between eating you out and now fingering you on top of the list. He added the second digit and saw your face scrunch up as you’re practically sobbing out.

“Jaemin…! I’m…” Jaemin heard you shout now as you were willingly wailing out your beautiful graceful moans and he never once thought about stopping but when he heard you say you’re close, Jaemin fastens his last thrusts with his hand forward and he saw your hips push against the movement now as you held the bed headboard.

Your body spasms a little and he was met with an absolute soaking bedsheet. Whoever’s bed this is you’re going to have to change it. You lost your mind a little and it went blank. You felt your ears block out noise and all you can hear and see was static.

Sometime went passed and Jaemin was hawking his face at you trying to see if you’re still with him. At first he thought you passed out from the alcohol you drank since you’re not the most sober person in the world right now. “Princess are you with me?” He softly whispers kissing against your cheek for a moment with his teeth pressing on your skin gently and you feel your droopy eyes open a little more. Your vision returns and you can see again.

The stars you saw from your orgasm was no longer in your eyes and you feel yourself returning to reality with Jaemin whispering sweet nothing’s and asking you if you’re still ready to continue. For a guy who has some reputation that wasn’t good in any means he was pretty good to you. He even asked you if you’re going to continue or not.

Jaemin heard your voice coming out as soft as silk. “Yeah… I’m here.” You tell him and you saw his eyes grow softer only for a moment. He rubs your thighs with his hands, as if it was meant to comfort you from your massive orgasm.

He leans forward taking a small inhale close to your hair loving how your hair smells. You smell good everywhere. It had him even more of a desire to have you and continue. But he wants t make sure if you’re ready for it too.

Jaemin might have a bad boy reputation. But he most certainly treats all girls the same with respect. It’s the only certain people he treats like shit. “You okay to continue or not?” He now asked you waiting for an answer.

You felt like this was your one time opportunity to leave and never come back.

But you didn’t want to leave and not come back. You wanted to stay and have Jaemin pleasure you even more and you hope the night never quite ends. You felt like you were enjoying the party now a lot more than you could ever imagine and hope to be. In a way this biker has pulled some strings on your own heart and body maybe even your soul if he indulged even more into you.

“Yeah…” You whisper back with a soft nod which Jaemin was glad to see. He would’ve accepted a no and he would respect that.

Not many girls would say no and back away now even if they weren’t comfortable to continue. But he can tell you were even more eager to have a taste of him now. The real deal.

“Why are you so kind to me?” You now suddenly ask him and Jaemin smirks down watching you as he traces his thumb across the bottom lip. “Why shouldn’t I kind to a pretty girl like you, Hm?” He now said as he waits for you reply.

The quietness from your expression as your mouth fell in a thin line now in deep thought thinking what to say to him. He was right. He had no reason to not be kind to you exactly but many people assume he was a righteous asshole. Nothing else nothing more. You furrow and shake your head now as you sit up eagerly reaching to kiss him so Jaemin doesn’t edge you to add another answer to him. “Never mind.” You tell him as your mouth connects together with the scorching air between your mouths fuelling together and your breaths becoming as one whirling by how good this feels. Jaemin didn’t ask for a reply back anymore he was just taken aback when you kissed him now and then it was a sign to continue.

You felt a little stupid about questioning his kindness when in fact it was just an expected response to treat anyone like this. But you hope there was something more too. Or you hope maybe in the future this wouldn’t be just one time thing. Perhaps you’re getting ahead of yourself now.

Maybe you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak by continuing this process with Jaemin. But you didn’t want to believe that this was just going to be an one time thing. Because the future still has a lot of potential to work out in your favour.

What surprised the biker more now was that the position and dynamic quickly changed and he held your hips down as he was sitting up against the headboard when he saw you straddling down the lap and get on as if you were now getting on a motorcycle. It reminded him of the motion because he riders his own motorcycle and he got kind of turned on by the position when he feels all your weight pressing down on his lap especially how his growing shaft beneath you was practically seeking and aching for your pussy to wrap him nice and warm inside you somewhere. However Jaemin held your hips and rubbed them with his thumbs on the edge. He looks at you with a different type of hunger behind his eyes now.

An deprecated expression you cannot put a finger on it but he looks almost love drunk on you now. The eerie sense of contrast now that his eyes grew more emotions of lust and desire to have you because you’re the one now on top of him kissing him back with so much more power and excitement. You’re now partaking much more and it turns on Jaemin so much. Before you were letting him do a lot more.

But now you’re doing a lot more too and it just makes Jaemin glad that you want to continue this. He was already pretty hard down below with his raging cock between your legs ready to get in your own body to find a residing place to fill up to the brim. Jaemin saw you grab his cock with your small hand and it was almost thrilling to see you look down with a bit of crashing confident diminishing when you saw the size of him.

He was thick and it made you wonder if he was ever going to fit which Jaemin was quick to ensure your expression that it will fit. You didn’t even say to him what you thought. He could read your face. He didn’t need no words from you.

Jaemin let’s out a little low laugh. “You look like you’re already having second thoughts, princess?” He now said to you raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head turning to Jaemin. “I’m not it’s just…”

You didn’t say anything because you weren’t sure what to say. You don’t know if you had enough confidence to say how you think this wasn’t going to fit in. But thankfully Jaemin knew exactly what you’re saying without needing any words from you.

“It will fit princess.” He coos against your neck as he kissed it very slowly and sweetly. “Just take your time alright? I’ll be here.” It was actually quite nice to have this much reassurance. You don’t even know this guy and he’s doing a lot more sweet talking and reassurance from your own paranoia and overthinking than any other guy you met.

He was like a mind reader, you swore. He read your expression that told him you’re going to trust his words as you along down and push yourself very carefully and slowly in order to get him to fit. The length tip was already a struggle so you held on to Jaemin and he managed to calm you down with his arms wrapped round your back holding you in position. He said many things that you voided out of your thoughts because the pleasure and pain at the same time was there.

It was the kind of pain that hurts you but rather the type of stinging stimulant of your walls becoming stretched out type of pain. You loved it and hated it at the same time because it was a lot easier if he was a bit smaller however you found his kissed pressed on your neck and shoulder to be very comforting. Jaemin even kissed your cheek and pecks the corner of your lips keenly as he saw you taking him in now a lot more easily than before. It was clear you adapted and became comfortable when you took your time and he didn’t mind being patient for you. Because the night is still young. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Good princess keep going,, you can do it.”

You feel like you’re becoming more and more addicted to how Jaemin was sweetly encouraging you at the same time it felt a little more genuine and comforting too. It was hot to have a guy speak to you like this. You’ve never spoken more than five words before and now he’s having your body feeling like you’re saying a lot more than just words.

When the adjustment was done Jaemin watched you slowly pull and push your bodies together and it caused a surging sensation to pop deeply inside the both of you as your walls were kissing his enraged cock between your folds. It was perfect harmony now that your bodies were like glue together and in one place now on the bed. Your groans were turning him on and it drove Jaemin insane with how you’re bouncing on his lap as you have his dick deeply inside you was impressing him even more because you were quite petite. You managed to take him in like you were a pro. It was amazing nonetheless because when he saw you bouncing more and more with your beautiful tits taking coverage in his eyes, he sucks on your breasts and leaves you gasping holding out your mouth with your palm. He teased your nipples with his teeth, sucking on them clean, your breasts were so soft he could guess they were like clouds.

Your back was arching as you ride him completely out feeling with each slipping out movement his cock came inside you again nicely without a problem now because your body took a muscle core memory from his shape and size. It’s like he was engraving your body to remember him forever with how his tip was kissing the tip of your womb it made you moan and squeal. Your insides were squelching by how good this was feeling too.

It felt like you’re approaching a new level and limit of pleasure you’ve never been able to reach before.

Only Jaemin can make you feel this way, you vow.

Jaemin was addicting to seeing you get on him and ride him like he wasn’t a human. You’re killing him doing this so much pleasure in his body he would let out slipping groans against your collarbones that he kissed softly. “Princess you’d be an amazing biker.” He compliments softly as he found his hands making way to your hips holding them with a steep grip.

It’s like your hips were a stirring wheel and you found yourself groaning wondering why he would be saying you’d be a great bike rider?

“H-how come?” You groan as you bounce forward now as your eyes look down at Jaemin’s love drunk ones. He kissed your stomach down and he murmurs softly as his hands stayed on your hips brushing them with his hands.

He smirks looking up at you now with his deep and husky low voice that has you doing absolutely laps like the marathon was nothing but a piece of cake. “Because you’re riding me so well. You have great hips.” He said with amazement.

“No body rides me better than you do.” He now said and you found yourself becoming proud of such a statement.

No other women could ride him better than you.

Your lips were connected when Jaemin leans to kiss you hungrily as he then pushed your hips down with every incoming thrust now. It became a lot more intense and fast now as if he was determined to have you orgasm now and he wants to feel it happen around his cock otherwise his life wouldn’t be complete. It felt like that to him; the motivation to have you coming undone on his cock was everything he ever wanted in this moment forward.

Your moans became muffled and so you felt yourself slipping out of reality and the same stars you saw before were becoming evident in your eye sight. You shut them tight and you felt your womb clench as you felt a warm embrace around your stomach when a harsh cramp happened.

Your orgasm was at the door and when Jaemin opens that door he feels a slipping watery sensation and warm feeling running down your thighs and his massive girth shaft inside you deeply you couldn’t imagine how deep he was within you. You gasp when your mouth broke out the kiss as your orgasm happened and you roll your eyes back a little. Jaemin let’s out soft whispers. “Atta’ girl… let it all go.” He says as you feel your moans becoming too much you couldn’t pretend to swallow them at all anymore.

Jaemin saw your expression feel like you’re flying through multi verses or something. The orgasm was pretty intense and heavy for your mind and body to take and you rest against his body as you never pulled out.

It’s like you’re faded on something you’ve never experienced before. It felt far too amazing. You feel like this was going to be memorable for you.

He kissed your shoulder now as he waits for you to return back to your consciousness. “Princess, would you like to ride with me back to my place instead?” Jaemin said to you as if he was planning to do something now afterwards with you. It’s like he doesn’t want to leave you alone quite yet. Which is rare.

Jaemin usually leaves right after he finishes. He doesn’t really form attachments to women he has sex with. But he had a feeling you’re different. He could tell you don’t usually sleep around because you’re having a frenzy mind blowing moment after each orgasm he gave you.

You wander your eyes to Jaemin’s as you feel them staring at you waiting for an answer. He’s asked you if you’d want to get on the bike with him which was a rare opportunity.

In this case Jaemin never really lets anyone ride with him…

But maybe you can. “I Love To Get 2 On.” You now said to him with a small smile as you now witness Jaemin’s face light up a little from the desire and lust when you agreed.

It’s crazy to think you’re still not sober but you managed to have the best time with an infamous biker Na Jaemin…

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and Follow me for more it helps a girl out. <3

[jungsaxy]

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.” 

[jungsaxy]

besties (gone sexual)

❝ c'mon, you know i’m better than all the guys you’ve slept with. ❞

PAIRING ▸ na jaemin x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, angst, crack, college au, coming of age, best friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, slowburn, alcohol consumption, lowkey fwb, hints of found family, jaemin has douchebag tendencies, love triangle ft. sunwoo from tbz, sex, fingering, oral (m. receiving), oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, commitment issues, jaemin’s a vet tech, mentions of throwing up, bitch hunter shenanigans 

SUMMARY ▸ na jaemin, resident playboy and serial heartbreaker on campus, thinks he might have a crush on you. this is concerning because he’s slept with your roommate before, who called him something along the lines of “a waste of a human.” another reason why this is concerning is because you happen to be jaemin’s best friend of seven years, and you know far too much about him to ever consider dating him.

PLAYLIST ▸ starboy by the weeknd • moondust by jaymes young • as it was by seungkwan • i like u by niki • to you by seventeen • rainbow by nct dream 

WORD COUNT ▸ 43,440 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ WOW it’s over ?? this feels kinda crazy omfg but i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it !! i will kiss you if you get through this behemoth of a fic omg :’) fourth installment of the bitch hunters series ♡

NA JAEMIN HAD A REPUTATION.

It wasn’t a great one, but it also wasn’t a downright terrible one. It was often the result of Jaemin engaging the girls that fell all over him at parties, and then once they figured out he was notorious for breaking hearts, he would hear them spreading rumors about him the very next day. Jaemin’s like this, Jaemin’s like that, and Jaemin could have easily shut them down, but he never did.

Why? Because they were half-true.

Keep reading

[jungsaxy]

something abt this….

[jungsaxy]

nct dream reaction: having a wet dream about you

warnings: suggestive but doesn’t go into too much detail

{nct dream masterlist}

a/n: this as been stuck in my drafts for way to long… not one of my best :( but i still wanted to post it

permanent taglist: @vvsmydiamonds127 @erin-calling

mark:

would not look you in the eyes

he practically goes missing

he just feels so guilty

you’re good friends with all the guys and he doesn’t want you to think of him any different

you have to bribe johnny to tell you where mark is

he told you locked himself in his room

but before you can go confront mark

johnny tells you to wear something sexy with a wink

this confused you even more!!! wtf is going on

you listened to johnny and wore a low cut shirt

you barged in his room already complaining about how he was ignoring you and how much it hurt for him to avoid you

“are you even paying attention?”

when he didn’t respond, you noticed he was paying a little too much attention…not to what you were saying but to your chest

you were getting a little annoyed but weirdly turned on

“take a picture, it will last longer”

“for real, can i?”

renjun:

this boy would be STRESSING OUT

he knows you’re cute

but he never looked at you in a sexual way

so why is his dreams messing with him

the next time he would see you, unlike mark, he would watch your every move

he wouldn’t shy away from you, until you try to make any sort of physical touch

then he would freak out

you noticed how weird he was acting so you suggested having a little drink

just to loosen up a little bit

well a little bit turned into a lot a bit

he ended up telling you about the dream and you pushed him for more details

“ you think we can recreate it?”

jeno:

he would feel so guilty

when he woke up from a dream about you

he would feel disgusted at himself

not because he didn’t like it… but because he liked it a little too much

the whole day he would be grouchy

until the guys kept texting you and asking you what’s wrong with jeno

so you decided to head to the dorms to figure out what’s wrong

but he was the same jeno you always see, smiley and cuddly

it wasn’t until you guys were cuddling you noticed he was starting to get hard

“jeno, are you okay?”

“fuck, i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable” he groaned while trying to separate himself from you

when you pulled him back he was shocked

“i never said i was uncomfortable”

haechan:

you would think he would stop flirting with you..

but his flirting wouldn’t stop

usually when you would flirt back he would tease you

but now when you flirt back he blushes

then he goes silent

you would know something is up because THIS BOY NEVER STOPS TALKING TO YOU

when you confront him, he would make so many excuses

he has practice and can’t talk

hes too busy stuffing his face with food

he’s in the middle of a game

you have to corner him and border-line threaten him to tell you what’s wrong

when he wouldn’t look at you in the eyes and kept saying stuff about dreams is when it hit you

“did you have a wet dream about me or something?”

“WHAT NO WHY WOULD I HAVE A WET—“

you cut him off “aw that’s to bad” and winked at him while slowly moving away from him

“Wait! um what if i did?”

jaemin:

saw this coming

you two always flirt

EVERY SINGLE DAY

he basically expected you to show up in his dreams

but he wasn’t going to outright tell you!

the only person who knew about jaemin’s little secret was jeno

and jeno was TIRED

so in a game of never have i ever, jeno pulled out the big guns

“never have i ever had a wet dream about one of my friends”

you and jaemin made eye contact before you both took a sip of your drinks

jeno laughed and went to his own room, his job here was done

“was it about me?” you asked

“of course, who else would it be about”

chenle:

this boy is done with life

the first time you sleep over his house

he has a wet dream about you

what is he? a prepubescent boy?

when he heard you calling his name and felt your hands shaking him

a little too real to be dreaming

he shot up and hoped that he didn’t say anything in his sleep

when he got a good look at your face he felt relieved

you looked worried and not disgusted

he was about to come up with a lie before you started laughing at him

“did you have a good dream? it sure sounded like you did”

chenle always has some smart ass response but right now he was left speechless

“you know i can help you?”

Jisung:

you two are close, like VERY CLOSE

best friends who share everything with each other

so when he had a wet dream about you

he simply ask you if you had ever had a weird dream with him

you didn’t really know why he was asking this until you saw how he was blushing

so you pushed him to tell you more about the dream he had about you

when he finally broke and told you he had a wet dream about him you laughed

you didn’t get the big deal because you can’t really control what happens in your dreams

but when you say how jisung was blushing and how he was starting to get hard, you decided to take things to the next level

you always found jisung extremely hot

“do you wanna make your dream a reality?”

[jungsaxy]

who let me adult I can’t adult

[jungsaxy]

this was honestly so frickin HOT

[jungsaxy]

I’m so down bad it is not funny anymore

[jungsaxy]

Be so real right now

[jungsaxy]

spideykoo 🕷️💜

[jungsaxy]

[jungsaxy]

did I really just add a Deftones song to a video of Jungkook sleeping so that it gives romantic dreams vibes? sure did. his fingers moving to the beat was a paid actor

[jungsaxy]

main character vibes ✨

[jungsaxy]

what do i do with all this love i have for him, huh? 😭