#documentation services for organizations | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldenhourology · 3 months ago

Text

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches.

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.”

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always.

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long.

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you.

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days.

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair.

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser.

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.)

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you.

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other.

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But ��

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow.

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name.

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash.

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands.

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job.

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have.

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop.

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time.

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats.

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road.

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor.

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy.

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you.

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes?

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed.

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days.

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused.

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white.

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone.

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished.

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand.

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful.

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily.

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection.

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out.

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed.

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.”

4K notes · View notes

hannie-dul-set · 2 months ago

Text

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — ONE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this.

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is.

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 9k.

NOTE. my goal for this fic is to make as many male characters either detestable or unesttling, and make you like them against your will. in other words, meet mark and doyoung HAHAHAHAH. this is mostly still exposition!!! establishing facts and relationships and dynamics and whatnot. more jaemin next chapter. too much jaemin, even. anyway, enjoy! CHAPTER TWO.

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.”

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams?

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs.

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you.

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground.

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries.

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut.

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.”

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination.

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh.

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission.

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face.

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

*‎

The next morning, Nalkkeutta’s boss is gracious enough to answer your request for a meeting.

Mark Lee shows up to the conference room of JSS’s Criminal Division, accompanied by a polite knock on the already open door, a humming smile, and a Kim Doyoung— who you very clearly don’t remember inviting to this meeting. Mark enters the room with a good morning. You nod and your eyes skip over him, flitting over to meet your boss’s gaze by the door instead. “You must be very busy, sir. What are you doing here?”

The wrinkle that forms between Doyoung’s eyebrows signifies that he very much understood your polite version of a fuck off. “I just wanted to escort our client,” he replies, adjusting his glasses.

You smile at him. “The escorting usually ends when the client has arrived at their destination.”

Doyoung’s jaw stiffens. Mark seems to be sufficiently entertained by the exchange, attention hopping back and forth between you and your boss. The latter surrenders and ends the episode with a sigh and a nod, completely glossing over you to speak to Mark instead. “Mr. Lee, please let me know if you need anything.”

You hear Mark respond in a pleasant tone, “Don’t worry, I know I’m in good hands,” but you don’t look at him yet. You force the gravity of your gaze onto Doyoung— an unwavering smile that creeps him out just enough to finally give up and leave the room, shutting the door behind him with a click, and finally allowing you to relax your shoulders and sink into the glossy, wooden table.

“Ugh.”

Stuck-up prick. The bane of your fucking existence, had it not been for the reappearance of Na Jaemin, the other capricious asshole in your life. Your head cocks up, hearing the scratching noise of a chair being pulled out. Mark sits right in front of you, maintaining a smile. “Bad morning?” And you finally speak your first words to him, in the form of a raging rant about his hot mess of an executive.

“Hey, be honest, do you want me fired? Do you want me to make my first ever loss? Your employee, Na Jaemin, told me he got into this mess because Yoon Naksung and his friends were looking at him for too long. Does that make sense to you? Is that how a sane man operates? How the hell am I supposed to defend that in court? How the hell am I supposed to defend his ass when he gives me fucking nothing to work with, and all while having the balls to call me useless?”

You’re out of breath by the end of it. Whew. That felt so freaking good.

“Sorry.” You eject yourself out of your tantrum upon hearing Mark’s not-so-apologetic apology. You leer at him from across the table, watching the stillness of his apparent pleasant expression. “Jaemin can be kind of rude sometimes.”

This guy is Nalkkeutta’s boss, you remind yourself. He’s the source of your fattened up bank account and worsened sense of justice and morality for the past five months—

“Rude is an understatement. He’s a fucking piece of shit.”

—and he’s also somewhat your friend.

“I’ve never seen you this angry.” Mark laughs, relaxing into his seat. “Was he that bad?”

Nalkeutta and JSS Law firm’s partnership has existed prior to your employment here. However, you’ve know Nalkkeutta’s boss even before you’ve entered law school, much less started working here. Kim Doyoung doesn’t know this, obviously. Their background check on you did not go as far as finding out your regular patrons throughout the four years you spent working at a run-down cafe-bar downtown throughout the entirety of your undergrad.

The cafe’s name was The Hangman. Pirate-themed, which was used as a frequent justification by your boss to never fix the broken chair legs, unkempt storage boxes, and occasional leaky ceilings. They add to the aesthetic, he says.

Anyhow, it was then that you first met Mark Lee, around three weeks into your first shift. He’d usually come in at around 10 p.m., order an old fashioned at the counter, flash you a pretty and boyish smile, then quietly read on the same spot until one in the morning before thanking you and leaving. Each time, you clock the hardbound cover titles. The Laws of Human Nature. Man’s Search for Meaning. Leviathan. Confessions of an Economic Hit Man.

Frankly, the crap he regularly reads worked better to make him look more daunting than his overall appearance. Mark Lee wore the visage of a cute, college literature major— covered in knit beanies and warm cardigans and all— but carried books and ordered drinks that made him seem like he was fifty-seven years old. The only time you found an opening was the time he finally brought a long something other than self-help or pretentious nonfiction. Kafka on the Shore. “I didn’t peg you as a Murakami guy.”

Mark Lee was taken aback when you first talked to him. He asked what made you say that.

You referenced the previous books he’d been carrying along. He blinked, laughed, then said that he actually preferred reading fiction. He’d only been reading all that obnoxious bullshit (your words) because he was fascinated with the mental gymnastics (his words) some people were capable of, and he was just compelled to read more. You’re still not sure how much of that defense was true, but that doesn’t really matter because your conversations gradually strayed away from books to your daily life instead— your classes and readings and the annoying customers you’d regularly had to deal with at work. It’s mostly you doing the talking, and it’s mostly because you otherwise had no one else to talk to to kill time during your night shifts at The Hangman.

“Was he that bad?” you parrot, sarcastically. “He said that you did a shit job picking a lawyer. You tell me, Mark Lee. Do you think your executive is a stellar guy?”

Mark only laughs. You grunt and slump in your seat, arms crossed as you observe Mark’s expression from across the table. It seems like he doesn’t mind you talking shit about his people this much. His lips are pressed in a perpetual, easygoing smile as he eyes the set of folders and documents on your side. You bite the inside of your cheek. From his appearance alone, you wouldn’t have guessed him to be the head of the most notorious gang in the underbelly of Yeongdeungpo. In fact, you would never have guessed it if you didn’t take an extra shift one day at The Hangman.

You ended up staying later than your usual 2 a.m. to cover for a co-worker. It was a weekend, so you didn’t mind much. Mark Lee hadn’t shown up that night. That is until you saw him come in at the store thirty minutes after two— deviating from his usual routine in more ways than one when he didn’t stop to order a drink, when he was with someone else who you were frankly too intimidated to look at for too long. When he went in and up the staircase at the back of the bar that was otherwise off limits because it led to your boss’s office in the upper area— and none of your supervisors came to stop him nor even attempt to look at him when he came back out with his big, scary companion walking three steps behind him while carrying a large and heavy looking black bag.

This happened a few more times. And Mark Lee would always smile at you when he’d pass by the bar counter. That’s when you knew something was up. But you knew better than to dig your nose into that kind of business.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the ability to see the future back then.

You look at the guy sitting in front of you right now. Mark Lee’s eyes flit up from your documents to look at you again, hands clasped together and resting gingerly on the conference table. “I’d sincerely like to apologize on his behalf,” he starts. You feel a thump in your chest. “But I hope his uncooperativeness isn’t making it impossible for you to win the case, attorney.”

Yup. That was a threat. Get my errand dog out of jail— even if he bites you in the process, is what he’s trying to say. Mark Lee may have been your bar regular and friend at some point, but right now he is your client— the most important client your firm has ever had the pleasure of receiving. He is not your friend right now. He is your high school bully’s boss. He is the head of the biggest organized crime group in the district. And your law firm is just one of the many cogs running his criminal machinery. One slip up, and he could just wrench you out without a second thought.

“Of course it’s not impossible. What do you think of me?”

You slide the first file you have down the table. Even if Na Jaemin is fucking useless, you’re not letting him ruin your flawless performance record. You’re not letting him give Mark Lee a reason to throw you away.

“What’s this?”

“The witness list. Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong,” you start. “Your dog fucked them up really badly. I already met their lawyer. He was being dodgy about it, but I doubt they’d let him off with a simple settlement.”

A glint flickers in Mark Lee’s eyes are your introduction.

“I already have another meeting scheduled with him this week. I’d like to talk to the three victims personally, but you know I’m not allowed to do that.”

He hums, glossing over your file before setting it back down on the table, fingers pressed firmly on the page as he looks up with a pleasant smile. “When should I take care of them?”

A shiver crawls down your spine. “I’ll let you know depending on how the second meeting goes,” you answer. “Even if the three of them testify, there won’t be enough evidence to prove his guilt beyond reasonable doubt based on what the prosecution has so far. I don’t know why the fuck their counsel is even bothering with this. Na Jaemin would effectively be acquitted from his criminal charges.”

Your client appears to be satisfied, but you’re not done yet.

“However, that won’t absolve him from civil liability.”

No way in hell.

“Yoon Naksung’s party can still sue for damages. And they have enough evidence to guarantee a win. Na Jaemin would be fined at most, and I’m sure it’d be very easy for you to cough up a couple thousand for him. But that’s still a loss for me. And I can’t have that stain on my record.”

Your brows wrinkle. You release a breath.

“Talk to Yoon Naksung. Or Hong Hyunjae. or Ma Gildong, or whatever. It doesn’t matter. It might be hard to get through Yoon since he’s the one fighting the most for this, but the other two would be pretty easy. I hear Ma Gildong’s business isn’t in good shape lately. The address is on the file.” You rise up, leaning forward to reach an arm over. You drop an index finger on the exact spot on the document you were referencing, landing a firm thump on the table. “If the court hears that all of them were all equally beating the shit out of each other in a drunken episode, not remembering who started what, instead of it being a one-sided beating from your exec just because they looked at him wrong—”

Your eyes flit up. You meet Mark’s gaze— unblinking and dilated. You clear your throat and look away.

“Then—then, their case won’t be merited. The court would dismiss it in pari delicto.”

Mark Lee seems pretty fucking happy to hear that. He’s all smiles and applause and it stresses you the fuck out. “I knew I could count on you, attorney.”

You sigh, slumping back down in your seat. “I already have Na Jaemin’s medical report. If you could get at least two of the witnesses to cooperate, that would be great.” Mark responds with a nod and a hum. You sigh again. “We have so many competent lawyers here. Why do you keep specifically asking for me? Next time, go ask Doyoung, or something. I’m tired.” You’d give up this illegal but lucrative money machine just to see Kim Doyoung experience the life-or-death stress you’ve been experiencing these past five months. You really would.

“Because you’re good,” he responds lightly— genuinely. A little too genuine for your liking. Mark shoots you a smile as he tucks his abandoned seat back under the conference table. Uh oh. Here he goes again. “How about officially joining Nalkkeutta as the head of our legal department?”

“Hah,” you snort. “My hands may have gotten dirty, but I can still wash them, Mark Lee.” The look on his face tells you that he isn’t taking you seriously. You leer your eyes. You’re serious. You don’t intend on being Nalkkeut’s clean-up dog forever. Five months ago, you just happened to have shit luck with the desperation to match. Both bad luck and desperation are bound to run out at some point. You just hope they manage to burn out before this guy could burn you alive. “I’ll get back to you once I’ve met with their lawyer again. For the meantime, just keep an eye on the witnesses. Let me know if you find anything of importance.”

His eyes linger on you for a while, still smiling. You know where his head is at. Your grimace— even harder when he asks again to confirm, “So, is that a no?”

“Hell no.”

Mark clicks his tongue. “Worth a shot.” At this point, he’s already halfway out of the conference. “See you again, attorney,” he bids farewell

“God, please, no,” you respond with a grunt. He laughs. The door clicks shut. You groan and become one with the almond table.

How many times has he tried to recruit you already? You’ve lost count. You’re already being regularly run through the wringer at JSS, how much more under Nalkkeut? Jesus, you don’t even want to entertain the thought. So, you busy your head with your current main stressor: the Na Jaemin case. You force your face off the table with a grunt and pull out your ipad to double check the trial schedule. Two weeks from now. Thursday. Fuck all. How did you end up here?

In retrospect, maybe it was actually all your fault. Three months ago— two months into working at JSS Law Firm— you decided that you were sick and tired of being trapped in Kim Doyoung’s legal counsel team as an associate, without being granted any personal recognition or accolades. You wanted to prove your worth. You wanted to get your credit. This time, you’re going to get your first fucking big girl case. Even if it meant discourteously bulldozing into Kim Doyoung’s office like a chihuahua looking for a fight.

Which you did, only to be shell-shocked and surprised to see the face of your old bar counter friend— who might also be a gang leader— in the middle of a very…confidential conversation with your supervisor.

“Attorney, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Too late. You’ve already overheard their conversation. They were discussing a case much like your current one— one of Mark Lee’s executives got caught in the middle of an illegal firearms deal, and Doyoung was having trouble looking for a lawyer stupid enough to take the case.

He shooed you out, but you stayed. You simply had no choice. You had to bite the bullet. This was a spring-loaded opportunity, and you didn’t intend on feeling from it.

“I’ll do it. I can handle it.”

You did get your big girl case, alright. You won. But you also had to book a full body spa session after your first time shaking hands with a criminal— just to feel somewhat cleaner. Obviously, you’ve become a lot more jaded now. Your boss has decided to dump all of Nalkkeuta’s major cases onto your desk since then, and Mark Lee has been trying to poach you ever since.

JSS. Jinsilseong. Integrity. What a load of bullshit. Where’s the integrity in working as criminal clean up dogs? There’s neither integrity nor justice here. Yet you’re able to afford a decent apartment because of that tarnished integrity. Dirty money. You make yourself sick, but drive home and back to work again for the next few days with the car that money bought you, because there’s no way in hell integrity can give you a comfortable life.

*‎

“How’s your Nalkkeuta case going?”

Kim Jungwoo comes over to greet you at the division breakroom while you’re in the middle of making yourself a cup of instant coffee after three fucking hours of being hunched over your cubicle the whole day. You jolt upon hearing his voice, flitting your head over to the direction of his voice, and you’re greeted by a face that clearly has gotten his eight hours in.

Unlike you. Jungwoo and you joined the firm at about the same time, yet somehow you look as though you’ve been trapped here for a good ten decades. He bats his eyes at you with a pretty boy smile while waiting for your response. You grunt.

“Dreadful. Horrible. Do you want to take it from me and liberate me from this misery?”

The laugh he gives you in response probably means a no. You click your tongue, grunting as you set aside to give him space on the counter. “Is it that bad?” he asks, rustling through the cabinets for a coffee stick somewhere. Kim Doyoung should restock and feed his poor laborers better.

“Yoon’s party won’t settle. They’re dead set on pursuing a cIass action.” Jungwoo manages to fish one stick out. “Not to mention my own fucking client refused my visit. I miss the days where all I had to do was summarize court transcripts and deliver correspondences for Doyoung. You never really know what you’re missing until you lose it.”

That was a lie, but you’re miserable. You were able to meet all three of the witnesses last week, in the presence of their lawyer, obviously and unfortunately. Yoon Naksung seems to be their leader, because the moment you uttered the words ‘settlement’ and ‘compromise,’ he nearly jumped off his seat to full-on throttle you. You’d ask why the hell he’s so hostile, but you read their written testimony on the day of the incident. He recounted all the heinous crap Na Jaemin spewed out while he beat the shit out of them. Things you’d rather not repeat out loud. The other two witnesses didn’t seem as passionate as Naksung, like they just wanted it to be over with and forget how much Na Jaemin humiliated their asses by wiping their faces on the ground and proceeding to call them a bunch of bitch babies.

Anyhow, you have your last attempt of negotiation this afternoon with their lawyer. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter at this point. You just want to let the court know that you’ve done your due diligence of attempting to reach an amicable settlement. You’ve got other cards up your sleeve— you’ve always had.

Which is why Kim Doyoung doesn’t buy your whining and complaining when overhears it in the breakroom.

“Get a grip.”

You flinch. Doyoung makes an appearance by shoveling in between you and Jungwoo to the coffee storage. You two step aside. He releases a silent swear upon realizing there’s no more instant coffee left. So, he decides to release his pissy attitude onto the innocent cupboard door by slamming it shut with a loud bam!

You and Jungwoo look at each other. Bad executive meeting. Very bad, you two mentally agree, sharing a look and a nod. JSS has been dealing with negative press lately. Director must have dumped the burden of fixing it onto him. Poor guy. He deserves it.

Doyoung manages to compose himself in a matter of seconds. He inhales, chest rising, then adjusts his crooked glasses with a huff from lips, finishing it up by giving you a lowered stare. “I’m not really worried about your performance,” he carefully pronounces. “Nalkkeut always asks for you for a reason. Mark Lee gets along well with you, too. So, quit being dramatic.”

He gets along with you because you both like Haruki Murakami, never dug your nose into his business, and always cleaned up his messes. You doubt you’d get the same grace if you fucked this one up, especially considering it concerns one of his executives. Sure, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of your previous cases without much trouble besides your inherent workload. The problem this time is your client.

Ugh. Na Jaemin. That bastard. How dare he decline your visitation request when his freedom is on the line here? You need to brief him for the trial, make sure he doesn’t do anything fucking stupid that would jeopardize your case and fuck not only himself, but you over as well. His freedom isn’t the only thing on the line. Your record is. Your freaking license is. As much as you really don’t want to see his face again, you have to. And the only comfort you can find at the prospect of meeting him again is the very clear evidence that he does not remember you— whereas your bones are already shaking at the mere thought of having to face him again.

It sucks. This sucks. But even if it does, you force yourself out of the office later in the afternoon to meet the witnesses’ lawyer at a cafe downtown.

His name is Jung Sungchan from the District Prosecutor’s Office. He’s baby-faced. He still has the light in his eyes. You’ve never even heard of him before this case. Meaning, he’s far too irrelevant to have the gall to strut into the cafe, say his piece, then leave without even buying a freaking coffee.

“See you in court, attorney.”

Of course this meeting ends the same way as your other meetings have had: no settlement, no compromise, no nothing. You release a scoff once he sees himself out with a cocky ass grin and a pep in his step. Hah. Fucker thinks he’s winning. This bitch is a toddler in the field compared to you. You’re gonna show him just how ruthless the law could be in the hands of someone that could bend it. He has no idea what’s coming for him.

You pull out your phone. You text Mark a go signal. [Give me an update tonight]. You stare at your string of texts you’d just sent, squint, contemplate for a second, then bring up your phone to your face. [Also, please send a message to your locked up exec that I really have to meet him soon. Tell him to stop rejecting my visitation requests. Please. For the love of god]. You hit send again. You exhale. That does it. You fix up your things and prepare to start leaving.

While you make your way to the cafe’s exit, you unfortunately overhear a conversation. Not that you’d even tried to overhear. There are two girls sitting next to the counter— one with straight black hair and blunt bangs, the other one with a very bad bleach job— and they’re both just talking really, really loudly.

“That’s what you get for fucking my man, you tramp,” sneers the fake blonde.

“I’m telling you, I really didn’t know he was taken!” straight hair screeches back.

Oh, fuck. You didn’t want to hear this drama. You try your best to maneuver past them quickly, quietly, but you end up hearing more information as you walk by. “I already broke it off and apologized! Please just take down the post already—”

“There’s no way you didn’t know, and there’s no way in hell I’m taking your disgusting texts down. All your friends and family deserve to know how much of a dirty, manipulative skank you are. So that they’d know to keep their boyfriends away from you!”

“Look, I’d get down on my knees to apologize, but you posted not only my private texts, but my fucking nudes were in them, you bitch! I’m not fucking proud of hooking up with a man I didn’t know was taken, but you’re going too far! I—I could sue you for this!”

“Hah! As if! If anyone, I’m the victim in this situation! Not you! You’re the affair partner who seduced my man!”

Goddammit. You jerk back after a sudden stop six feet away from the exit. You shit your eyes, mutter a silent breath as you continue to listen to the high-strung argument behind you. Normally, you’re not one to butt into these things. It’s none of your business, and quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck. But maybe it’s because you’ve yet again been subject to do something that desecrates the very principles of your occupation— the very notions of what is just and lawful and good— that you find yourself spinning your heels and stomping back into the opposite direction before you could even reconsider.

“Excuse me. I apologize for interrupting without consent, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.”

You just want to balance out the scales of your negative karma— even by just a little bit. You’re doing this for no one’s good but your own. The two girls snap their heads at you, one visibly more annoyed than the other. You gloss over it.

“The right to privacy of communication is heavily protected by our laws and Constitution,” you begin. Blondie furrows her brows at you, a loading symbol practically spinning above her head. Straight hair looks at you, confused. You keep a straight face, digging into your bag. “Prying into the privacy of another’s conversation is a civil offense and a cause of action for damages. That’s one thing. Posting someone else’s sensitive and explicit conversations is another story.”

You pull out a card. “Who the hell are you? Why the hell are you butting in?” she snaps, the sound of her chair scratching the ground as she stands up in a huff to level you. You set your business card down onto the table, the words ATTORNEY AT LAW, all caps, facing right side up.

Blondie’s eyes look down. Her face pales. Then she looks up to meet yours. You almost snort.

“It is a criminal offense punishable by three to seven years imprisonment, or a fine not exceeding twelve million won. Or both.” You could very well be jumping the wrong ship here, but you got a fair sense that Blunt Bangs was telling the truth from how desperate she looks, and that Fake Blonde is simply high on a vengeful power trip over the wrong person. “And, considering the fact that you publicized it online through a post, if I heard correctly, it would also be considered a cybercrime. Meaning, you could be charged for both.”

You didn’t think she could get any paler. You’re proven wrong.

“Wow. That’s an impressive feat considering you had no idea you were committing those crimes. Amazing.”

It doesn’t take much longer for her to sputter out something incoherent and stomp out in a panicked frenzy while mashing something onto her phone, most likely trying to delete the post. Sometimes witnessing firsthand the dredges of humanity gives you a little bit of comfort that you’re not the shittiest person in the world. You release a breath, readying yourself to leave once more, only to be stopped by a quiet excuse me from the same table.

You look down. You’re met by the way too happy smile of Blunt Bangs. She looks cheerful. Oh, god. You’re not used to this kind of positivity. You feel a shudder down your spine and force down a lump in your throat.

“Hi,” she starts. “Thanks for helping me. Jeez. What a psycho.”

The girl asks if she can buy you a drink as a thank you. You have not known kindness ever since you started working at JSS, and, by proxy, Nalkkeutta, so you were possessed with the inclination to say yes even though you’ve just had an americano with three shots. You settle with a warm jasmine tea to spare your stomach lining. The girl introduces herself as Natty, and starts giving you an unsolicited rundown of how Fake Blonde just suddenly started sending her swears and death threats the other day alongside the revelation that she was apparently her fling’s girlfriend.

She came here all the way from Mapo just to apologize again and beg her to take down the post. And then you witnessed how that went down. “I really had no idea,” she huffs in complaint for the nth time. You take a sip from your half-empty cup, glancing at the time. It’s 4 p.m. Sweet. Doyoung still thinks you’re having the meeting right now. One more hour before you have to clock out. You decide to pay a bit more attention to Natty as a thank you for allowing you to slack off on the job. “Oh, by the way. Can I ask something?”

You set down the cup on the saucer. “Sure.”

“Did you maybe go to Ganghak High School? Around eight to nine years ago?”

And then you nearly choke on your own fucking spit. What the hell? You stare at her, wide-eyed in both surprise and innate fear. “Why...why do you ask?” Natty takes that a yes and immediately lets out a squeal, followed by the squeal of your name, followed by a very slow process of recollection on your part of a girl with similar blunt bangs in your repressed high school memories— then it clicks.

“I recognized your name on your business card, but wasn’t sure if you were the same person! Whoa! You’re a lawyer now! That’s amazing!”

Blunt bangs. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Pretty smile. You remember being classmates with a girl with that same description. You think they both have the same name. You don’t get the chance to second guess yourself because she starts talking about more people you vaguely remember in Ganghak— the class president who’s apparently on his third try at taking the Civil Service Exam, that one couple who apparently recently got married just two months ago in Jeju, that one kid who had once gotten his head dunked into the trash can on the first day of senior year because he came in without knowing the rules of the school.

He didn’t know who ran it. You did. Natty did. And that confirms the fact that you two had indeed been in the same hell once.

“Hey, do you have any idea what happened to Na Jaemin? I haven’t heard a single thing about him since we graduated and I moved towns.”

You look at her, a stiff smile on your face. She was your classmate. She was his classmate. If she can remember all those other people and what their roles were back in Ganghak, she’d very clearly remember yours as well. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard about him either.”

Natty gets the realization and immediately flinches out an apology. “O—oh, haha. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

“No, it’s alright,” you hum, smile softening. “I haven’t heard of him, either.”

Christ. This man really haunts you everywhere you go. Natty is great at conversation, and manages to smooth over that one bump as quickly as she can and proceeds to ask about any new hot places at Yeongdeungpo, ask about your job, you asking about what she’s up to in turn under it hits five in the afternoon and you have to return to the firm to clock out.

The both of you exchange numbers. You look at Natty’s saved contact on your phone with conflicted feelings.

Now that you’ve managed to slot the memories into place, you do in fact remember her. She was your classmate throughout the two short years you spent at Ganghak. On your first day, she was the first person who’d come up to talk to you— the only time she’d ever talked to you and vice versa. It took nine years for the both of you to have a conversation again. And there’s really only one person to blame.

*‎

(“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—!”

It’s Monday. You race down the now emptied hallways, eyes quickly scanning each door label that you zoom past in the off chance that you got carried away running and missed your room. To think this is how your year starts. You were looking forward to using the opportunity before homeroom to introduce yourself and make some new friends, but no— you just had to doze off because you spent the entire yesterday unpacking.

It’s a new neighborhood, new school. You’ve heard that most of Ganghak High School’s students came from Ganghak Middle, meaning almost everyone already knows each other here. They’ve already formed their respective cliques and cohorts and groups. You’re currently an outsider, and you need to put in the effort to change that. You need to make a good impression to get some god damned friends and not spend the rest of your two years here as a loner.

Which is why you feel a splashing wave of relief drenching your bones the moment you make it to your assigned class for the rest of the year— slamming a palm against the door, just in time for the bell to ring.

“Whoo! Safe!”

At least fifteen sets of eyes immediately zero in on you. You stand there by the door. You smile and nod.

“Hi, good morning.”

No one responds. They all look at you— some stares lingering longer than the others— but they all eventually divert their eyes before five seconds, releasing what you could only assume were sighs of relief, and then proceed to drown the classroom in a silence that’s so, so unnatural for a large group of fifteen to sixteen year olds.

That should have been your first sign that this school was far from normal.

What a great start, you mentally huff, scanning the classroom the seat you’ll be stuck with for the next two years, and you eventually clock a pair of empty desks in the middle of the back row. You walk over to the available seat, waiting to see if anyone calls out saying it’s theirs, and after a few moments of no objections, you sit yourself down on the wooden chair.

The moment you hook your bag on the left side of your new desk, you swore that the heavy silence pervading the classroom just got heavier.

You look up. You see someone from the center row, peeking over her shoulder at who you assume is you with a somewhat nervous jitter— as if she’s having an argument with herself in her own head and for some reason, you’re involved. That should’ve been your second sign, but despite your confusion and frustration, you sit still. You sit still until one side eventually wins the girl’s mental argument and she rises up from her seat, tentatively stalks up to you as the class’s eyes follow her short walk with anticipation, including yours.

“Hi, uhm,” she practically squeaks out, hesitant, eyes quickly flickering over to the classroom door before looking back at you. She inhales and smiles. Her bangs are covering her eyebrows. “I’m Natty.”

You greet back and introduce yourself. This is a really fucking weird first interaction, but you take what you can get. “Hi.”

The expectation would be that she’d ask you if you’re new here, if you’re a transferee, if you’d like to join her and her friends for lunch, but no.

Natty completely diverts your expectations by saying, point blank, “This may sound weird, but…you should maybe pick another seat.”

You blink. What the hell? “Why?”

The answer comes in the form of the sound of the classroom door violently swinging open, followed by a series of hushed exclamations, and Natty’s suddenly paled face snapping away from you within the same moment, scampering to return back to her seat at the center, without even giving you the grace of a response.

You didn’t think the room could get any quieter, but it does, even with the sound of graveled footsteps marching their way over to you— the only thing you can see of the late student’s arrival because for some damn reason, everyone has their head down, and you felt compelled to follow and shut up and catch up to your confused and bated breaths as you listen to the chair next to you screech against the tiled floor, and feel the presence of someone plop themselves down with a rattle and grunt, and at that moment, you feel like you were given the subconscious permission to look up again.

So, you do.

And when you do, you immediately lock eyes with Natty. Sorry, she mouths with a hand up her cheek, then just as quickly turns back to the front, leaving you to think— what the hell just happened?

Hesitantly, you crane your head to the right, sneaking a glance at the person who just yanked the atmosphere down into hell with just his arrival, the person who you’d be stuck with for the rest of the year by virtue of your seating arrangement.

Much to your surprise, you’re not met by a face. You’re met with someone hunched over, a mop of messy hair with his face buried into crossed arms over the desk with an aura that immediately repels you from prodding even an inch closer. You nudge your seat away to the left, making sure not to cross the invisible mark marked by the gap between your two desks. The only sign of life you glean is the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders— invisible to anyone but you solely because of proximity— which leads you to the conclusion that he’s sleeping.

Sleeping. Something tells you that it’s better that he stays this way. That something is the sigh of relief from the person sitting right in front of you as your homeroom teacher finally walks in.

At this point, you still haven’t seen your seatmate’s face. The only time you know of his name is during attendance, when your teacher calls out a hesitant, “Na— Na Jaemin…?” after double-taking at her class list, answered by nothing but a heavy silence despite having all seats in the classroom filled. She quickly nods in acknowledgement and moves forward after that. Just who the hell is sitting right next to you?)

*‎

Beyond your control, memories from that time of your life continuously flash behind your eyes as you drive back to the firm. A buzz from your phone momentarily interrupts you. It’s from Mark Lee.

[Thanks, attorney. We’ll take care of Ma Gildong first tonight. You can see Jaemin on Monday, next week 🧑‍🎓].

Na Jaemin on a Monday. You grimace. What a load of crappy poetic irony. You reply with a thanks and a middle finger. Mark Lee beeps back with a bright grin in emoji form.

#na jaemin x reader #jaemin x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #jaemin x you #na jaemin x you #na jaemin fanfic #jaemin fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct imagines #na jaemin smut #jaemin smut #nct dream smut #nct smut

785 notes · View notes