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azrielbrainrot · 7 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

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You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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lucyandthepen · 1 year

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love on the floor | njm

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

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

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

At least this job gets you free medical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll see about that.”

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

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

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

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

So, that becomes your master plan.

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

“Are you sure about this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t talk to them for you, sir.”

“Why not?”

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

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

“Something’s different.”

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I say something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to beg for my job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going, sir?”

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

“Are you… coming back?”

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

“A little bit.”

“Ask a little more nicely, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tense. You said so yesterday, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but…”

“But?”

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

“Thank you, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I just—”

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

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

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

“Sir, I—”

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

“What else would I call you?”

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

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

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

“Sir, I work for you.”

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

“To get you ready for work.”

“— walked into my bedroom—”

“Only whenever necessary—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t.”

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

“I really wasn’t, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s she doing it for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“I never said it like that.”

“You might as well have.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only if you stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s going to fire me?”

“I can think of one person.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir—”

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

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

“You’re not tense.”

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

“No, I’m not.”

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

“What? Not tense?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Be mine, miss secretary.”

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

His smile slowly mirrors yours as it grows.

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

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yourelliewillms · 3 months

Text

the guy from the record

store wasn't a guy?

ellie williams fanfic

━━ chapter 2 wc: 3.1k

read the chapters here !!

you've managed to become closer with the guy you're interested in! this feels like a dream, everything feels like a dream but maybe this (or he) is too good to be true.

hiii omg this chapter is way longer than the first one but i had to do it, i'm sorry !!! anyways i hope you like it <3

based on the guy she was interested in wasn't a guy at all !!

friendly reminder that he/him pronouns are used for plot purposes !! so please imagine ellie when i use them. i'm not writing about a man, i'd rather die, honestly.

7 in the afternoon. ellie spent the entire day looking at the phone number written on her wrist, scared that the black ink may erase at any time. she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose planning a whole dialogue in her mind that she probably would forget the second she heard your voice, she didn't even know what she was supposed to say to you, the girl that was basically interested in her.

but she knew how excited you were about this, everytime she closed her eyes she could imagine the look on your face if she called you. she knew that you needed someone to share your interests with and she couldn't deny that having someone to talk to about music sounded like a good idea to her too. ellie'd been alone at school for almost a year now and even if you didn't know that the guy you were wishing to date was actually her, you were going to find out at some point and, if you didn't get mad at her, you two could be really good friends, then ellie wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

the whole idea of finally getting to know someone running through ellie's mind while she stared at her phone and her fingers anxiously tapped the desk where her phone laid. she started to type your number on the screen of her phone. she breathed in, blinked quickly and cleared her throat when she pressed the 'call' button. she could already feel her heart pounding so hard threatening to get out of her chest at any second.

you walked in circles around your room with your phone in your hands. you could already feel your eyes drying for you couldn't even blink, you desperately stared at the screen waiting for that call.

but what if he didn't call you? what if he thought you were annoying and he was just being nice when he lent you that album? all kind of negative thoughts ran through your mind. just the idea of being rejected broke your heart into pieces and you could feel that knot in your stomach.

or maybe a worst scenario was that he actually called you. what would you say? would he expect an opinion about the album? would he want to talk to you or would he prefer a shorter conversation?

you fidget with your fingers and bit your nails from time to time as you too planned a whole script in case you had to carry a whole conversation with your crush. you wanted to impress him, show him that you could be as cool as he was.

bzzt

the sound of your phone took you out of your trance and you froze for a second. an unknown number, but you know very well who was calling you. your face lighted up and you immediately picked up the call.

maybe it was because of your excitement that you couldn't help screaming at the phone awkwardly "i loved the album!" you immediately frowned and closed your eyes regretting your whole existence. the cringe was physically hurting you and the seconds you had to wait for his answer felt like an eternity.

"hi to you too," you heard his raspy voice followed by a chuckle that warmed your heart in a second "i'm glad you liked it, it's became one of my favorites."

you started to play with a string of your hair. "i know, i liked it very mussh!" once again you'd embarrassed yourself, it felt like you couldn't stop shouting and screwing things up. just when you thought nothing could make this moment even worse, you heard the loud voice of your mother coming from the kitchen.

a shout of your name followed by a "dinner's ready!" you closed your eyes and sighed hoping that some god had heard your prayers, had mercy of you and avoided that your crush listened to your mom calling you.

but that was asking too much and you could hear a soft laugh coming from your phone. just when you were already feeling the drops of sweat on your forehead reminding you that embarrassing moment, that husky voice blessed your ears one more time. this time it sounded like a whisper, one that warmed your ear and it almost felt as if he were only inches away from you. he called your name and you stopped dead.

"tell your mom i say hi." you hummed trying to hide the panic and the butterflies that only one sentence caused inside you. all the fear you felt seconds ago was replaced by pure ecstasy.

you two talked for a few more minutes and ended the call. ellie felt on her knees and buried her face in her hands. the initial plan was to talk to someone from school and make friends, but why was she unconsciously flirting with you? was it really unconsciously or she didn't want to admit that she was doing it on purpose?

"hey, did you do the homework for today? i didn't do it and i can't have more bad grades. i was wondering if you..."

the voice of one of your classmates called your attention. you sighed and rolled your eyes, you were ready to deny the request, but you frowned when you looked up and realized that the request wasn't for you.

you turned to your right and there it was, your classmate jesse talking to ellie. or rather than talking, he was disturbing her, interrupting her so much preciated tranquility.

"i didn't do it."

the response felt ice cold but she didn't seem annoyed, just nonchalant. you bit your lower lip in order to stop the laugh coming out of your mouth.

"really? but you look like a nerd..."

now the soft smile on your lips slowly faded and your teeth bit your lips so hard they were turning a dark red, the blood threatening to come out from the corner of your lips. you furrowed your eyebrows and scrunched your nose. the conversation was none of your business but you felt the sudden impulse to say something, you couldn't stay quiet and see how someone insulted your classmate.

"so you ask for help and then diss her?" your words came out like a bark "how childish." both of them were now looking at you in surprise. ellie's mouth half opened, the green orbes grew bigger than ever. she blinked a few times before fixing her glasses with her index finger while she cleared her throat.

you just watched jesse leave without saying a word but you could notice his embarrassment miles away. you smiled proudly as your eyes fell on ellie. she mouthed a 'thank you'. you nodded and couldn't help smiling.

only the sight of her felt familiar, had she always been like that? with that little sparkle in her eyes that tickled your stomach and in some way made you feel a connection with her, feeling as if something about her would be able to captivate you any time.

you stared at the notebook in front of you trying to make up your mind. maybe she was a nice person and this was a sign to talk to her, maybe it was the sign of the beginning of a good friendship.

you opened your eyes as soon as you heard the sound of your alarm. never in your life have you been happier about waking up at 8 in the morning on a saturday. you got up from your bed and appreciated the cute outfit laying on your bed, the one you'd carefully chosen the night before. spending hours on choosing the best clothes from your closet and doing your makeup to make you look stunning was worth it if it meant seeing your crush one more time.

you held in your hands the album he had lent you some days before and you couldn't hide the excitement that the butterflies inside your stomach caused. your left hand brushed your cheek and you felt the warmth of your skin almost burning.

you hadn't payed attention to the weather outside because what could go wrong? all the past days had been okay, why would this one be different?

before you cross the front door of your house, tough, your frizzy hair was already warning you something. the bright and warm sun that was beautifully shining the previous day was now all covered in heavy gray clouds that were taking with them the shiny colors of the flowers on the porch of your house.

it was just a 10 minutes walk from your house to the preciated record store but it took only 5 minutes for the pouring rain to start soaking your hair that had taken hours to get done.

but not a single thought of going back home crossed your mind, that was definitely not an option. nothing was going to stop you from having that desired love life you'd prayed for so much for so long. some rain wouldn't screw it up.

your path to the record store consisted of you running to get there faster taking little breaks under the trees that covered you from the rain. you inhaled and prepared yourself to start running again, it kept like that until you finally were only one block away from the place.

the light coming from inside the store gave you an immediate feeling of warmth. the characteristic music of the place was softer than the other days for the sound of the raindrops falling onto the floor was mostly the only thing you could hear.

you sprinted towards the door, the familiar ring of the bell welcoming you once again to your now well known record shop. your eyes scanned the room and stopped at the stunning figure you soon recognized.

it was the guy, your guy. it seemed like he'd also been outside because his hair and face, which was still covered with a mask, were adorned with tiny raindrops. he was drying his forehead with his shirt revealing his well toned abdomen, the small freckles highlighting his pale skin.

soon you felt the warmth quickly coming back to your body almost rushing. your uncolored cheeks now growing crimson while you clenched your teeth afraid that your jaw would fall to the floor if you stared too much.

it didn't take too long for him to notice your presence. he turned around to look at you with those hypnotizing emerald eyes, you could notice the concernment in his eyes as soon as they fell on you. he quickly grabbed the gray hoodie laying on the counter.

"hey, you might catch a cold."

his raspy yet soft voice blessing your ears and before you realized it, he handed you his hoodie.

"you can wear this."

this was the moment you coul swear that that was not rain at all, that was holy water. the day you thought was ruined had became a day you'd remember your whole life. it took you a minute to go back to reality and confirm that this scene was not a product of your imagination.

"oh, thanks." you couldn't hide the sweet smile on your face and you could tell that he was smiling too by the way his eyes looked at yours.

you put the gray hoodie on and all you could think about was the nice smell coming from the fabric, a mixture of a sweet yet woody perfume combined with his natural scent invaded your nostrils and was quick to make you head over heels.

meanwhile, ellie was sweating just by the thought of the possibility of her clothes smelling. but there's no chance that you could find this new fragrance other than pleasant.

after spending what felt like minutes but was actually more than an hour in the record store talking about the things that you had in common, which was not much more than music, but that was enough to make your heart flutter and giggle at his spontaneous jokes and at times sarcastic behavior.

minutes felt like seconds and you had the feeling that you two had something special. the natural conversations and casual jokes made everything feel right and, in some way, it made you think that all the scenarios you made up at midnight before falling asleep while you listened to a playlist you'd made specially for him, could become real. because you were like that, only a few days of seeing this guy and you'd already made a playlist for him with all your favorite songs in it.

"i wanted to share something with you." you hold your breath as you waited for a response.

"yeah? what is it?" you heard the curiosity in his voice.

"it's kinda stupid but i..." you doubted for a second before finishing your sentence "i made a playlist with my favorite songs, maybe you want to listen to it?" your fingers fidgeted with your rings.

his gasp was almost inaudible but loud enough to let you know that he was actually excited about this. "that's not stupid at all, that's awesome." the green eyes looked for yours "send it to me right now, please."

you immediately looked down at your phone in an attempt of hiding the sparkles in your eyes while you sent him the link of the playlist, little did you know that it would soon become that guy's, or ellie's, favorite playlist.

the feeling of your empty stomach reminded you that it was time to go back home and after chatting a bit more with your favorite employee of the record store, you waved and said goodbye to him with a sweet smile, his own eyes smiling at you too thanking your for your visit.

you'd always been fond of participating in every festival that your school organized. this time wouldn't be the exception, your mind was already full of ideas for the spring festival and just the thought of being in charge of it excited you. you'd already decided the music, decorations and organized the little shows that some of the students would make, everything carefully organized by yourself.

but your plans couldn't be as perfect in reality as in your mind, it was when you heard your professor's voice that you knew this was going to be harder than you thought.

"you'll work with jesse, he needs extra points." your jaw fell to the ground when the professor basically forced you to work with one of your classmates, one that you'd already had a little argument with. it wasn't like you hated him but you'd never worked with a boy before, let alone being close with one, with the exception of the guy from the record store, of course.

"i can't... i won't work with him alone, i-" you looked around your classroom with the hope of finding someone who could save you from this situation, someone who you knew would be helpful and would make the atmosphere less awkward.

your face lighted up when your eyes noticed the person next to you, a smirk placed on your face for you'd found the perfect one.

"i think ellie'd do great if she helped us with the organization too." you patted her shoulder. she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked into your eyes for an explanation "you can help us with the music. you have good taste after all, right?" your voice softened when you turned to her, your face expression almost begging for her to accept your offer.

"i- uhm..." she swallowed when she noticed you were watching expectant at her "i guess i could try?" her rising tone making it sound as a question rather than an affirmation. the familiar sweet smile on your face thanking her was everything she needed to confirm that she wouldn't regret this decision.

you spent some minutes thanking her after everyone left the classroom, this being one of the first times you had a conversation with her that lasted more than two words exchanged. it wasn't too deep though, some instructions about the organization of these festivals mixed with words of encouragement for her before she left the classroom.

the room all empty now, every sound you made echoed between the walls as you packed up your belongings and put on your backpack ready to leave too, but the shinning screen of the phone lying on the desk next to yours called your attention. you grabbed it in your hands and carefully examinated it. "it's ellie's phone" you thought.

you turned to look at the door expecting ellie to come back looking for it, but not a single soul seemed to be near there. your attention went back to the mobile. the unlocked screen with a song playing on it, a song you well knew, awoke your curiosity. you'd always hated people who snitched in other's phones but you couldn't help it, plus, there wouldn't be any damage in looking into someone's playlist.

a little grin placed on your face as you noticed the so much similar taste in music you two seem to have. what a coincidence that these were all your favorite songs!

your smile faded and turned into a frown as you read the tittle of every song, one after one. the cold sensation at the back of your neck hitting you when you reached the end on the playlist. all you favorite songs, all in one playlist, the playlist you'd made which only one person was able to listen to other than you. the phone fell from your shaky hands onto the desk, your breath getting faster with each thought running through your mind, the sudden realization hitting you like cold water.

the sound of the door opening took you out of your half-conscious state. "oh, you're still here." you couldn't even face her, now it all made sense "i forgot my phone." the voice you soon recognized making you shiver.

you took a deep breath before turning at her and faking your best smile as you handled ellie her phone "yeah, here." you tried to hide the shaky voice caused by the knot on your throat. "thanks, see you next week!" you watched as she left the classroom once again, then your hands fell on the desk in front of you as you tried to catch your breath and swallow the incontrollable feeling of crying.

these past few weeks, the days you spent talking to what you thought was a guy, was actually a girl? it was not only a girl, it was your classmate, ellie.

taglist: @ohnopoteito (and the editor 💋💋 thank u for your help you've won a crocheted gift 👏👏👏 parabéns) @bready101 @everegretseverything @idk-sam @jupitersversionn @seraphicsentences @fatbootymuncher @ilovetocas1 @blackandwhitewindows @nombreuxx @mooneylou

#ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x you #the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #the guy she was interested in wasn't a guy at all

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shadowynn · 2 years

Text

| the paradigm complex | one |

pairing: ot8 ateez x fem! reader

genre: yandere!vampire!cult!poly! ateez au

warnings: yandere behavior, some cursing

They'll do whatever you ask. Anything you need. Anything you want. It's yours. They'll fulfill your every desire and whim. Give you the life you had always dreamed about.

And in exchange, you wouldn't just give them your soul. Oh, no. They weren't demons. What good was your soul alone when your purpose was better served alive and well? Your soul was nice, sure but it wasn't all they wanted. It wasn't all they needed. They needed your body, your mind. Your blood. You entirely. Every single fiber of your being was essential and would soon be theirs and theirs alone.

The moment you signed that contract, everything would change. For them and for you.

You just didn't know it yet.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

wordcount: 4.8k

a/n: it's here! perhaps a bit shorter than i expected, but as i was getting into things, i figured this was a good place to end the first chapter. i am so incredibly excited for this project and can't wait to start getting into the nitty gritty of it all. if you weren't around for the preview a while back, or just missed it, this piece is inspired by the movie 1BR with the addition of vampires, because I just can't help myself. (though, these types of vampires won't be like your typical vampire) this work will be a lot different than my other, in both writing style and in content, as it will have an overall, much darker tone. sure, they'll be plenty of fluff pieces. like i have so many scenarios in my mind i want to do (helping mc move in and putting furniture together, random shopping trips, movie/game nights, letting mc do laundry at their place when your machine just so happens to 'break' etc.) but their relationship with mc will not exactly be the healthiest. hope you all enjoy :)

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“So, what do you think?”

You were startled from your thoughts at the voice that spoke up next to you. The empty seat beside you now occupied by the sweet-talking man who had been your tour guide for the day - Yeosang if you were recalling it correctly. It had surprised you how young he had been when you had signed in for the open house an hour or so ago and you were once again struck by that very same notion as he plopped down next to you, pocketing his phone and propping his head up with his right arm.

“It’s very nice,” you replied, eyes once more taking in the scene around you. After touring the available unit for the first half of the showing, you had been brought to the center of the complex that was used as a community center. The outdoors area was enclosed by the building around it and included everything from a garden and greenhouse to a swimming pool and grilling area. “And the community also seems great.”

You referred to the young boy currently sitting in your lap, content with scribbling over one of the applications you had been given at the end of the tour to fill out. You didn’t know anything beyond his given name, Junseo, but he had become attached to you when you had noticed him crying on the ground near the edge of the garden. While the others in your group had swept their eyes right past the sniffling child, you had approached him, rustling through your purse for the bandages you kept there when you noticed the cut on his knee. His mother had thanked you profusely when he had led you to her, too busy attending to another part of the garden to notice what had happened. And though you had left him with her, it didn’t take long for him to return to you, preferring your calm company over the few other kids scattered around the grounds while his mother worked.

You thought it strange, but the wave his mother sent you when she saw him with you told you she didn’t mind. It made you wonder just what sort of community there was here for her and the others to be comfortable letting their children run unsupervised, especially with people they didn’t even know.

It was just another piece of evidence of how nice this place was. You had heard the rumors, but seeing it in person was something else. There wasn’t a single factor about this place that deterred you in any way, and the longer you spent here exploring it, the more you fell in love with it. It was absolutely perfect, everything you could ever wish for, but-

“But…” As though he had read your mind, the man finished your train of thought, a hint of a smile tracing his lips as his eyes traveled to the papers you had left for Junseo to scribble over.

“But it’s a bit out of my price range, I’m afraid.”

A bit was an understatement; the place was double what you could reasonably afford. Though you had known that going in. Since The Paradigm had popped up a few years ago, it had quickly risen the ranks to become one of the most prestigious and highly exclusive apartment complexes in the city. You had known the price for the available unit would be high above your budget, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from signing up for the open house the following weekend when you noticed a few spots were still available. It wasn’t often units opened up, with the last one being nearly a year ago, and the timing had been impeccable.

You weren’t really looking for a new place to live. You had one in the south end of town with your boyfriend, and yet, that hadn’t stopped you from looking at available housing in the city on your laptop late at night when he was still at ‘work’, but you wanted out. You had wanted out for months now since you had first caught wind he was cheating, and still cheating, but it had always seemed so impossible. You were still finishing up your last year in school, and even with working enough hours to be considered full time at the bookstore, you could barely afford your half of the rent. A fact he readily reminded you of any time you threatened to leave him. As much as you hated every time he said it, he was right. You did need him. Unless you were willing to sacrifice your own safety and move into a shitty unit in a sketchy part of town, you were stuck exactly where you were. You needed him and he was more than happy to hold it over your head.

Perhaps it was because of this that you had come out today. He had been scheduled weekends at the hospital for the month, leaving you more than free and able to come to the open house without him questioning you on your whereabouts when you left. The Paradigm was a life you could never afford, and yet, it was nice to escape reality for a few hours. To sit and imagine what your life would be like if you hadn’t landed yourself in such a sticky situation. And yet, you hadn’t expected the stab of melancholy that had hit you as you had roamed the studio apartment available, nor as you sat here in the courtyard with the pleasant buzz of the complex’s current tenants as they took advantage of the beautiful day.

“Does that mean you’re looking for a place on your own, then?” he asked, attempting to blow back the piece of hair the wind had cast in front of his eyes.

“Myself?” you asked, unable to stop the tiny stab of panic that ran through you at the mention of you being on your own. Was that something you could really do? Was leaving him something you could really do? “Uh, yeah, it would just be me.”

“Well, if you ask me, it doesn’t hurt to still apply. We’re always more than willing to negotiate prices for the right person,” he hummed, fingers tapping against the table. “Though it would probably be best if I grabbed you a new copy. Junseo seems to have taken yours for himself.” At the mention of his name, Junseo looked up and matched the goofy smile Yeosang sent his way.

“That’s very kind of you, but even then…” You turned your face away, fighting the blush the embarrassment your current situation brought. Despite attempting to dress up for the event, you still stuck out from the others who had signed up. The designer clothes and custom handbags a stark contrast from the outfit you had thrifted the day before. Hell, even Junseo had nicer clothes than you to run around the garden in. “To be completely honest, I really just wanted to get an inside peek of this place. I knew I couldn’t afford to live somewhere like this at the moment, or perhaps ever, but I thought it might be fun to just imagine it for a moment.”

You resituated Junseo’s position in your lap, taking in the people milling around the grounds. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm compared to the rainy days that had plagued the city for the past week. It was the perfect day to spend time outside and enjoy what little remained of summer and you could see yourself fitting in well here. Helping out in the garden in between playing with the few children scattered about. Maybe even take a dip in the pool afterwards to cool off from a hard day’s work before lounging in a nearby chair to soak up the last bits of the summer sun.

It was just too bad it was a lifestyle you could never afford on your own. Not while you were still in school and already struggling with bills and debt as it was.

“But you are currently looking for a new place to live, right?”

“It’s not an immediate necessity at the moment, but yes,” you nodded, “if given the opportunity, I would move in a heartbeat. Not just here, but anywhere. As long as it was safe and something I could call my own.”

“Then fill out an application.” He ruffled around in his bag, pulling out another application and pushing it towards you. “I’m close with the owner and can put in a good word for you. Just fill it out, list the rent you can feasibly pay at the moment, and we might be able to work something out. After all, we’re much more concerned about quality than quantity here at Paradigm.”

“You would do that?” Your eyes widened, wondering why on earth this man would do that for you when the rest of the group you were with would be willing to pay twice the starting rent just for the opportunity to say they lived in the most exclusive complex in the city. “Why?”

“I like to think I have a nose for good people,” he smiled, fingers tapping against the application, “and you’re a good person, y/n, I can smell it. So, come on, Junnie,” he reached for the boy on your lap, ignoring the pout that crossed his lips as he took him from your hold, “let’s get you back to your mother so the pretty lady can fill out her application.”

He left you at that, but only made it a few feet before he was stopped by a nearby couple in the tour group. By the glance they sent your way, you knew they had overheard Yeosang’s mention of putting in a good word for you and hoped to earn a similar feat for themselves. After all, it didn’t matter who was the first person to apply for the unit or who was the highest bidder when it came to The Paradigm. You didn’t get to choose whether or not you lived here. They chose you. And a good word from the tour guide was exactly what you needed to get in.

Not wanting to stick around for the conversation, Junseo wriggled his way out of Yeosang’s grasp and made off in the direction of his mother with one last toothy grin in your direction.

You turned back to the second application he had handed you, twirling the pen in your hand as you mulled it over. None of it made much sense in your mind. Why would they select your application when there were hundreds of others that would willingly pay triple what you could? But even if that was true, and the chances of you getting in were close to zero, what did you have to lose? What was the worst that could happen? That you’d be left exactly where you started. In a shitty situation, but no shittier than it already was. And on the tiny chance it did go through, well, your entire life could change. You would have that fresh start you had been yearning for so long.

That and, well, there was something charming about Yeosang, something about him that was enticing. It didn’t slip your notice that he had called you pretty in passing, and though you knew it was just the way his personality seemed to be, you still felt a pull towards him. He was someone you could get along with, that much you could tell. Someone that you would enjoy getting to know and become friends with if you had the chance to.

So, before you could overthink it and talk yourself out of it, you pulled the application closer towards you and began filling it out.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If there was one thing in life that stressed you out, it was phone calls. You never knew what about them always caused your anxiety to spike each time you saw an incoming call flash up on your phone screen, but you avoided them as much as you could, preferring to either text or talk in person. So, when a call from an unknown number interrupted the song coming from your car’s speakers, you made to silence it knowing that if it was important, they would just leave a message. However, something about the number on your screen seemed familiar and made you pause.,

You didn’t want to talk to anyone at the moment, not after all the shit you had dealt with the first half of your shift for the day, but your finger still hovered over the accept button as you quickly searched your brain for the reason behind its familiarity. Thinking it might just be your doctor finally returning your call for the refill you had been waiting for or even possibly a call on one of the countless job applications you had been filling out the past few weeks, you grudgingly accepted figuring it would be better to get it over with now instead of living with the stress of what it might be the rest of your shift.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this l/n y/n?”

“Um, yeah.” You shifted the phone in your hand, trying to place the familiarity of the voice on the other end. “This is y/n.”

“This is Kang Yeosang from Paradigm. I’m calling to let you know that your application for unit 604 has been accepted.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

You couldn’t hold back the gasp his response elicited, but you were able to catch the string of curse words before they slipped out. Despite Yeosang’s promise of putting in a good word for you, you had never expected anything to come out of it. Not when you had followed through with his suggestion and wrote down the actual amount you could feasibly pay for the place. And though you had held on to some hope something would come from it, you had already come to accept the fact you would never hear from them again.

“I can assure you, I’m quite serious,” he chuckled. “I talked with the owner about your application and he was more than willing to accept it as long as you were willing to accept a few additional stipulations that I’d like to discuss with you now if you have the time.”

“Oh, okay.”

You did your best to hide your disappointment, already fearing the worst. Despite Yeosang’s insistence they were willing to negotiate on pricing, you should have known they would never just drop the rent in half for you because he had felt pity towards you.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like we’re going to ask you to sell your soul,” he chuckled. “You see, one of our administrative assistants recently put in her resignation and we’re in need of a replacement. When we looked over your application, we noticed the address of your current residence and place of work are on the other side of the city and came to the conclusion you would likely be in need of a job with a better commute if you were to move here.”

You felt yourself begin to relax; the dread his earlier statement had caused slowly being replaced with excitement once more as he began to explain himself. Was he alluding to what you thought he was?

“We’d like to extend a job offer towards you here at The Paradigm, which if you were to accept, would cover the cost of your rent in addition to a biweekly stipend to cover any other expenses you might have.”

“And what exactly would the job entail?” you asked, trying hard to cover the shock his reply gave you and trying just as hard to not let your hopes get too high before you figured out exactly what it was he was offering you. There had to be a catch. The offer was just too good to be true. So what was it? “I’m finishing up my last year of university online, but I would still need some flexibility in my schedule to account for my classes.”

“Oh, it would just be your typical administrative work. You’d mostly just be assisting myself and the other managers here and we’re more than willing to work around your class schedule,” Yeosang replied without skipping a beat. “I understand this is quite a bit of information for you to go through and a big decision to make, so please take your time. I’ll be sending an email to you here soon that includes a detailed description of the job alongside the logistics of your pay and housing for you to look through when you have a moment. It will help in giving you a clearer idea of just what you would be signing up for if you were to accept.”

You were silent, unsure of what exactly to say. What could you say? Everything you had wished for the past few months was finally being extended towards you. A new job, housing of your own, and most importantly, a way out of the toxic relationship you had been stuck in for so long. All of it. Everything you dreamed of for so long, now within reach.

There had to be a catch, right? It couldn’t be as good as it seemed, right? So, what was it?

“Like, I said, you don’t have to give me an answer now. Read through the emails I’ll be sending you and just give us a call back sometime within the next two weeks when you’ve decided.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had briefly looked over the emails Yeosang sent you over the last few minutes of your lunch break, but it wasn’t until the next morning that you had a chance to sit down and really go through them, bogged down with school work when you had gotten home from work the night before.

You were curled up on the couch with a blanket, nursing a cup of tea as you read through the email for the fifth time that morning, trying to figure out what the catch was. But just as always, you couldn’t find anything. Everything seemed straightforward and in order. No loops or holes or questionable activities in sight. The hours were flexible to account for your current classes, and they only required you to start working full time when you graduated at the end of the year. And yet, despite only having to work half the hours you currently were, it was still enough to cover your rent and utilities, as well as a more than generous stipend as long as you agreed to stay with them for the next two years.

There were a few other stipulations lined out towards the end of the agreement, but they were menial tasks compared to what you had been expecting, and something all occupants were asked to follow. It was mostly spending a few hours every month volunteering in the community garden - which also paid out in receiving part of the harvest for free - and then donating blood every other month as long as you were in fit condition to do so. You had found this last one strange until you remembered reading about how The Paradigm also ran their own blood bank which served the nearby hospitals, and requested their residents give through the program as part of their fee for living there.

You sighed as you reached the end of the email once again, eyes glancing up at the apartment around you. As usual for a Monday morning when he was working weekends, your boyfriend was nowhere to be found. He claimed work as the culprit per usual, but you weren’t oblivious to his charade anymore, not like you used to be. It wasn’t work that kept him out so late. It wasn’t his twelve hour shifts running long that kept him sleeping at the hospital instead of coming home. And when he finally came home tonight long after you had already gone to bed, you’d be stuck acting like nothing was wrong on the following days he had off.

You had wanted out of this hell for so long, but just always assumed it would be impossible, especially at your current stage in life. He was several years older than you and had a steady, well-paying job as a nurse at the nearby hospital. His offer had been so enticing when he had asked you to move in with him nearly two years ago, but that had been a different time. A time where his pretty face and charismatic character had swept you in before trapping you here with him with no way out.

You didn’t understand why he was so intent on having you stay. It was clear his interest in you had waned over the past year, but anytime you mentioned leaving, he flipped. Those were the nights when everything became blurred. You always went into the conversation with the full intent of leaving, oftentimes bags already packed and ready to go, only to find yourself curled up in bed with him once again the following morning, head pounding, memories blurred, and bags unpacked and put away.

He was always sweet to you in the days that followed, giving you his full attention and telling you how much he needed you and how much you needed him. Of just how important you were to him and how he would never be able to survive without you. But his words were only ever short lived, and he’d be back to his old habits a week or so later, creating an endless cycle with no way out. Or at least you had always thought.

All you had to do was accept the offer in front of you and you would have that fresh start you so desperately craved. No more shitty relationship. No more shitty job. No more shitty apartment. And no more feeling like complete shit because of all of it.

In front of you was the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity to live at one of, if not the most, prestigious complexes in the city, and for all intents and purposes, being paid to live there. All you had to do was accept. Accept the offer they had handed you and start your life over again.

And as Yeosang had joked, they weren’t even asking for your soul in exchange. It was simply being the right person at the right time. Not that it had mattered, you’d probably give it to them anyways if they had, gladly giving it away for the hell you lived in now.

Your hand hovered over the phone beside you, debating whether or not to call the number Yeosang had left for you and make the active decision to finally change your life.

“Thank you for calling The Paradigm Complex, how may I help you?”

You didn’t recognize the voice at the other end, signaling it wasn’t Yeosang you were speaking to this time around. And though it did make you a bit nervous, unsure of what the other workers might be like, Yeosang had promised everyone there was a delight to work with, including the upper management.

“Um, hi, this is l/n y/n, and I’m calling about my acceptance into unit 604.”

“Ah, Miss l/n, it’s a pleasure to hear from you. I’m Jung Wooyoung, one of the other Property Managers here at the Paradigm. Is there a question I can help you with or do you by chance have an answer towards your acceptance here?”

“Well, I’ve gone through the email you sent me a few times now and I think…” you paused for just a second, taking one final look at the apartment around you. “I think I would like to accept your offer if that’s okay with you.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear! We’ve all been very excited to have you on board with us here after everything our Yeosang has had to say about you. He has a great eye for people, after all,” he chuckled, easing some of your earlier worries. Yeosang was right. He seemed nice. And if these were the types of people you would be working with, it would be a vast improvement over your current workplace. “We’ll need you to come in sometime within the next week to go over and sign some paperwork before everything can go through and we can hand you your keys. Is there a time or day that works best for you?”

“Oh, well, I’m free today if that works,” you reply, feeling more eager than ever to finally go through with it now that you had finally made that first step. It was really happening. You were getting out of here. “It’s last minute, I know, so if not, I don’t think I’d be able to come in until Friday afternoon or Saturday morning.”

It was only a partial lie. You would probably have time to make it in before their office closed tomorrow or any time on Thursday, but then your boyfriend would start to get curious as to why you were either out late, or going out when you didn’t have work. And until all the paperwork was signed and everything was certain, you didn’t want to mention any of this to him. Not when he would do anything and everything to keep you from following through and leaving him.

“We could definitely fit you in sometime today if that’s what works best for you,” he replied and you could hear the distant clacking of a keyboard. “I don’t think Seonghwa is too busy today, so I’ll send him a message and let him know you’re coming in so he can help you get everything signed and situated. Does around two work for you?”

“Yeah, that works great.” It was impossible to keep the smile off your face as you switched your phone over to your other ear. “Do I just come in the same entrance I did for the open house?”

“The gate to the parking garage will be locked, but just page the front desk when you pull up and I can let you in. From there, just park where you did before in the visitor section and I can once again let you inside the building when you get to the door.” He paused for a second and you hear the muffled sounds of voices as someone approached him. “Sorry about that,” he continued after a few moments, “Seonghwa just popped in, so I let him know you’d be headed this way in a few hours. He told me to let you know that either Mingi or Yunho should also be free around that time to draw a sample of your blood for testing. That way we can see if you’re fit to be a donor with us during your stay, so make sure to drink plenty of fluids and eat beforehand.”

“You do it all there?”

“We have our own clinic on the property, yes, and though it’s mostly used as a blood bank for our give-back program, our staff on hand is also available and qualified to help with any other medical needs you might have during your time with us. All of which is completely covered.”

“Oh, wow.”

“It’s just one of the many added benefits you’ll have while you’re living and working here with us. All of which will be gone over with Seonghwa when you’re finishing up your paperwork later this afternoon,” he replied, and you could hear the chuckle your earlier response caused. "We like to think of The Paradigm as its own individual community here in the city and aim to be as self-sufficient as we can, so if there’s anything you ever need, just ask. We’re always more than happy to help each other here. Our only request is that you return the favor for us whenever the roles happen to be reversed.”

And they will. Oh, they will. You could count on that.

They'll do whatever you ask. Anything you need. Anything you want. It's yours. They'll fulfill your every desire and whim. Give you the life you had always dreamed about.

The moment you signed that contract, everything would change. For them and for you.

You just didn't know it yet.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @penguichuu @peppermint-tea-life @mrcarrots

just let me know if you would like to be added/deleted from the taglist! :)

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #vampire ateez #ot8 #ot8 x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #yeosang x reader #jongho x reader #wooyoung x reader #yandere ateez #yandere

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em-dash-press · 1 year

Text

Tips for Starting and Stopping Chapters, Plus FAQs

Even if you have the most exciting, engaging ideas for your novel, you might struggle to write it because you have to deal with chapters. These are a few of the most frequently asked questions about chapters and a few tips that might help you overcome manuscript challenges.

How Many Chapters Should a Book Have?

Unfortunately, there’s no straightforward answer to this question. Genres and intended audiences influence manuscript word counts. Younger readers will need shorter chapters to keep their interest and older readers might prefer longer chapters that dive deep into conflict or theme.

Storytelling elements also change the number of chapters per book. A fast-paced novel might have more short chapters to keep up the faster narrative pace. A slower novel might linger in wordier scenes, so there could be fewer chapters with longer page counts per chapter.

You can always look at comparable novels in the same genre to guestimate how many your manuscript could include. If you’re writing a Twilight-inspired novel in the same fantasy genre and Twilight has 26 chapters in a ~110,000 word count range, you could aim for a similar number.

What’s the Purpose of Chapters?

Chapters divide longer stories into segments that help readers process new plot events. They give people breathing room to digest heavier topics or moments by pausing or putting the book down to do other things for a while.

They also give more weight to cliffhanger moments or events made to shock readers. Even if they immediately flip the page to keep reading, the momentary pause lends gravity and meaning to whatever ends the chapter before.

Tips for First Chapters

Include Some Action

The first line of every chapter doesn’t need to be a dramatic car chase scene, but the chapter in its entirety should include some plot-moving action. It hooks readers and gets your pacing started.

Add Emotional Weight

Action can only intrigue readers so much. What’s the emotional weight compelling your protagonist to take part in, react to, or fight back against your inciting incident? Establish some emotional weight in the first chapter to motivate your protagonist, like showing how much they love their sister before getting betrayed by her in the inciting incident.

Avoid Infodumping

Readers don’t need to know everything about your world-building or protagonist in the first chapter. The infodumping only weighs down your pace. Sprinkle your descriptions and reveals throughout the first act of your book to keep readers coming back to learn more about the world.

Tips for Starting a Chapter

Introduce a Choice

Choices help stories move along at a pace that keeps readers engaged. If your protagonist is stuck in their head for most of a chapter, there’s nothing pushing your story forward. Always include at least one choice when starting a chapter, whether it’s big or small.

Keep Expanding Your Conflict

Every chapter should expand your primary conflict in some way. It might affect newly introduced characters, change your protagonist’s world, or require a sacrifice. As long as your conflict is relevant to your chapter in some way, your story will always remain true to its thematic purpose.

Remember Your Cause-and-Effect

An initial chapter sets up or introduces a conflict that gets your plot moving. If you’re unsure what to do in the following chapter, use it to address the effects of that previous chapter’s conflict. Although the conflict likely won’t get resolved that quickly, you can still write about your characters’ choices post-conflict or how the world changes in a way that affects their futures.

Tips for Ending a Chapter

Experiment With Your Endings

I used to be afraid of ending a chapter without some shocking, groundbreaking plot twist. Althought that’s a great place to put those moments, it’s not plausible to end every chapter with one. Where would your readers feel comfortable pausing for the night? When would they feel the quiet sanctity of peaceful moments where characters build trust between themselves?

Play around with your endings by refusing to be afraid to cut your manuscript into segments. If one doesn’t feel right during your read-through, you can always merge it into the next chapter and cut them differently during editing.

Use It to Shift Your Story

When your story needs to change times of day, locations, or perspectives, that’s usually a good sign that you need a page or chapter break. It’s not always necessary, but these are the types of chapter breaks that give readers breathing room.

Again, you can always re-work your chapters during editing if you find that they aren’t ending in the right places during your first few read-throughs.

Ramp Up Your Tension

Who says chapters always have to end on a cliffhanger? You can also end them when the action or tension is becoming more intense. When two characters are in the car on the way to rob a bank, they argue over whether or not to actually shoot people. One character’s eagerness and the other’s disgust raises the tension. As it escalates into them yelling in the parking lot, the chapter can end when one leaves the car and slams the door.

Ending on a moment of heightened tension is another reason readers turn pages and stay engaged. In the above case, they might not be able to put the book down until they find out if the robbery resulted in murder.

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Starting and stopping chapters can cause plenty of anxiety, but remember—you’re always in control of your manuscript. Play around with these ideas and make any necessary changes in your editing phases. You’ll figure out the best way to organize your story by chapters and develop more confidence in your long-form storytelling abilities.

#creating chapters #writing chapters #chapter length #writing a first chapter #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #writers of tumblr #writing #writing help #creative writing #writing inspiration #writing community #writing a novel #writing a book #writing a story

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jsbluu · 4 days

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left on seen | chapter 2: 13 reasons why

➨ chapter 1: party time! ➨ left on seen masterlist ➨ next

➨ a/n: 2nd chapter finished woooo!! i am so stupid i kept writing chenle's part as jeno's.. thank god i realized before i published any other chapters. speaking of chapters.. these are getting a little long (oops) let me know if you guys prefer longer or shorter chapters! thank you for reading and let me know if you want to join the taglist :p

taglist: @ldh0000 @bococostree @sunghoonsgfreal @dinonuguaegi

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indestructibleheart · 1 year

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[Yet Another] 'Questions for Fic Writers'

I need to get back into the fic-writing mindset, so I'm posting my own list of writer asks. Send me a number (and feel free to reblog)!

What inspired you to start writing fanfiction?

How do you come up with your plot ideas?

Are there any specific themes you enjoy exploring in your fics?

How do you channel characters' voices and personalities?

What techniques do you use to create believable dialogue?

Do you prefer writing shorter, standalone fics or longer, multi-chapter stories?

How do you handle writer's block or moments of creative stagnation?

Do you have any rituals or habits that help you get into the zone?

Have you ever collaborated with someone else on a fic?

What's your favorite part about the fic writing process?

Are there any tropes that you particularly enjoy writing?

Are there any clichés or tropes that you actively avoid in your fics?

What's the most challenging aspect of writing fanfiction for you?

How do you go about researching details or canon information?

Do you plan your fics or prefer to let the story unfold as you write?

How important is it to you to stay true to the original creator's vision while writing fanfiction?

What's the most memorable comment or review you've received on one of your fics?

Are there any fics or authors that have been particularly influential or inspiring to you?

What's the most unusual or unique setting you've used?

How do you approach action sequences or intense moments?

Have you ever used fanfiction as a way to explore your own emotions or personal experiences?

What role does humor play in your writing? Do you enjoy adding comedic elements to your fics?

How do you write endings for your fics? Do you prefer open-ended or conclusive conclusions?

What advice would you give to someone who wants to start writing fanfiction?

Are there any specific writing tools that you find helpful?

How do you approach plot twists or surprises in your fics?

What two (or more) fandoms would you like to see a crossover for? Would you ever write it?

What's the most ambitious or challenging fic you've ever written?

Are there any characters, relationships, or general character dynamics you've never written about but would like to try?

How do you handle writing multiple storylines or subplots?

Do you prefer writing from a single character's perspective or switching between different viewpoints?

Have you ever participated in fanfiction contests, challenges/fests?

How do you incorporate world-building elements into your fics?

Are there any fic writing tips or tricks you've learned along the way that you'd like to share?

What do you enjoy most about being a fic writer?

#m:game #fanfic asks #writer ask game

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modern-day-bard · 8 months

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Masterlist

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller Fanfiction

Summary:

Guinevere Russell is the sole heir to the multimedia conglomerate, Russell Corp. After obtaining her MBA and moving home to New York City, she’s been forced to return to a tumultuous relationship with her father and the rest of the board. Gwen would prefer to run off with her friends and see just how far she can take a distraction, and she’s perfectly happy doing so. That is, until her father hires a bodyguard to keep a watchful eye on her. She just can’t figure out if he was hired for her safety, or to uncover the secrets no one else knows she possesses…

Joel Miller is a personal security officer on leave from his last assignment, where he worked abroad for a U.S. embassy. He has avoided private security detail for years after a life-changing accident, but when he gets this call, the money is too good to pass up. But Joel has never met a client with such an aversion to being protected. Regardless of the paycheck, Joel will soon realize this is his biggest challenge yet, but not for the reason he thinks…

When their secrets, both past and present, collide in a mixture of tension and new-found feelings, the results can be catastrophic. Now, Gwen’s safety is put at risk more than ever before, and the two of them have to get to the bottom of the mystery, and what they mean to each other, before it’s too late.

Content Warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

a/n: This is a WIP! I’m writing more chapters while editing before I post. I hope to post on a consistent basis. I’m also posting this story on ao3 and Wattpad. Tumblr tends to take me the longest to post from, but I’m determined to make it happen!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Worth The Feeling: A Javi Gutierrez Fanfiction

Summary: Ava Cohen is a 26-year-old production assistant working tirelessly to achieve her dream of one day becoming a film director. As hiatus from her last project comes to a close, she returns to set with Norwick Productions, whom she has worked with for the past four years. After a major fo paux on the first day of work, Ava is worried she has offended the star of this next production: Javi Gutierrez. She will soon come to realize, this couldn’t be further from the truth. When the cast and crew travel to Italy to film on location, the seriousness of what Ava is feeling becomes all too real, just as a new career opportunity lands in her lap. As tensions run high, watchful eyes set in, and her career is put at stake, can all of this be worth it in the end?

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

a/n: The full story is available on AO3 and on Wattpad as well for anyone who is interested. Thank you to anyone who reads my story! 🤍

Total word count: 93,547

Pairing: javi gutierrez x f!reader. No physical descriptors of the MC, except for her being shorter than Javi.

Pairing Disclaimer: the original pairing was Pedro x reader but after everything was released I felt very uncomfortable with that. If I was a celebrity, I wouldn’t want people to write that about me. I was creating a character as I wrote this story that was separate to Pedro, and after posting, I regretted my choice. I have edited all chapters to reflect this, as Javi’s love of movies and cheerful disposition makes sense for the character I created. Reblogged posts may still have the original pairing, as I’m unable to update them. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

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randomfoggytiger · 7 months

Note

I started watching X-Files a couple of months ago and finally finished the whole show, plus the movies and revival. Jesus. I started looking at fanfic but am totally intimidated by HOW MUCH OF IT there is. Like. 30 years worth of it? Where do I even start? Do I read old stuff or new stuff? Are there any authors that have been writing since the 90’s? Who’s stuff should I be reading? What should I be reading? There are so many different kinds! (Okay, but not fluff, because The Ick.) (and only the shippy stuff because I am not a monster.) Where does one even start in this fandom?

Thanks for coming here, Anon-- I'll do my best~. ;)))

TLDR: If you want to read the classics-- the multi-chapter beasts hailed across The X-Files fandom-- I'd go to @lilydalexf's page and sort through her pinned Masterpost of recs; if you want my personal favorites, I've got my own complied Masterlist pinned, as well. If you want author suggestions, I listed a few below (but not all-- even of my personal favorites.) Older fics have a more "walled-off" approach to Scully and an edgier, distant approach to Mulder; newer fics have a more open approach to their exchange and dynamic. I prefer the latter, but that's likely because I was able to watch the show as a whole rather than episode by episode with a lot of guesswork in-between.

It's hard to pinpoint where to recommend you since I don't know your preferences; but here's a very loose attempt to do so:

I'm more of a short fic reader, but I'd recommend @melforbes, @slippinmickeys, @cecilysass, and @wexleresque for long chapters; @teethnbone, @leiascully, @aloysiavirgata, @enigmaticdrblockhead, @dreamingofscully, and @sarie-fairy for "atmospheric" writing; @baronessblixen, @welsharcher, @agent-troi, @television-overload, @invidiosa, @swinging-stars-from-satellites, @thescullyphile, @msrafterdark, and @edierone for well-balanced fluff/angst/humor/comfort fic/etc.; @o6666666, @ghostbustermelanieking, @mappingthexfiles/Apostrophic, and Lapsed_Scholar for their wonderful shorts (but especially Lapsed's Requiem AU compilations); @settle-down-frohike, @suitablyaggrieved, @amplifyme, @wtfmulder, @freckleslikestars, @lyndsaybones, @numinousmysteries, and Jenna Tooms/misslucyjane for their focus on Mulder and Scully as a "mature"-- for lack of a better word-- couple (no matter when their fics are set); @xxsksxxx and @writingwell write long-chaptered casefiles (my writingwell fic recs here might help?-- sorry for the codes, I was rushing out those notes); and if you want the authors everyone recommends, then @mashnotesofthemythopoeic/Penumbra (Masterlist) and prufrock’s love/plenilune (@lilydalexf links/descriptions here) are two of the many that fit the bill.

Other fic recs you might be interested in: @cecilysass's write more of these and Milagro recs, @enigmaticxbee mytharc and Scully family recs, @pennyserenade's reading recs, @two-microscopes shorter fic rec list, @nachosncheezies's slightly psychic Scully recs (describes three of the big x-files fics), etc. You want beautifully short poeticesque ficlets written and recced by @leiascully? Boom. You want Deadalive fic reccs? Kachow. You want opinions from the OGs? The aforementioned aloysiavirgata, amplifyme, baronessblixen, leiascully, suitablyaggrieved, cecilysass, settle-down-frohike, dreamingofscully, msrafterdark, as well as @iconicscullyoutfits and @myassbrokethefall (who write amazing meta, btw.)

Are you interested in AUs that write in Gillian Anderson's pregnancy? That have a storyline sans baby all together? That stick to canon all the way through the Revival? That stick to canon mostly, except for a bit of branching off here and there? Multiple Monday fics? Post Pine Bluff Variant processing? Mulder or Scully PTSD or panic attacks or hurt comfort? The many different flavors of Mulder's abduction or return? Casefiles (admittedly I stink at those)? My own fics (also in my pinned masterpost)? An author whose style you're interested in but would like a description of their work before making a long-term commitment? Lemme know~! :DDDD

Gotta run! Hope you like! (And sorry for any spelling errors~.)

#asks #anon #fandom #touched you came here-- thank you~!#though I don't know how helpful or clarifying this was for you XDDD #xf fanfic #txf #fic #rec

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inuhalfdemon · 4 months

Text

No One Can Know... (17/?)

Word Count = 4,481 Words

Rating = Explicit (SMUT + Violence)

Chapter 17

"No one else could make you feel like I do, I do, I do.

No one ever gets as deep inside you as I do, baby..."

- Alice Cooper

It was early morning when Lucifer materialized himself into Alastor’s hotel suite. It had been days since Al’s….episode…and Alastor had – predictably – been especially touch-averse and distant following the event. Alastor had still made it a point of making sure Lucifer was welcome to stay with him at the hotel but Lucifer felt it better to give the guy some space, let him process through his aftermath in his own way.

“Breakfast is finished and ready downstairs if you’d care for any.” Alastor told him, he was leaning against his writing desk that set against the wall – holding a cup of coffee. His smile looked strained. He had his jacket off; his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“You got that all done rather quickly.” Lucifer noted. “Were you up earlier than usual?”

“Yes.” Alastor brought the mug up to his face, taking a swallow, his ears twitching sharply. “I was…Woke up, then couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“You seem agitated this morning, is something wrong?”

“Everybody is pissing me off this morning.” Alastor told him, as if that explained everything.

Is anyone else even up yet? Lucifer wondered.

“Would you prefer it if I left you alone for a while?” Lucifer asked him.

“No.” Alastor told him, honestly. “Just don’t be irritating.” He pushed off from the desk, turning to absently scan the newspaper he had there.

Lucifer snorted and Alastor gave him a sharp look.

“Damn, you are in a bad mood this morning.” Lucifer smirked with a coy look in his eye, strolling over to Alastor now. “There are ways to deal with some of that growing tension, if you catch my drift.”

Alastor cocked an ear at that; turning his head – about to say something - when he caught the expression on Lucifer’s face, eyes wide and staring at Alastor’s crotch.

Alastor moved his mug; glancing down.

“FUCK!” He spat; slamming the mug down onto the desk and splashing coffee.

“What’s…what’s happening?” Lucifer was stunned…clearly seeing the growing bulge behind the seam in Alastor’s pants.

Alastor leaned against the desk, head in his hand – clearly mortified.

“I’m having…a breakthrough rut.”

“A what, what?” Lucifer asked him, still staring – processing.

“A rut between ruts – if you will.” Alastor groaned. “Not a full one…typically much shorter, less intense. They sneak up on me sometimes.”

“Oh.” Lucifer said.

Then, “Oh…” He looked at Alastor, smile widening across his face.

“You fucking wipe that smile off your face.” Alastor angrily hissed at him. “There’s only three days until the extermination and Adam targets this hotel. We don’t have time for this! We still have a load of shit to do to get things ready and Charlie has another godforsaken bonding activity she wants us to participate in today before we start!”

Lucifer’s grin curved more. “We might just have more time than you think…”

“Pray tell,” Alastor glared at him. “What gives you that idea.”

“Charlie told me yesterday what the activity she had planned for us was…I took initiative and told her that: you and I have very important strategies to discuss in your handling Adam for the first part of the assault and that we…sadly…would likely be otherwise engaged all day.” Lucifer tilted his head, flashing Alastor a very wide and very toothy grin.

“I might rather the activity Charlie has planned…” Alastor told him, unenthusiastically.

“You’d rather sit in a circle, holding hands, singing ‘kum-ba-yah’ with everyone this morning?” Lucifer asked him, dryly.

“She wouldn’t-“ Alastor saw the stark deadpanned looked on Lucifer’s face. “Never mind…I take that back. I’m liking the idea of your plan much better now.”

“Hmm, yes.” Lucifer slyly grinned. “I’d much prefer singing ‘Cum-ba-“

“Stop!” Alastor quickly interjected and Lucifer snickered.

Alastor heavily sighed in his frustration, ears leaning back. “This is ridiculous. You and I need to be utilizing our time productively…actually discussing Adam and making our final preparations for the hotel.”

“What we need, Al, is for you to be focused.” Lucifer told him; coming closer and reaching a hand to press his palm to Alastor’s face. “We’ve still got time to tie the loose ends up but you’ve got to make yourself a priority in all of this too. Everything we’ve planned and prepared for won’t work if you leave yourself open to distractions or mistakes.” Alastor leant himself into Lucifer’s hand at that.

“I made a deal with you - promised you - that I would be here to meet your needs so that we might see this thing through.” Lucifer continued and Alastor softened further, tilting his head; Lucifer pressed his forehead to his. “Let me keep that promise and tell me…what do you need?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After engulfing them both in his shadows; Alastor moved them both into his bed. Still dressed; they roughly – passionately – kissed as they quickly both began working each other out of their clothes: Alastor deftly hooking the underside of Lucifer’s hat with a claw and tossing it so that it spun and landed atop the beam of a bedpost; Lucifer slipping off Alastor’s bowtie and quickly unclasping each button to his shirt so that he might reach beyond the fabric; greedily touching heated bare-chested skin with clawed hands.

Alastor wasted no time getting Lucifer out from his suit jacket and shirt, sliding the garments off the angel and pushing them from off the bed. Lucifer’s claws dug red trails into his ribs and back, sliding underneath his fully open dress shirt and dragging pleasurably all along his skin. Growling appreciatively, Alastor pressed Lucifer into the bed – crawling over him and laying himself across the angel. He held Lucifer’s face firmly by one hand – his other hand dragging claws through platinum locks; lips pressed tight and warm against his.

Lucifer felt Alastor’s tight bulge pressing firmly against him through the clothing and he slid his hands down to begin loosening the clasps to Alastor’s dress pants. Alastor groaned against him and he lifted himself up; moving to kick off his shoes and socks. Lucifer quickly moved to do the same; seeing Alastor was deeply flushed with his arousal now; his antlers lengthening.

“Do we need to go somewhere else?” Lucifer asked him; wondering if Al would need to shift form at some point.

“No…” Alastor told him in a low voice, gripping him by the hips and dragging him to and against him. “I have you right where I want you.” He told him darkly.

Lucifer shivered pleasurably – excitably - in anticipation. He’s so different when he’s ruttish. I like it.

They both were still wearing their dress pants, Alastor’s clasps completely undone. Alastor leant down – crushing his mouth back to Lucifer’s, bending one knee so that he was pressed into Lucifer’s crotch and grinding himself heavily against one leg. Lucifer gasped at the tightening tension between both legs; feeling and hearing Alastor grunting above him. Lucifer moved to slide his hand down - seeking relief. Alastor snarled at the movement; grabbing and gripping the hand tightly in his own and pulling it away – pinning it to the bed as he ground himself even harder into Lucifer.

Ah, fuck… The tension between his legs was building and tortuously sweet; he felt the heat of his own flush creeping from his chest up into his neck and spreading across his face.

Seeing this; Alastor shifted enough so that he could grip Lucifer’s other hand – pinning it down tightly just the same as he continued mercilessly rutting himself into Lucifer’s leg – pressing his knee deeper into Lucifer’s tightening crotch.

Lucifer was throbbing and his hips jerked; desperate to find any form of relief. Lucifer squirmed, searching for even the smallest amount of friction.

Alastor’s grip on him tightened and he lifted his head. “Keep still, your majesty.” He growled, ears pinned and eyes glowing red. “I’m not nearly done with you yet…”

Oh, fuck, fuck…he’s not messing around.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed; his grinding slowing and turning into long dragging strokes all along his leg.

Jesus. If I’m this hard then he’s a fucking masochist…

With a low groan, Alastor’s head tilted back and he bit his lip – blood seeping from the cut.

Lucifer huffed out his frustration – his erection was painfully tight in his pants at this point.

And, Alastor was fucking smirking at him.

The absolute cunt.

Suddenly, Lucifer had a thought and he couldn’t help the smile that touched his face.

Would be a first for us…can’t say I’ve never been a little bit curious…wonder what the smug motherfucker would make of it then.

Something very clearly shifted and Lucifer waited for Alastor’s reaction to it, but the rutting demon was too otherwise occupied to notice it right away.

Lucifer felt a surprising lack of relief at the change. He was no longer crammed tightly and painfully into the seam of his pants- but if anything – his throbbing and aching need for Alastor’s administrations was more now.

That…may have backfired. He thought briefly as a pitiful, needy sound escaped from between his lips.

Alastor’s ears stiffened at the sound and his eyes deeply dilated. He huffed; smelling a scent he hadn’t previously noted and his head sharply jerked – looking at Lucifer with not just a hungry expression – but with one that was starving.

Alastor’s smile stretched, tightening sharply at the corners and Lucifer was nearly slapped by the pungent smell of Alastor’s musk.

Oh…crap.

Alastor immediately released him; letting Lucifer’s hands go and lifting himself from Lucifer’s legs.

Alastor’s musk pervaded Lucifer’s senses; his eyes dilated into dark discs, his blood ran hot and his body cried out for the claiming it craved.

Desperate, Lucifer’s hand quickly went to the clasps of his pants – jerking them open and shoving the waistband sharply down. Alastor moved, grasping the fabric further down on Lucifer’s legs and pulled him freely out.

Alastor hummed with pleasure; seeing the new wet, seeping and fleshy cunt, nestled there between Lucifer’s spread and open legs.

Slowly, Alastor crawled to him – his humming building into a deep, low and purring growl as he descended on Lucifer with watering mouth. Lucifer’s system was flooded with pheromones – his body electric and singing – as he lifted his hips; sighing when Alastor’s teeth and tongue touched against his novel and needing sex.

Alastor was made dizzy at the scent and he grunted sharply – appreciatively - at the taste; his face burying deep into the sopping folds and finding the delicate entrance.

“Al…” Lucifer’s hips tilted; and he felt Alastor’s tongue enter him – sliding and twisting inward – lapping and brushing against clenching and pulsating walls. “Ah, fuck…Al.” Lucifer moaned.

Alastor’s ears straightened sharply upward; quivering at the needy tones.

Huffing again, Alastor pulled back his tongue and retreated himself from Lucifer’s fluttering and heated hole.

Alastor shifted himself between Lucifer’s legs; reaching inside his waistband and pulling himself out. His erection was remarkable; tightly curved, fully formed and more than ready for the task at hand.

Alastor shifted still closer; holding his length with one hand and stroking it teasingly against Lucifer’s slit; pressing the tip of it briefly to the swollen clit and sliding back down.

“Are you ready to become a proper doe, darling?” Alastor asked him, softly.

Finding himself too overwhelmed to answer him verbally; Lucifer nodded, biting his lip and lifting his pelvis.

Sliding himself in; Alastor slowly pushed his length fully into Lucifer; burying himself completely up to the root. Lucifer’s walls clenched around him.

“Ah….shit.” Alastor groaned. “Ah, that’s tight.”

Gasping together; they both paused – waiting for their bodies to adjust to this new and incredible feeling. Alastor stretched himself over Lucifer; finding both his hands again – he intertwined his fingers with his – holding him tightly. He leant down; foreheads touching as Alastor began to move – taking slow and long strokes – in and out.

Lucifer rotated his hips and he relished every pleasurable sensation he found in each tilt he made. His body bowed beneath Alastor; lost in their movement, lost in their scent and lost in their sounds.

“Oh, Luci…” Alastor pulled his head away; groaning with immense pleasure. “How sweet you feel…” And, he bent his face to him – kissing him warmly.

Lucifer lifted his face, pressing himself into the kiss as he felt Alastor’s thrusts speed up. Sweating and panting; they moved with and against each other – their tension rising and tightening together. Lucifer’s threshold met its end first; he broke from his kiss with Alastor; obscenely needy and wanting sounds escaping him with each drive Alastor made into him. He bent himself further backward and when Alastor’s hips thrust forward; he saw stars.

Yes….yes….YES. He thought, heart hammering in his chest at each phenomenal stroke that brought him closer to a fantastic climax.

Alastor bent to him; his thrusting becoming more desperate as his own end swiftly followed. Alastor thrust himself sharply – deeply – into Lucifer; the angel cried out and broke beneath him. Growling; Alastor thrust himself sharper and harder – a rush of wetness between them and Lucifer’s spasming walls sent him careening over the edge. With one final growling grunt; Alastor jerked his hips heavily forward – holding himself there as he emptied himself into Lucifer – feeling a deep and carnal satisfaction at the sensation of his cum spilling out of Lucifer’s wet pussy when he finally pulled himself out.

Lucifer was still laying there, processing his vaginal orgasm when Alastor leaned back, gripped him by the waist and flipped him over. Alastor’s hands slid underneath him; coaxing him up and onto his knees. Lucifer was lost to a pleasant haze; Alastor’s musk telling Lucifer’s mind and body that this was something he also wanted; and when Alastor slid himself in again…there was no question.

Pressing himself back: Lucifer widened his hips, feeling Alastor’s thrusts reaching into him in an even deeper way. Alastor’s claws were dug tightly into his waist; holding and pulling him back so that every drive into him was pleasure spiked with pain but the combination of the two only served to heighten his arousal. Alastor’s erection quickly recovered and soon he was pounding into Lucifer’s newly developed cervix in just the perfect way. Heat rushed into Lucifer’s face and he felt a familiar burning coil tightening deep within his belly. Gasping; he buried his face into the bed; his hands forming fists into the covers and the change in angle only served to bring him more pleasure.

Moaning and feeling like a bitch in heat; Lucifer limply rocked back and forth. Alastor leant with his long body over him – sliding himself in even deeper and thrusting harder. Alastor’s penis curved into him, pressing and sliding against the sweetest of spots. When Lucifer came again; he was yelling into the covers:

“Ffffffffuck!!! Yes….”

Alastor’s claws dug deeper; keeping him in place while he continued to chase his own climax. Lucifer panted; feeling incredibly overstimulated and sore. His body shaking, he groaned beneath Alastor.

Feeling and hearing the change in him; Alastor slowed his movements. Releasing Lucifer’s hips; he leaned forward onto one hand; pressing his chest to Lucifer’s back – gliding his other hand across Lucifer’s belly and sliding claws into wet folds.

Slowly…wonderfully…Alastor dragged and pushed his length through Lucifer as his fingers circled his sensitive nub. The additional stimulation did something unexpected for Lucifer; quickly changing his overstimulation into another mounting climax that he wasn’t sure he was ready to take.

“Al!” He lifted himself. “Oh, fuck…Al…wait. I can’t…I’m…Fuck I’m-!”

Alastor chuckled darkly against him; his fingers pressing harder into the swelling nub; his thrusts speeding back up again.

The wave of Lucifer’s third orgasm came crashing into him; and Lucifer stiffened and bent beneath Alastor. Feeling his angel break apart beneath him again; Alastor thrust himself sharp and deep into Lucifer; unloading into him again and slowly pumping himself out.

Alastor pulled himself away and seeing Lucifer shaking and wobbling on his knees; he pulled him down with him and they collapsed together on the bed – both soaked in sweat and panting heavily.

“Maybe warn a guy…” Lucifer huffed, still panting. “Before you wreck his pussy like that! Jesus...fuck, Al…”

“Maybe warn a guy…” Alastor huffed with him. “Before springing said pussy out to get wreck.”

Lucifer snorted and they both choked out exhausted laughter.

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Still shaking with mirth, Alastor pulled Lucifer closer to him – both laying on their backs as they drifted off together in post-coital rest.

“I thought you said these in-between things for you were less intense!” Lucifer panted.

“Hm…yes.” Alastor sighed. “I did say that…”

“This is the fourth round, Al! Fuck!” Lucifer bent back; overstimulated and incredibly sore.

It was getting on to be well into the afternoon now and Alastor and Lucifer had remained in Alastor’s room; never leaving the bed.

Alastor chuckled; adjusting the movement of his hips.

“Your fault for being so goddamn irresistible, your majesty.” Alastor purred back at him. “I can’t seem to get enough of you today.”

Alastor laid leant back – half-sitting - against the headboard of the bed. He was fully naked now – having lost his shirt and pants at some point during their second round – and he leaned back comfortably on the stack of pillows, jutting his hips in a steady but easy pace as Lucifer rode him.

Lucifer leaned forward now; adjusting the angle as the overstimulation lessened but remained for him just the same. He had shifted his genitals back to his preferred male ones. Alastor’s dick was hard and curved inside him, Lucifer’s own cock erect and oozing drops of pre-cum at the slit. Lucifer lashed his long devil’s tail in frustration; feeling incredibly aroused but finding no relief for the feeling at present.

Alastor smirked at him; also feeling overstimulated and frustrated but feeling satisfied to see it reflect back at him in such a visually pleasing way. He slowed the rotation of his hips; his juts into Lucifer turning into quick but short jabs.

“Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking tease...” Lucifer stretched himself out; claws digging and dragging across Alastor’s chest and drawing blood.

Alastor leant back; hissing in pleasure at the sharply biting pain. His jabbing juts stuttered; and he thrusted himself – hard and deep – into Lucifer once, then twice.

“Ah, fuck yes!” Lucifer nearly curled himself in half – claws dragging deeper.

Alastor’s musk had abated but Lucifer still felt the effects of the aphrodisiac in his system. Blood seeped from the freshly made cuts across Alastor’s chest, sliding down his ribs and across his abdomen in small winding trails. Alastor drove into him again and Lucifer shuddered with immense pleasure. Leaning himself down – he moaned obscenely, lapping at the blood across Alastor’s belly with forked tongue; dilated pupils locked and staring at Alastor’s deeply reddened face.

Mounting pleasure overtook all of Alastor’s senses and he clenched his teeth; driving himself deeply into Lucifer again and again. Bending backward at the assault; Lucifer lifted himself, clawed hand pressing into the smear of blood across Alastor’s stomach as he felt an incredible tension building. His devil’s tail whipped around them in frantic excitation. They came together – it wasn’t the first climax they found mutually for themselves that day but truthfully…Lucifer had gave up with keeping their total tally.

Lucifer shakily lifted himself off of Alastor, the sinner’s limp dick sliding from him and falling to the side.

Breathing heavily, he crawled up Alastor; sitting himself comfortably straddled on Alastor’s belly now.

“As fun as this has been…” He huffed, breathing heavily, “And as much as I’d like to continue doing this all week with you…” Alastor snorted at that. “Maybe we should work on winding you down now. We do have to actually do things tomorrow.”

Alastor made to make some smart-ass remark when Lucifer shifted form – all six wings unfurling from the angel’s back and stretching themselves widely before settling back, folded and relaxed beside them. Alastor’s eyes widened; unable to help himself from finding those wings utterly and entirely breathtaking.

“I sliced you up pretty good…” Lucifer noted softly, clawed finger trailing across one of the deeps cuts he had made to Alastor’s upper chest. “I welcome you to return the favor.” He murmured, lifting Alastor’s clawed hand and pressing the palm of it to his own chest.

Seemingly unable to help himself; Alastor extended his claws – their tips piercing the skin. Lucifer shuddered; a pulsing pleasure overwhelming and softening the bite of it. Alastor’s hand flexed; claws digging deeper but still, he hesitated. Holding Alastor’s hand pressed to his chest; Lucifer added pressure – encouraging Alastor’s hand to slide down, cutting delicate bleeding-golden trails into his own skin.

Alastor swallowed; retracting his claws and quickly pulling his hand away. His ears were standing straight; quivering and twitching ever so slightly. He looked into Lucifer’s eyes; finding nothing but an open approval there – he leant in. Wrapping his arms around Lucifer and pulling him closer to him, he licked and sucked at the seeping cuts his claws had created against the soft and heated skin.

The ichor hit his tongue and he moaned at the incredible taste of it.

Lucifer’s blood entering his system immediately reduced the roiling of lust Alastor was feeling. It wasn’t a solution to Alastor’s problem, with the occurrence of his ruts, he still needed to satiate what his body craved during his mating cycles…but, the ichor did help.

Lucifer wrapped his arms around Alastor; pulling him close and holding him to him as Alastor indulged himself on the angel’s golden blood. Feeling tired and buzzed himself; Lucifer sighed with pleasure. Alastor’s hands were lifting behind his back; claws finding the limbs of his wings and tracing through the feathers – sharp talon tips gliding between shafts and dragging against the thin and delicate skin.

Shuddering at the contact; Lucifer bent his head and Alastor’s hold on him tightened – sharpened teeth scraping against the raw and bloodied edges on his chest – wet and pointed tongue greedily searching for each and every last golden drop it could find. Lucifer felt Alastor’s claws digging into his wings; threatening to split the skin.

“Ruin them…” He breathed and Alastor stiffened – suddenly stopping all that he was doing.

Lucifer waited; feeling Alastor’s face pull away from his chest now; feeling the demon’s hands clench against the thin limbs of his wings – claws tightening, tips pressing sharply into and against the membranes.

Suddenly, Alastor’s hands released him – letting go of the limbs and sliding clawed fingers through the incredible softness that was Lucifer’s feathers.

Alastor tilted his smiling face; pressing himself close to Lucifer, holding his head against his he softly sighed: “I never would.”

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Alastor walked into the main suite of his hotel room; straightening and adjusting his dress shirt.

He lifted his jacket, meaning to slip it on next and then he paused.

Done with their amorous antics for the day, he and Lucifer had agreed to proceed through their evening in a productive manner: they planned to fully dress themselves, sit down to a proper meal and really strategize out how they were going to approach handling Adam. Lucifer, himself, sat at the sofa – sipping a cup of tea, already looking over some of the best defensive points they had narrowed down for when Alastor met Adam’s approach at the roof of the hotel.

Setting the jacket aside, Alastor went to the sofa. Lucifer’s gaze hovered on the roughly made blueprint he was focused on before looking up at and seeing Alastor.

Alastor’s ears were moving, tweaking sharply and he had a very agitated expression despite his smile facing.

“What are you all irritated at me for?” Lucifer set his tea and the documents aside. “After the day you’ve had…you should be praising me.” Lucifer smirked up at Alastor. “And, that’s the look I get!?” Lifting a hand to his chest in a dramatic fashion. “I was nothing but pleasurably accommodating to you today and I think that-“

“Oh, shut it.” Alastor hissed at him, crawling over the sofa and into Lucifer’s lap; his knees on one end and his head facing the other way.

“I didn’t know we were trying out a new position…” Lucifer’s face flushed. “I just got dressed!”

Alastor shoved him with a growl; settling himself and promptly twitching his fluffy deer tail that stuck out from the hole in his dress pants.

Lucifer stared at the tail in front of him; watching it flick about – sharply reflecting Alastor’s feelings of agitation.

Alastor propped himself up onto one elbow; sighing. “Your….reward then.” He weakly gestured to his backside.

The fur of Alastor’s tail matched the red and black coloration of his hair and ears - with a delicate line of white emphasizing its shape - the strands of hair forming it were long and delicate; it looked especially soft.

“May I?” Lucifer asked him, lifting a hand.

“…yes.” Alastor answered, sounding even more annoyed. “Just-“ He bent his head to the side; hiding the flush of embarrassment that was touching his face. “It’s sensitive…” He mumbled.

Lucifer could imagine. He didn’t mind bringing his devil’s tail into the mix of things when he felt like getting a little bit frisky with someone. It could be immensely pleasurable for him to do so even, but… others always felt the need to yank or twist on it which was incredibly painful or they would play with thing; stroke it or slide it through their fingers; get him all wound and worked up without realizing how it ever might have happened.

Lucifer looked at the fluffed up little deer tail; watching it wave and twitch in front of him and he imagined that Alastor’s little appendage was incredibly sensitive; put that with the open and involuntary movements it made; and it really was no wonder why the guy chose to keep it hidden.

Lucifer reached out with clawed fingers; gently caressing the long, soft wisps of fur that ran along the back. Alastor stiffened for a moment at the contact; the tail straightening; standing straight up.

Yep…that’s sensitive. Lucifer thought, trying not to chuckle and embarrass Alastor any further.

Gently; he pressed long strands of the fur between his fingers; rubbing them together and feeling the softness without stimulating anymore of the nerve endings that ran beneath; base to tip. Alastor relaxed; his body melting into Lucifer’s lap and his tail swaying languidly now.

Knowing Alastor really wasn’t comfortable with him exploring his tail – and knowing that he really only offered it now as a kind of reciprocation to Lucifer’s wings…he released it; letting the incredibly soft strands of fur slide freely away and from his fingers. As a response; Alastor’s tail sharply wagged : overtly signaling Alastor’s appreciation.

Lucifer smiled.

Then: “Alright, get off!” He roughly shoved Alastor from off of his lap. Alastor toppled completely off from the couch, yelping out in surprise as he hit the floor. “Finish getting dressed, already! We’ve got shit to do!”

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Chapter 18

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ogsherlockholmes · 4 months

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The Hound of Watson's Grief

I made a post a few weeks ago about how all of the Holmes stories could be interpreted as Watson's imagination in order to compensate for his loneliness (sorry for putting that idea in your heads) and I wanted to expand on that by focusing on The Hound of the Baskervilles. So, prepare for some inarticulate rambling which I hope will make sense.

One of the things that has always struck me about this particular story is ultimately how different it is from the rest of the canon: not just Holmes' noticeable absence in the mid-section, but the emphasis on Watson's description and the supernatural features. Although these can still be seen in the other stories, The Hounds of the Baskervilles still seems to exist separately from them, and I have a an idea why this is.

The Hounds of the Baskervilles, as a story, was never meant to be. Holmes was dead- ACD was proud to announce that. He had rid himself of the so called 'great detective', and could focus on more historical serious novels. But, alas, he thought of an interesting story line, and could think of no other way of conceiving it without help from Holmes. So, Holmes was prematurely resurrected, without any form of indication that he was actually alive, or if this was D Watson writing up his notes, or if the audience should just suspend their disbelief and read the story as an undefined prequel.

Realistically, that is about all there is to say about the premise of The Hound of the Baskervilles: the story just is, and we have to accept that. But what of THotB is purely a work of fiction, including within the realms of the fictional world of Sherlock Holmes? In some ways, THotB could be read as Watson finding an outlet for his grief for Holmes.

Firstly, Holmes' absence: not just in the story, but in Watson's life and in the public's life. Holmes was dead, with no chance of return... supposedly. He had died offstage, with no witnesses, apart from the man who died with him, so no one could check with him if Holmes was actually dead. For Watson, the only proof he had of Holmes' death was a letter, with no body to bury; for a man who had spent so much time with someone so furtively based on facts, I can't imagine that that would have felt right to him. Holmes was dead, but where did he die? It's reasonable to suppose that Watson went through a stage of denial, believing that Holmes was still alive. Of course, he couldn't admit that to the public (like so many other things... the unreliable narrator that he is) so he would need another outlet. So, why not write a story involving Holmes? Maybe Watson began writing, including all the quintessential characteristics of Holmes (his quick deductions, sarcastic quips and his effortlessness in complimenting Watson), but then the realisation of his friend's death dawned on him. Watson looks back on his work, and remembers that he now must solve mysteries by himself. Holmes is busy elsewhere, and Watson is alone.

Watson begins a tirade of long, flowery descriptions (in the words of Holmes "cut out the poetry, Watson") which are usually skipped over in the shorter stories. We are fully immersed in the gloomy Dartmoor with its "tinge of melancholy", and the introduction of an escaped prisoner: Selden, the Notting Hill murderer. This feels like compensation for Watson forcing Holmes' logic in the earlier chapters, almost as though he's trying to build another story for himself. The addition of the Baskerville legend also seems more alligned with Watson's interests than Holmes: overall, THofB becomes more of Watson indulging himself in a fairy tale than reporting facts, as Holmes would prefer.

Still, Watson is just as dutiful as ever, writing letters to Holmes, but receiving little response. Again, this might be a parallel for Watson's life: he wishes to communicate with his late friend, but hears nothing back. Here, Watson might be doubting himself again: he's obsessing over Holmes' death, so much so that he can't be sure he's even dead. A glimmer of hope: maybe Holmes is alive, and he's out there, waiting to come back. Watson mentions "the figure of a man upon the tor", the "tall, thin man" which is undeniably Holmes: he allows himself this fantasy, to the point where he explicitly states this idea when he reveals that Holmes has been with him in Dartmoor all along, but hiding away from him. But, he can't be too certain, so Selden (who could be seen as a mirror to Holmes as he is confused with Holmes as being the figure on the Moor) is killed off as soon as Watson finds Holmes. Again, Selden is killed offstage and by falling off an edge, which sounds familiar...

Now, Watson has his Holmes back, in theory. He ends the story by describing Holmes being involved in other matters which he doesn't provide too much detail on, as per usual. The story was quickly and almost effortlessly resolved, with the antagonist, Stapleton, seemingly dead but the protagonist, Henry Baskerville, saved. I don't think it is too much of a stretch to say that Stapleton and Baskerville are Moriarty and Holmes substitutes, respectively (Stapleton's academic backgrounds and unusual characters; Baskerville's assertiveness, Watson's detailed descriptions of his movements and appearance, the implication that Selden's death was originally confused as his). So, here is another instance of Watson applying the narrative he wants, almost as though he's manifesting Holmes' resurrection.

I've thrown many ideas together which can probably be easily disregarded, but I tried rereading the story with this perspective, and I think it helped me make sense of certain aspects of the story which never sat comfortably with me. Although I'm not claiming to know the true reason why ACD wrote THotB, I do hope that you can understand the point I'm trying to make.

#slowly going back to my roots of long nonsensical analyses #please add to this if you have anymore ideas #sherlock holmes #sherlock #acd #acd canon #sherlockholmes #john watson #johnlock #acd johnlock

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kingofbodyrolls · 8 months

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Sprout | knj | one

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Summary: You love your plants, you love your garden, you do not love your new neighbor. You hate him with all your might— he wrecks everything you hold dear so you do the only reasonable thing: retaliate.

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader

AUs: neighbors au, gardening au, non!idol au → strangers to enemies (mostly one sided) to friends to lovers

Genres: slice of life, smut, humor

Rating: mature

Word count: 3.7K

Warnings: Reader is morally grey; she’s being petty and bratty. There’s some immature pranks and vandalism. Yeah, she’s on a warpath. Otherwise this chapter is pretty tame 😛

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Author’s note(1): this ended up being a mini series! After I wrote Friendcation I really wanted to write something shorter… So here it is! I really hope you like it 💜

Taglist: @svnbangtansworld

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there 🙂

Your heart thrives in the lush embrace of your garden, where your love for nurturing life transcends the ordinary.

It's not merely about gardening; it's an intimate rendezvous with nature's heartbeat. The simple act of plunging your hands into the soil becomes a euphoric ritual, a tactile communion that not only exhilarates your senses but also serves as a conduit to a world where each seed, leaf, and root tells a captivating story of growth and vitality.

The intimate dance with the earth, the sheer joy that courses through you as you feel the soil's gritty embrace, transcends mere gardening; it's a symphony of life, a celebration of your role as both creator and nurturer.

Cultivating new life from the humble seed is a profound joy that resonates deeply within you. The enchantment unfolds as you witness the delicate emergence of sprouts, each one a testament to the potential contained within a tiny seed.

It's a captivating journey, from the tentative first leaves unfurling to the triumphant bloom of fruits and vegetables, a tangible manifestation of the joy and sustenance your hands have meticulously cultivated for both you and your roommate to savor.

As the radiant embrace of summer envelops your world, an effusion of life bursts forth, a vibrant bloom unfurling its tendrils both in your garden and within the sanctuary of your greenhouse.

The greenhouse burgeons with a dazzling array of life—a cornucopia of tomatoes, watermelons, peppers, and cucumbers that stretches every inch of its confines. The air is thick with the heady scent of ripening fruit, and the vibrant hues of red, green, and orange create a kaleidoscopic mosaic that beckons exploration.

In your garden, three majestic raised beds stand like regal sentinels, cradling a treasure trove of nature's bounty. Within their elevated embrace, a symphony of flavors and colors converges, boasting a diverse ensemble that includes the earthy allure of onions, the crisp sweetness of carrots, the robust presence of pumpkins, the delicate charm of strawberries, the verdant allure of spinach, and an array of captivating salads.

Each bed is a symphony of flavors and textures, a carefully orchestrated composition that invites both the eye and the palate to revel in the diverse tapestry of life thriving under your attentive care.

Your garden isn't just a source of pride; it's a living masterpiece, a testament to your dedication and nurturing touch. This verdant haven, bathed in the hues of your hard work, transcends mere admiration; it's your sanctuary, a sacred retreat where the stresses of the world dissolve.

Each leaf, every bloom, whispers tales of resilience and growth, creating an intimate haven where you find solace and restoration.

In the embrace of nature's symphony, your garden becomes more than soil and seeds—it's a living, breathing refuge, a space where you not only cultivate plants but also cultivate peace and tranquility for your soul to flourish.

Within the heart of your greenhouse, nestled amidst the thriving foliage, is a cozy sanctuary—an inviting lounge set with a round table and two chairs. This intimate corner is not just a seating arrangement; it's a haven where friendship blossoms. Here, you and your friends can unwind, enveloped by the lush greenery, engaging in heartfelt conversations over steaming cups of tea or coffee.

In the heart of your greenhouse, you stand amidst the verdant symphony, hands adorned with the earth's rich embrace—fertile soil clinging to your fingertips, a testament to the alchemy of growth you orchestrate. Here, amidst the fragrant dance of botanical life, you sow the promise of winter greenery. This isn't your inaugural venture into nurturing winter blooms; it's a sequel to a tale that unfolded with delight last year.

The memory of vibrant winter greens thriving under your care lingers, a testament to the harmony you crafted within these walls. Driven by the echo of past success and an insatiable love for the seasonal metamorphosis, you embark on this green journey once more.

Within the expansive embrace of your bountiful garden, nature's generosity unfolds, providing an abundant harvest of fruits and vegetables that not only sustains you and your roommate but also extends its benevolent reach to your cherished neighbors.

Which makes you think of the dear Kims—Kim Seokjin and his wife—embarking on a journey to a larger home, carving out space for their expanding family, tugs at the strings of your heart. While you understand the practicality of their move, a somber melancholy settles within you, for they have not just been neighbors; they have been the epitome of kindness and warmth.

With an earnest yearning, you cling to the hope that your incoming neighbor will show kindness, sweetness, and warmth akin to the cherished friendship you shared with the departing Kims.

He doesn’t.

The day has arrived when your neighbor, Seokjin, faces the bittersweet necessity of moving. The street is lined with colossal trucks, a tangible representation of the imminent change. As tears trace their silent path down your cheeks, you refuse to let the sorrow eclipse the spirit of friendship.

Despite the weight of emotions, you join forces with Jungkook, your steadfast roommate, to transform the process into a collective effort. Together, you navigate the labyrinth of memories, carrying not just boxes but the shared history of laughter, shared moments, and the neighborly bonds that have woven through the fabric of your days.

As the reality of parting sets in, the ache of missing Seokjin and his pregnant wife becomes a weight on your heart. Determined to express the depth of your sentiment, you envelop them in tight, lingering hugs, the warmth of your embrace carrying unspoken words of friendship and well-wishes. Amidst the bittersweet farewells, you articulate your genuine hopes for their future, weaving a promise of staying connected. With each heartfelt word, you convey that the physical distance won't sever the ties of friendship.

In a world where genuine connections with neighbors are as rare as finding hidden gems, you've recognized the preciousness of Seokjin and his wife. Their sweetness and kindness have forged a bond that transcends the typical neighborly exchanges. Their generosity extends beyond mere pleasantries—during a challenging chapter in your life, when the looming shadows of unemployment threatened your stability, it was their unwavering support that illuminated your path.

Together, you navigated the uncertainty, and Seokjin suggested his friend Jungkook as a roommate to help you financially, and Jungkook has since become an integral part of your life as a steadfast and cherished roommate.

Undoubtedly, the Kims have not just been neighbors but pillars of unwavering support and kindness, surpassing any expectations one might have for ideal neighbors.

In the wake of the Kims' departure, their once-vibrant house now stands silent, a poignant reminder of the cherished moments shared. However, your curiosity, like an invisible magnet, draws you to the window. From your vantage point, you observe with a mix of intrigue and anticipation as a moving truck sidles up next to their now-empty abode. You almost feel like a creep as you watch them unload furniture and boxes.

Whispers in the neighborhood had reached your ears—an intriguing coincidence as a man, bearing the surname 'Kim,' was poised to become your new neighbor. The town's gossip mill hummed with speculation, but you tuned out the rest, your focus fixated on the serendipitous arrival of this mysterious Kim.

Jungkook ambles over, his sudden presence jolting you against the window, prompting an involuntary jump. With a teasing grin, he questions your clandestine observation, his laughter echoing through the room. “Why are you lurking?” he jests, enjoying the playful spectacle of your eye roll in response.

“I’m observing.” You declare with matter-of-fact precision, and in response, Jungkook simply offers a contemplative ‘hm.’

Throughout the day, the elusive presence of the new neighbor has been a captivating enigma, a puzzle you've been diligently attempting to unravel. Despite your earnest efforts, the quest for a mere glimpse has proven elusive.

“I'm just curious to get a read on the new guy,” you confess, drawing out your words with a touch of playful mystery. As you gracefully step away from the window, the allure of the unknown lingering in the air, you head into the kitchen with purpose.

You fetch the kettle and begin to boil some water for tea.

“Just give the guy some space to settle in, and when the time is right, you can whip up those mouthwatering cookies of yours and give him a warm welcome to the neighborhood,” Jungkook suggests, trailing after you into the kitchen. He deftly retrieves two mugs from the overhead cabinets, placing them in anticipation of the soon-to-be-boiling kettle.

Rummaging through the tea stash, you unearth aromatic sachets—one for yourself and another for Jungkook—and delicately place them into the waiting mugs. As the kettle sings its final crescendo, you pour the steaming water into the mugs, initiating the alchemical process that transforms the humble leaves into an elixir of warmth.

The synchronicity between you and Jungkook is seamless, a finely tuned rhythm born out of the years you've spent living together. Perhaps it's the invisible thread of familiarity that binds you, a connection so deep that you can effortlessly complete each other's sentences, the unspoken language of friendship. He’s much more than a roommate; you love him like a brother, an annoying little brother, even though you’re the same age.

“Good idea! The legendary triple chocolate cookies?” you propose, your eyes lighting up with the prospect of sweet indulgence. Holding your tea mug, you savor the warmth of the liquid against your lips, a comforting ritual that transcends seasons—you're an unapologetic tea enthusiast, even in the heat of summer.

“Absolutely! Hell yeah!” Jungkook exclaims, his enthusiasm echoing through the room like a burst of unbridled joy. As he eagerly recalls the memory of the last batch you made, his words become a vivid homage to the culinary masterpiece, the taste still lingering on his tongue like a cherished melody.

Throughout the entire weekend, the symphony of your new neighbor's move has reverberated, a lively crescendo of sound that paints the air with the vibrant hues of laughter and camaraderie. His entourage of friends, a boisterous ensemble, fills the atmosphere with the clatter of unloading boxes and the rhythmic shuffle of furniture being transported from the truck.

Yet, despite the lively spectacle of your new neighbor's move, his actual presence remains an elusive mystery. The air is thick with anticipation as questions swirl within your mind: Is he old? Is he your age? Does he possess the warmth and kindness that endeared Seokjin and his wife to your heart? Your curiosity becomes a cascade of inquiries, a mental carousel that you acknowledge is just you being noisy.

Up to this point, the sole revelation about your new neighbor is his knack for creating quite the noise. The symphony of sounds, though vibrant in its own way, becomes a stark contrast to the familiar warmth and silence that once emanated from Seokjin and his wife's abode.

Damn you miss Seokjin and his wife.

While the awareness of ongoing move-in activities tempers your expectations for noise, an unexplainable discomfort begins to settle in. The amalgamation of unfamiliar sounds, even in the midst of anticipated relocation clamor, manages to irk you.

And you haven’t even met the guy yet.

Several days have elapsed, it appeared that your new neighbor had completed the arduous task of settling in. A glimmer of hope fluttered, suggesting that the relentless clamor would finally recede. Yet, to your dismay, a new auditory storm emerged—his penchant for playing music at an astonishing volume became the unforeseen soundtrack to your days.

“I already hate him, Guk,” you declare with a melodramatic sulk, dramatically flopping down onto the couch beside Jungkook.

He swivels his head in your direction, a mischievous smile playing on his lips before erupting into a hearty laugh. “Come on, it’s just music. How bad can it get?”

After a patient wait, the oven radiates a palpable heat, reaching the optimal temperature to host the transformation of dough into decadence. With a sense of anticipation, you carefully place the trays laden with the promise of triple chocolate cookies into the fiery embrace of the oven.

Despite the less-than-ideal introduction to your new neighbor, marred by his thunderous music and a symphony of questionable sounds that you'd rather not contemplate—, there's a resolute yearning within you to extend an olive branch.

Fueled by the desire for neighborly harmony, you're determined to overcome the initial discord and approach him with a peace offering, a genuine gesture to welcome him into the neighborhood, hoping to mend the dissonant notes that currently define your thoughts about him.

Just as the first tray of cookies begins its enchanting transformation in the oven, your ‘girl boss’ playlist providing a lively backdrop, the symphony is abruptly punctuated by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass echoing from outside.

A sudden chill races down your spine, the shivers intensified by the ominous realization that the shattering sound emanates from the vicinity of your garden. Locking eyes with Jungkook, a silent exchange of concern, you swiftly transition from baking bliss to a sprinting guardian of your sanctuary.

The urgency in your steps amplifies the suspense, as you dash outside, propelled by a blend of curiosity and trepidation, determined to unveil the source of the disruptive crash that disrupted the tranquil rhythm of your day.

Shards of glass glisten like misplaced stars in the grass, guiding your gaze to a seemingly innocent purple ball. However, your eyes transform into metaphorical daggers as they lock onto the source of the havoc, revealing a telltale hole in the once-pristine surface of your beloved greenhouse.

A surge of anger courses through your veins, a visceral reaction to the shattered tranquility mirrored in the glass strewn across the grass. While distant voices from your neighbor try to penetrate your consciousness, your focus remains ensnared by the chaos within the greenhouse—the fractured plants and the disarrayed remnants of what was once a sanctuary.

Navigating the shards with cautious steps, you venture into the greenhouse, the air heavy with a sense of apprehension and loss. As you survey the wreckage, the toll becomes painfully clear—fragments of tomatoes, cucumbers, and watermelons lay strewn, their promise of abundance now reduced to a heartbreaking scene of destruction.

An inferno of rage surges through your veins, akin to liquid fire or molten lava, an elemental force consuming reason and calm. The greenhouse, once a sanctuary, now stands as a testament to the havoc wrought—its structural integrity compromised, and the once-vibrant plants broken and battered.

Your gaze fixes on the offending purple ball, and in a sudden revelation, the realization lands like a forceful blow—it's a sinister gift from your new neighbor. A surge of fury engulfs you, a tempest that ignites within, transforming your blood into a boiling cauldron of rage until the world before your eyes is tainted with a visceral shade of red.

Driven by an uncontrollable wave of anger, you storm outside, seizing the ominous purple ball with a fierce determination. Each step to your new neighbor is punctuated by the rhythmic thud of your stampede, a declaration of intent that resonates with your frustration.

Amidst the clash of emotions, a figure emerges—a man with disheveled silver hair hurtling toward you, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, a young child at his side.

The ball gripped tightly in your hand becomes both a weapon and a question mark as you confront the silver-haired man. The fury in your voice is palpable, a tempest churning within each word as you demand answers. “What is this?” you seethe, elevating the purple sphere as a visual indictment, challenging him to reckon with the consequences of his actions.

“A ball?” he responds with a nervous chuckle, his hand seeking solace through the disheveled landscape of silver hair at the back of his head. Beside him, a little boy, no older than six, clings to his leg with a grip that speaks of both innocence and trepidation.

“You think you’re smart, huh?” you begin, the words laden with a potent mix of frustration and mounting anger. The simmering emotions rise like a tide within you, unleashing a renewed flood of resentment that threatens to engulf your entire being.

“I'm so sorry about the ball. We didn't mean to throw it over the fence—” the man starts to apologize, but your tolerance for explanations dwindles to nothing. You cut him off with an air of absolute dismissal, leaving no room for excuses or justifications.

“You shattered my greenhouse!” you roar in frustration, the anger propelling the ball from your hand towards him. In a deft move, he catches it effortlessly against his chest, the tension in the air palpable.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't mea—” he begins, but you cut through his attempt to explain with a dismissive wave.

“I don't care! You should be mindful of other people's property. I had plants in there that are now broken and useless,” you declare, your voice stern and scolding. The words emerge like a verbal reprimand, each syllable charged with the weight of your anger. As you speak, the intensity manifests physically, your breaths becoming huffs of air, mirroring the turbulent emotions that still churn within you.

You observe the man's persistent attempts at apology, and the child clings even tighter to his sturdy thigh, as if seeking refuge in the face of the storm brewing in front of him.

“Fuck you. Don't let it happen again,” you spit, the words laden with an unrelenting edge. You observe him swiftly cover the child's ears, shielding innocence from the raw exchange. Just as you pivot to leave, a tense silence lingering, he finds his voice once more.

Observing him withdraw his hands from the child's ears, he takes a measured step in your direction. “Look, lady,” he begins, his tone a blend of frustration and assertion, “I already apologized. There's no reason to be so crude, especially not in front of a kid.”

Your gaze swiftly traverses them from head to toe, a brusque assessment. “Like I give a shit,” you retort with a dismissive snort.

“Joon, why is the lady mad?” inquires the boy, casting a curious glance at your neighbor.

“Well, we ruined her greenhouse, which we've already apologized for. Now I'm starting to think she's just stuck up and has a stick up her ass,” your neighbor explains in a composed tone to the child, who simply gapes at the blunt choice of words.

The audacity of his words hits you like an unexpected blow. Stuck up? The incredulity courses through you as you grapple with the absurdity of the accusation. Him, the one who shattered your pride and joy, casting you as the haughty one?

“Well, fuck you!” you scream in frustration, punctuating the sentiment with a defiant middle finger. With a final act of rebellion, you storm away, retreating back into your house, your fury a palpable force propelling your every step.

Gasping for breath, you stumble inside, a disheveled embodiment of raw emotion. Jungkook gazes at you, confusion etched on his face as he questions, “What happened?”

In a huff, you explain, “Piece of shit neighbor broke my greenhouse,” the words tumble out, each syllable a testament to the frustration gripping you. With a perfunctory motion, you snatch the tray from Jungkook, who had kindly retrieved it from the oven when the cookies were ready.

Now, the sweet aroma of accomplishment is tainted, and the once-desired treats feel like a bitter offering. You contemplate discarding them, convinced your neighbor doesn't deserve the indulgence born from your hard work and nurturing care.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook queries with genuine concern, his worry palpable in the furrow of his brows and the earnest tone of his voice. Clutching the tray, you navigate towards the trash can, your actions leaving an air of uncertainty hanging between you two.

“Throwing them out?” you retort, the words a sharp echo in the air as you lock eyes with Jungkook.

“Don't! I'll eat them,” Jungkook pleads, motioning for you to spare the tray from its impending fate in the trash.

A flicker of reluctance dances in your eyes, but the prospect of salvaging the cookies prevails. After all, it would be a shame to let them go to waste merely because your neighbor is a piece of shit

Despite Jungkook's plea for you to set aside your fury and accept the apology from your new neighbor, the ember of resentment within you refuses to be extinguished.

For reasons unknown, a bitter taste lingers within you, refusing to let go. The turmoil is inexplicable, but the remnants of resentment persist. He didn't just break your greenhouse; he shattered a piece of your sanctuary. Now, held together with a temporary tapestry of plastic, the wounded structure serves as a constant reminder, a tangible testament to the disruption that's not easily brushed aside.

Not to mention the plants that withered away that fateful day. Yes, they perished under the weight of the intrusion, and no, you refuse to consider it as mere drama, as Jungkook suggested.

Anger bubbles within you, a volatile force demanding retribution. In the crucible of resentment, a calculated decision takes root: to do the only thing that feels just—sabotage some of his. An eye for an eye, the ancient adage whispers in your mind.

Thus, you find yourself meticulously gluing his mailbox together, rendering it an inoperable shell that denies him the simple act of receiving mail or opening the damn thing!

A sense of self-satisfaction courses through you as you observe him from the vantage point of your living room window, wrestling with his unyielding mailbox, frustration etched across his face.

A laugh of vindication escapes your lips as you revel in his futile struggle. His bewildered gaze sweeps the surroundings, a clear sign that he fails to comprehend what's wrong with his once-functional mailbox. Frustration etches lines on his face before he concedes, retreating back into the confines of his home.

Jungkook sidles up next to you, a quizzical expression on his face. “Is that your handiwork?” he inquires, pointing towards your neighbor's now dysfunctional mailbox.

A chuckle escapes your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Yeah.”

“You're being childish and mean,” he reproaches, shaking his head in disapproval of your actions. A chuckle escapes him, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I bet you like him,” he remarks with a knowing smile, strolling past you.

You gape at him, disbelief etched across your face. No. No such thing. “I fucking hate him, and he deserves it,” you retort vehemently, the raw intensity in your voice emphasizing the depth of your disdain.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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