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reidrum · 15 days ago

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exile

note: happy december i hope ur all doing well <3 a little something to hold u over until next friday when i start 12 days of reidrumas ok love u

summary: in which you and JJ are the ones held hostage in truth or dare

cw: spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, hurt/comfort, angst, fem!reader, a heated makeout, reader wears a dress and heels, take a shot everytime reader tears up

wc: 3.6k

p.s. i am a glutton for praise if you couldn't tell from any of my fics but i love hearing what y'all think so plsplspls lemme know your thoughts in a comment or drop in my ask box!!!!

You’re not really sure where it went wrong.

When you joined JJ to pursue Casey, it was out of convenience. You both were simply closer to his last location. No one could’ve predicted he’d take you both hostage or make you play a twisted game of truth or dare at gunpoint.

No one could have predicted that Casey would force you and JJ to reveal details that hadn’t seen the light of day. He didn’t even care for those secrets, egging you both on to reveal something that would satisfy his masochistic itch. When he realizes that neither of you would break, he ups the ante by angling the gun to the middle of your head. JJ panics and speaks before she can even process what she said.

Because as you’re staring down the barrel of the gun clocked at your forehead, you realize the bullet isn’t inside the cylinder, it’s in JJ’s next words.

I’ve always loved Spencer.

You look at her mouth agape, blood draining from your face and tears springing to your eyes. She returns your gaze with one full of remorse and pity. To any onlooker, it would seem like a harmless confession. But they didn’t know the times you confided in JJ about your feelings for Spencer, the late nights at the office she’d stay with you giving advice and words of wisdom, when all JJ wanted was for her friend to be happy.

But now, how much of that can you believe to be true?

Casey seems to be satisfied with your reaction as he lowers his gun, with you reacting quickly grabbing your hidden second pistol and gunning him down. The only audible noise left is the heavy breathing of you both, the adrenaline rush starting to fade. JJ says your name remorsefully, but she’s interrupted by the rest of the team and police arriving to the scene.

The next thing you remember is sitting outside on the back of an ambulance rig, blankly staring out at your new reality. JJ loves Spencer.

You couldn’t compete, how could you? She was JJ. and you were, you. You had lost before you even began, you might as well toss the towel now.

It makes hugging Spence for what could be the last time—not to be dramatic—bittersweet. To know that this is an insignificantly normal moment he won’t remember, but one that you’ll play on repeat for the rest of your life.

Spencer holds you close into his chest with his arm smoothing out your back, “Thank god you’re okay, are you hurt?”

You scoff internally. Yes, but not in a way that can be fixed. In a way that you are not privy to yet, but once you are it will rip us to shreds.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches.”

He nods while examining you with his own mental checklist, “Okay, if your head starts hurting or your vision gets blurry you need to tell the EMT.” you nod as he adds on, “I’m gonna go check on JJ, you’ll be okay?”

No, no I won’t. There is no reality that exists where I can be okay anymore.

“I’m good. Go.”

He squeezes your shoulders and with another nod he walks over to where JJ rests on another ambulance rig, her arms instantly opening to welcome Spencer’s warm embrace. His back is facing you and JJ’s face rests over his shoulder, her eyes meeting yours in a look of sadness, grief. You look away before you can read more into it.

Wrapping the foil blanket around you tighter you let your head fall back and stare at the night sky, hoping there was a message out in the stars that would tell you what to do.

Your relationship with Spencer was, on the surface, nothing more than a friendship. He had joined the BAU only a year prior to you and when you came along it was clear from the first second that you two would be inseparable. Small talks in the bullpen quickly turned into mornings spent at the coffee shop, into weekly movie nights debating the superior science fiction franchise, to holding his hand when he needed a friend.

To Spencer, you were his anchor. Through all the trials and tribulations his life had dealt him, he knew he didn’t need to worry so much as long as you were around.

To you, Spencer was all consuming. He was threaded through every neuron and vessel in your body, intricately and impossibly tethered to you that it would take the work of the divine to painfully separate him from you.

Or, one Jennifer Jaraeu.

You don’t even realize tears are falling down your face until the EMT taps your shoulder and asks if anything has started to hurt again. Quickly shaking your head, you unravel yourself from the foil blanket and hand it back to her. You spare one last glance back at Spencer and JJ, eyes immediately zeroing on their joined hands, his thumb gently brushing the top of hers.

Your feet trudge you back to where the team is set up, one look to Emily and she’s already excusing herself from her conversation. She walks over to you phone up to her ear, saying something about you. You’re not really sure, it’s all water noise.

“Anderson will be here in about five minutes to take you home,”

You nod silently, not willing to make eye contact. Emily could sense your turmoil from a mile away, chalk it up to the Pisces moon in her but behind the hard exterior she put up there lay Emily, your empathetic friend who just wanted to hug your shattered pieces back together.

“You’ll be okay?” The second time you’ve been asked, your answer is still unchanged.

No. “Yeah.”

She sighs knowingly. The reason the two of you were such close friends was because of your similar ability to remain emotionally bottled up until it was too late, resulting in an outburst enough to take out armies and yourselves.

Anderson honks the car as he pulls up, alerting you of his arrival. Emily looks from the car back to you, “I should go check on JJ.”

“Woman of the hour, it seems.” you chuckle under your breath.

Emily gives you that look, the conflicted ‘I’m sorry our friend made you feel this way, I still have to check on her.” look.

You brush her off, your casualness hopefully sending the message that the situation isn’t that deep. For her, you think.

The sound of the car unlocking rings through your ear as you hop in the passenger seat. Anderson tries to make small talk with you to no success, settling for the late night 00s radio station as he pulls up to your house, driving off as you bid him goodnight with a wave.

The breeze of your empty apartment greets you as you open the door, the air chillier than you’d expect for the season. You tug your shoes off harshly, placing your keys on the mail table next to the door. Your heart drops as you catch sight of a floral embossed card lying on top of your mail on the table.

Rossi’s wedding.

The one you were told to absolutely prioritize, the one in which JJ had helped you find a dress for, the one where you hoped you’d feel brave enough to tell Spencer how you truly felt.

You sigh deeply knowing you still had to show up and look presentable tomorrow despite being held hostage only 24 hours prior. But, maybe this is how you make a clean break. All this time you’ve been in love with Spencer and nothing has happened, despite all the signs you think you’re giving him. Maybe this is the opportunity to save Spencer from further tension, albeit unknown to him at this point, and let him finally be happy.

You knew about the Redskins game, how excited he was to go with JJ and yet it turned into something he hadn’t anticipated. You were new to the BAU at the time but your heart still ached for him, unable to understand how anyone would pass up on someone so special like Spencer Reid. It seems she’s finally come to her senses.

You take your dead phone out of your pocket to place it on the charger and you head into the bathroom to take a quick shower. The hot water loosens your tense muscles enough to prick tears in the back of your eyes, and you turn off the water before you can get too worked up. Once you’ve dried off you check on your phone on the bedside table seeing it’s turned back on, a flurry of missed texts and calls showing up.

11:14PM - Emily: Get home safe?

You heart the message and reply with a simple ‘Yes.’, scrolling to the next messages.

10:09PM - JJ: Did you get home? 10:10PM - Missed Call from JJ 10:15PM - (2) Missed Calls from JJ 10:24PM - JJ: I’m sorry, please let me explain. 10:25PM - Missed Call from JJ

You consider leaving her on read, not willing to entertain a conversation at this point, but you settle for an ‘It’s fine.’ for the sake of having communicated your safety.

10:13PM - Spence: Hey, where are you? 10:20PM - Spence: The EMT said you took off? Did you leave? 11:34PM - Spence: Emily just told me Anderson drove you back. You could’ve told me, I would have taken you home.

Your chuckle sadly at the text, Spencer hated driving but he would do it for you. It almost makes you think that your relationship could withstand the harsh weathering it’s been subjected to.

12:07AM - You: Sorry, phone died. I’m home now.

A response dings through a minute later.

12:08AM - Spence: I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get you a portable charger to keep in your bag. You should get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow for the wedding right? Well, the wedding that’s today seeing as it’s past midnight. You know what I mean.

A single tear falls down your face at his rambling words. Oh, how you’d miss this once he learns what’s really happened.

12:10AM - You: I’ll be there. See you tomorrow, or today? You know what I mean. Good night.

12:11AM - Spence: Good night :)

—

You smooth out your dress before going up the steps, making eyes with Penelope at the top. You’re wearing a silk chiffon dress in purple, deliberately picked for Spencer’s favorite color, some strappy heels and some dainty jewelry painting you in as the picture of elegance.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you!” Penelope exclaims squeezing you tightly, “You look sooo pretty, doesn’t she look so pretty?” she gestures to the two men behind her you now acknowledge to be Luke and Spencer.

“Like a dream.” Luke agrees.

“Yeah,” Spencer clears his throat, “You look…beautiful.”

Penelope the Oracle of All Time quickly senses the

atmosphere created and grabs Luke’s forearm, “Come on, you owe me that dance now!” She looks back and slyly gives you a thumbs up before dragging Luke further onto the dance floor.

Spencer slips into the vacated space to be right next to you, “How are you feeling?”

You know he’s asking about how you were held hostage at gunpoint, and not about how he’s about to become the loss of your life.

“ ‘M fine,” you swirl your champagne glass, “You?”

“Better now.”

A ghost of a smile creeps up on you, but you don’t let it travel further than that. He’s just being nice.

“Well, I’m just going to find the bathroom really quick.”

He holds a hand out for your glass, “Here, I’ll hold it.”

Your smile returns with bearings this time as you wander off in search of the bathroom. You’d feel embarrassed by how long it took you to find it but this place was massive, the Rossi money ran deep. Retracing your steps back to the main room you find Spencer and your glass not in the same place he was when you left. You scan the room looking for him and finally find him deep in conversation with—oh.

They’re too far for you to be able to hear them, but you can imagine that it’s the conversation. You watch JJ squeeze his forearm with affection and suddenly you can’t take it anymore. You couldn’t stand there and watch yourself become collateral in real time. Spencer turns at the sound of rustling up the spiral staircase followed by a door closing, catching the last glimpse of purple before it vanishes.

Spencer feels sick. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated at the new information he’s learned about what really happened in the gas station. Then he comes to the realization of how walking in on him and JJ talking must have made you feel. His feet are carrying him up the stairs before he even realizes he’s made the choice.

He finds you at the end of the hallway and calls out your name with a firmness you’d never heard from him. But you’ve cut all the strings of sanity by now, and you whip around and snap, “What?”

He doesn’t like that tone. “JJ told me what happened.”

You snort and don’t meet his eyes, “Oh, did she?”

His brows furrow, “Yes, she did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

And what? Is he serious? Did you have to spell it out for him? It borderlines sadist the way he’s putting you through the ringer.

“What happens now, Spencer?” you exasperate, “Is this the part where you tell me we can’t be friends anymore because she finally confessed?”

Confusion colors his face more, “Why wouldn’t we be friends?”

A halfway scream—groan leaves your throat in frustration. “Spencer, come on.”

“Honey, I don’t understand—“

“That! See, you can’t just say things like that knowing what has to happen, and expect me to react like a normal person.” you exclaim with hands flailing.

“I’m really confused—“

“Because I’m in love with you!” you cry, “Now do you see why?”

Time all but stills in the hallway you’ve found yourselves in. You don’t know how long you’ve been up here. It’s a little farther down from the stairways so there’s no threat of evesdroppers, but with how worked up you’re getting the proximity renders itself useless. The faint muffle of animated conversations and lively jazz music fills the silence between you and Spencer, who looks like…well, actually for once you can’t decipher what he’s feeling.

He looks like he’s about to open his mouth when you both turn your head to the ascending footsteps—JJ looking for you, or Spencer probably, to come cut the cake. Spencer darts his eyes between the walls, a nervous tic you’d caught on to, before you realize he’s looking for a door and pulling you inside one. You yelp at the unexpected force and quickly quiet down again. The light switches on and based on the furniture you conclude that it’s a powder room, because of course Rossi’s venue has a powder room.

It’s a tiny room, big enough for a vanity table and a chaise lounge. Small enough to not have any room to leave without going past him. You stand an arm’s length away from him, the faint muffles of talk and music replaced by your sniffling. You shouldn’t have come, you start to realize. Having to say goodbye to him in person might actually rip you apart. Your chest weighs heavy with that familiar sad irony of mourning someone who hasn’t even told you they’re leaving yet. Preemptive measures that turned into routine practice.

You sniffle, “Look, it doesn’t matter anymore, not that it ever did. I’m sorry I just sprung it on you like that, that was unfair. JJ…I thought JJ was my friend, I guess she is still but I’m not too sure now. But…she’s JJ and I’m just me and I know both of your pasts with each other so obviously it would be her. I’m making this too big a deal, I think. I just want you to be happy, in whatever capacity that looks like and I know it’s not with me so—“

Spencer stops your rambling by silently reaching out for your arm to pull you right in front of him, his hands reach to cup your face up to his, thumbs naturally swiping away the tears. He says your name like a coo, with a softness and delicacy you don’t feel you deserve right now. It hurts your heart entirely.

“Please don’t make this harder than it is.” you whisper through soft sobs.

You don’t know when it happens. Maybe in between scrunching your eyes or staring at your feet—but it happens. A cold pressure, then warmth, his lips are warm when he kisses you. A little surprising that he still tastes like Penelope’s sugary mocktail from earlier. A welcome pressure on your face as he holds you in place, as if you’d slip away further if he let go.

He stills in place, thinking he’s overstepped, until you finally remember that his lips are on your lips. You return the force back with as much as he gave you and let your arms loop around his neck, his own sliding from your face to take purchase on your hips.

That’s when Spencer starts kissing you. His hands grip your hips and tug you even closer as he deepens the kiss, plunging deeper back into the plush of your thighs to sit you on top of the vanity table. He slots himself between your legs, your hands wandering up to tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck. A soft groan leaves his throat and he detaches from your lips to amble down your neck, leaving a trail of lovebites in its wake.

This is wrong, like so wrong. You’re practically opening a salt box and pouring its entire contents on your wounds. But dammit, if this is the only time you’ll ever get to kiss Spencer, you’re sure as hell going to make the most out of the fleeting moment.

He mumbles something in between kisses to your neck, you instinctively ask him to say it again not expecting a response, and you immediately regret it as you feel his presence get lighter as he pulls away.

One more kiss to the spot behind your ear, he feels you preening below him and makes note of this—amongst everything else—for later, he pulls back to meet your eyes again.

“I love you.”

Your face drops, “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not being funny.”

Yes he is, he has to be. Because the universe in which Spencer Reid allows a piece of—the whole of it according to him, unbeknownst to you—his heart to be fully yours is not this one. You’ve never had luck like that.

“Then you’re lying to me, and that’s worse.” your voice cracks, Spencer feels the same crack imprinted on his heart.

“Sweetheart, I’m not lying. I love you.” He says it again to your surprise, the tenderness of his touch returning as he deliberates how to disarm you. The defensiveness you have isn’t surprising to him, it’s the note of insecurity in your tone he isn’t ready for, like you are unable to even believe it could be you.

You’re a dandelion, he thinks, the puffballs teetering attachment to their base with one wrong move sending them astray into the wind. He’s wading treacherous weather but he finds that for you he’d do anything and everything eyes closed if he had to.

“…Really?” you ask meekly. He nods slowly, never breaking his gaze on you. “But…JJ.”

His eyes soften and he nods in understanding, “There was a point in my life where, yes that was all I was waiting to hear,” he starts, “But, I am no longer at that point in my life anymore. I’m here now. She knows that.”

You’re unconvinced, Spencer can see it clear as day. Maybe it’s more apprehensive than unconvinced, but no one could blame you. How are you to believe anything when you went through what you did in the last 24 hours? You look defeated if anything, like you’d accepted your fate of always coming second place.

Spencer racks his brain hard trying to think of a way to show you that the podium doesn’t even exist, it’s only ever been you.

He pulls out his wallet and rifles through the many things inside, finding what he’s looking for before handing it to you. You look up at him in confusion when you make it out to be a movie ticket stub from the Korean film festival you’d both attended a little after you started at the BAU, the first time the two of you ever spent time together. The edges are soft and smoothed out as a result of time, like it’s been held and comforted for many days.

“There’s more in my apartment.”

“Movie ticket stubs?” you ask bemused.

“Commemorations of you,” his fingers brush the span of your arm up and down soothingly, “I probably have something for every time we’ve ever hung out. If it reminds me of you, I have it.”

Tears well up in your eyes for the umpteenth time, a few spilling over rapidly.

“Hey no, you’re not supposed to cry at that.” he whispers softly between you, his thumb taking the rightful and familiar place under your eye to catch the tears.

You shake your head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been loved like this.”

His heart tightens, “No? Well, I think you have to get used to it now.”

“No choice?” you pout.

He catches the timbre of humor in your voice and smiles widely. He hugs you tightly, pressing your head into his chest, “I guess you don’t have to. Just because you’re not used to it doesn’t mean I’ll stop. If you’re like this now, wait till you see the box I have of our things.”

You sniffle again, your head reeling as your tears stain his shirt and the scent of him invades your being. It’s overwhelming and all consuming, just how you know Spencer to be. He doesn’t expect you to believe him right away, you’ve been through so much that it would be unfair to ask that of you. You don’t know what tomorrow holds, or even the rest of this night, but one thing you have learned is that to Spencer you are known, and therefore you are loved.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction

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aidenwaites · 1 year ago

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People truly don't get just how labor-intensive of a field filmmaking is, whether it's writing/pre-production or on-set actors and crew or post-production

#listen man i know ive barely scratched the surface of even sports broadcasting #but my schedule is Not Unlike the kind of schedules film crews face with MUCH more labor intensive jobs #except where my schedule is unpredictable and subject to change on short notice and my shifts #Do Not Come with proper breaks #at least i *usually* only work a max of 12 hours #film crews easily see 14-16 hour days and the studios refuse to accept #paying more fines to the unions for not supplying the minimum amount of hours needed between shifts (this was something they rejected in #the wga negotiations)#and they HAVE to have those fines put on them because there is like. a real legitimate problem of lack of sleep leading to #injuries (and sometimes fatal ones) both on and off film sets. do you know its not unusual for people on sets to be reminded not to drive #if they feel like theyre going to pass out. a couple of years ago when iatse was in negotiations people were sharing INSANE stories #along those lines #and those days arent worth it!! at all!! we HAVE to take more time to make movies. we have to stand behind the unions. come on man #anyway brought to you by i wasnt gonna reblog that giant post where someone sent a stupid ask to neil gaiman but i am mad about it #and i know that post was specifically aboht writing but MAN people really forget the number of crew who work on movies #and how exhausting those jobs are and how much technical skill and varied understanding of skills that arent even your own #that you have to have to work in entertainment !#anyway

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wadewnstonwilson · 1 month ago

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need you close;

summary: when your busy schedule leaves logan feeling neglected, he craves your attention in his own way—by showing up with small, thoughtful gestures and lingering touches that hint at his pent-up need. despite his rugged exterior, logan’s vulnerability shines through as he tries to remind you he’s still there, waiting.

word count: 1k

a/n: okay so this was originally a headcanon idea but this was my most popular headcanon so I definitely wanted to post it as a one shot! always feel free to leave an ask if you guys want anymore logan themed headcanons or fics!

Logan wasn’t used to being ignored. Or at least, not by you. It had been weeks since you’d been swamped with work, and while you appreciated his support, you couldn’t help but feel the strain on your relationship. He’d never say it, not out loud at least, but Logan was needy, and he craved your attention like nothing else.

The soft scratch of a pen met your ears, but you didn’t even look up from your laptop. Logan stood by the counter, lazily scribbling something on a piece of paper. He’d been in and out of your office all day, never staying long but always making his presence known. His scent—musky, earthy, all Logan—lingered long after he’d leave. It used to comfort you, but now it only reminded you of the time you couldn’t give him.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Logan, I’m really busy.”

Without missing a beat, he crossed the room and placed a steaming cup of your favorite coffee on the desk. His fingers lingered, brushing against yours as he slid the cup toward you. You glanced up and caught the faintest smirk on his lips.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” he grumbled, leaning in closer. His warm breath fanned over your cheek, and you could feel the tension melt from your muscles, despite how desperately you needed to focus. “Been workin’ too hard.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, but your voice betrayed you. The way his hands rested on your shoulders—rough yet tender—sent shivers down your spine. He started massaging the knots in your shoulders, his fingers kneading the tension from your overworked muscles. You hadn’t realized how much you missed this—missed him—until now.

“You need a break, darlin’,” Logan muttered, his voice low and rough, sending a familiar heat through your body. “Can’t have you burnin’ out on me.”

You chuckled, but the sound was weak. “I’ll take a break soon, I promise.”

Logan let out a soft grunt, clearly unsatisfied with your answer. But instead of arguing, he pulled back, leaving a small note on the corner of your desk before disappearing from the room. You picked it up, your heart softening at the sight of his messy handwriting: Missin’ you. Don’t forget to take a break.

For a moment, you considered following him. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But you had deadlines to meet, work piling up faster than you could keep up with. You’d make it up to him later—at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The next few days were more of the same. Logan was always around, but never directly demanding your attention. He’d leave notes scattered around your workspace—short, sweet messages like Thinkin’ ‘bout you or We’re overdue for some time together. He brought you food, sometimes your favorite meal, other times just a snack to keep you going. He’d make excuses to touch you, his hands lingering on your back or brushing against your arm as he walked by.

But you noticed the shift. His touches were growing more possessive, more intense, as if he was trying to remind you that he was still here, waiting for you to give him the attention he so desperately needed.

One evening, you returned home from a long day at work, exhausted and drained. You dropped your bag by the door and collapsed on the couch, barely managing to kick off your shoes. Within seconds, Logan was beside you, pulling you into his lap without a word.

“Logan, I’m—”

“Shh.” His arms wrapped around you, and you could feel the weight of his need in the way he held you, so tight you thought he might never let go. “You’re always busy, darlin’. Let me take care of you.”

The frustration in his voice was clear, but so was the affection. He wasn’t angry—he was hurt. Hurt that you hadn’t been giving him the time he needed. You felt a pang of guilt as you melted into his embrace, feeling the heat of his body against yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your head resting against his chest. His heart thudded steadily beneath your ear, a comforting sound that you hadn’t realized you’d missed. “I’ve been so caught up in work, I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizin’,” Logan interrupted, his voice softer than before. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “Just... don’t do it again, alright? I miss you.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. Logan wasn’t the type to openly express his emotions, but the way he held you now—tight, protective, needy—said more than words ever could.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering against your hair. “I’ve been patient,” he muttered, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But I need you. Not just here, but with me. You get what I’m sayin’?”

“I do,” you replied softly, shifting to look up at him. His eyes met yours, and you could see the raw emotion swirling in them—jealousy, frustration, but above all, love. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much.”

Logan grunted, but this time there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I can forgive you, but only ‘cause I know how hard you’ve been workin’. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

You laughed, feeling the tension in your chest ease. “I’ll try not to.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that made your heart race. You could feel the heat of his need, the way he poured every bit of his pent-up affection into the kiss. It was almost overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I’m not gonna stop remindin’ you I’m here,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You’re mine, darlin’. Don’t forget that.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. “I won’t forget.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to relax completely in his arms, savoring the warmth of his touch and the strength of his embrace. Logan wasn’t one to be needy often, but when he was, it only made you fall harder for him.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what you needed too.

#james logan howlett #logan #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan wolverine #wolverine #the wolverine #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing #my headcanons #my fics #my fanfiction #my work

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hannie-dul-set · 6 months ago

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the breakup soup — [y.jh].

SYNOPSIS. you and jeonghan get into an argument in the middle of the meeting. the rest of your organization’s officers slowly start to realize that this isn’t just about whether the mountains or the sea would be the better venue for your event.

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x female! reader. GENRE. lovers to exes to lovers, humor, romance, tiny angst, orgmate! jeonghan, college! au, a whole lot of forced proximity, only one bed inn room, a bunch of nosy men. WARNINGS. written breakup (obviously), so much swearing, many many dumb inappropriate jokes (divorce, fucking, diarrhea, to name a few), parliamentary procedures jargon. WORD COUNT. 15k.

NOTE. after six, seven months, this this is finally out of hell (my gdocs). the soup is overcooked. holy shit. everything is written in the pov of a certain teener (excluding jeonghan and the mc. this fic is about them but no, you do not have access to their thoughts). this is super duper fun to write and i hope it’s fun to read as well HHAHAHAHA. please let me know what you think! enjoy!

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 7, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

The words robotically fall out of Seungcheol’s mouth as he turns over the pages of his clipboard, marking a precise, red dot next to the word ‘agenda’ on the page. Another day, another meeting. He can’t wait for the moment he can finally retire from this god damned position. Every single time he repeats his presiding officer script, it feels like a digit gets added to his age.

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

Wonwoo starts the roll call, and Seungcheol is desperately trying to cover his yawn with the clipboard, else Seungkwan is gonna grate at him again for dozing off in his own meeting— the aforementioned straightening himself in his seat when his position is called.

“Public Information Officer 1?”

“Present and voting.”

“PIO 2?

“Present—” says Joshua, flicking a paper clip across the table and into Vernon’s nth latte of the day. “—and voting.”

“Next. Assistant Business Manager.”

“Prese—”

“Okay, got it.” Chan brandishes a look of offense when Wonwoo cuts him off. “Business Manager?”

“Present and voting. Do we really have to keep doing this one by one?”

Mingyu has a point, Seungcheol mentally agrees. But his god damned seniors wrote in the damned constitution and bylaws that every meeting of SVT (Society of Virtuous Timetravellers. He’s in the process of renaming it because your organization that’s supposed to be for history and culture is attracting weirdos instead— and two of them are Soonyoung and Seokmin) must abide by strict parliamentary procedures, so he has no choice but to suck it up and listen as Wonwoo continues to read out the succeeding positions on the attendance list, and it’s starting to sound a lot like a lullaby.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting.” The scratch from Wonwoo’s throat signals Seungcheol that it’s to zone back in. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

“Present and voting.”

Your voice draws Seungcheol's attention. He turns his head towards you and he notices the sheets of binded up papers you have in your hands, straightened with a few taps on the table surface before you settle them back down, a swell of pride when he sees what’s printed on the topmost page.

It’s impeccably organized, the task he assigned to you only three days prior. Hell, you even have page tabs sticking out of the sides of every page. Your work ethic never fails to impress him. On top of that, you’re always so professional— able to separate your personal and org life with strict barriers in between because even though you and Junhui have been friends for ten years, your sharp glare holds no reservations when you catch him folding paper turtles with sticky notes right next to you when inside the meeting room.

“Sorry,” Jun breathes out. You retract your leg from under the table after giving him a discreet kick.

Anyway, Seungcheol has high hopes for you, and he’s eyeing you to replace him as SVT’s Chairperson next year (he’s already in the process of manipulating you into taking the job: the compliments he gives away aren’t for free). You’re perfect. You’re flawless. There’s no one else fit for the position but you.

Which is why the next course of events comes as nothing less than a shock to him.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?” Wonwoo calls out but is met with silence. He looks around. “VCI?”

No answer. You scoff.

��Alright, moving on. Mr. Chair?”

Seungcheol stiffens, second-guessing what he’d just heard, but the near-invisible crooked twitch of the corner of your mouth proves that no, that wasn’t just his imagination. You just scoffed. A sharp noise laced with derision and contempt. That should’ve been the first sign that something is off.

“Present,” he coughs out, resigning his attention back to the meeting he has to preside over. It must be nothing. Even you can get annoyed sometimes. Maybe Jun is fucking around again and you’ve just had about enough.

“There are thirteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair. We are in quorum.”

“Thank you. Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s—”

The office door swings open.

“Sorry, I’m late!”

And Mr. VCI rushes in with his white coat still hanging off his shoulders. The meeting is put to an abrupt pause as Jeonghan hastily walks up to his assigned seat, trying to explain the reason for his tardiness. “Our lab session took longer than expected,” Jeonghan huffs out, dragging out the chair next to him. “Dr. Han wouldn’t let us—”

“It’s common decency to enter the room and sit down quietly when you’re late so as to not disturb the ongoing meeting. Especially when you haven’t informed the body beforehand.”

Seungcheol flinches when he hears the interruption of your sharp tone. His head quickly snaps to your direction before gleaning Jeonghan’s reaction. His friend’s jaw tightens but he says nothing. That should’ve been the second sign.

“Mr. Chair, may we proceed with the reading of today’s agenda?”

He eyes you carefully and, with a hesitant drawl anchoring his tongue, proceeds with the meeting while Jeonghan quietly settles into his seat. “Mr. VCI, you may send your excuse letter later for record keeping. Anyhow, Mr. Secretary, please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting.” Wonwoo does as instructed. The problem is, Seungcheol can’t hear anything that he’s saying. Not when his seat is exceedingly uncomfortable at the moment.

It’s not his seat. It’s the two people cornering his seat that’s the problem.

Cold sweat breaks out from his forehead. The air is stuffy. You and Jeonghan lock eyes for zero-point-five seconds and there’s a chill in the atmosphere that only Seungcheol can feel. What the fuck is going on?

“Thank you Mr. Secretary. We’ll begin with the first agenda— SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. Alright. As you all may know, this will be our organization’s first event for the academic year, thus I am expecting everyone’s undivided cooperation in making sure that this event will be a success. We have already discussed the initial details of the event during the previous meeting, and we also distributed the tasks to the officers and committees.” He flips through a page and clears his throat. “I believe our Vice Chair External was tasked to scout for the venue. Ms. VCE, have you prepared your presentation?”

You nod, rising from your seat. “Yes, Mr. Chair. I’ve prepared a comprehensive list of all our options.” Okay, Seungcheol breathes in through nose. You seem normal now. Maybe he was just overthinking things. “I ask for everyone’s assistance in distributing the copies.”

Seungcheol looks at the text written in bold when you pass a copy to him— SVT ORYE & MT 20XX: VENUE PROPOSAL. While everyone is passing the paperclip-bound photocopies to each other, you take the liberty to start speaking. “If you look at the second page, you can see the overview of the entire document. I’ve listed five possible venues and compiled their respective addresses, rates, inclusions, menus, and of course, pictures for your reference. We’ll look at each of them one by one, starting with—”

You pause. Jeonghan is raising his hand. Your eyebrow twitches. Seungcheol gets a bad feeling. “Yes, Mr. VCI?”

“Thank you for the acknowledgement,” he says. “I’d like to ask why exactly are all of these venues located in the mountains? Don’t we have other options? It would be fine if it were just us officers, but I believe holding the event in such terrains would be far too inconvenient for more or less a hundred people.”

A very bad feeling.

“I appreciate your insight,” you respond. Uh oh. Your smile is strained and Seungcheol knows it. That’s the smile you wear when you’re about to pulverize a representative for a disadvantageous partnership to the ground. “However, I’d like to bring to your recollection that the theme of this year’s Orye is traditional South Korean folklore. That considered, I came up with the judgment that the mountainous and forested areas would be the most appropriate and immersive venue if we wish to bring this concept to life. I hope that is clear, Mr. VCI. Anyway—”

“It’s still impractical, Ms. VCE.”

Your face stiffens.

Jeonghan just cut you off.

Shit, he just cut you off.

He stands up, leveling you from across the table. “What about our members with asthma? Heart problems? What if it rains on the day of the event? Do you expect everyone to climb up a mountain trail in all these conditions?”

“If you read through my document before inadvertently interrupting me, Mr. VCI, you’d know that three out of the five venues offer uphill transportation in order to get to the accommodations. And although I understand your reservations about the possibility of inclement weather, may I remind you that it’s also the driest season of the year. You’re being unreasonable.”

Fuck. Seungcheol thinks he needs to butt in but he can’t find the timing when there’s literally an invisible fucking electric fence deterring him from reaching the both you. He catches a glimpse of Joshua’s concerned eyebrows. ‘Do something,’ his friend’s eyes say. He’s about to until you drop a sentence that shoots the tension off the roof.

“Furthermore, I’ve surveyed all of the officers through text if they agree with my venue proposal and I was met with no objections. You’d know if you opened any of my messages last night, Jeonghan.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck, you called him by his first name.

You never call anyone by their first name. At least not during meetings and it’s very clear that this is a reason for alarm because everyone else’s eyes fly wide open. Except Jeonghan’s. He just looks pissed— mirroring your very own expression. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong and Seungcheol is slowly starting to realize that this argument isn’t just about the venue conflict.

“Ahem.” He clears his throat for the nth time, a wound might break open. “We will take our VCI’s concern into consideration. If you believe holding our Orye in the mountains is impractical, where do you suggest we should hold it instead?”

Jeonghan’s shoulders relax. He gives you a momentary look before settling back into his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.” You do the same. Seungcheol breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’d like to suggest that we hold it by the beach and sea. Not only would it be more accessible, it would also be considerably cheaper considering there’d be no extra expenses for transportation up the hiking trail. There are also more options if we hold it on the beach. I already have contacts from last year’s set of events. We don’t have to worry about negotiations.”

Seungcheol nods in response. He’s about to say something but once again, he hears an unmistakable scoff from your direction. “Of course, you’d go for the low effort option.”

Oh no. Oh god, no.

Jeonghan’s eyes dart towards you. “What was that?”

Seungcheol doesn’t get paid enough for this shit.

“I’m just saying that it’s so like you to go for the easy way out.”

He doesn’t get paid for this at all.

“What are you trying to tell me here, Ms. VCE?” Jeonghan’s tone is getting more pointed, and the rest of the table are starting to pick up on what’s going on. Mingyu is slowly inching off of his seat and finding the right time to book it. Chan and Seokmin are nervously flitting their eyes back and forth between Jeonghan and you. Minghao hao stopped paying attention. He’s got his airpods on and scrolling through his phone.

“The sea is not theme-appropriate for our event, Mr. VCI,” you firmly press on. “There are myths and folklore that reference the sea and ocean, however as an introductory event for our organization we should defer from making far too uncommon references since most of our members are beginners to our advocacy.”

Vernon is about to be swallowed by his chair. Seungkwan has his face in his hands. Seungcheol’s phone vibrates and it’s a message from Wonwoo. Should I include all of this in the minutes? he asks. Seungcheol isn’t even sure if this argument is still about the venue.

“May I also add that beach events are overused. Everyone holds acquaintance parties, Christmas parties, sensitivity trainings at beaches and beach resorts. Should we follow that template, I doubt our event would be memorable enough for our members to remember.”

“Then it’d be the obligation of the program committee to make it memorable.” The said committee flinches upon hearing Jeonghan’s words. Joshua and Junhui don’t look like they agree with the additional burden. Jihoon’s forehead is wrinkling from secondhand stress. “We don’t need to sacrifice the affordability and accessibility of our location in order to hold a note-worthy event. And, may I also reiterate that we should consider our members with health problems, Ms. VCE.”

This is enough. This is probably enough. Maybe it’s time for Seungcheol to intervene.

“However, I understand,” Jeonghan continues. “I understand that it’s not easy for you to be considerate.”

But how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you two fucks won’t stop provoking each other?

“Oh, for god’s sake!” It’s hopeless. It’s gone out of control. Your voice has bordered on yelling ang Seungcheol himself is afraid of being caught in between. “Are you still mad about the cat thing?!”

What is the cat thing? What in the hell is actually going on?

“This is not about the cat thing and you know that.” There’s a ruffle in Jeonghan’s voice. He lets out a groan and throws his head back with his fingers digging into his hair. “Fuck. Let’s talk later.”

Yes. Yes, please just talk later so we can move on with the meeting.

“Did you just swear at me?”

Nevermind.

There’s a second silence. One second— until the corner of Jeonghan’s mouth twitches and he expels a huff of incredulity. It’s ominous. It’s a harbinger of uncomfortable destruction. “So swearing is crossing the line, but refusing to let me meet your parents and forcing us to keep this relationship a secret is completely justifiable?”

Well shit.

This meeting is done for.

Silence washes over the office once again. Wide eyes are being exchanged and not even Wonwoo is filling the tension with his incessant typing on the laptop. Chair, I don’t think I should include this part in the minutes, Seungcheol receives another message from him. Of course he shouldn’t. A relationship reveal isn’t part of the agenda. Neither is a breakup but he fears it’s teetering to that outcome.

It’s uncomfortable. It’s suffocatingly uncomfortable and Seokmin looks like he’s about to cry at any moment.

“Well,” you simmer. “I guess it’s not much of a secret anymore, isn’t it?”

“Damn.” Soonyoung receives an elbow from Jihoon. He gets hushed down very quickly to make room for another agonizing exchange between you and Jeonghan.

“Is that literally all you have to say? You’re so insensitive, it drives me fucking nuts. This is why it’s so hard to keep seeing you—”

“Oh, so you think I’m not having a hard time? If you can’t understand why I had to do that, then let’s just stop seeing each other!”

“Fine, I’m glad we’re on the same page this time.”

“Great!”

“Great.”

“Your clothes better be out of my closet by tomorrow.”

“Throw them away, I don’t need them.”

“I will! Thanks for the suggestion!”

Things have now gone beyond the point of salvation and he can’t even interject to formally end this disaster of a meeting.

“Mr. Chair, I apologize, but I’m afraid I will be leaving early today.” Oh, so now you remember his existence. You’re fuming, slinging over your shoulder bag and haphazardly collecting your things from the table, and Seungcheol simply massages his temples and nods in acknowledgement to your sudden leave. “Please go through the document at your discretion and I’ll be respecting whatever decision the body makes. Thank you and have a good day.”

Just like that, you’re gone. Jeonghan also starts collecting his things. “My phone lines are open in case you need anything. Goodbye.” With that, he also disappears with the harsh swing and slam of the door, leaving behind another blanket of uncomfortable silence for everyone else to drown in.

Seungcheol sighs. He feels a headache kicking in.

“So...are we having the event in the mountains or by the sea?”

He groans.

Is it too late to file a resignation?

*‎

The following week has been nothing less than hell for SVT (Seungcheol has yet to change to the org name. He’s getting there. Slowly. Fuck university bureaucracies). The Orye is fast approaching, so there are still a lot of matters to be settled— printing documents, processing permits, making calls. The venue dispute is yet to be settled. Mr. Chair instructed a team to check out the mountain and sea accommodations you and Jeonghan forwarded within the weekend to get a better feel of both options.

There’s still so much work, which honestly doesn’t pose a problem with Boo Seungkwan, one of the org’s information officers. He’s used to it, being a member of SVT since his freshman year and all. This workload is nothing to SVT. Nothing to you.

It’s almost like you’re a machine. Printing documents? You’re a one-woman printing shop. Processing permits? You’ve befriended all the office heads and one word from you will get the event approved. It’s basic shit. Completely rudimentary. Seungkwan has always been at awe with how you operate. But right now, the problem is not the work.

It’s the work environment that’s the problem.

“Can someone pass me the stapler?”

Your voice cracks into the tense silence in the office like a cold blade, causing Seungkwan to flinch and look up from his paperwork. The whirring of the printer fills in the void left behind by your voice, with Chan carefully organizing the freshly printed pages with tight lips. You’re met with no response. He locks eyes with Joshua. The stapler is beside Jeonghan, who’s running through the program for the event. They share a look of dread.

“Where is the stapler?” You look up from the table. The clear stiffening of your face upon noticing where the damned thing is forces knots into Seungkwan’s temples. Oh god. Here we go. “Nevermind.”

The stupid stapler skids across the table. It’s been transported from one end to your end. Jeonghan’s eyes are glued to his laptop when he slides it down. Jun is nervously hovering behind him. Seungkwan wants to throw up.

“Jun,” Jeonghan calls out. “How many steps does it take for you to get from one end of the meeting table to the other?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

“Can you try walking from here to the other end of the table?”

Jun is sweating. He hesitantly nods and slowly creaks away from his spot behind Jeonghan, cautious steps towards your end of the table. Three steps. All eyes are on him. Five steps. Seungkwan is not religious but he’s making the sign of the cross. Seven steps.

“Wow. Ten steps is easier and faster than I thought! Anyway, you can come back now, Jun. I have some questions regarding—”

Swoosh!

Something rockets through the air, missing Jeonghan’s face by a mere inch from its trajectory. Holy shit. It hits the wall behind Jeonghan and crashes into the floor. “My bad,” you announce. “I wondered how quick it’d be if I threw something from here to there. It’s definitely faster than just walking.”

Assault. That must be assault. This is insane. This is getting out of hand. Seungkwan can’t deal with this shit anymore.

“I can’t fucking deal with this shit anymore!”

As he says, the moment you and Jeonghan leave the office to attend your respective classes. Jun takes a hefty intake of air and everyone relaxes almost immediately. “Seriously. Why should we suffer because they can’t hold their relationship together?!” he fumes. “If they wanted to break up, they could’ve done it in private. I’m sick and tired of walking on pins and needles whenever both of them are around!”

Murmurs of agreement break out. If their Chair was here, they would’ve been scolded. Thank fucking god he’s at the admin office processing their name change. “This reminds me of the time my parents got divorced,” Soonyoung offhandedly mentions while fiddling through their budget plan.

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him. “Wasn’t that also the time you started perceiving yourself as a tiger as a coping mechanism?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus christ.”

“I agree with Seungkwan,” Minghao announces. He had just finished sweeping up the shattered stapler from the ground. “I can’t keep up with them anymore. Whenever I’m with our VCE I have to talk shit about the other. Why don’t we just lock them up in a closet so they can fuck and make up?”

A grimace creeps into Chan’s face. “I abhor the image you’ve just supplanted into my mind.”

Minghao furrows his brows. “Who told you to imagine them having sex in our dirty storage closet? Weirdo.” Chan is unable to say anything back. “Anyway, how do we fix this? I have to meet with Jeonghan hyung for dinner and I’m running out of bad things to say about his ex-girlfriend.”

“I thought the plan was to lock them up in the closet?” Seokmin tries to clarify. They’re all actually considering it. Seungkwan is sure they have a death wish.

“You guys can’t be serious. Didn’t you see Vice Chair’s face when hyung walked into the room earlier? She looked like she was considering murder, I had the fucking chills. We are not locking them in a closet unless you all want it to end with a dead body in our office.” Seungkwan pauses. “Thirteen. Thirteen dead bodies if she finds out we orchestrated it.”

“Then what should we do?” Vernon asks. “Get one of them to resign?”

“No!” Soonyoung interjects. “I can’t deal with another divorce!”

Jihoon’s face contorts. “They aren’t your parents. You didn’t even know they were together until they broke up.”

“Still,” Seokmin joins in. “I don’t want any of them to leave SVT.”

Jun presses his lips together. “I think I saw her drafting a resignation letter earlier.”

There is silence. Then the dawning of realization. Then chaos erupts.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no way.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

“Let’s burn her letter before she can submit it!”

“Nobody let her near the office!”

They’re all behaving like idiots, but Seungkwan has to agree. There is without a doubt that even though your breakup has recently put the organization into an uncomfortably tight spot— SVT would be done for if either of you leave. Seungcheol hyung can’t shoulder everything by himself. The both of you are the bedrock of SVT’s internal and external affairs respectively. Resignation is out of the question.

“Heh. You’re all overlooking something.”

It’s a new voice. Seungkwan wondered when this fucker would speak up, and he’s making his entrance in a gratingly obnoxious way.

Mingyu is sitting on Seungcheol’s swivel chair in the latter’s absence. He slowly spins it around, facing the rest of the members with the pads of his fingers pressed together. “To fix a problem, we should find out the root cause first.” Seungkwan wants to hit him, but Mingyu looks like he’s onto something. “Nobody’s resigning. I have a plan.”

*‎

Jihoon didn’t want to have anything to do with this.

It’s not his business whoever from his orgmates are fucking around or have completely fucked their relationship. It’s not his business whether or not you and Jeonghan have the chance to get back together again.

“If your previous supplier didn’t scam us last summer, we wouldn’t even be out here right now.”

Yet that is exactly what he’s been tasked to do— to dig his nose into your business, on a hot day, while having to canvass printing shops in the district. But finding a replacement supplier for your org shirts is the least of his concerns at the moment because—

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: any update??? have you gotten through her yet?????]

How the hell is he supposed to fish out any information from you about your relationship with Jeonghan?!

“But these rates are seriously unreasonable. I’ll put this one on the table,” you say, ticking off a box from your checklist and Jihoon is sweating bullets. “What do you think, Hoon?”

Sure, you two work pretty well together and you praise his competence any single time you get the chance, but that’s the problem. You aren’t close. Your relationship is strictly professional. Hell, your text convo is nothing but org-related and Jihoon doesn’t fucking understand why he has to be the one doing this job when he can give less than two shits about the situation.

“Let’s check out the next place on the list first,” he replies. “I think the quality for this one is still better than the previous.

Dealing with someone else’s relationship problems wasn’t part of the job description when he got elected as treasurer. He’s got his own love life (or lack thereof) to worry about.

“Alright,” you reply with a deep exhale. It’s hot, and you’re getting tired. He’s also getting tired. Can’t you all just go home? “We’ll take a break first. Let’s continue after getting a drink, but where’s Mingyu? Did he get diarrhea or something?”

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: hyung status report plz.] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Hoshi: wow we sound like actual secret agents.]

Jihoon feels his head starting to hurt. “I’ll text him.”

“Thanks.”

Mingyu isn’t coming back. Not until Jihoon manages to get something out of you. According to Jun, you’ve branded him as ‘Jeonghan-allied’ (whatever the fuck that means), so there’s no way you’d be talking if that street lamp is hanging around. “They went to the same high school! I can’t trust bastards from Hyangnam anymore,” Jun quoted from you personally, and they all started wondering what your conjectured alignment for each of them is.

However, Mingyu is functionally obligated to tag along with your canvassing venture today because he’s SVT’s business manager and Jihoon has all your org money. You’re here because you can’t stay put unless you’re directly involved in the task. Mingyu asked permission to go to the bathroom earlier to give his comrade an opportunity. That was forty-five minutes ago. Jihoon still hasn’t gotten anything from you.

“It’s an emergency, he says. A big one. Gigantic.” Mingyu never said that. Jihoon’s phone is a black screen. “Public toilets aren’t trustworthy. He went to his apartment. He told us to continue without him.”

You grimace with the click of your tongue. “Gross. Those god damned Hyangnam bastards. Let’s go. I need something cold.”

Time is ticking, his phone keeps on buzzing, and Jihoon grows steadily more restless by the minute. You two finish ordering and pay for your two lemonades with SVT money. “It’s the least this damn org can do for us,” you say. He fears you might actually resign, and it doesn’t do his ever escalating nerves a favor. How does he do it? How does he bring up Yoon Jeonghan without invoking your fury?

“Jihoon,” you call out, and he flinches. “What’s wrong? You’ve been spacing out since this morning.”

You’re both sitting on the nice leather seats of the air-conditioned cafe. Being out of the heat seems to have bettered your mood. Maybe he can wiggle something out while you’re pacified by the lemonade and cool air.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat. His knees are shaking. Shit. This is harder than processing your cash advance for the fucking orientation. He needs to ease it in. To bring it up discreetly. “I never really suspected that you and Jeonghan hyung were dating.”

Regret comes instantaneously the moment the words fall out of his mouth.

So much for being discreet. Your face stiffens. Jihoon knows he fucked up badly.

“I—I mean, I’m not trying to comment on anything, I was just surprised to find out.” Dammit. Wrong move. He might get blacklisted like you did with Mingyu. He’s not panicking because their stupid operation might fail. He’s panicking because he’s gonna lose the bragging right of being on good terms with SVT’s intimidatingly unapproachable Vice Chair.

The ice in your drink clinks around. Jihoon squeezes his eyes shut and prepares for the worst.

“God. I can’t believe I dated him in the first place.”

Then he opens one eye. He sees you swirling your lemonade with one hand, the other used as a resting place for your chin before you take a sip from the straw and continue complaining. “I can’t stand him. I shouldn’t have let him sweet talk me into that first fucking date, that venomous bastard. His face is a weapon. I should’ve known better than to trust that face.”

Jihoon’s eyes are now fully opened. He discreetly pulls out his phone from his pocket— the device still constantly buzzing— and opens his recorder app all while his heart is nervously barrelling against his ribcage from the remnants of his fear. “Did he like—” Jihoon presses record, “—cheat on you or something?”

“What? No way. He’d never do that.”

“Then,” he continues prodding. “Why did you two break up?”

“Ugh,” you grunt, taking another long sip from your drink before slamming it down the table with a thunk. Jihoon flinches. He secures his phone underneath the table, checking if it’s still recording everything. “Don’t get me started. You don’t get it, Hoon. He’s just so—”

Jihoon never expected you to just lay down everything for him. You just continue pouring and pouring everything out like a fountain. A fountain of dirty laundry and too many swear words that his audio recording might get flagged if it gets uploaded online. This...was easier than expected.

*‎

Seokmin’s eyes are narrowed at his senior— zoomed in and in focus as the aforementioned finishes talking to a group of SVT’s new members. He’s taken a step back with a stack of flyers pressed to his chest. He can’t miss anything. He can’t miss a single thing.

“Thank you! I better be seeing your faces during the event, alright? Enjoy your lunch!”

Jeonghan is giving them the copy of the program for your upcoming Orye and MT. Freshmen. All women, as far as his eyes can tell, and they’re all giggling after his senior bids them off. He’s never seen Jeonghan hyung smile at you like that. In fact, he’s never even seen him wave at you goodbye like what he’s doing right now. Has he moved on? Oh no. This is bad. This plan might be ruined before they could even conduct an intervention.

“Seokmin, what’s wrong?” asks Jeonghan, snapping him out from the brink of a spiral of despair. “You don’t look too good. Is the weather too hot? Should we take a break?”

“N—no, I’m alright! Let’s keep going!” Seokmin needs to know if his hyung’s unnaturally sweet behavior was an isolated case. There’s not enough information in the air to make a solid conclusion.

“Well, I’m not alright,” Jeonghan grimaces. “The heat is unbearable. Let’s have lunch first, then we’ll continue. Go find us a good place to eat.”

A lump grows in Seokmin’s throat and he nervously swallows, watching as Jeonghan pulls out his phone and starts typing a message, to the SVT group chat probably to give them an update. Or to one of the girls he was talking to earlier. Shit. “Hyung, who are you texting?” he asks. Jeonghan responds with a pause, a suspicious smile, and tells him that ‘it’s a secret, hehe,’ and that he should hurry and look for a nice restaurant because he’s starving.

That wasn’t a helpful answer at all. Seokmin’s anxiety grows by the second. “What...what do you want to eat, hyung?” He should ask more questions later.

“You pick,” is Jeonghan’s reply with yet another grin that puts him ill at ease. “I’m placing my faith in you Seokmin. It better be a good place.”

There’s another lump in his throat. Oh god. This guy sure knows how to pressure people in the weirdest ways. And now instead of prodding around to figure out if his senior has indeed moved on or still has lingering feelings for you, he’s scrolling through his phone trying to look up a good restaurant— panic-stricken because god forbid he make a disappointing choice— while Jeonghan starts talking to another SVT member who just happened to pass by.

“We’re having it next month,” he overhears Jeonghan speaking, momentarily taking away his eyes from his phone just to see his hyung yet again looking and smiling at the org member with an alarming amount of sweetness pouring out of his eyes. “I’ll see you there?”

“Y—yes…!”

His observation is cut short by the buzz of his phone. A message bar pops up, covering the top of the screen and preemptively stopping his resto search.

[Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Seungkwan: seok, do we have updates??? jihoon hyung hasn’t gotten back to use since thirty minutes ago!!] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Minghao: I told you all this plan was hopeless] [Operation We Are Never Ever Getting (Them) Back Together: Kim Mingyu: why is noona telling me to take herbal teas and drink lots of water?????]

“So, where are we eating?”

Seokmin’s bones rattle and the phone nearly jumps out of his hands like a live fish.

“Talking to people is tiring,” he hears his senior lament with a long sigh. “Seokmin-ah, you take over after lunch. Let’s go.”

Go where? He hasn’t picked a place yet! Why are there so many food places around campus?! Jeonghan quickly starts walking and, out of even more panic, Seokmin picks a random direction, robotically taking the lead, brain overheating and eyes spinning out of focus until muscle memory lands them across the street of a hotpot place he frequents, just a few blocks away from campus. “O—oh, haha! Hyung, we’re here! Let’s—let’s quickly get inside, yes—”

He stops upon the realization that Jeonghan isn’t following him along the crosswalk. When Seokmin turns his head back, he sees Jeonghan staring at the place with a dampened expression. His first thought is maybe Jeonghan hyung doesn’t like hotpot. His second thought is maybe he shouldn’t be stopping in the middle of the road, so he quickly pads back to the sidewalk.

“Hyung…? Are— are you not in the mood for hotpot? Should we go somewhere else?” Seokmin’s gut churns, devastated because he had just betrayed his hyung’s trust in finding an acceptable restaurant. What’s wrong with hotpot at Red House? Did he have a bad experience here? But his place is so good! He and Soonyoung and Jun hyung have been eating here twice a week, Wednesday and Saturdays, ever since you recommended the place to them as your favorite, and— oh.

So, that’s the problem.

You’ve probably eaten here with him too.

“No, no. We’re not going anywhere.” Jeonghan’s demeanor suddenly switches gears. He brushes past him with a sudden determined look, not looking back even when Seokmin calls after him.

“Hyung, I know another place nearby. We don’t have to—”

“Let’s get inside.”

Seokmin has no freaking idea how to dissect or interpret this reaction. Nervous steps follow his senior inside the restaurant, and a server welcomes them both and leads them to a table by the window. “Oh, you’re not here with your girlfriend today,” says the waiting staff after they’ve made their orders, and he sees Jeonghan visibly flinch in the middle of passing back the menu. Jeonghan simply responds with a stiff smile. Seokmin is sure that he had just screwed up big time.

Why did the server have to mention you? Why?! Now, he can’t help but look at the server with an utter look of betrayal as he sets the ingredients on the table. “Is...is there something wrong, sir?” asks the server with uneasy concern. Seokmin’s bottom lip juts out, shaking his head with a sniffle, and thanks the server with a weak voice and tone.

Jeonghan doesn’t appear to be faring any better. While waiting for the broth to boil, all Seokmin could do is soak up the steadily deflating expression of his hyung and worry that it might affect the taste of the food somehow. He was pretty sure Jeonghan is already over you, considering he seemed to be mildly flirting with the org members earlier and all. But now he’s not so sure. Not when his hyung is poking his chopstick into a block of tofu with a gut wrenching look of longing.

“Hyung...” Seokin makes an attempt. “I’m—I’m sorry for bringing you here, I didn’t know it was—”

“Seokmin-ah.” Jeonghan speaks along with the crank of the stove. “A gente world of advice: don’t bring up sensitive topics when the person you’re talking to has a weapon on him. You’re going to get in trouble.”

The sunlight leaking through the window gives a dangerous glint to the scissors Jeonghan is holding. Seokmin bites his tongue. Jeonghan cuts up the noodles and the two start eating quietly.

Seokmin loves eating. He really does. But this time, every bite tastes like hot sand, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get indigestion afterwards.

He swallows down another mouthful with the help of a glass of water, and as he’s trying to get the mix of meat and vegetables down his throat, the sound of utensils that were previously clattering suddenly stops. When Seokmin puts the glass down, he sees Jeonghan seasoning the warm broth with salt.

The natural salt that comes out of your eyes when you start crying.

Holy shit, his hyung is crying.

“Sorry, I just— haha, the soup’s a little spicy, right?”

No. No it’s not. They ordered chicken broth. The soup isn’t spicy at all.

“H—hyung…”

Seokmin’s eyes are now also starting to water. Oh no. Oh no, dear god, what has he done? He didn’t mean to bring him here and reawaken stashed away memories. All he wanted to do was find a good place to eat!

“Hyung, I’m so sorry.”

This was a mistake. They should’ve just had kimbap and ramyeon at the nearby 7-Eleven.

*‎

“So, let me get this straight. One of them did nothing but talk shit about the other for thirty minutes, and the other started crying because Seokmin brought him to her favorite restaurant.”

The SVT officers (minus their Chair and Vice Chars) have reconvened the next day at the office. Their upcoming event isn’t a priority right now. The only thing on the agenda is the problem with you and Yoon Jeonghan— to which Mingyu is trying to wrack his brains in coming up with something in light of their initial investigation.

“After listening to the recording Hoon sent, I don’t think she hates Jeonghan. She sounded like was just nitpicking in the heat of the moment,” says Jun. “If she’s still angry at him...maybe she isn’t over him yet? Maybe there’s still a chance?”

All eyes are on Jihoon, who witnessed your rant firsthand.

“I don’t know. All I can say is that she looked a little sad while talking about him. She didn’t add anything else beyond the recording.” It’s not like the recording was of any help. Most of it was just you calling Jeonghan a son of a bitch, a piece of shit, and so on, as well as a few tangents about Mingyu that he himself didn’t quite appreciate. He thought he was your favorite. Like, why are you assuming that he’s on Jeonghan’s side?! They weren’t even friends back in high school!

He spins the office chair in annoyance. To think he gave you a higher score than Jeonghan on your quarterly evaluation. Maybe he should ask Cheol to take it back.

“Well, if one of them is still on the hook, then there’s still a possibility that they can still get back together,” Wonwoo conjectures, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the rest.

“Does this mean we can finally lock them inside a fucking closet?”

“We are not locking them in a closet,” Seungkwan says. Minghao rolls his eyes at the dismissal. “We can’t do that. But we can bring in some forced proximity in a different way.”

Mingyu stops swiveling the chair. Why is Seungkwan looking straight at him? Wait. Why are they all looking straight at him? His throat tightens. He forces down a swallow. What, what, what’s the matter, why are they all looking at him?

“Oh no!”

Suddenly, Seungkwan starts a one-man drama. He exclaims, an arm jutting into the air before he lets the back of the loose hand drop onto his forehead, stumbling into Vernon who’s standing next to him.

“I just remembered I have a doctor’s appointment this Saturday— the same day where I’m supposed to accompany our Vice Chairs and Business Manager in checking out the venues! Oh no! I don’t think I can make it!”

Right. He along with Seungkwan, Chan, Jeonghan, and you are scheduled to evaluate each of the places on your list so that you can finalize the event venue. Not long after, Chan also breaks into a gasp, catching Seungkwan’s signal. “Oh my! I forgot I also, uh, have a thing on Saturday! What a bummer!”

“Then, I also—”

“No!”

Mingyu winces. He’s shocked. He’s appalled. He’s offended. Why is he being yelled at?! Wasn’t he supposed to go along with the other two? “You don’t have a thing on Saturday, Mingyu. You have to be there to make sure that things don’t go wrong!” Seungkwan tells him, and at first he understands. He’s goes ‘oh, right, of course, yeah, sure,” but the moment what that situation entails finally dawns upon him— the fact that he has to be stuck in between you and Yoon Jeonghan for at least ten hours, maybe more— his blood runs cold and his face pales. There’s no way in hell he’s dealing with that.

“Why me?! Why can’t Joshua hyung go?”

Joshua answers with an offended look of bewilderment.

“Hey, it’s your assignment,” answers Jihoon. “And it was your idea to try and get them back together again. You have the moral obligation to make sure this shit actually works.”

There is no hope to get out of this. They adjourn the meeting and everyone starts filtering out the office— not without giving him looks of sympathy and pats on the back before leaving. “Good luck,” Wonwoo says in passing. Vernon sends him a salute before closing the door. Damn him and his meddling ass. He should’ve just let your relationship die out for good.

The day of reckoning comes. It’s five in the morning at the campus parking lot, you and Jeonghan on the opposite ends of his car, and Mingyu already wants to tuck himself in bed for the day. You’re tapping your feet in impatience, looking at your phone with a glare, while Jeonghan pockets his phone with a sigh and welcome’s himself into the front seat of Mingyu’s car with a distinct slam. You huff and do the same into the backseat.

Shit. This might actually be his last day on earth. Mingyu hurries into the driver’s before either of you yell at him to get moving.

“Tell Boo Seungkwan and Lee Chan that they’re getting sanctioned for this,” grits Jeonghan. Mingyu closes the door and prepares himself for an inevitable six to eight hours of hell.

“The kids are sick and you want to penalize them?” you interject from the back. Mingyu notices Jeonghan’s jaw clench. He shuts his eyes tight and whispers a few prayers. “You’re abusing your authority, Mr. VCI. Cut them some slack.”

“Negligence of duty. Section one under General Prohibitions,” rebuts Jeonghan, making eye contact with you through the front view mirror. “Failure to inform ahead of time the inability to do a task or assignment delegated to them shall be considered an act of negligence on the part of the officer. I’m not abusing any authority, sweetheart. I am acting well within my functions. It’s too early for this kind of—”

Silence drops. So does the temperature in the car which at this point feels like negative fourteen degrees. Jeonghan stifles a cough and rolls down the window for air. You look down and flit through the pages of the document you brought. Mingyu’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and he wants to cry.

“Can we go now? Please? We have six places to visit and I really don’t want to be driving until midnight.”

“We can rotate,” you tell him. “Let’s switch drivers after every location.”

Something tells Mingyu that if he lets your explosive temper behind the wheel, this will not only be the last he’ll be seeing of his cherished car that his parents got him as a gift for his twenty-first birthday, but this will also be the last he’ll be seeing of this mortal realm as well.

“No, haha, it’s okay,” he answers, finally starting the engine. “You two have been working really hard for this event so the least I can do is drive.”

“Well, alright. But there better be no more emergencies like last time.”

Mingyu still doesn’t know what you mean by that. Nor does he know why you’ve been giving him herbal teas and digestive supplements. Anyway, the three of you finally hit the road and proceed to your first stop— all the way to Daecheon, which will take about an hour if traffic grants them kindness. Jeonghan rolls the windows back up at some point because besides the ice-cold tension between the both of you, it really is getting cold, and the sky has been cloudy since earlier, and the weather app is telling him that there’s a twenty percent chance of rain. Literally all odds are stacked against him today.

He does live long enough to get through three venues, thankfully. The first one, near Daecheon beach, you complained that the rooms were stuffy and Jeonghan told you to sleep by the ‘goddamned beach if you wanted to feel extra fresh.’ The second beach location couldn’t accommodate your amount of people. The third one— the hanok-style villa in Gyeongsang which you’ve just finished surveying and which Mingyu thought was really nice— Jeonghan said that there’s too many bugs for it to be conducive. You told him to wear a mosquito net ‘you fucking princess,’ while walking back to the car. At this point, it’s already past four in the afternoon. The eleven hours of being trapped in a car with your ex-boyfriend is probably finally getting to your head.

“You really could care less about your members’ well being as long as we do what you want, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t bitten by a single mosquito there. You’re just making problems up to discredit my—”

It’s getting to Mingyu’s head, too. One more minute in this enclosed space with the both of you and he’s jumping out the window.

“Anyway, let’s head to the next location,” you say with a sigh. “Woodland Springs Resort. Luckily, it’s only an hour away.”

Mingyu’s knuckles twitch on the steering wheel. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

He catches your face through the mirror, brows furrowed with a frown. “Mingyu, let me drive this time. You’ve been at it for hours.”

“She’s right. Go sit in the back, we can take over.”

He has. He’s tired and annoyed and exhausted by the constant fear that you two might actually make a murder scene out of his precious car, that he’s pretty sure that him driving would soon become a road-risk. It would be fine, right? You two have probably expelled your energy, anyway. Or at least about to. Worst case scenario is that Jeonghan hyung pisses you off and you’d expertly crash the car in a way that would only kill him and leave you two alive.

“Okay,” Mingyu weakly breathes out. “I’m gonna rest my eyes for a bit.”

He opens the car and gets out. So do you. So does Jeonghan. The three of you are out of the car. The math isn’t mathing.

“What are you doing?” you ask Jeonghan.

“I’m taking the wheel,” he simply says, already making his way over to the other side of the car.

“What are you talking about, Mingyu was talking to me.” You’re fast. Fast enough to swat away Jeonghan’s hand from the door handle to the driver’s seat. Jeonghan tightly presses his lips together and releases a huff of air. You look at him with sharp eyes with no intention of moving. Mingyu is literally, physically, and positionally caught in between this shit and he wishes he should’ve just floored it.

“I’m driving,” Jeonghan asserts. “You look barely awake, yourself. Do you plan on crashing us or something?”

The worried undertone completely flies over your head. “Are you saying I’m a bad driver?” Mingyu really doesn’t want to witness this argument at this proximity right now. Jeonghan sighs and digs into his hair.

“No, I just want you to—”

Cr—ack! Boom!

Suddenly, there’s thunder.

And when there’s thunder, there’s rain.

Pshhhhhhh!

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Hurry and get in, let’s go—”

Mingyu really wanted to yell at that moment. Thankfully, the sky beat him to it.

It starts pouring. The three of you scramble back into the car.

All things considered, you all decided that it’d be too dangerous to stay on the road, taking into account the weather and exhaustion and all, so you looked for a nearby inn through Google Maps and Jeonghan drove you there (yes, he won in the end and you’re still bitter in the backseat).

Boom! Another round of thunder, and the rain just continues to pour harder and harder. At this rate, you guys won’t be able to check out the rest of the locations today. Meaning, his prison sentence is bound to be extended. God freaking dammit. Mingyu continues to bitterly lament while rushing into the cabin inn. The door jingles upon entry. He lets out a sigh of relief upon being saved from the rain.

“Hi, good evening! Do you still have any rooms available?”

You’re there at the front desk doing your thing, being the externals head and all, while he and Jeonghan wait behind, damp and uncomfortable. He can see his hyung getting more and more impatient by the second, tapping his wet soles against the wooden flooring with his arms crossed. Mingyu can only sigh and hope to take a meditative shower soon, once you’ve booked the three of your rooms.

“Ah, yes,” says the lady behind the front desk. She looks at you, then spares a glance at him and Jeonghan in all their soggy glory, before flitting her eyes back at you. Okay what the hell. He knows they look terrible right now, but that was just rude. “Will it be for the three of you? Unfortunately, we only have one room left available, ma’am, peak season and all, and it’s only good for two people.

“That’s fine, we’ll take—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Judgemental Front Desk Lady interrupts. “I meant a maximum of two people can occupy the room. It’s our policy.”

Well that’s stupid. The hell were you guys supposed to do, then? Run back to the car, get even more wet in the process, and look for another place to stay in this stupid weather? Mingyu can practically see a vein throbbing on the back of your head. He catches your shoulders lift and drop along with an exhale, a momentary pause before you respond. “Can’t you make an exemption? The weather is terrible outside and we really need a place to stay for the time being.”

Mingyu decides to look over and see how the other ticking time bomb is faring, but when he leers over to the side, Jeonghan is no longer beside him. Wet footsteps against wooden floors can be heard. He snaps his head back to the front desk and sees his hyung walking up to you— placing his arm around your freaking waist when he lands next to you, and alarm bells suddenly go off in Mingyu’s head.

“Babe, what’s the problem?”

Goosebumps prick all over his body.

What.

What the fuck?

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu rubs his eyes, thinking that he just saw (and heard) wrong, but no. Yoon Jeonghan has indeed reigned claim over your waist. The fuck? He refocuses into your expression, expecting you to look disgusted and send a kick to his hyung’s shin, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, you flash a look at Jeonghan, then back to the receptionist, peering down at the desk surface where her hand is resting, before looking back up at Jeonghan and nudging yourself closer to him with a sigh. What in the everloving fuck is going on?

“They’re saying that only two people can stay inside the room,” you lament. “This trip really isn’t working out for us. After our disaster of a honeymoon, the last thing I thought would happen was for us to get stranded in Gyeongsang in the middle of a storm.”

“Let’s just go look for another place to stay, sweetheart.”

“But it’s pouring outside! I can’t let you drive in the weather. It’s too dangerous.”

Honeymoon? What? What the hell is this improv sketch? Why the fuck is his hyung giving you the lovestruck eyes and why are you letting him look at you with lovestruck eyes? Why are you lovestruck-eyeing him back?

“Oh, you’re newlyweds?” asks the receptionist, and Mingyu didn’t think his eyebrows could scrunch up any further until he heard Jeonghan agree.

“We just got married last week,” he says with a sickeningly sweet tone.

“How lovely!”

“Actually, we just came back from our honeymoon at Geoje Island,” you add. “It’s a long trip, and we wanted to get home as soon as possible, but that...wasn’t exactly an option for us.” Suddenly, you turn your head back to look at him. Now, you’re all looking at him. Why are you all looking at him? This is fucking scary.

You lean into Jeonghan and whisper something into his ear. A look flashes on Jeonghan’s face. He doesn’t like this look.

“Brother, can you please give us a moment?”

There’s a pause. Mingyu’s mouth is hanging slightly ajar and he hesitantly points to himself. Brother? Me? Jeonghan nods and smiles and returns his attention back to you and the receptionist. The three of you are talking about something. In a significantly lower volume. While sending him looks of remorse in between. What the hell are you two bullshitting about now?

Not long after, Mingyu sees the lady drop a room key into your hands and sends you off with a smile. “Second floor. Thank you, and have a great evening!”

“Thanks!”

Mingyu isn’t exactly sure what just happened or how it happened, but at least you have a place to stay for the night? When the three of you hike up the stairs and spot the room with 203 labeled on the door, Mingyu decides that he needs to know what you fuckers talked about. “How did you do it?” He blocks the door before you could open it. “I thought only two people could use this? How did you get us the room?” Jeonghan and you exchange a look before relenting.

“Your fiance called off your engagement and you were so depressed that you followed us all the way to our Geoje,” you blankly respond.

“Our parents are on vacation so you couldn’t go to them. We were kind enough to let you third wheel on our honeymoon,” adds Jeonghan. Mingyu blinks. “But on the way back it started raining, so we’re stuck here for the moment. We noticed a wedding ring on Soonja’s finger, so it was pretty easy to get her sympathy.

Soonja. You even know the lady’s name, holy fuck. At least that explains the pitiful looks sent his way. But Mingyu is still very much perturbed. The hairs on his arms are still standing. “You two are con artists,” is all he can say back.

You roll your eyes and toss the key to him. “Hey, it got us the room.”

“Right,” Mingyu grunts, catching it mid-air. “You’re both so good at lying, even I’m starting to think you’re still married.”

The doorknob clatters open. You and Jeonghan quickly jump away from each other, and Jeonghan loses the steady hold he had around your waist since earlier. Mingyu stifles a grin. The alarm and embarrassment on both of your faces makes this day’s worth of stress all worth it.

“Hurry up and get in! I need a shower and a change of clothes, gosh.”

Fortunately, you three prepared extra articles of clothing for the trip, having anticipated sweat from the heat instead of getting pissed on by the rain clouds. Unfortunately, Mingyu lost at rock paper scissors so he gets to shower last. “There’s a drying rack in the bathroom,” you tell them upon exiting, a towel to your head before plopping down on the bed next to the window.

When Mingyu finishes showering, he hears you and Jeonghan arguing over something again. Cheol’s voice can be heard somewhere too. Upon re-entering the room, he spots you two occupying the floor right by the bed, a laptop sitting on the mattress that’s showing a very tired Seungcheol trying to cut in between your yelling.

“In hindsight, I think the beach in Daecheon is our best option. The kids can run around more freely there.”

“No, you were right about the mountains. The hanok-style villa is better suited for our event theme. We can just add bug repellent to our budget plan.”

“Listen to me for a second—”

“You’re the one who’s not—”

“This could have been an email,” says Seungcheol’s choppy voice thanks to the shitty reception. Yeah. Mingyu isn’t dealing with this. Over twelve hours of being a third party to your arguments is already enough, thank you very much. He drops down the unoccupied bed, already getting comfortable, and uses the nonstop swearing next to him as a lullaby.

Weird enough, it’s an effective lullaby because Mingyu slept like a rock. He yawns, stretches out of bed thanks to the early morning light through the curtains waking him. It’s clear out. The windows have watery dots painting it from the aftermath of the rain.

It’s pretty outside, Mingyu notices, but there’s something more eye-catching than the pretty natural scenery of the mountainside.

The laptop is still on and laying on the bed, pushed further to the edge with a low battery notification obscuring the open document of the event’s program that he’d seen Jeonghan preparing in the car yesterday. But what’s occupying most of the mattress is the both of you— you and Jeonghan— with your printed documents scattered around, surrounding a sight that he probably isn’t meant to see.

You’re laying on Jeonghan’s arm as a pillow, face turned to the side and slightly tucked into chest. Jeonghan’s chin is buried into the top of your head, his legs tangled with yours and the blanket has been kicked off the side. The morning light is showering the both of you like a spotlight. Mingyu snaps a picture. The kids are gonna eat this shit up.

*‎

It’s the day of the event, and Choi Seungcheol has not slept a wink since last night.

There were some last minute things he needed to take care of. Game props, printouts, and powerpoint presentations he forgot to quality check until ten in the evening. Grocery shopping for snacks, and an error in the bus booking. The works. But none of that matters now. They’ve all been settled, everyone has made it to the hanok villa in Gyeongsang in one piece with no asthma attacks nor heart related concerns occurring, and not once had you and Yoon Jeonghan argued ever since last night.

To be honest, it’s freaking him out a little. He wasn’t the only one who had to pull an all-nighter. His two Vice Chairs had to suffer with him too and the both of you have been extremely civil to the point of unease. It’s weird. It’s eerie. Like right now, as you two are welcoming the lines and lines of members in hanboks and traditional attire with matching smiles and pleasantries. You run out of program printouts and ask Jeonghan if he has any left, he gives you a stack, and the exchange ends without even a scoff, a swear, a mock, or even a look of derision.

This is...ominous, to say the least. It’s like the calm before the storm. Choi Seungcheol cannot rest easy.

“What the fuck is going on with them?”

It seems like he isn’t the only one who’s noticed. Currently, it’s lunchtime. They’d just finished presenting the constitution, bylaws, and internal rules and regulations of the organization. Now, they’re queueing up the kids to the food table.

Among the ushers are you and Jeonghan. Standing next to each other. You aren’t arguing but you aren’t talking to each other either. Joshua is the one who brings it up to the small group preparing the drinks right now— him, Soonyoung, and Vernon. If Joshua doesn’t know the reason for your sudden civility, then no one does. Junhui gets interrogated too, but he provides no answers, only confusion. “Wow. Wild,” is all Jun remarks. They have no idea if you two have made up, have settled your differences, have gotten back together, or all of the above.

It’s fucking with him, especially after weeks of being perpetually on the edge because of your cold war. Seungcheol calls Mingyu to a corner while everyone else is in the midst of preparing for the next part of the program. Mingyu jogs over, mildly scared and mildly confused.

“Hyung,” he calls out. “What’s up?”

“Our two Vice Chairs,” Seungcheol starts. He looks over at the center field where the members are sitting. Chan and the rest are still handing out the paper slips. He can still interrogate Mingyu. “You went with them for location scouting. Did something happen between them?”

Mingyu looks taken aback. “Uh.” He stiffens. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him.

“Kim Mingyu.”

“Define ‘something,’” Mingyu delays.

Now, this is suspicious. He definitely knows what that something is. Choi Seungcheol isn’t gonna let him off without squeezing the information out of him. “I don’t know,” he huffs. “Anything that could explain why they’re acting like—”

Seungcheol points in a direction. Mingyu’s eyes follow the trajectory, and his gaze lands on a very alarming scene: Yoon Jeonghan sitting on one of the monoblocks, Yoon Jeonghan seeing you pass by, Yoon Jeonghan standing up, Yoon Jeonghan stopping you with a tap on your shoulder, Yoon Jeonghan offering his seat to you, Yoon Jeonghan leaving the scene and busying himself with some other task, after you had taken his seat.

“Like that?”

Mingyu is now sweating. “Uhhhh,” he hesitantly drawls. Then his eyes dart around. Until he spots Seungkwan pass by with a stack of boxes. “Can I talk to my lawyer first?”

“Mingyu.”

“Let’s—let’s—let’s get back to work, hyung! I have to go—”

He attempts to chase Kim Mingyu down. Attempts. Because Mingyu suddenly has the speed of a track and fielder and drags Seungkwan away into the accommodation building, the hanok, and he’s suddenly pulled back by Chan, who’s holding a box containing two or three small pieces of folder up papers. “Hyung,” Chan starts. “It’s your turn to pick.”

Seungcheol furrows his brows. Drat. Kim Mingyu has escaped. “Pick what?”

“Your manito. Duh,” Chan answers. It’s the box he’s been passing out since earlier— a box filled with the names of all the attendees and whoever you pick out, you’re tasked to take care of them throughout the entire trip and pay them special attention. For relationship building, according to Jeonghan, when he pitched the idea. Seungcheol is aware of this mini activity, but he didn’t know he’d be participating. He stares at the remaining three papers. “Hurry up. I still have to give the rest to Seungkwan and Mingyu hyung.”

“Show me some respect,” he scolds, picking out a random name. “They ran inside. Storage, I think.”

Chan hums in acknowledgement and takes the box away. When he’s left, Seungcheol rolls open the piece of paper. Looking at the members gathered around the field right now (who are listening to the intermission number prepared by Seokmin and Jihoon) he notices that a few of the kids are already getting pretty chummy. He sighs, pretty sure that he picked out a new member that’s most probably three years younger than him. How is he supposed to overcome the generation gap? Won’t the kid find it weird if this old man suddenly starts acting close?

Much to his initial relief, a familiar name greets him. Yours, in big bold letters. That’s...that’s pretty doable. His favoritism for you is already blatant to the point that Soonyoung gets jealous. You’d been working hard since, well— the moment you’ve been a member of fucking SVT. He can just tell you to sit and rest and transfer your tasks over to the other guys.

“Hey.”

Seungcheol calls out to you, who’s sitting on the seat Jeonghan gave away earlier. Seokmin and Jihoon are hyping up the crowd (mostly Seokmin), but you’re hunched over in your seat, massaging your temples while looking over a document. “Chair,” you snap up, visibly tired and stressed (and unrested, by the way). “A few members are absent, so the number of members for each group for the team building later are mismatched. Should we keep it as is, or should we transfer some of them?”

A pang of guilt hits him. Christ, he’s been taking advantage of your competence and diligence. “Transfer, but leave that list with me. I’ll take care of it.” He lays a hand on your shoulder, urging you to go rest inside one of the hanoks for now. “You didn’t even nap on the bus. Go get some sleep. I’ll ask one of the guys to wake you before team building.”

You look up at him, smiling. Oh, his poor successor. He’s been overworking you to the bone. “Will do, Chair. Thanks.”

He mirrors your smile, watching fondly as you walk into one of the houses. It’s all warm and sweet. Until it’s not.

Seungcheol jolts. He feels a chill run down his spine. What the fuck?

He whips his head around, startled by the sudden cold flash. Then, from a few feet away, he spots Jeonghan, preparing the multicolored handkerchiefs for the team building, but has stopped arranging them by color because he is glaring daggers at him. Hello? What in the world? He’s about to approach, but then he staggers in his steps upon seeing you pass by Jeonghan’s station.

Jeonghan stops working, circling from behind the station to say something to you. You say something back— something that’s enough to tighten Jeonghan’s expression, and Seungcheol knits his brows. He can’t hear what you two are talking about, but he’s pretty sure it’s an argument. Oh god. It is an argument. You’ve got your angry face on and Jeonghan is raking his hair. Oh no. You two have been so well-behaved. You’ve been getting along so, so well lately. Is he at fault for ruining your peace?! How was he supposed to know your ex-boyfriend is a jealous bastard?! He was just doing his task and being nice to you!

“There goes all our progress.”

Seungcheol snaps his head back to see Jun. He’s sipping on a juice box, a leftover from lunch. There’s a good amount of disappointment in his face. “Pro—progress?”

Junhui pulls down the juice from his mouth, shaking his head. “Hyung. You’ve ruined everything.”

Now, what the fuck is this cryptic bullshit? Jun just walks away, leaving even more crumples in Seungcheol’s brain. Seokmin and Jihoon’s performance is about to end, the mic screeches, and an applause breaks out, but he’s still debating on what to do. Should he pry information out of Jun? Or run after the both of you? However, he gets to do neither because at the end of the intermission, Seokmin does something off-course.

He’s supposed to pass the mic to Seungkwan by now, to announce the short break before team building. But Seungkwan isn’t here, and Seokmin is still holding the mic, and the crowd is still cheering. He meets eyes with Seokmin onstage. A bad feeling hits his gut. And since the breakup meeting that happened a few weeks ago, Seungcheol has learned that whatever his gut is feeling is unquestionably correct.

“The show isn’t over yet! Let’s give it up to our dependable, hot, and arguably aging Chairperson— Choi Seungcheol! Woohoo!”

This.

This was not part of the program that he remembers approving.

“Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol! Choi Seungcheol!”

This was definitely not part of it at all.

“Again, give it up for Mr. Chair!”

Illit’s Magnetic, Viviz’s Maniac, and KIOF’s Midas Touch later (with his face mimicking a red and ripe cherry), Seungcheol was finally allowed off the stage. “Wow! That’s our Chair, everybody! Who knew he was hiding this kind of charm?” Seungcheol wants to die. Seokmin’s voice is cheery in the microphone, but his officer suddenly turns his face away from the mic to whisper something to him. “Hyung,” Seokmin’s voice is suddenly grave. “I got a text from Seungkwan. He says he can’t find the VCs.”

Oh, fuck this. He’s going to kill himself.

“Tell—tell the kids we’re gonna have some free time first before proceeding to the team building.” Seokmin nods. Seungcheol’s face is still very very hot, but he swallows the embarrassment aside for now to deal with this problem. You and Yoon Jeonghan can’t just disappear. You’re both leading two teams for the games. Well. Maybe he can give you a pass, but Jeonghan is still needed out there. He feels unreasonably wronged by him too for that glare earlier.

Seungcheol marches into the hanok. He spots an equally stressed looking Seungkwan inside the living area. Mingyu and Jihoon are there, too. So are Joshua, Vernon, and Chan. Why are they all here? They’re supposed to be preparing for the team building. These kids are slacking.

He’s gonna give them an earful later. For now, there’s a bigger issue to solve. “Where are the two?”

“We don’t know!” Seungkwan exclaims. “We’ve been looking for them too.”

He hears a sniffle come from one of them. It’s from Soonyoung. “The last I’ve seen them, they were arguing.” Seungcheol gulps. Maybe…by any chance…that may have been his fault? “This happened with my parents too. And they came back with divorce papers.”

“Stop projecting your unresolved familial trauma onto them,” Jihoon sighs. “They aren’t your parents.”

“I’ve sent a text to Wonwoo and Minghao hyung,” Vernon brings up. “Maybe they’ve seen them.”

At that moment, Minghao enters the living area. Seven heads snap to his direction. Minghao stops in his tracks. “What?” He looks awfully relaxed, not looking as though he had just dealt with two ex-lovers who say they hate each other and that it’s over, but have too much sexual tension for their assertion to be believable. In fact, he looks quite at peace. Satisfied, even. Accomplished. This is fucking suspicious. “Isn’t it time for the team building activities?”

“Hao,” Seungcheol starts. “Have you seen the two Vice Chairs?”

Minghao looks at them. There’s a pause of anticipation. There’s literally no reason for this suspense build-up. “Oh,” Hao exhales. Why are they all waiting for the pin to drop? “I did.”

What they hear next, they never could have been prepared for.

“I locked them in a closet.”

The pin has dropped.

Seungcheol is the first to speak up.

“You...you what?” he starts. “Come again?��

“They were arguing,” Minghao shrugs. “I got annoyed.”

Seungkwan’s mouth is hanging open. “You— you got annoyed,” he stammers. “So you…”

“Locked them in a closet,” Minghao finishes. “Yeah.”

It doesn’t hit them at first. Then it does. It hits them hard.

They all exchange looks. In a matter of soundless seconds, they immediately run to the direction Minghao just came from. What does he mean he locked you and Jeonghan in the closet, why would he lock you two in the closet, locking you two in the closet is a recipe for shit-eating disaster, does he want Yoon Jeonghan to fucking die?

“Shit, what if Jeonghan hyung is dead?”

At least they’re all on the same page. They come to a screeching halt upon reaching the room at the end of the hallway, but there is no sign of either of you. The only semblance of humanity within the vicinity is Wonwoo, who is sitting at a table, headphones on, laptop open, and typing without a care in the world.

Seungcheol’s eyes dart around the room. Closet. Closet. There’s an indication of a sliding door at the opposite wall. He walks up to it, hesitantly with shaky steps, his heart hammering against his chest. The others inch behind him in caution. Sweat starts trailing down from his forehead. He reaches out for the handle, one hand outstretched, and then—

“I wouldn’t open that if I were you.”

Wonwoo’s voice cuts through the tension. He freezes. They all look back at the man by the desk, unaffectedly writing his documents, the sound of keyboard clicking filling the gaps in the air. “Why?” Seungcheol chokes out. Thunk. Their heads snap back to the closet. He feels Soonyoung clutch him from behind.

“There was yelling from in there until a moment ago,” is Wonwoo’s simple answer. “I think they’ve moved on to something else.”

Another tense pause fills the room. “Who...who was yelling?” Jihoon raises. “What kind of yelling? Why didn’t you check if anything was wrong?”

Wonwoo wrinkles his nose, momentarily taking his eyes off from the laptop to give their huddled group a look of disgust. “And risk walking in on them making out or something? No, thanks.” Then resumes what he’s doing. They all look at each other. Surely, that can’t be the case, right? You’ve got more pride on your shoulders than to fold for Yoon Jeonghan just because of some contrived forced proximity. It’s more likely that you’ve found an opportunity to strangle him. To kill him in cold blood. Which is why they’ve all run here out of concern right now.

“Why would there be yelling if they’re making out?!” Mingyu exclaims, concerned.

“I don’t know the kind things they’re into,” Wonwoo leers at them. “And frankly, I don’t want to know.”

“Then...what are you doing here, hyung?” Vernon prods. “Of all places.”

Once more, Wonwoo stops typing to grace them with an answer. “This is the only spot with good reception.” This feels like a fever dream. Seungcheol does not know what to do. His attention is directed back to the closed closet door, hearing another...thud coming from within. He locks eyes with Seungkwan. And then Mingyu. And then Jihoon. Holy shit. In his four years of Chairmanship over SVT, this, by far, has been his biggest obstacle yet.

The officers before him never warned him about this. What exactly is the best course of action here? What would result in the least amount of emotional, mental, and physical repercussions? Leave the door alone? Unlock it and witness horrors untold? There’s still an event they have to manage. Seokmin is probably freaking out outside right now. Yet here they are, watching the unmoving and locked closet door with uncertainty and caution, like it’s an oracle that will show them the way, that will give them a command to do something. Anything. And, much to their surprise and horror—

“Mr. Chair.”

It does.

“Would you please unlock the door?”

The oracle is wearing the sound of your voice? No, wait. It is your voice. From behind the door. “Holy shit,” he hears one of them hiss out from behind. Holy shit indeed. Seungcheol knows better than to test your temper. Quickly, he reaches out for the handle, clicks it open, and a force stronger than his slides the door gaping and completely open, revealing the dark and until interiors of the closet.

You emerge from the darkness. So does Jeonghan. Alive. Unstrangled. Maybe? That’s up for debate because there are some visible marks on his throat. Seungcheol pretends not to see.

“W—welcome back…?” Soonyoung hesitantly drawls out. You walk out from the closet, Jeonghan trailing behind you slightly from behind. You’re both still wearing the in theme hanboks, but the fabrics are clearly disheveled. And loose. And Jeonghan is hooking his fingers on the hand lagging behind you. And looking at the back of your head with a concerning amount of heart eyes.

You don’t mention a thing about it. “I believe we are behind schedule,” you simply say. “Team building, right? Let’s head off to our posts now.”

They don’t say anything about it either. Seungcheol clears his throat, creaking his body back to the direction of escape. “Y—yes. Everyone is waiting.” The rest follow. You all exit the area except for Wonwoo, who’s still doing his work. When Seungcheol turns back to check on you two— you know, just in case— he immediately regrets it.

Jeonghan is still a step behind you. But he leans slightly forward, dipping his head down to reach your ears. His mouth moves, whispering something. A silent laugh cracks through your features. A laugh. Not once has laughter occurred since the beginning of this predicament. Not a. Single. Instance. You bump your elbow against Jeonghan’s chest. Jeonghan continues to move behind you with a thin smile on his face.

He sees nothing. They see nothing. They leave the house. They immediately scatter to inhale fresh, free air.

“Hyung! Oh my god where have you guys been?! The members are waiting!”

An unspoken agreement was formed. There will be no further mention about this occurrence. Not a single word.

*‎

“TODAY IS SEPTEMBER 27, 20XX. THE MEETING WILL NOW PLEASE COME TO ORDER. Mr. Secretary, please call the roll.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. Please say ‘present and voting’ once your name is called to be acknowledged.”

It’s the first Executive Board meeting after SVT’s Orientation and Membership Training. The agenda for today is just a feedbacking session on the said event. Seungcheol yawns, not bothering to cover it up with the clipboard and Seungkwan sends him a dirty look for it. Wonwoo carries on with the roll call, one after the after stating their attendance for the meeting today. It’s the same routine for the most part. Seungcheol glances at the empty spaces on both his left and right. He taps on the table with a pen impatiently.

“Secretary, yours truly, present and voting,” Wonwoo drones one. The two seats are still empty. Seungcheol digs his pen into the wooden surface. “Vice Chairperson-External?”

No answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Vice Chairperson-Internal?

Still no answer. Wonwoo continues.

“Chairperson, Mr. Chair?”

“Present,” Seungcheol gruffs. God damn it, where the hell are you and Jeonghan? This feels like a rerun of their group traumatic experience last week. “Proceed.”

“Yes, Mr. Chair. There are twelve out of fourteen officers present. We are in quo—”

The door swings open.

You and Jeonghan enter in a hurry.

“We’re sorry we’re late!”

Again. Seungcheol feels the horrible, wrinkly slap of deja vu. His eyes follow while you and Jeonghan rush to your seats, out of breath and in a hurry. Joshua has stopped flicking origami frogs on the table. Seokmin and Mingyu pause in between chair spins. Junhui’s mouth is glued to the latte straw while darting his eyes wide back and forth, between you and Jeonghan. And Minghao cannot be bothered by any more relationship problems.

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Fourteen out of fourteen officers present, Mr. Chair,” he amends.

“Yes, thank you,” Seungcheol sighs out. “Seeing that we are in quorum, it is now legal for us to conduct business. Mr. Secretary, will you please read to us the agenda for today’s meeting?”

Much to his surprise, the meeting proceeds quite...smoothly. Wonwoo reads out the agenda. No objections. They start the feedbacking session. No problems. The incident with the closet is not even mentioned. Not once. Not even a hint despite the shared knowing looks when Seungcheol asks if there are still more matters to discuss.

“No more, Mr. Chair,” Vernon confirms. Seungcheol nods. This is going awfully well. When’s the curveball going to hit him? When? “Thank you, Mr. Auditor. Since there is nothing else on the agenda, let’s proceed to announcements.” He looks at his clipboard. There’s only one thing scribbled under announcements. It’s not his handwriting. Seungcheol squints. “Lee Chan’s...pool…barbecue...dance party on the 29th?”

There’s a pause. Seungcheol looks up from the clipboard.

“What is this?”

All eyes are on Lee Chan. He looks like he enjoys the attention. “Lee Chan’s pool barbecue dance party on the 29th,” he answers, as a matter of fact. “You’re all invited.”

This is the curveball he’s been expecting. Seungcheol feels a knot in his temples. “How many times do I have to say this?” he releases a heavy breath. “Announcements on the order of business are reserved for org-related announcements. It is not an opportunity for you to invite everyone to your parties, nor to your outings, nor to your nephew’s baptismal shower, Soonyoung.”

The man in question swallows down a gulp. Seungcheol sighs for the nth time.

“I hope that is crystal clear.” He’s so done. He’s so tired. When is adjournment coming? Why can’t it come sooner? “Anyway, do we have any other announcements? Relevant announcements, rather.” Seungcheol sees you with your arm up. He feels a rush of relief. “Yes, Ms. VCE, you are raising your hand?”

You put your hand down, allowing it to rest gingerly on the table when you say, “Thank you for the acknowledgement, Mr. Chair.” You look like your usual self— in between smiling pleasantly and staring blankly. Seungcheol nods, prodding you to continue. You do. “I would like to put the matter of my resignation on today’s table, Mr. Chair.”

“Oh, yes, the matter of your—”

A screeching halt. Seungcheol’s tongue stops working. He stares at you, wide-eyed.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“My resignation.” You pull out a white, ghostly envelope from somewhere. His throat tightens. “I am filing it today and hoping for its immediate attention.”

It’s like time stops completely. The entire office is frozen. They wait for you to say it’s a joke. Any moment now. Please.

“Mr. Chair?” you call out. “Allow me to repeat. I will be resigning from my position as Vice Chairperson-External. What process do we need to undergo to finalize this?”

You don’t say it’s a joke. You are dead serious.

“No?!”

“Did—did I hear that right res—res—resigna—hiccup!”

“Breathe in, Seokmin. Breathe out. Yes that’s—”

“Why would you do this to us?! Why?!”

“Oh my god, it’s happening to me again, it’s happening to me again—”

“What do you mean resignation, what the hell are you talking about?” Seungkwan shoots up from his seat, slamming his palms against the table in distress. “Aren’t you two back together?! Why would you resign?!”

It’s a mess. It’s a room of hysteria and panic except for you, him and Jeonghan. Seungcheol is trying his best to...understand. To not throttle you and shake you violently because why? Where did he go wrong? Has he not been treating you well enough? Did he need to compliment you more? Do you need more compensation?

Whatever the reason is, you’re looking awfully calm being the recipient of manic yells and hyperventilated cries of anguish. Jeonghan, too, is quiet. He’s just seated there, arms on the armrest, like he is in a completely different room altogether. Seungcheol narrows his eyes at him. Did he do this? Did he talk you into resigning? That bastard— how could he! Seungcheol’s heart is broken, not just once, but twice. First, from his dearest protege. Second, from his (formerly) trusted right hand man.

“Ahem.”

Before things could get worse (i.e. Soonyoung and Seokmin full-on sobbing and begging on their knees), you catch their attention. You look at them, calmly, and, with a carefully enunciated voice, begin your piece that brings all of them to silence.

“I sincerely apologize for the trouble that our personal issues have caused to SVT,” you begin, a singular glance at Jeonghan. Seungcheol bites his tongue. Traitor. Evil man. Evil jealous man. “I am well aware that my recent behavior has led to some lapses in the organization’s operations, clearly seen in the management of our latest event. We have all heard the feedback, the concerns—where things went wrong. As you have witnessed, it is quite difficult for us to separate our personal feelings from our professional work here in the org, which was the root of most of our experienced problems.”

That is not true! No one has the best work-life balance than you! Granted, there was an issue just earlier in the month, but Seungcheol can overlook that! He can overlook it as long as you take back your resignation, and take on his spot as Chairperson next semester!

“Which is exactly why I’m resigning,” you decisively say. Shit. “There were a lot of…ingredients that eventually led to the unforeseen outburst between Mr. VCI and I during one of our previous meetings. One of those ingredients was my affiliation with the organization. The rest of the details can be found in my resignation letter. Thank you for allowing me to serve thus far.”

It’s like a needle pricked most everyone in the room and left them deflated. Chan looks sunken. Even Jihoon. Minghao just looks like he’d been expecting this. Kim Mingyu looks like he cannot accept this.

So he jerks out of his seat, springing to his feet, and points an accusatory finger at Yoon Jeonghan.

“You!” Mingyu shrieks. “Say something!”

“Hyung,” Seokmin adds onto the pile. He’s choked up and about to cry. “Are you just gonna let this happen?”

For the first time since, Jeonghan finally speaks up. But his tone is…sourer than expected. “What do you want me to say?” he starts. It makes everyone jolt. “That you’ve been overworking my girlfriend since freshman year to the point that we started arguing about it because she’s been skipping meals and sleep and taking care of herself just to manage the org?”

Even you flinch. There’s an apologetic look on your face, but there’s no denial.

Jeonghan lets out a sigh. Oh, Seungcheol realizes. Oh. Oh, crap. Maybe. Maybe he and SVT had a lot more to do with your breakup that he initially thought. The workload. The shit you had to catch and bury with your bare hands whenever the org had problems, had too much to do, had one person in mind to fix up any messes made. Maybe they’ve been relying on you too much. Maybe he’s been relying on you too much and Yoon Jeonghan noticed that.

Of course Jeonghan would notice that. He’s been dating you under their nose for god knows how long. That explains why Jeonghan would suddenly act pissy towards him. It was whenever you’d been tossed in a sinkhole of work.

Once more, you clear your throat. “I have immense attachment to this organization. However, my priorities have shifted. I am sincerely grateful and sorry, but I hope all of you understand.”

It starts clicking inside each head, one-by-one. It’s slow. It’s hard to accept, but they eventually do. Seokmin eventually stops sniffling. Soonyoung stands up to give you a hug. This was a loss for all of them. All of them except you and Yoon Jeonghan.

“Hyung, but why aren’t you resigning?”

Jun pokes the bear one last time. It’s a question in all their heads, and Jeonghan’s expression alone isn’t enough to answer it.

“Jun-ah, do you want me gone?” Jeonghan replies, a little too seriously. They freeze. Then he laughs. “It’s going to be difficult to re-elect someone at this point, so I’ll be taking over some of her workload for the remainder of the semester. The rest of you should do the same as one last thank you to our now outgoing VCE. You owe her that much, at least.”

Before Jeonghan can start nagging, you quickly overtake his field of vision from his left. “Don’t worry, I’ll be finishing up my pending tasks, Mr. Chair. I will also be leaving some notes behind for everyone’s ease of—”

“What did I tell you about being more considerate to yourself?” the one from his rightbutts in. “These kids can handle it on their own. You don’t have to micromanage them. I’m begging you, stop overworking yourself.”

Okay, he sharply inhales through his nose. Seungcheol gets it. They all get it. No need to act all sweet in front of their faces and during org hours. It’s sending shivers down his spine. All of their spines. None of this spine shivering is healthy. “Please leave your resignation letter on the table. We will give some time for the other officers to read and consider it before making a final decision during the next meeting.”

You smile. “Thank you, Mr. Chair.”

“Thank you for your service, Ms. VCE.”

It hurts him to say this. It really does. You were the perfect successor. Now, who the hell from this pile of twelve men is he supposed to pick to be the next Chairperson? Does he have to— god forbid— retain his position?

Seungcheol lets out a sigh.

“Meeting adjourned. You are all dismissed.”

2K notes · View notes

aceday · 17 days ago

Text

Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha all along fanfic #agatha all along smut #agatha x reader #rio x reader

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