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biffhofosho · 5 months ago

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What's Wrong with Director Ortega? | Part One

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch

Word Count: uh, 18k this part

Pairing: OT7 x OC

Synopsis: In the tallest tower in the city of Seoul, there is a corporate kingdom whose empire stretches around the world. It is ruled by seven vice chairmen, all of whom lord over their own little departmental fiefdoms. With so many different ruling styles, they don’t have much in common save for the one director they can’t live without. Unfortunately for Director Ortega, heavy is the head who wears that crown. Seven demanding bosses and no time for herself forces her to reconsider what she wants out of life, which may just be the thing to force the self-proclaimed Kings of Seoul to reconsider what they want from her…

The Vibe: Reverse harem, ultra-competitive, CEOs, rich and spoiled men, monstas at odds, professional-to-a-fault and overworked and overextended OC who finally decides it’s time to put herself first, you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone, harsh awakenings, noraebang, goldilocks implications, atypical biffhofosho ending :D

A/N: OH MY GOD THE EDITING TOOK ME SOOOO MUCH LONGER THAN I ANTICIPATED. First of all, I realized only on edit that the first part is 808974893759874 times longer than the other parts, but there's just so much that needed to be set up... Also, low key I had so much fun writing it. But it's FINE. I can post on this most holy of days! HAPPY FREEDOM DAY, BABY WONHO. THANK YOU FOR COMING HOME TO US.

Obviously inspired by What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim?, but reverse harem and smutty af. Also inspired by the business tycoon playboy Fatal Love photoshoot because holy fuck, did that bring me to my knees. Though I’ve been a mbb since 2016, Fatal Love was the first album I actually bought (because I’d finally figured out how to buy overseas by then lol), and when I opened version 3, this was the FIRST thing that got lodged in my mind. Like a popcorn kernel, it had to be worked out slowly, over time, but after months of watching cheesy, soapy Chinese minidramas, I got the swift kick in the butt to finish my CEO smutfest. Enjoy!

Special thank you shout-out to my love, @starlightfantasy, without whom this chapter wouldn't have been nearly so lively or authentic.

Cvr | 01 |

“As always, Director Ortega, impeccable work. You may go.”

“Very good, sir,” came her customary reply. “Don’t forget that you have dinner with Chairman Matsuda of Aeon tonight at the Phoenix. I have already prepared a gift and left it with Secretary Kwon. Be sure to take it when you leave today.”

“You won’t be joining?”

She lowered her eyes, her breath gathering in her chest. “No, sir. I will leave things in your capable hands.”

“You always join.”

“I know, sir, but not this time.”

“Chairman Matsuda expects it.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I’ve already cleared it with him.”

The vice chairman said nothing, simply twirled his pen between his fingers like a baton.

Finally, she gathered her notepad and stowed her pen behind her ear. She offered a polite bow at his dismissal, but just before she reached the door, she stopped.

She pulled herself up as tall as her petite frame could muster and turned back to the wide mahogany desk in front of the sweeping windows. Beyond the stiff-backed silhouette crowning the complementary stiff-backed desk chair unfurled a smoggy Seoul morning. Dirty clouds filtered the wan light throughout the corner office.

She wet her lips and swallowed. “Excuse me, Vice Chairman Son, but there is one more matter we have left to discuss…”

The corporate auditorium was packed full of employees from every department in the Xtra Mile conglomerate. The thrum of chatter draped overhead like a heavy tarp as coworkers filed into their seats and caught up with people they hadn’t seen since the last company in-service.

As the Purchasing Department filled their rows, they met the Human Resources Department halfway. Normally, the two sides had very little to do with one another, so this gave everyone an excuse to greet each other and gossip.

But just like that, the room fell perfectly silent as a stream of seven very handsome and undeniably powerful men strolled onto the stage at the head of the auditorium. Their figures were projected onto the large screen above their heads so that even those seated in the back could appreciate the clean lines of their expensive haircuts and their even more expensive suits. Each man occupied his own podium across the breadth of the stage, so far apart that it almost looked as though they couldn’t stand breathing the same bubble of air.

At the center of the stage, spotlighted and stone-faced, one of the tallest and broadest men loomed over the employees. Without so much as an attention-grabbing throat clear, he spoke.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for your attendance today as well as everything you do to further the mission of the Xtra Mile Corporation.”

“Without you,” boomed an elegant and lively blonde-haired executive from halfway down the stage, “we wouldn’t be a Fortune 500 Global company.”

The room erupted in polite applause as smiles abounded.

The man in the middle’s jaw flexed slightly, and this time he did clear his throat before regaining control of the room. “Without further delay, let us commence this year’s Xtra Mile Company Vision Showcase. I’ll turn things over to our Chief Financial Officer, Vice Chairman Yoo…”

The man in the center turned to the shorter, black-haired executive on his right whose face, despite its prominent cheekbones, looked like it hadn’t seen a genuine smile in half a decade. Right away, Vice Chairman Yoo began his overview of their mission statements and goals while the audience jotted notes and nodded along, save for one row toward the back of the room.

“Who is that?” whispered a young purchaser with expressive eyebrows over starry pecan eyes. He gazed up at the stage where a woman with perfect posture and her own expensive power suit waited at the edge, looking as much like a high-end mannequin as a real person. The waves in her espresso bob curled sweetly around her small ears and accentuated a round face with dumpling cheeks. Dark fox eyes looked even more alert against her honey skin, and they didn’t miss a single silent cue from any of the vice chairmen as her stiletto heels prowled click-clack-click-clack along the back of the stage, setting up each and every transition without a word.

One of the nearby HR managers, an older man with a five o’clock shadow and a soft face, followed the young fellow’s eyes. “Ah, that one. She’s a sad case. A face that doesn’t age, legs that never stop moving, and eyes that won’t look at you unless you’re paying her.”

The young intern’s ears reddened. “A pro- pro- prostit—”

Another older man, this one a fellow purchaser, clamped a hand over the intern’s mouth and hissed, “Aigoo! Are you daft? Intern Wong, don’t finish that sentence if you don’t want to be tossed out on your ear!”

“Forgive him,” apologized one of the young ladies also on the Purchasing team, “he’s new.”

“And stupid if he thinks a major corporation keeps a company call-girl on payroll,” snapped the older purchaser with a flick to his intern’s ear.

The HR manager stifled a grin. “That is Director Ortega. She is one of the most revered employees at this company. If you ever have the occasion to work with her, you will understand why. She knows absolutely everything that goes on in every department better than any of the vice chairmen. Nothing escapes her notice, which is why she’s so heavily relied upon.”

“Which department is hers?” Intern Wong wondered.

“Which department isn’t,” laughed the HR manager. “Director Ortega has a hand in everything because she has to, especially considering to whom she reports, but her actual title is Director of Facilitation. She oversees all administration here, top to bottom, but more than that, for all intents and purposes, she oversees the vice chairmen.”

“Ah, yes!” said a satisfied voice as its owner swiveled to scope out the sunny panorama through his office window. “It turned out to be another fine day, Director Ortega. We should be out there exploring, not cooped up in here, don’t you agree?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Will you stay for lunch then? We can go out? I remember you liked that barbecue place in Jongno. Call Taeyong and have him bring the car around, and we’ll go somewhere with tables outside.”

“You know that I can’t, sir, even if I wanted to.”

“They’re always overriding my good ideas,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure it feels that way, sir. Still, being that we are on a tight schedule, I wonder if I can borrow a moment of your time,” she said hesitantly. “An urgent issue has come up, and I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer…”

---

“She has been here 14 years, longer than any of the men up on stage, longer than even I have,” continued the older company man. “The old Chairman himself hired her when he was on a business trip to the United States.”

“She’s American?”

“Yes, and half-Korean, actually. She speaks four languages as well, and, over the past couple years, she’s been learning two more.”

“She’s a wonder,” Intern Wong marveled.

“She would have to be to impress Chairman Choi. Director Ortega was the Chairman’s personal secretary for ten years before he retired and handed the company over to his seven grandsons.”

“Fourteen years seems like too long for such a young woman,” the fledgling purchaser mused, eyes still fixed to the director on stage.

The HR manager sniffed a laugh. “I told you she has a face that doesn’t age. She’s older than you think.”

“Much too sophisticated for a freshman like you,” teased Intern Wong’s female coworker. “Keep your head in your station.”

“This will be the only glimpse of her you get, young buck,” added the senior purchaser. “She rarely comes down to Purchasing, maybe a few times a year, and when she does, she speaks only with Director Kim Doyoung. I’ve never seen her in our office for more than five minutes.”

The woman smirked. “What Mr. Moon is trying to say, very politely I might add, is that she’s out of your league.”

“And more importantly,” the HR manager chimed in again, “off limits.”

“Employees date each other here,” the intern protested.

But Mr. Moon shook his head. “Yeah, but they don’t date Director Ortega, understand?”

“Aigoo… This is my least favorite time of day, you know that? All the fun ends and you leave, and I’m left with all the work.”

“You will be fine, sir, as always, but remember to please trust your secretary with any help you may need. Secretary Ahn tells me you haven’t been using her to her full potential these days.”

He sighed and chambered his chin on his hand as his smiled at her. “Why would I? All I ever need is you, Director Ortega.”

She cleared her throat softly. “About that, sir…”

“I didn’t even suggest anything, geez,” the intern pouted.

Mr. Moon stared at the young man knowingly. “I’ve seen that look in a lot of men’s eyes over the past decade. I say this as a friend: if you want to be promoted to purchaser full-time, Intern Wong, I suggest you look only on the Director with admiration.”

“I do,” the young man muttered and immediately steered the conversation somewhere gentler. “Director Ortega must know everything there is to know about this place if she’s been here that long and that high up.”

“Exactly!” agreed Mr. Moon. “She’s so important that all seven vice chairmen share her.”

The intern and a few other nearby newer employees leaned in, both interested and confused.

“Now, how can seven executives share one assistant?” wondered the female purchaser.

Mr. Moon looked on the rapt row of coworkers like a librarian leading a storytelling session. “Director Ortega is the only connection those men have beside a grandfather.”

“They’re really related?” Intern Wong asked.

The older man nodded. “Brothers, half-brothers or cousins, right, Manager Cho?”

The HR manager shrugged his mouth sternly. “No one resents that fact more than they do. Were it not for Director Ortega, they’d have nothing to do with each other. You’d think they live on seven different continents if they didn’t share one atrium on the 28th floor.”

Intern Wong’s brow furrowed. “But how exactly does one woman bridge all those continents daily?”

“Every day,” Mr. Moon explained, “the Director spends one hour with each vice chairman, and when his hour is up, she moves on down the hall.”

“Are you serious?” blurted the female purchaser.

“I am.”

“Don’t they each have their own secretary?” asked the intern. “I’m sure they have way too much work for one hour.”

This time, a middle-aged manager from Employee Relations further down the row answered, “Of course! But Director Ortega is in charge of all of their executive assistants, too. The last hour of her day is spent with them, ensuring the day’s work is properly circulated and delegated. Still, she is the only one the vice chairmen trust with their most important business matters, and she’s the only assistant they will bring with them to important meetings. Needless to say, she’s part orchestra conductor. She must follow this rigorous schedule each day to keep the vice chairmen satisfied, which is even more challenging considering how much each of them likes to demand from her.”

“I thought you were leaving,” he said.

“In a moment,” she replied.

She placed a thermos at the edge of his desk and bowed.

Incisive eyes jolted to the container as he finally looked up from his crowded blotter. “What is it?”

“Coffee, sir. Don’t stay too late tonight though. The merger with Aeon should conclude next week, and I know you’ll want fresh eyes before you final review everything of the numbers.”

A finger of black hair stubbornly broke from his clean-combed hairline and dangled in front of his sharp eyes as he switched from appraising the thermos to appraising the woman on the other side of his desk. “I should say the same to you, Director Ortega.”

She smiled as she lowered her chin. “Ah, well, to that end, I think it’s time to break old habits, sir. Before I do, I have something to confess…”

“Doesn’t leave a lot of time to herself,” mused the older purchaser as he considered the woman’s words.

Intern Wong cocked his head as he considered this new information. “But isn’t it a good thing to be so in demand at your company?”

“Aish,” chimed in an older lady on the other side of the group of busybodies, this one from the Accounting department who wore a thick pair of glasses to match her role, “it would be if you’re not a woman. Director Ortega is 38 and, as far as anybody has heard, never dated.”

“There’s no way a woman like her hasn’t dated!” the intern protested as his eyes returned to the serious beauty on stage.

“Even if she wanted to,” continued the accountant, “she would have to turn down any suitor. The vice chairmen keep her way too busy to even think about dating someone.”

“You don’t know that, Miss Lee,” said the employee relations manager.

“The hell I don’t, Manager Kwon,” the accountant scoffed, causing a few other uninterested coworkers to pivot toward them before everyone whispered apologies except the accountant. At least, she bothered to lower her voice enough that the rest of the row leaned in. “I process Director Ortega’s overtime. I’m telling you, there’s no way that woman has a life outside of this company or those seven men. It’s downright outrageous. They should be ashamed.”

“I told you,” said Manager Cho, “she’s a sad case. I heard Director Ortega had to fly back from her sister’s wedding in Mexico because Vice Chairman Chae needed a translator, and she’s the only one he trusts to give him an unbiased translation.”

“That’s too harsh,” objected Intern Wong.

Miss Lee hung her head. “Director Ortega will never find a match. Ah! It’s too sad to see a woman of her caliber give up her whole life like that.”

“I’ll leave the initial scouting reports in your inbox for your review, sir. After you’ve made your notes, please trust Secretary Lee with their transcription.”

“Could you stay a few extra minutes to finish that? Only you know how I like things organized.”

“Secretary Lee is more than capable if you just explain your preferences to him, sir. Forgive me, but he should know that after a full year.”

The vice chairman huffed, his broad shoulders slumping, too. “Yes, of course, but he isn’t— Of course, Director Ortega. You are correct.”

“I will sit with him tomorrow and show him personally, sir, so there is no confusion.”

“That’s not necessary!” He reached toward the director across the desk but pulled his hand back quickly. “I should handle it myself.”

“I am happy to hear it, sir. On that note…”

“But isn’t there something admirable about that?” Intern Wong mused as he looked up at the dark-haired director waiting at the edge of the stage, hands folded in front of her hips. “To be so loyal and dedicated to your company that you are trusted by everyone?”

A big-eyed girl in front of them whirled around in her seat and clamped her hands over the back of it to stare at the group. With wide eyes full of shock instead of innocence, she said, “I can’t believe none of you know.”

“Know?”

“Know what!”

“Tell us instantly, Secretary Heo!” urged Manager Kwon, and the whole row shifted forward.

The secretary puckered her thin lips and lowered her voice to a whisper just loud enough to catch over the drone through the sound system of Vice Chairman Im’s speech on streamlining database growth.

“Director Ortega handed in her resignation yesterday.”

“Sir, please don’t make that face,” she said.

Yet the vice chairman sat there with his cheeks in his hands, his bottom lip jutting out. “What do you expect me to do? I hate knowing where you’re headed next.”

“I do this every day, sir,” she reminded.

“And I hate it every day. He always gets more of your time than we do.”

“You know that isn’t true, sir.”

“It is!” he complained. “Wouldn’t it be so nice to have one desk in one office and report to only one person?”

She closed her eyes and steadied her breath. “I think I may have a solution to this problem. If I may have one more moment please…”

“Impossible,” Mr. Moon scoffed. “She’s been here fourteen years!”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” scolded the female purchaser.

“I’m not,” insisted Secretary Heo. “Secretary Ahn told me yesterday at lunch. She’s Vice Chairman Lee Minhyuk’s personal secretary. If anybody would know, it would be her. She’s not a gossip.”

“Like you,” retorted the accountant.

“Game recognizes game, Miss Lee, but in this case, it’s just fact. We all need to be prepared for the trickle-down. Even if we don’t work personally with the vice chairmen, without Director Ortega as our shield, we’re sure to feel the brunt of things.”

“Now that you mention it, look how dull the vice chairmen look,” said the other young woman as she stared sadly at the stage where the tallest vice chairman now spoke. Her eyes darted down to the straw-haired executive at the far end, and she shook her head. “Even Vice Chairman Lee Jooheon looks flat. He never looks so flat! Oh, this is terrible. I love his smiles.”

Intern Wong elbowed his coworker and retorted, “Keep your head in your station, Miss Kim.”

She rolled her eyes though the bespectacled accountant nodded. “And Vice Chairman Lee Hoseok looks much smaller than usual, don’t you think? Normally, you can see his shoulders from space.”

“I’m telling you,” reiterated Secretary Heo, “Director Ortega put in a month’s notice. She’s definitely leaving.”

“Have you heard this?” asked Mr. Moon to Miss Lee. “You process her overtime, you said.”

The older woman shook her head. “I’m not in HR. Isn’t that your department, Manager Cho?”

Everyone glanced down the row to the HR manager who had grown progressively quieter. “It is, but I don’t work in Executive Resources. But…”

Everyone leaned toward him like plants straining for sunlight.

“It is possible,” Manager Cho said guardedly. “I can’t outright refute it.”

Jaws dropped right and left, and a few hands fell over hearts.

“Why would she resign now?” asked Intern Wong when no one picked up the conversation.

“Is she not being compensated well enough?” asked Miss Kim.

“I have worked here through Chairman Choi’s reign, and I can tell you for a fact that her salary would make you blush, especially when she works for holiday pay. Plus, I have heard from Director Jeong that Director Ortega receives a bonus from each Vice Chairman at Seollal,” Miss Lee said vehemently. “No, no. But money matters less when you have no time to spend it and no one to spend it on. I told you. Director Ortega is 38. Aish, she must have realized that if she wants to marry and have a family, she has a very small window left.”

“Hwaiting, sunbaenim!” Miss Kim said a little too loudly, and a few more rows turned back toward them.

“No, that’s not it,” persisted Secretary Heo. “Secretary Ahn said Director Ortega already has a man, and she’s quitting to marry him.”

“Is there anything else, sir?” she said, head cocked to the side.

“There is not.”

The usual silence filled the space between them. After several years, at least it was no longer startling.

“If you’re sure, sir.”

She bowed, and also as usual, he blurted, “One final thing, Director Ortega.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

“I need five extra minutes of your time today.”

“I’m sorry, but not today, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You never say that.”

“I know,” she agreed. “It turns out that’s because I need a minute of your time instead…”

The older employees broke into quiet laughter.

“There is zero chance of that,” Miss Lee assured.

“If you knew her workload…” agreed Mr. Moon.

Secretary Heo scowled and jabbed a finger at the seniors. “Secretary Ahn was sure.”

“I don’t buy it,” asserted Miss Lee. “Look, there’s no ring!”

All eyes turned to the jumbo screen, to the bare, slender fingers of the director.

One of the other purchasers whisper-shouted from farther down the row, “Do you think they’ll post for her position internally first?”

“How can you be so insensitive, Assistant Lee Yubin!” chastised Miss Kim. “The vice chairmen look miserable. They’d never fill her role with such a vulture.”

The assistant rolled her sleepy-looking eyes as she informed, “You don’t get to that position without being an opportunist.”

“No one’s asking the most important question,” interjected Intern Wong, his bright puppy eyes still fixed on the glowing silhouette of the director. “If she’s no longer going to be an employee—and she’s not engaged—do you think she’s on the market?”

Both Manager Cho and Mr. Moon sighed and exchanged hopeless glances, but now, a few more men down the line swiveled from the intern up toward the stage. The whole group grew silent as Vice Chairman Lee Minhyuk took over on the mic, but nobody was really listening to his outline of new product roll-outs for the upcoming quarter. They were mounting strategies of their very own.

“Why are we meeting here?” a surly Jooheon griped as he plopped down onto a couch in the center of the round atrium that connected all seven vice chairmen's offices. “Shouldn't we go somewhere more private?”

“This is easier,” Jackson replied as he took a seat into an armchair across from his friend. The president was known for looking as cool as his voice sounded, so when he cocked his head and crossed his legs, he looked more a boss than the vice chairman. “How are you doing?”

Jooheon hissed and launched forward, though he managed to stay seated. “How am I doing? I’m upside down, man! I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“I don’t—” The vice chairman ran his hands through his hair and rolled his neck. After a steadying breath, he said, “I don’t understand why she’d leave?”

“Director Ortega?”

“Of course, Director Ortega. Who the hell else did you think I brought you here to talk about?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to do about it. You guys wouldn’t let me near her.”

“You can’t be trusted.”

“A fine thing to say to your President of Operations,” Jackson laughed, and it was clear he didn’t take an ounce of the vice chairman’s insults seriously.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

The president kept laughing and nodded. “I do.”

“But I have always trusted your vision. You see bigger pictures than I do. Since we were teenagers, you’ve always been a barometer of the people, and at least I trust your insights,” Jooheon began as professionally as he could sitting in front of one of his best friends. “Plus, you’re a busybody.”

“I’ve been accused of worse,” the president said with a grin.

“I know. I was the one who accused you.”

Jackson shrugged. “So, what do you need?”

“What have you heard about Director Ortega’s threat of quitting?”

“Is it a threat?” the president asked with a brow raise. “Because it sounded pretty damn certain to this busybody’s ears.”

“Don’t get coy, Jackson. I’m not in the mood.”

The grin dropped from the president’s face, and he leaned across the coffee table. “Everyone’s talking about it, of course. Rumors abound. Some say she’s getting married.”

Jooheon scowled and shook his head.

“Some say she’s pregnant.”

This time, the vice chairman gasped, unable to feign his usual confidence.

“But most people are saying she’s dating or wants to date, so she wants to make more time to do those other things.”

“That’s stupid,” Jooheon fired off. “Director Ortega has plenty of time to do that now. She could be married already if she wanted to be, but she’s not.”

Jackson just glowered at his friend.

“Fine,” Jooheon conceded, “we keep her pretty busy, but it’s never bothered her before.”

“Are you sure? Did you ever ask?”

“Why would I ask that!” the vice chairman shouted indignantly. “It’s not workplace appropriate.”

“Then it sounds to me like you’re talking out of your ass,” and a beat later, Jackson added cheekily, “sir.”

Jooheon studied his fingernails as he asked carefully, “So… which one did she say it is?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does for sure. Director Ortega is the most professional person in this whole damn company. You lot should know best. What did she say when she resigned?”

“She didn’t resign,” Jooheon said tersely. “She just threatened to.”

“Oh, is that what ‘Please accept my letter of resignation’ means?”

The vice chairman sighed. “Why the hell did I put any faith in you.”

“C’mon, man, I’m ribbing you. The truth is I think you know everything, but you just don’t want to acknowledge it. What did she say exactly? Not what did Vice Chairman Lee Jooheon hear?”

The straw-haired man sank back into the couch, his hands spread across the cushions as he stared up through the glass ceiling to the obnoxiously blue sky above. “She said, ‘After fourteen wonderful years at Xtra Mile, I have decided I need to step back from my position as Director of Facilitation and spend some time on myself. I know this may be rather surprising, but it's something I’ve been considering for a while. It has been an absolute pleasure working for you…’

“From there, pretty much all I heard was static. I was too in shock.”

Jackson hummed. “Doesn’t give me a ton to work with. What did her resignation letter say?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t read it yet.”

At this, Jackson let out a groan. “You didn’t read it? What the hell kind of boss are you?”

“A blindsided one! What do you expect me to do after the rug was pulled out from under me?”

“Man up and fix it. I figured Xtra Mile’s Chief Marketing Officer would already be mounting a campaign to court back his most valuable employee. Instead, you’re whining in your ivory tower.”

“How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even understand why she’s leaving me?”

“Read the damn letter, man,” Jackson scolded. “Maybe it’s as simple as she took another job.”

“You think?” the dimpled vice chairman asked eagerly.

“No, unless she sparing your feelings.”

“This is all their fault,” Jooheon griped, only too happy to shift the blame. He waved his arm around the atrium at the six other mahogany office doors. “They're driving her away. She's always happy when she's with me.”

“Is that what you really think?”

The vice chairman narrowed his eyes at his president. “Obviously.”

“Just remember I've known you long before you were a head honcho…” Jackson said ominously. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned across the coffee table. His hand rose, middle finger tucked beneath his thumb, and swiftly and unexpectedly, he flicked the forehead of his friend.

Jooheon yelped and cursed as he bounced in his seat. When he dropped a hand to point angrily at the man across from him, a big red mark lingered like a bullseye in the center of his forehead. “You're fired!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll clean out my desk tomorrow,” the president said without an ounce of concern. “But did I knock some sense into you?”

“You pissed me off is what you did.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I think you’re better off worrying about that mammoth bruise to your ego than a little welt on your forehead. The second Aeon gets wind of her leaving, they’re going to wonder about the merger.”

Though he was still babying the bump on his head, Jooheon shook it. “Director Ortega said she’d build in more than the month in case things run long with Aeon. She doesn’t want to jeopardize the project.”

“Leave it to a woman of her caliber to be acutely aware of that. She’s been in all of the merger meetings, hasn’t she?”

“She personally brought Chaiman Matsuda on board. Yeah, the Aeon merger is probably more her baby than any of ours.”

“Good. That’s good then.”

“Why?” Jooheon asked.

Jackson shrugged a shoulder. “It means she’s not running off to elope at least.”

“Elope!” At this, the vice chairman finally leapt back up.

“Calm down. I said she’s not eloping. Probably also means there’s no fiancé either yet.”

“Yet?” Jooheon deflated completely back down to the couch.

Again, the president shrugged. “I’m just puzzling out the fifty different rumors I heard today. Seems like those are the least likely now that I know more.”

“Terrific…”

“But now that I know what she said when she resigned, I think the most likely theory is that you all have zapped her personal life completely. Sucked her dry like a swarm of mosquitos.”

Jooheon sighed. “You really like to rub salt in a wound, man.”

“Hey, I call ‘em like I see ‘em. Unless she’s already married? Maybe she’s leaving to spend more time with her husband. Work on building a family.”

“She doesn’t have a husband,” the vice chairman snapped.

Jackson let out a chuckle. “I imagine you seven have seen to that, huh? Thought you were all the men she needed, I’ll bet. Guess today was your wake-up.”

“Is she dating?” Jooheon’s voice creeped up uncomfortably high, and he cleared his throat to correct it.

“How should I know? You barely let me talk to the woman. You keep her locked up like Rapunzel with you and your dysfunctional family.”

The vice chairman narrowed his already narrow eyes. “That smacks of bitterness.”

“Maybe it is. She’s a beautiful woman, and I’m a good-looking guy.”

Jooehon unleashed a wicked snarl at the corner of his lips. “You’re not just a busybody but a playboy, Jackson. I was right to keep her away from you.”

It was Jackson’s turn to narrow his eyes. “I knew it.”

Jooheon waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t need you distracting my executive team.”

“I didn’t hear you balk when I asked out Secretary Guk, and she’s at your full disposal all day, every day.”

At this, the vice chairman grumbled, “Well, you just said it. I can call on her whenever I need her. I only get an hour with Director Ortega. I can’t have her distracted for a minute of it.”

“Don’t you think that’s part of her reasoning, Honey?” Jackson said, testing the boundaries of their decades-long friendship. “Every second of her day is monopolized by a tycoon. How do you expect her to just be a woman?”

“If you’re saying this just to make a window for yourself to her, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Look, man, it doesn’t even matter at this point. Her dance card is already so long, I’d need to take a number.”

“What do you mean?”

Jackson pursed his lips. “Exactly what I said. As soon as news of her resignation trickled down all 28 floors, guys were brushing up their marriageable resumes and dating profiles.”

“She’s not a sweepstakes,” Jooheon barked. “You don’t just try your chance to get lucky.”

“Hey, I agree with you, but you don’t speak for the vast majority of guys. Everyone has always assumed she’s unmarried, but no one’s risked courting her for fear of their careers. But if she doesn’t work for you anymore—”

Jooheon growled. “That doesn’t matter. They’re still risking their careers.”

Jackson leaned back in his chair, mouth screwed up to one side and eyebrow popped.

“For your own good, Honey, I really think you should ask yourself why that is.” A little louder, he proclaimed, “You all should.”

Almost as if scripted, six silhouettes stepped out of the shadows of six separate doorways.

Jackson swept his hand in a circle and smiled smugly at his friend. “See? Told you this was easier. Now I don't have to repeat myself six more times.”

“Jackson,” said a burly platinum blonde in a three-piece suit so tightly tailored that it looked more like an American football uniform, “do you really think Director Ortega will be that much of a target?”

Jackson scoffed that faded into a wry smile. “She's gorgeous, driven, charming, whip-smart, and well-off. A woman like Director Ortega is in a class of her own. Yes, Hoseok, she’s a catch. The only people who are going to care she's 38 are the ones she would have never entertained anyway. Hell, just between the horn dogs and the sugar babies, she's going to have her plate full, never mind her long-term secret admirers. You'll see. You won't even have to wait a day, I promise.”

“I don’t love that,” Minhyuk said as he took a chair beside the president.

“Yeah, but what are any of you going to do about it?”

The seven vice chairmen traded appraisals, but none spoke.

Jackson chuckled. “Can’t see the forest for the trees… Director Ortega really has been carrying all of you.”

“Watch it,” Jooheon growled, yet his subordinate waved him off.

“Since you’re all in one room for a change, let me pose a question that’s been eating at the back of my mind for years. I may never get another chance to ask it in case one of you actually decides to fire me after half a decade of playful threats, but why do each of you insist on sharing one assistant when you can have as many as you want?”

This time, none of the vice chairmen risked a glance at each other. Instead, they thumbed their ten-thousand-dollar watches or fiddled with the cuffs of their bespoke suits.

Sharp-jawed and sharp-tongued, Kihyun jutted his chin out as his neck twitched. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he answered evenly, “Director Ortega is an invaluable—”

“Director Ortega is indeed invaluable,” Jackson interrupted. “No one would dare challenge that for fear of their life. But that doesn’t really answer my question, and you know it. As formidable an assistant as she is, you’re each only capable of utilizing her skill set for a maximum of an eighth of her day. Now, imagine, if you will, how much work you could accomplish if you each trusted one other person as much as you trust her. Don’t all of you have your own secretaries as it is? You can’t rely on them to mastermind your days? Or…”

The way the president said the word had seven sets of eyes snapping to him. Jackson’s handsome face hovered just on the professional side of a smirk.

“…is it that you just don’t want to?”

“Get to the point, President Wang,” snapped the most restless of the chairmen, Minhyuk.

Jackson’s palms turned up. “That is the point. This company is full of fresh young upstarts looking to make a name for themselves. They’re all more than eager to work overtime and make an impression, yet you all continuously come back to your Director.”

“Exactly,” Jooheon said as if it proved some other point, but judging from the smile creeping onto the president��s face, it may not have worked as intended.

“Exactly.” Jackson hummed as he tapped his smart watch screen and checked the time. “You know, I’ve been accused of playing with words before—”

“You’re a regular Loki,” Kihyun corrected.

“Mm, maybe. Or maybe it’s to provoke a thought. It’s served me well closing deals for you all these years. Word choice is everything. Say the right word, and you plant a seed, and the next thing you know? Boom! We’ve got a seven-figure sale. The customer thinks it’s all their idea—always has been. They leave feeling clever, and I leave knowing I’ve orchestrated one hell of a victory for the company.”

“Just say it, Jackson,” mumbled the feline-eyed youngest chairman, Changkyun, from his lean in his door frame.

The president waggled his fingers like the conductor he described, and a chill descended upon the room.

“I just did. Consider my words carefully. I don’t use them lightly.”

Jooheon rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do.”

With a sigh, Jackson raised both brows. “Fine. I’ll be blunter then. If there ever was a thing to unite the seven kingdoms under one banner, I think the whole of Xtra Mile would place their bets on the same banner. Maybe losing Director Ortega is the kick in the pants you all need.”

“Watch it,” Kihyun warned.

Jackson shrugged. “You asked what I thought—”

“We didn’t,” said the tallest, Hyungwon.

“He did,” finished Minhyuk with a glance at Jooheon.

“What a family you are,” Jackson laughed. “I honestly can't tell who among you is delusional, who's in denial, and who's been harboring secrets they've been way too afraid to voice.”

The seven other men exchanged wary scrutiny while the president rose and knocked the wrinkles from his slacks. “Well, look, you've got a month to figure it out, probably way less if I'm honest. The way I see it? You better speak now or forever hold your peace. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I've got a brush up my dating profile.”

With that, Jackson bowed to his bosses and walked out of the chairman’s wing with one insufferable hand in his pocket and one even more insufferable hand waving over his shoulder.

“Remind me to fire him,” huffed Minhyuk.

“Not before I clobber him,” growled Jooheon.

But without Jackson there to stir the pot, it left the seven vice chairmen staring at their feet or the wall. For all the silence, it felt very loud, and it was no surprise to anyone that the first to speak again was Minhyuk.

“What are we going to do?”

Hoseok laughed bitterly. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard us use the word ‘we’.”

A few of the men hummed as the truth of that statement hit.

“Do you think Jackson’s right?” said Changkyun hesitantly. “Do you think she’s leaving because of us?”

Hyunwoo stacked his arms across his thick chest and nodded, eyes fixed on a scuff on the marble floors. “I read her resignation letter. I don’t see how it could be anything else.”

“I read it, too,” interjected Hoseok, “but she said it was about her, right?”

This time, it was Hyungwon who sighed. “Isn’t that the thing you say to spare the other’s feelings during a breakup? ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

More silence, this one infinitely darker and deeper.

“So it is us…” conceded Minhyuk.

“Looks that way,” said Hyunwoo.

“I still don’t get it,” Jooheon said. “I’m a great boss. I’m not the one who made her miss her sister’s wedding.”

Hyungwon narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t make her do that. She chose to come back.”

Kihyun tilted his head as he squared off with his half-brother. "Everybody here knows that you’re passive aggressive if you don’t get your way. ‘Kihyun, are you sure you want to use the gochujang? The recipe calls for doenjang. Don’t mind me, I’m just getting a pitcher of water for the table.’”

“What are you talking about? Passive aggression is your MO,” Hyungwon retorted. “And being hyper-critical.”

“You both are,” Changkyun groaned.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” swore Jooheon. “I praise her work every day. I ask her about her day.”

Minhyuk let out a puff of air. “Yeah, to see if you can steal some of her time from the rest of us. No one’s more of a gatekeeper than you, Jooheon."

"Am not."

“Are too. You throw a fit if anyone asks for five more minutes of her time, and if they do, you demand a makeup the next day.”

“Enough,” Hyunwoo said brusquely.

“We can’t let her resign,” Hoseok agreed.

“Obviously,” Jooheon snapped.

“Can we just refuse her resignation?” asked Minhyuk.

Changkyun shook his head. “I would never test Director Ortega’s commitment. She’ll just quit on the spot, and then where will we be.”

As brains churned, tensions mounted. It was always tense when the seven men gathered together, but for once, desperation was something all seven shared, and instead of retreating to their offices, they remained at their posts—far enough away to still make boundaries clear yet approachable.

“We should apologize,” Hyungwon volunteered.

“If apologies made a difference, would we be where we are?” challenged Kihyun.

“Well, they can’t fucking hurt.”

“It’s a starting point,” Hyunwoo asserted, “which is more than we had a minute ago.”

“What if we switch up her schedule?” Changkyun suggested. “Routine can be crushing.”

Hoseok nodded. “And she could use more vacation.”

“We can throw more money at her,” Kihyun added.

A moment passed. Hyunwoo typed something into his phone. In the gathering silence, Minhyuk and Jooheon rattled the vase in the center of the coffee table with their opposing jackhammering legs.

“What, no snide remarks? No backhanded critiques from any of you?” Kihyun said with a pointed gaze finally landing on Hyungwon.

But the tall man simply scoffed as he pushed up from his lean against the wall and moved toward his office door. “Who has time for that? You heard what Jackson said. We don’t even have a month to undo our screw-up.”

“We run a sixty-billion-dollar company,” said Minhyuk. “There’s no reason we can’t strategize a way to undo our biggest ever loss.”

“Let’s just throw everything at her tomorrow and see what sticks,” Hyungwon suggested.

“Not much of a strategy,” Minhyuk observed.

“I don’t care as long as it keeps her here with us.”

“What do you say, Hyunwoo?” asked Changkyun.

The resident senior raised both eyebrows when he discovered six sets of eyes looking at him simultaneously. “You’re asking for my opinion?”

“Yeah,” Jooheon agreed.

“I’ll get some breakfast tomorrow and think on it.”

The other six sets of eyes switched between rolls and furrows, between disheartened and annoyed, but the vice chairmen settled on meeting again in the morning—after their COO had a full belly.

Just before Hoseok could enter the cafeteria, something caught the corner of his eye, and when he turned, he found his cousin, Hyunwoo, lurking like a houseplant behind a banner announcing the upcoming Xtra Mile company picnic.

“What the hell are you doing?” asked the Chief Security Officer.

“Eating,” answered Hyunwoo.

Hoseok popped an eyebrow. “In a corner? Behind a sign?”

“Evidently, our employees are very surprised to see me. It was too much attention eating at a table.”

“You’re the COO. Attention comes with the title.”

“I don’t need it right now,” the older man replied evenly.

Hoseok had both brows raised now as he took in the rigid figure of the COO who was usually considered the face of the company, yet here Hyunwoo was, literally lurking, eyes staring blankly across the early morning company cafeteria.

Slowly, the COO shifted his attention to his cousin. His face remained as placid as ever, though his tone deepened as he asked, “What are you doing here, Hoseok?”

“I protein up here every day after my workout.”

“You’re later than usual,” Hyunwoo observed.

“How would you know? I’ve never seen you here.” At this, his cousin turned to look at him and Hoseok sniffed. “What? I can't keep track of your schedule too?”

“Hey! I was here first!”

The vice chairmen looked at each other before they realized neither of them had said it. Instead, there were three suited men clustered at the other side of the dining hall with scowls and furrowed brows. They jostled shoulder-to-shoulder as a few other employees tightened around the action.

It was clear there was a line forming, and evidently, somebody had cut it, but it wasn’t for the register.

Director Ortega sat at a table clotted with flowers and gifts and cards as men and women alike waited for their turn to speak with a figure more mythical than a phoenix.

Hoseok soured, first at the sight of the long line but further when he looked back at the burly man hovering behind the signage. “You're not here to eat. You're here to observe the Director.”

The COO presented a sandwich and took a bite, and through a mouthful, he said, “I can do both.”

With a sigh, Hoseok shoved the other vice chairman over and hunkered beside him, eyes peeking around the banner.

Director Ortega greeted each of her admirers warmly but professionally, with the same gentle but sincere office smile they’d seen every day for four years. She accepted all the cards, rejected most of the presents, and divvied up the flowers with the other ladies hovering nearby. One overzealous fellow waited in her orbit, phone out, hoping to get her Kakaotalk information, though she was steadfast that she’d had enough networking to last her a lifetime.

Hoseok puckered his lips, but just before the CSO could escort the insistent prick from the building, Hyunwoo clamped a hand on his shoulder. He looked at the meaty paw and then to its owner and back again.

“She’s got it,” Hyunwoo assured.

Hoseok shrugged his shoulder and the hand fell away. “How did you know she would be here?”

“Director Ortega often brings me a sandwich from here in the morning.”

“You make her bring you breakfast?” Hoseok said sternly.

“I don't make her do anything. She just does it.”

“She doesn't bring me anything,” his cousin pouted.

Hyunwoo didn't respond. He just took another massive bite and kept his eyes on the director.

“Seems like everyone is excited for her to leave,” observed the platinum blonde, but Hyunwoo shook his head.

“Before it got so noisy, I could hear better. I think it’s more that they’re proud of her.”

“For leaving us?” Hoseok exclaimed, and his cousin silenced him with a grave scowl. Quieter now, the CSO continued, “We need to tell the others. I’m not sure our plan of attack will be effective if she’s being showered with gifts to quit.”

This time, at least, his cousin nodded. Hyunwoo stuffed his mouth with another bite.

They lingered until the clock neared the company start time, when the last person in line finally made it to the director’s table. She was standing now, mulling over how to cart a table full of unexpected gifts elsewhere, as the young, black-haired prince with a white smile offered to help.

“Why is she smiling so much?” Hoseok said. “Is she—is she laughing?”

Hyunwoo narrowed his already thin eyes.

“Did she just give him her business card?” the younger chairman gawked.

Director Ortega bowed and thanked the young man as he helped gather her offerings into a box he’d somehow manufactured out of thin air.

Hyunwoo chucked the last bite of his sandwich in the garbage, and it made Hoseok jump.

The blonde started, “You never waste—”

“Time to go, Hoseok,” said the COO, and his cousin jumped again. “We need to talk to the others immediately.”

No sooner had the pair made it up the chairmen’s elevator to their floor than they caught some of their secretaries gabbing in the atrium.

“—vowed to get Maria plastered tonight—oh my god, sirs!”

Secretary Ahn spluttered the instant she saw the two chairmen enter the atrium. Immediately, her mouth shut, and she bowed her head. Secretary Guk was less respectful and more deer-in-headlights, with her round eyes fully white and her small mouth popped open round as a bottle cap.

“Hello, sirs,” Secretary Ahn added and then elbowed her coworker until the other woman managed the same greeting. Neither of the men said anything, so she asked, “Is everything all right, Vice Chairman Son?”

“Why wouldn't it be?” he returned flatly.

Secretary Ahn’s eyes darted to the other vice chairman and then back to him and then back to the other vice chairman again as though he should understand the singularity of the moment of the two men side-by-side.

“Is there a meeting we don't know about, sirs?” she said gingerly.

“I should ask you the same.”

Both women paled until they were nearly transparent. They looked at each other again, but this time, Secretary Ahn couldn’t seem to find her polite words, which left Secretary Guk scrambling to pick up the slack.

“Oh, not at all! We were just discussing Director Ortega's going away party tonight.”

Secretary Ahn elbowed her coworker again, this time nearly hard enough to knock the other woman out of her kitten heels.

“Her going away party?” repeated Hyunwoo. “I was unaware that she’s going anywhere.”

Secretary Guk outright shivered, and when she spoke again, her voice was shaking, too. “The secretaries organized it, but… But it would mean so much if all of the vice chairmen could join us.”

The other secretary looked frantically at her, but there was nothing to be done.

“It’s just dinner, drinks, and noraebang after work, but the more, the merrier.”

Hoseok glanced up at his cousin with urgent eyes and whispered, “President Wang said we should show sincerity. This is the perfect way.”

Again, the secretaries exchanged looks, which only amplified when Vice Chairman Son said, “Secretary Guk, please email the time and place to all the vice chairmen as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

The secretaries bowed to the vice chairmen as they headed toward their respective offices, and when Secretary Ahn rose, she scowled and slapped her friend on the arm. “Maria is going to kill you!”

“Please,” said Secretary Guk as she sat down in front of her keyboard and began to type. “The vice chairmen will never show up. When have they ever showed up for anything, let alone together? Maria’s ready to leave Xtra Mile, but I’m not. What was I supposed to do?”

“Just keep your mouth shut,” her coworker hissed.

“It’s fine. You’ll see. Maria will agree with me.”

“Aigoo, Aera!” Secretary Ahn growled as she tapped her coworker on her arm again. “Have you learned nothing? Keep your mouth shut.”

“No way. You think I want Maria grinding me to a pulp?”

“Look, you said yourself they’ll never show anyway, so why say anything? We’ve worked so hard to organize this thing. I’m not going to be the one to tell everyone it’s off when she invariably cancels it. You are.”

“I didn’t think about that…”

Secretary Ahn rolled her eyes. “Of course you didn’t. You’re not the one who’d clean up the mess.”

“Okay, but if something does go wrong—”

But Secretary Guk didn’t get to finish that thought before the work day officially started and the phones began to ring.

“Oh my god, I didn’t know Maria was capable of getting tipsy, but wow,” laughed Secretary Kwon. “She is gone.”

“Yeah,” agreed Secretary Guk, “color me shocked. I always figured her for the straight life.”

Secretary Kim rolled her eyes. “All these years at seven typhoons’ beck and call will force sobriety on you. I have a hard enough time convincing myself I can have a drink on the weekend. Can’t imagine what Maria’s dry spell’s been like. She must be making up for lost time.”

The women traded laughs and then another round of shots as Director Ortega scream-shouted her noraebang lines into the microphone and they had to hurry to cover their ears.

"Holy. Shit."

It wasn’t just the sudden appearance of the English curse or that it came from the Secretary Lee in his overly dramatic alto that made all the other secretaries pivot sharply. It was the way everything else fell silent except a drunken Maria caterwauling to George Michael’s “Freedom” on stage.

“They actually showed up,” Secretary Ahn gasped.

“Who?” said Secretary Kim.

“Who do you think?”

“What!” exclaimed Secretary Guk. “Which ones?”

“Uh…” Vice Chairman Yoo’s secretary, Song Jiyoo, squinted into the foggy shadows at the entryway as more silhouettes parted the club haze. “Oh my god, it looks like all of them.”

“No way,” said Secretary Kwon. “You're plastered, One. You have to be.”

“I am not. Turn around, Haeun!” Secretary Song grabbed her pocket-sized coworker by the shoulders and swiveled her like the rest of their mob of meerkats.

“I don’t believe it...”

“We’re dead,” said the second Secretary Song Jiyoo, Vice Chairman Im’s assistant, whom the entire department simply called Two.

Secretaries Ahn and Guk looked at each other with crinkled brows. Together, they murmured, “Maria is going to kill us.”

Bumbling through the speakers, they could make out their director wailing louder than she had all night.

“All we have to see is that I don’t belong to you and you don’t belong to me. Freedom! Freedom!”

Secretary Lee looked at the two wide-eyed women, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “So. What do you two want on your urns?”

“Secretary Guk!” came the dreaded call no one had expected to hear from her boss, Vice Chairman Lee Jooheon, tonight.

“Sir,” she stammered as she stepped forward, her hands rushing to her cheeks to hide the alcohol coloring them. She looked frantically at her superior before she realized he was flanked by his seven fellow vice chairmen, every last one in their requisite three piece suits and ties, every hand stuffed in their pockets. She may as well have been coming face-to-face with a firing squad. “Sirs, you came?”

“We said we would,” he replied.

"Yes. Yes, you did…”

Vice Chairman Lee Jooheon took a look around, his bottom lip protruding. “We’re late?”

“No, sir,” Secretary Guk was quick to jump in. “You are right on time, of course. A bunch of us simply got here early to pre-game.”

“Is that what kids call dinner these days?” said Kihyun with a popped eyebrow.

“Ah…”

“You didn’t include the dinner in the invitation?” Secretary Ahn hissed into her colleague’s ear.

Secretary Guk simply stood there with her mouth open.

Secretary Ahn elbowed her friend, but the other secretary just looked at her helplessly. Jooheon narrowed his already thin eyes as he assessed his assistant like a lie detector, but he didn’t say anything further.

“There are a lot of people here,” mused Hoseok to Hyungwon.

Men and women clustered around tables—and soju—many with their drinks stilled in hand as they spied their bosses’ bosses. There were faces the vice chairmen recognized from their various departments, but there were just as many they didn’t, lower level managers and assistants too far down the totem pole for them to have met. No doubt Director Ortega knew them all by name.

Past the honeycomb of booths, at the head of the room, there was a packed dance floor, though once again, the revelry seemed frozen as though by a curse. Everyone watched the seven overlords.

As distracting as it all was, it couldn’t distract from the party’s crown jewel.

Dressed in an oversized buttondown and a denim skirt, Director Ortega bounced from toe to toe in a pair of blindingly white sneakers. Her waves were full-blown curls tonight, bouncing with the beat pulsing through the speakers. Mic in hand, she belted out her third encore, a booze-saturated, warbling rendition of the chorus of Cher’s “I Got You, Babe.”

And she wasn’t alone.

On the mic next to her was a young, effervescent man who seemed to be the only one in the room who didn’t have eyes fixed anywhere other than the woman next to him on stage.

Hyunwoo hummed as he glared. “I know him…”

“Hey,” interjected Hoseok with a nudge to his elder cousin’s shoulder, “isn’t that the guy from breakfast? Mr. Helpshimself.”

The COO’s eye twitched.

“Secretary Lee!” barked Hyungwon to his assistant. “Who’s that with the Director?”

“Uh, on stage?” echoed the younger man. “Mm, I don’t know.”

“Secretary Guk,” Jooheon pressed, “do you know that man?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, sir, I don’t. Maria invited him.”

The vice chairman glowered, and the secretary crumbled.

“Er, Director Ortega invited him, but I can find out?”

“Immediately,” he insisted.

Secretary Guk scampered away toward one of the HR managers who hadn’t moved so much as a muscle since the vice chairmen had strolled in, but if the paralyzed look in his eyes was any indication, he wanted nothing to do with her.

Meanwhile, Kihyun huffed. “A man nobody seems to know is dueting with Director Ortega?”

The secretaries shifted uncomfortably even as two voices, one rich in bass and the other ripe with alcohol, stampeded through the silence like a pair of frolicking elephants. Secretaries One and Two cast worried glances back at their director, who was beaming lopsidedly at the handsome fellow who was hamming it up on his knees now, hand reaching up toward Maria.

“Now, Secretary Guk!” Jooheon called back.

His assistant scurried back with her head bowed and said, “Manager Cho believes his name is Intern Wong Kunhang.”

Secretary One hummed. “Oh, that’s Intern Wong? I think I heard he was brought on to the Purchasing Department from our Macau division a month or two ago.”

“Hm,” hummed Changkyun. “What’s an intern doing at a senior level director’s going-away party?”

Secretary Guk’s head dipped a little lower. “Apparently, I had heard correctly. The Director invited him personally. He wasn’t on our executives list, sir.”

As the vice chairmen stared green-eyed at the stage, the director and her partner finished the last lines of the song with breathless laughs.

Maria bent back into a light stretch as she caught her breath, and when she straightened, she squinted out into the eerily calm party room. Gone was the soju-greased dance party, noisy conversation and uproarious laughter, replaced instead by an ambient background soundtrack and muffled parties in nearby rooms.

“Why is nobody dancing?” Maria complained as she looked around the crowded club of stricken guests.

“Hey, no worries. I can fix that. I have a song that will get them going,” assured Kunhang. He shuffled through the playlist for a minute as he added over his shoulder, “What do you think about—”

Just then though, the young man was yanked by his wrist toward the edge of the stage where his direct supervisor, Supervisor Qian glared at him with imploring eyes. “No more encores, Intern Wong.”

“Ah, come on! It's the Director's big day. If she wants another song—”

But the supervisor shook his head vehemently. “I'm doing this for your own good, Intern Wong. Hurry up off the stage now, come on. I’ll give you money for a cab. Go home early and safely.”

“Are you nuts? I’m not leaving yet. Maria invited me personally.”

Supervisor Qian slapped his hand over the intern’s mouth and hissed, “Do you want to lose your job the same month you got it? Stop talking for once, Intern Wong, and go!”

The supervisor yanked his subordinate down the steps, leaving Maria squinting alone into the haze ahead of her.

“Hyeongseo!” she shouted into the hushed crowd. “Hyeongseoie! Where are you?”

Secretary Kim, Vice Chairman Lee Hoseok’s personal assistant and Maria's best friend in the company, turned to Secretary Ahn and hissed, “Fix this, Minha!”

She raced to her friend’s aid on stage, leaving Vice Chairman Lee Minhyuk’s assistant gasping like a fish in front of the heads of the whole company.

“Uh,” Secretary Ahn began hesitantly, “sirs, maybe you would like to meet us later for some barbecue across the street? Everyone will be more presentable in a half hour, especially with some food in their bellies.”

“Why?” asked Hoseok. “We’re already here.”

Minhyuk cocked his head to the side, his warm blonde hair feathering across his forehead as he did. “It seems Secretary Ahn is trying to get rid of us.”

“Not at all, sir!” she squealed as she waved her hands. “It’s just that maybe noraebang is a little noisy and chaotic for leaders of your caliber who are used to quiet offices and boardrooms.”

“She means you’re bringing down the vibe,” came a voice from behind Jooheon followed by a pair of hands clapping on his shoulders.

“Jackson!” said the startled vice chairman. “What are you doing here?”

“Maria invited me,” he said with a cheeky smile that got even cheekier the more flustered the rest of vice chairmen grew. “I’m surprise she invited you.”

Kihyun sucked his teeth as assessed the president, who downed the shot in his hand with a grin on his face. “Having a good time I take it, President Wang?”

“It was a party, so I was.”

“Was a party?” questioned Hoseok.

“Until seven wet blankets dampened the mood.”

Kihyun pursed his lips now. “The soju seems to have loosened your lips.”

With a nod to the stage, Jackson replied, “It does have that reputation, yeah. If I were you, I’d by worried about the number one consumer of soju here tonight. When she sees you, you’re done…”

“How the hell did they find me!”

Though there was no mistaking the clear outrage, the seven vice chairmen had a hard time believing the voice was that of their esteemed, reliable, punctual, efficient, unwavering Director Ortega.

And yet one glance to the stage, where the director stood, arms flung wide and eyes blasted open as she challenged Secretary Kim, left no doubt it was the legend herself.

“Hm,” said Jackson, “I’m going to need a beer and a front row seat for this. Good luck, sirs.”

With that, the President of Operations disappeared into the crowd of fish faces all watching and waiting for what came next.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The director took the stairs remarkably well considering the booze counteracting her anger, but then purpose had always driven every move Maria Ortega had ever made. She headed straight for her seven moving targets. Several of the vice chairmen took a step back, huddling ever so slightly behind the wall of Hyunwoo and Hoseok.

They barely recognized the woman they’d seen nearly every day for years. Though her fine spray of freckles still dusted her face and neck, it was harder to make out under her heavy rose flush. Her ever-alert eyes were hard and narrow, and even though she was swaying as she planted her feet wide, her hands found a brand new home on her hips, giving her small stature the hulk of a professional wrestler.

“Director—” began Hyunwoo, but she waved him off instantly.

“Apologies, your highnesses, I know I’ve given you four years of contradictory evidence, but this is my night off,” she declared briskly. “Your offices are two streets down and around the corner.”

“Director Ortega—” tried Hoseok now, but she cut him off, too, with a shake of her head.

There was no sign of their perennial diplomatic as she ordered, “You should go. All of you.”

“But why?” said Jooheon in a blatant whine.

“We just got here,” insisted Hyungwon.

Maria scoffed. “Oh, I know. You’ve flatlined the mood.”

“I’ve never been accused of such a thing,” Minhyuk swore.

“Look!” she said and swung her arm toward the door, where a pair of coworkers were slinking out until her voice immobilized them in the doorway. “People are already leaving because they don’t want seven spoiled brats lording over their good time.”

“Brats?” said Hyungwon.

“Spoiled?” Kihyun balked, too. “We’re not spoiled.”

Another scoff. Maria scowled as she said, “I’ve never seen silver spoons lodged farther down throats. And now no one is going to want to have a good time with me because they don’t want you brats to fire them.”

“Somehow President Wang still has his job,” Jooheon shouted to Jackson, who was sitting cross-legged at one of the nearby booths, beer in hand.

With a sigh this time, Maria said resignedly, “What are you even doing here?”

“We’re here to celebrate you,” said Changkyun.

“Because we care about you,” Hyungwon added.

Maria’s eyes shifted to the Chief Sustainability Officer. Her face fixed on an expression too foreign for her face.

A beat passed. Then another.

Her lips parted. Before she could respond though, the puppy-eyed intern appeared at the director’s side, a tail practically wagging behind him. He rested his fingertips on her forearm, and her attention shifted to the young man.

“Sorry about that, Maria. Supervisor Qian thought I was too drunk to stay or something, but considering he's already six shots in, I figured he wasn't one to judge. Oh, hey!” The intern pivoted on his foot and smiled at the seven stone-faced men across from him. “You must be the vice chairmen. It's nice to meet you, Your Excellencies.”

Kunhang bowed and rose with two high eyebrows and a toothy grin.

“Your Excellencies?” Hyungwon said flatly.

The intern nodded. “I hear you're the seven princes of Xtra Mile, at least, that’s what everyone in the office says.”

“And we hear that you’re from our Macau office,” said Hoseok.

“Yes, sir.”

Hyunwoo’s jaw flexed. “Do you miss Macau, Intern Wong?”

Maria narrowed her eyes, but Kunhang simply shrugged his shoulders and his mouth. “I did at first, but I’ve gotten pretty used to things here now. I really love Seoul so far.”

“That’s no reason to stay,” Jooheon added quickly.

“Internships run their course,” agreed Hyungwon.

With a tilt of his head, the intern smiled brightly. “I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

“You shouldn’t. Maybe you should head out before your job—” grumbled Kihyun before Maria stepped between the factions, her back to the vice chairmen.

“Kunhang, Secretary Lee needs a drink. Why don’t you two have one together for now?” she suggested as she spun the younger man back toward the stage.

“Okay, but we’re still doing another song to wake up these zombies, right?”

Maria nodded and sent him off, and when she swiveled back to her bosses, albeit teetering slightly, gone was her gentle smile.

“I invited Kunhang,” she asserted, “and I want him to stay. You have no authority to order my guests to leave.”

“Actually, we own 51 percent of this—”

Hyunwoo gave a discreet punch to Minhyuk’s side to shut him up, but it had about as much impact as a car accident. While the blonde cradled his gut, Maria glared.

“You're not the bosses of my party! In fact, you're not even my bosses anymore.”

“We are for the next month,” Kihyun reminded.

“Hey, Two!” the director shouted over her shoulder. “Clear that back booth for me please. I’m putting these seven children in time-out until they can learn to play well with others.”

An audible gasp circulated through the room along with one very inebriated giggle somewhere in the back that was quickly silenced. The vice chairmen stood there dumbfounded as their secretaries nervously followed their director’s instructions and shooed away partygoers from the back corner where a C-shaped booth lurked in the neon shadows. The table cleared, and Maria thrust her arm forward and instructed, “Sit.”

They did.

Another pair of guests seized the distraction and made a break for the exit, but the director trumpeted, “Nobody leaves until everyone’s had a good time!”

“Woohoo!” Kunhang cheered from halfway across the room. He was the only respondent though the escapees did retreat back to their tables.

“Can’t we talk about this?” Hyunwoo said in his usual steady tone.

Maria shook her head. “Your lordships talk to much as it is. Sit here and be quiet for once.”

Kihyun hummed. “Director Ortega, I think you’ve had a bit to drink. Maybe—”

“Psh, I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.”

Jooheon let out a resentful sigh as he scrunched his nose and challenged, “We really did come to support you.”

But Maria swept her pointer finger from end to end of the rainbow of vice chairmen and barked, “Pinches egoístas! Todo lo que hacen en tomar y tomar! ¿Y que obtengo a cambio? ¡Solo molestias! Y ni siquiera me pueden dejar en paz. Hijos de puta.”

“That didn’t sound great,” Hoseok said with a grimace at Minhyuk.

Hyunwoo cleared his throat and started, “Director—”

“Nn-nn, no. No, no. I'm so sick of that name. That's the only name I've heard for the last 762 years.” Kihyun and Hyungwon exchanged looks at her embellishment, but the woman didn’t notice as she continued, “I have a real name, a person name not a job name. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Minhyuk with a lopsided smile.

“It's Maria. It's a pretty name. It was my mother’s name and my great-grandmother's name. Isn't it pretty? Maria. Say it.”

“Maria,” said Hyungwon slowly, testing it out.

But she surprised him when she launched across the table, both of her hands clamping over his thick lips. “Shh! Not you! Shh!”

“Why not me?” he grumbled behind her fingers, but she shook her head vehemently.

“Why are you so loud?”

“Loud?” Kihyun chuckled with a furrowed brow as he turned toward his half-brother. “You’re not loud. I can barely decipher half the mumblings that come out of your mouth. Maria, do you mean the music’s loud?”

“Not loud enough!” she shouted.

“Maria,” repeated Hyungwon, softer this time, but she plugged her ears then and shook her head.

“I said it's too loud. Shh! You call me Director Ortega.”

The silver-haired vice chairman scowled at his half-brother as he folded his arms across his broad chest. “Why can’t I say it… He just did.”

The director narrowed her eyes at the vice chairmen and said, “I’m going back to get drunk like I deserve for the first time in ages, and you are not ruining that yet again, got it? Hopefully I’ll forget you were even here.”

“How long do we have to sit here?” Jooheon griped.

Maria folded her arms. “You act like children, I treat you like children. You stay here until you learn your lesson.”

Changkyun laid a hand on his dimpled cousin’s shoulder before took the lead and said, “We came here to talk to you, Maria.”

“Well, I came here to party because it’s my party, and I’m not talking. I’m partying.”

She turned around, but before she could take three steps, Hoseok blurted, “What are we supposed to do?”

Over her shoulder, she answered, “You’re in timeout. You don’t do anything… unless you decide to leave. You want to reconsider?”

None of the men moved, save Kihyun and Hyungwon crossing their arms in unison in an unexpected reminder that they shared some genes.

Maria huffed. “Fine. The only way you’re getting up from this table is if you leave or you join in.”

“What does that mean?” asked Minhyuk.

“Seriously? You drink and you sing duets or you get out. There's no way I'm letting you stone sober tyrants hold anything over my secretaries after I'm gone. ¿Te quedó claro? Drink and sing or get out.”

“Is that all? I can do that,” the Chief Product Officer said with a smile and presented his hand. “Will you do me the honors of singing with me?”

Maria cackled, and all seven men froze at the unfamiliar sound. “With you, Mr. Lee Minhyuk? Oh, no way.”

“You’ll sing with an intern but not with us?” Hyungwon pointed out tightly.

“That’s the easy way out,” she countered, “and I've spent way too much of my life by each of your sides already. No, you have to sing with each other.”

“With each other?” they exclaimed as a united front for once.

Maria cocked an eyebrow and a hip and stared them down. “If you've got the guts. If not, there’s the door.”

With that, Maria returned to her party, stole a snack from a nearby table, and bellowed out a war cry for the party to continue. With the help of Intern Wong’s impromptu DJing and the out-of-sight, out-of-mind vice chairmen, most guests were swaying and drinking again, this time with much more moderation.

That is until everyone got the surprise of their lives.

Just as Manager Gong of the marketing department finished her off-key solo performance of XG’s “New Dance,” two sharp silhouettes climbed the stairs to the stage, and once they’d selected their song, they turned around and stepped into the lights.

Minhyuk and Kihyun each grabbed a mic and waited to catch up to the beat of TVXQ’s “Spellbound”. At the first notes out of their mouths, a couple shot glasses fell to the floor, but it was nothing to the number of jaws that followed.

“My god,” murmured Secretary One, “they could be idols. How did I not know Vice Chairmen Yoo could sing like this? I see him all day every day!”

“I didn’t know they could sing either!” said Secretary Kwon. “Did you, Maria?”

A rice cake now sagging in her hand, the director couldn’t even find the strength to shake her head as her two bosses prowled the stage looking like they’d always belonged up there. They’d shed their suit jackets in favor of their dress shirts, each having rolled their sleeves up to their forearms, which was more skin than Maria had ever seen them show in all their years together. As they glided across the floor, their buttons winked in the spotlights, taunting the woman who’d been so confident up to that very moment that she’d known everything about them.

“This feels like a concert!” one of the managers screamed over the music.

“I can’t believe we get to see this for free!” shouted another.

“Why do they have to be good at everything they do?” bemoaned yet another.

“Feels like they’re singing to you, Maria,” whispered Hyeongseo into her friend’s ear.

“Hush,” the director said because it was all she could manage.

She was too caught up in the two men, ever at odds with one another, harmonizing so effortlessly over the effervescent melody. Minhyuk was definitely the bigger ham of the two, swaying back and forth like a jazz cat with equal cool. Kihyun, on the other hand, had a way of stroking the mic that was so dizzying, it left Maria wondering how much of the room’s spinning was just the alcohol coursing through her now-racing blood.

“They’re even dancing in sync? They have moves?” Secretary Lee exclaimed at their little dance break, eyes bugging out of his skull.

Their performance ended all too quickly, and once again, the club room was silent. The two vice chairmen stood on stage, chests heaving, sweat beading on their brows, expressions tight.

Nobody bothered to hit the artificial applause since the real thing erupted from every corner, including whoops and hollers and chants for an encore. Their bosses merely bowed and made their escape from the limelight toward their mandated timeout, but not before taking a very particular route past their dumbstruck director.

As he blew past her, Kihyun lifted both brows in a challenge, and then the pair was gone… only to be replaced on stage by Hyunwoo and Hoseok.

“There’s more?” said one guest.

“Are they all going to perform? Oh my god,” exclaimed another.

The two largest members of Xtra Mile’s boardroom hiked the stairs to the stage as the applause finally dwindled for the last performance. Maria barely had time enough to process what had just happened in when the first percussive notes of Shinee’s “1 of 1” began.

Hoseok took the lead in the song, his voice sweet and melodic and his lisp clinging to the lyrics, before his cousin picked up the retro beats and flavored them with his own surprisingly lustrous RnB tone.

“These song choices, oh my god,” gasped Secretary Ahn.

“How am I going to go back to work on Monday?” Secretary Kwon lamented as she watched her boss reach his hand out toward them, his voice straining with a high note. Dreamily, she reached back, and Secretary Kim swatted her arm down.

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Haeun!”

“Probably,” Secretary Kwon whimpered, entranced.

“Is it just me,” said Secretary Lee, “or are all these about Maria?”

“I told you,” Hyeongseo sing-songed.

Abruptly, each of the secretaries turned toward the director, who waved them off. “You gossip just as much as ever, Yujun, which always adds fuel to Hyeongseo’s fire. Cut it out, both of you. They’re just showing off. When do they not? Pack of jerks, trying to make me feel bad about having a good time.”

Only then, as the weight of her bosses’ gazes bore down on her from the stage, did Maria realize she hadn’t had a drink since the vice chairmen had stormed in, and, resentfully, she grabbed for a shot glass. But the second she brought it to her lips, it stilled, and nothing she could do could tip it back.

“Damn them,” she cursed under her breath as she slammed the glass back down. “Can’t even get drunk anymore even though I don’t work here anymore.”

But with every cell she sobered up, Maria was more and more aware of how smooth her bosses were on stage, how natural and comfortable they looked under a spotlight, and how enticingly they sang into a mic. It wasn’t fair, and it just amplified her resentment.

“Hey, girl, you all right?” Hyeongseo asked her friend.

“Pack of jerks,” Maria muttered even as Hoseok stared straight into her soul with sparkling eyes.

Finally, the duo finished their serenade, bowed to the crowd and again to their director, and then hurried off stage to make way for Hyungwon, Jooheon, and Changkyun.

“Not again,” the director groaned and Hyeongseo rubbed her back.

“Worried they’re going to be as impressive as the first two duets?”

“I thought they’d leave. I didn’t expect them to take me up on it. Why didn’t I make them leave?”

Vice Chairman Yoo’s secretary quirked a finely plucked brow. “Seems like they’re figuring out what it means to lose you. I wonder what they’d say if they knew the real reason you’re leaving.”

Maria hissed, “I’ll throw you out, too, One!”

“Aera! Hey, Aera!” whispered Secretary Lee to Secretary Guk, who could barely tear her eyes from her boss, Jooheon, as the dimpled man centered himself behind a mic. “Aera, other than a boardroom, have you ever seen the three of them together?”

“Vice Chairman Lee looks so handsome…” she murmured with dimples that matched her superior’s. Her colleague swatted his hand in front of her face, and she blinked and snapped, “What do you want, Yujun?”

“I asked you a question!”

“Shh!” she said, ignoring him. “We’re witnessing history, and I’m not missing a second of it.”

Secretary Lee rolled his eyes, but his fellow assistant was right. The whole room could feel it, even the transfixed director.

“They can't possibly be a skilled as the other vice chairmen, can they?” asked Secretary Two.

A familiar throwback beat bumped out of the speakers, and Hyeongseo’s eyes glided to the director as Shinhwa’s “Perfect Man” emphatically kickstarted.

“Don’t,” Maria warned her friend.

Hyeongseo grinned as cartoonishly as an emoji.

Hyungwon took control of the opening lines with his raspy vocals, which melted right into Changkyun’s chocolate murmuring and, finally, Jooheon’s power serenading. Before anyone knew it, the latter two were trading some of the fastest, smoothest rap lines anyone in the company had ever heard.

“They can rap?” squealed Secretary Ahn as she pressed harder against the edge of the stage. “I take back what I said. Thank god your big mouth invited them, Aera.”

If Secretary Guk heard the praise, it took a backseat to the tidal wave of senses bearing down on them from the stage as the three men harmonized in ways not a soul in Xtra Mile could have ever anticipated. They shared lines just as easily as they shared the spotlight, and when they joined voices in the chorus, hearts stopped.

“They're not treating this like noraebang,” marveled Hyeongseo. “They're acting like they're on Music Bank.”

“What a pity they hate each other,” shouted Secretary Kwon over the music. “Imagine if they cut a record together.”

Secretary Lee wrapped one arm around the director and another around Hyeongseo as he muscled in between for a better look of his boss on stage. “I am never letting Vice Chairman Chae live this done. Never. And here I always thought Maria would be the one to bring them together. Who knew it would be music?”

“Who said it isn’t Maria?” said Jackson, who appeared at the director’s other shoulder. His mouth hovered by her ear as he added, “You did tell them to perform after all.”

“‘Cause you are the one!” came the line from the three performers, this time borderline shouted down on the crowd—maybe, more specifically, one President of Operations.

Maria looked up and away from Jackson, though not with stars in her eyes as the rest of the crowd did, but rather with crossed arms and a hard expression.

Hyeongseo shook her friend’s bicep. “Not even a smile? They’re singing right to you, babe. Damn, Maria, I really underestimated how pissed you are at them.”

But the director wasn't pissed. She was in shock.

She looked around at her colleagues, now flush with the stage, hands reaching up, cheering and squealing, all hoping for a crumb of attention from men Maria had only ever seen drink coffee, read reports, and micromanage every second of her day.

Now they were commanding a stage like they owned that, too.

So maybe she was more than a little angry after all.

They had it in them all along to get along, so why the hell had she been stretched thinner than watercolor on an oversized canvas all these years?

The trio’s performance wound down, and the men left the stage the same as the others—abruptly and with little attention for the fanfare that was being ladled on them from the audience. They retreated to their timeout and sat in the same order that they’d been assigned when Maria had sent them there.

“How am I going to go back to the office on Monday knowing what I know...” Secretary Guk said as she stared back heart-eyed at her boss.

“You’d better stay in your lane, Guk Aera,” admonished Secretary Two. “Remember what happened to Secretary Lee Gahyun? She asked out Vice Chairman Im one time, and she was gone the next day. You have to stay as professional as Director Ortega or you’ll be on the job market in no time.”

“I know! I’m just saying it’s going to be so hard. A girl could get lost in Vice Chairman Lee’s dimples…”

“Great,” said Secretary One, “we’re going to be filling two positions this week.”

“A lot to think about, Director Ortega,” Jackson began with a playful look to the woman beside him. “Seems our esteemed Vice Chairmen set out to make an impression. I wonder if it worked.”

Maria gritted her teeth, shook off the two men’s arms around her, and stormed toward the back of the club, every guest’s attention once again pressing down on them. She threw her hands back on her hips and thundered, “Are you happy?”

“Are you?” asked Kihyun.

“We did it for you,” added Hoseok.

“Did you like our performances?” Jooheon wondered. “How did I do specifically?”

Maria sighed. “What was the point of all that, huh? Did you think it would make me stay?”

“No,” said Hyunwoo.

“Yes,” said Minhyuk.

All at once, the director stood there, her shoulders unusually slumped and her round face fallen. “Thank you for coming to my going away party, sirs. You’ve certainly made it unforgettable.”

“Maria!” Kihyun said. “Wait.”

But Minhyuk shook his head. “She’s right, guys.”

With that, the CPO clambered over his relatives’ laps to get out of the booth, breezed past the director, and hurried to the stage which was still empty since they’d had yet to find anyone brave enough to follow the vice chairmen’s acts.

“All right, everyone,” declared Minhyuk into the mic. “Did you enjoy the performances?”

“Yes, sir!” came the universal cheer.

“Great, and did you have fun?”

“Yes!”

“Wonderful, wonderful. Should we add noraebang to our company picnic this year?” he asked.

The cheers were even more forceful now. “Yes, yes!”

“Ah, perfect. That’s great news. Now for the bad news.” Minhyuk smiled down at his employees, bowing and nodding and making his typical spectacle of himself.

Boos that could only come with the conviction of alcohol bubbled up around the room as every last guest waited for the other shoe to drop.

“That’s a wrap on this incredible party, I’m afraid,” said the vice chairman, “but don’t worry. Your vice chairmen will work hard to ensure more things like this in the future. For now, thank you all for supporting our dear Director and making her night unforgettable.”

“Hey, wait, no—” Maria protested, but when she swiveled about the room to address her guests, she found Hoseok and Changkyun holding open the doors to the hallway and waiting like bouncers.

“As you are all still representing Xtra Mile right now, we want to ensure your night ends well,” boomed Vice Chairman Son now from the back of the room. “To that end, we have a fleet of drivers waiting at the ready out there who will take you all home safely.”

“All of us?” shouted someone in the crowd.

“All of you,” Kihyun promised.

“Except you,” Hyungwon said solemnly.

Everyone followed his hard gaze back to Intern Wong, who looked at his boss’s boss’s boss with wide eyes over the lip of his shot glass.

“You walk home,” Jooheon agreed.

“Ah, ah,” corrected Minhyuk from the stage. “My brother is joking. There’s a seat for you in my car. Have a safe trip home, Intern Wong.”

“Why would you—” Jooheon barked before Minhyuk cut him off with a smile and a knowing look.

“As we all know, Maria wants us to see all her guests home well, especially the ones she personally invited…”

Their attention slid over to the director, who was watching her superior just as carefully.

Jooheon looked back at the bewildered intern and said begrudgingly, “Get home safely, Intern Wong.”

“Aw, is the party really over?” asked Manager Cho.

“It is if the Vice Chairmen say it is,” Supervisor Qian answered and picked up his intern by the collar.

“Hey, wait!” Kunghang objected, feet skidding beneath him as he was compelled forward. “I wanted to say goodnight to the Director!”

“I’m sure you did. Come on, our free ride is waiting, Intern Wong.”

Kunhang’s puppy eyes pleaded forgiveness of Maria as he waved and shouted goodnights even as his supervisor dragged him bodily out of the room. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Don’t forget to text me when you get home so I know you got there safely!”

Hyungwon and Jooheon rolled their eyes as the rest of the guests began to leave while the secretaries started reining in the wake of chaos in the room. For her part, Maria cleaned up one of the bottles of soju by downing it straight from the mouth. No booze had ever tasted more satisfying.

“I can’t believe you threw out all my guests,” she said bitterly.

Minhyuk shrugged. “I just followed your lead, Maria. You were the one who said the night was over.”

The director grunted and thumped the empty bottle back on the table. “I was throwing you out, not them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we misunderstood something.”

Maria narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but I get the feeling that was intentional rather than accidental.”

“Feelings are not enough for a court of law,” Kihyun interjected with a hooked grin, and she sighed.

“There are forty-some people here. How are you going to get them all home?”

Jooheon beamed at her. “Limos seat eight. It’ll be fine.”

“You brought seven limos to a noraebang?” she exclaimed.

“Well, we weren’t going to ride together,” Hyungwon informed matter-of-factly.

The director sighed and collapsed onto a couch, her head lolling back as she closed her eyes. “You have no idea how much I miss your grandfather. He was mature. He was respectful. He was grateful.”

“We’re not grateful?” Hoseok said with a protruding bottom lip.

“No! You’re none of those things.”

“I resent that,” said Kihyun.

“I don’t care. What else am I supposed to think? You’re the same people made me leave family events half a world away to wait on you.”

“That was Hyungwon!”

The silver-haired vice chairman went to bite back, but the director did it for him. She squared up to Kihyun and, tongue loosened by alcohol, blurted, “You’re better? Really? I was seconds away from getting laid for the first time since the Ice Age when you texted me, what was it, 17 times? The guy thought I was married and bolted.”

A bottle clattered to the floor, and everyone turned to find President Wang standing there sheepishly with eyes big as marbles just as the rest of the secretaries were.

“Jackson? I thought we kicked you out, too,” growled Jooheon. “You are definitely walking home.”

“Aw, come on, man. You owe me for—”

“Out!” the CMO snapped.

The president hurried out with all seven secretaries in tow, each one giving Maria their own version of an embarrassed grimace, and once the procession of mortification was gone, she was left to stew in the horror of her last admission. She had to divert attention immediately.

“There’s no point in asking me to stay, sirs,” she said as assertively and professionally as her tipsy state would allow.

“You already took another job?” Hoseok said, the disappointment in his voice clear as glass.

Maria shook her head. “No. No, I need time away from an office. I need somewhere to clear my head.”

Hyunwoo raised both eyebrows. “You're taking a vacation?”

The director remained silent.

Kihyun pressed his sharply bowed lips together as he narrowed his eyes. “You're moving back home?”

More silence.

“To America!” The other six shouted in unison.

“You can’t,” Hoseok insisted.

“Of course I can. You don’t own me, contrary to what you seven seem to believe.”

“That’s not it!” protested Jooheon. “Give us a chance to prove it to you. We’ll lighten your workload. We’ll give you more time off. We won’t spring meetings on you. Just don’t leave, please.”

“Dios mío, dame fuerzas! Listen, sirs, it’s nice of you to come and show your sincerity, I mean it, and I appreciate your generosity, I really do, but my resignation is about so much more than that.” Maria took a deep breath then said, “Working for your family, I’ve accomplished more than most in my life, and I’m proud of that, but there’s one thing that my career has kept me from accomplishing, and that’s become absurdly clear since my sister’s wedding.”

“The wedding Hyungwon kept you from enjoying?” Kihyun needled, but before Hyungwon could volley back, Maria slapped her hands down on the booth as effectively as across their faces.

“Why can’t you boys just get along? It would have made my job so much easier if I didn’t have to spend as much time translating foreign languages for you as I did translating messages between you. Some days, it’s more like running a daycare than it is a multibillion-dollar company.”

“Ouch,” mumbled Hoseok.

“On that trip… What did you learn, Maria?” Hyunwoo redirected gently.

Her head lolled to the side. “What’s the point of explaining? You’re all just going to argue and lob blame at one another. I’d rather we just end it here, sirs, and you can all blame each other without me having to embarrass myself.”

“We can’t fix things if we don’t know what the problem is,” the COO insisted.

“You can’t fix them even if you do.”

“You don’t know that,” said Changkyun softly.

The director shook her head. “I do, sir. This isn’t something that can be fixed by seven executives.”

“We have resources,” Minhyuk insisted, his finger stabbing a table with every word. “We have a whole company at your disposal. There’s nothing that we can’t get you.”

“You can’t get me a husband, and you sure as hell can’t get me laid.”

Maria covered her mouth, but it was too late. The damage was done, and this time, there was no one there to distract from it.

“So it’s true…” murmured Hyungwon.

“No! Oh no… See! I knew it!” she bellowed and covered her face with her hands. “Everyone in the company knows the sad fate of poor, pathetic Maria Ortega. How humiliating. Over a decade of professionalism, and I’ve cannonballed it in a few days.”

“That's not true,” Kihyun reassured.

“Obviously it is. No wonder everyone was so eager to congratulate me on quitting. Maria Ortega, the cautionary tale for career driven women. She thought success was enough, but the moment she finds out she has no one to share it with, she realizes that the world now cruelly thinks she’s too old for love.”

“Horseshit,” Hyunwoo bit with uncharacteristic ferocity.

The director slumped over, forearms on her knees. “It doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t. Spinster is still a word in people’s vocabulary. I’ve aged out of most of my prospects. Men aren’t looking to start a life with a woman at 38.”

“I saw that line of admirers this morning,” the honey-haired COO reminded. “You were turning down offers right and left.”

“It’s not at all what you think, sir.”

“It was,” Hoseok asserted. “Those hopeful, lovestruck looks are unmistakable.”

She closed her eyes and grimaced as she flashed back through the last couple years of disasters. “You all should know better than anyone that a salesman knows just what to do to close a deal before he moves to the next more profitable town.”

“That can’t be true,” insisted Minhyuk. “No one could say no to you.”

Maria belted out a bitter laugh, then another, until it suddenly became a strand of ironic giggles over the persistent hum of the speaker static. “Are you kidding me? It’s your favorite word for me and my personal life. You are the seven kings of the word. It’s the only other thing you have in common.”

“Impossible,” asserted Kihyun.

“When have I ever told you no?” Minhyuk challenged.

“That’s not—” began Hyungwon, but he was cut off by Maria.

“‘Vice Chairman Yoo, please keep me off the schedule Friday evening.’” In a gravelly voice, she continued, “‘Director Ortega, you know I need you to assist me with all acquisitions. It’s expected. We’re finalizing the Usagi Electronics deal. This is the most vital time. It can’t be completed without you.’”

“Hey—” said Kihyun, but again, she cut him off.

“‘Vice Chairman Im, I have important plans this Saturday, so please—'

“‘Director Ortega, please take this job more seriously. You know this morning we were invited to dine with President Park. You don’t say no to President Park.’

In a deeper mimic, she continued, “‘See you on Sunday, Director Ortega.’

“‘But, Vice Chairman Son, I told you I have—'

“‘See you Sunday.’” She closed her little play with Hyunwoo’s trademark tight-lipped, cheeky bear smile before she returned to herself with an exhausted sigh. “You have no idea how difficult it is to live a real life when you have seven superiors who demand your full attention all the time. In all the years I’ve served you, I’ve never seen Gyeongbokgung Palace, I haven’t visited the top of N Seoul Tower, I haven’t hiked Inwangsan. Hell, I haven’t seen a movie since your grandfather retired! Do you know how much I love movies? Now, I can’t even watch them at home because I pass out before they reach the halfway point. You tell me if that’s fair, sirs.”

“We didn’t think of it like that,” mumbled Hyungwon.

“I know. You didn’t think of me at all. It’s always the job first—the title first—and that goes for me, too. My career was the most important thing to me for the longest time. Now that I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, I found I’m missing more than I realized. And I can’t even make it to one measly blind date.”

“What’s so great about a blind date anyway?” Hoseok challenged. “They’re all out-of-shape bald guys who make you pay for your own coffee.”

Despite herself, Maria couldn’t stifle her chuckle. “What’s wrong with bald guys? You keep bleaching your hair platinum, and you might be bald soon, too, sir.”

The Chief Security Officer groped his own head as he floundered, “Back me up, guys.”

Though he’d been quiet most of the evening, save for his devastating performance on stage, Changkyun propped both elbows on the table, leaned forward, his sly eyes hiding innumerable secrets, and said, “Maybe it’s time to consider alternative avenues.”

“What do you mean…” she asked warily.

“The shortest distance between two points. Have you ever considered that, while you may not know what you’re walking into on a blind date, you do know each of us… Better than anyone, I imagine..”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, so this is how you pitch me to keep my job?”

Changkyun shook his head. “Not at all. My suggestion is simple. Why don’t you date us instead?”

Everyone’s heads whipped toward the youngest vice chairman along with a chorus of “What!”

It didn’t seem to faze him.

“Forgive my brother, Maria,” Jooheon bumbled as he nudged the chocolate-haired vice chairman hard in the ribs. “He uses his status as youngest too liberally.”

“That’s not it,” Changkyun insisted. “I’m serious.”

The director’s hands raced through her rapidly frizzing bob as her eyes searched the shadows for spot to steady her mental tailspin. “Okay. Okay, so it’s just Vice Chairman Im who’s clearly wasted then.”

“Well…” Hyunwoo said slowly. “Maybe my youngest cousin has a point.”

Maria threw her hands up. “Vice Chairman Son, too?”

“Ugh,” groused Jooheon, “you’ve asked us to drop the honorifics but you won’t? Since we’re not coworkers anymore, it’s not necessary.”

“It feels weird not to,” she said.

“Just because it feels weird doesn’t mean it is,” Changkyun countered.

Something in the youngest’s tone warned her not to trust the dark cast in his eyes.

Hyungwon caught her gaze next, and Maria froze, feeling every bit the startled rabbit she imagined she looked to be. The man always had the unique ability to stun her despite how often he managed to look like a person five minutes shy of a cozy nap. He dipped his head down, his lips jutting with his chin, as he asked, “You've never once thought about what it would be like to be with us?”

Maria scrambled to find her bearings, but it was pointless, especially with all the liquor still burning holes in her defenses. As assertively as she could, she said, “It wouldn't matter even if I had.”

“Does that mean you have?” Jooheon said, shooting forward.

The director frantically waved him back. She longed for another shot, but like so much else in her life, it seemed out of reach. She mumbled, “Did you all plan this blindside?”

“I swear to you this is the first we’re hearing it,” said Kihyun with his hand up, “but that doesn’t mean we haven’t been thinking it for a long time.”

The director shook her head. “Not possible. You have to have an angle. You’re businessmen; you always do. You think I'm so desperate and hopeless that I need to date my bosses?”

“Yes?” wondered Minhyuk.

“No!” interjected Changkyun while he glared at his cousin as his other cousin, Hoseok, whacked the blonde on the back of the head. “I’m not suggesting you stay and work for us. I’m suggesting you give us each a chance to prove to you that we’re all like you. We’re all struggling to catch up to our feelings.”

“Feelings?” she said incredulously. “You can’t have feelings for a hammer or a wrench.”

Suddenly, Hyungwon reached across the table and grasped her fingers. Her eyes shot to the often solemn man and found his just as steady and serious as she found them in a boardroom. His thick lips were pressed together into a hard line as his brow furrowed. “You’ve never once—not ever—been a tool in our eyes, Maria, and I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel that way.”

The director yanked her hand away and stared at her skin as though it were burning. All these years, and she’d never touched them save for a jolt in a shared limo or straightening a tie. Maybe it wouldn’t have felt so momentous if they hadn’t all just proposed to date her.

She cradled her hand as she said, “There's not enough soju in this world to make me accept pity dates as severance from my company.”

“You've got it all wrong,” said Hoseok. “You would be the one taking pity on us.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve filled our lives with so many distractions that it’s distracted us from something we've known all along.”

“And what's that?” she asked, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Now it was Hyunwoo who studied the director with an intensity she’d never seen from him. Normally, he gave the appearance of constant wonder or surprise, almost like he wasn’t taking things seriously, but usually that was a ruse to throw his professional opponent off-balance. But here, Maria was practically on the floor from tonight’s whiplash, yet there were no hints of that trickery. He was looking at her with everything he had.

His eyes hooded. His voice dropped another octave. “You don't find it odd that seven men who haven't been able to agree on anything in thirty years can all agree that we can't be without you?”

“I do! Exactly,” Maria agreed wholeheartedly. “I do find that odd. But I think the conclusion I've drawn is a lot different than the one you have. Honestly, sirs, I really think you're confusing two separate issues. You don't want the person who's been doing everything for you—short of actually spoon-feeding you—to leave, but need doesn't equal love.”

Hyunwoo’s intensity didn’t let up, even at the barb. Voice as even as ever, he continued, “And I think you're afraid of the possibility that your future has always been with us.”

“Or maybe,” she said, keenly aware of how much her own voice was now shaking, “I'm afraid of the far more likely possibility that this is all some game you seven have concocted to trick me into staying. For a bunch of guys who said they didn’t plan this, with all these pretty things to say, you sure sound rehearsed.”

Kihyun, who’d been sitting closest to her, leaned in, his voice unusually deep. “Maybe that’s because we’ve each been rehearsing this for longer than you think.”

To fight the shiver racing down her spine, Maria chewed her lip aggressively.

“At least let us have the chance to prove we’re serious,” said Jooheon.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“For starters,” Changkyun answered, “we respect your resignation. We won't pressure you to stay on as our director anymore. We’ll start interviewing candidates as soon as you find them.”

Maria popped an eyebrow. “What if I want to recommend Secretary Kim for the position?”

They all looked to Hoseok. Worry flashed across the CSO’s face for a second before he nodded slowly. “She’s an excellent assistant. I’m sure she’d be up to it.”

“She would,” Maria agreed, a relieved smile brightening her face for the first time since they’d arrived. “If she says yes, I can start training her on Monday.”

The vice chairmen couldn’t hide their shock and hesitation, but nobody dared argue it.

Again, the director found her lip between her teeth, this time coupling it with a worrying of her top button. “So, um, how would this all work? I mean, if I believed you for one second…”

“Well,” Jooheon said as she scooted a little closer on her other side, “if you believed us, we’d each like a chance to take you out.”

“There won't be any work involved,” Hoseok promised. “We're talking about dates, so we’ll keep everything out of the office.”

“You, I’m not worried about,” Maria admitted. “I can barely keep you at your desk as it is. But a few of you…”

She glared at Minhyuk, Kihyun, and Changkyun before the first butted in, “Not this time. And you won't have to plan a thing. We'll be responsible for you for a change.”

“Despite what you may think, we’ve managed to pick up a few things over the years,” Hyungwon said.

She glared sternly at them. “I’m 38. I don’t have time for boys.”

“Director Ortega—Maria,” Kihyun corrected, “we run a multibillion-dollar company. We’re not children anymore.”

“Didn’t I just put you all in time-out?” she recapped. They pouted across the board, seven undeniably handsome faces as defeated as the director had ever seen, and Maria let out a sigh. “Ugh, this conversation is making me feel uncomfortably sober. How serious are you all planning to take this charade?”

“At least as serious as you do,” said Minhyuk.

“As serious as we’ve ever taken anything,” amended Changkyun.

Maria groaned and said, “There’s no way you can play nicely with each other. How am I supposed to come out alive from this?”

“If there’s one thing to convince us to get along, it’s you, Maria,” said Hyungwon. She clutched her temples at this sound of her name in his gravelly rumble and winced.

“This is such a bad idea. What happens when it doesn’t work out with any of you? Or worse, it does work? What happens if it works really well with one of you? You can’t get along as is. Something like this… it could makes things irreconcilable.”

Minhyuk shrugged. “If you’re leaving anyway, at least you won’t have to stay for the fallout.”

“I still care,” she insisted, hands gripping the table edge. “I love Xtra Mile. I don’t want to be the reason something happens to it. You can’t promise that you’ll be okay with this.”

“You’re right,” said Hyunwoo, “we can’t, but if it isn’t already clear, we’ll do just about anything for you.”

“Even act like family,” Jooheon said with a clap on his little brother’s back beside him.

Maria glanced between her bosses, finding a thousand different reasons why this was a stupid, terrible idea, yet she found herself resisting all of those. Time stretched between the group. One minute morphed into two and then five, but it didn’t make a difference. It wasn’t changing her fate or her answer.

She chewed her lip again, but finally, she said, “I don’t know…”

“Jackson said we needed to show you our sincerity,” said Kihyun. “Please, Maria, let us.”

“You spoke to President Wang about this?” she shouted, her whole body darkening a shade. “Oh god, I can’t show my face back at the office ever again.”

“We didn’t talk to him about this!” Jooheon was quick to swear. “No one knows about this but us.”

“Hell,” said Minhyuk, “we didn’t even know before right now.”

Maria whimpered. “You better pray no one finds out or I won’t be putting you in timeout. I’ll be putting you in prison.”

The vice chairmen shared a laugh and a nod, which was more than they’d really ever shared, and the director relented to them as she had for years. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do considering where that bad habit had led her, but curiosity—and so much more—had gotten the better of her.

Come Monday, with the booze burned out of her system and her power suit back on, maybe her misgivings would get the better of her, but as Hyunwoo’s limo driver returned from dropping off the last of her guests and offered to take them all home, she didn’t refuse.

And she didn’t refuse when they insisted on piling out on her sidewalk to see her safely into her building.

She didn’t refuse when they promised to make the next month all about her.

With one final look through the glass entryway at the seven troublesome men who’d strategically commandeered her whole life for the past five years, she muttered to herself once more, “Dios mío, dame fuerzas…”

#monsta x smut #shownu smut #wonho smut #minhyuk smut #kihyun smut #hyungwon smut #jooheon smut #changkyun smut #wwwdo #reverse harem #miniseries #original character #ot7 #coworkers to lovers

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sehtoast · 21 days ago

Text

Tender Threads Ch 11 (Homelander x OC)

chapter eleven: when you bite the hand... (18+)

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: absence makes the heart grow fonder, little spider.

Three days. Three days of nothing. Not a word in the halls of the tower, not a peep over text, no late night visits. Eye contact, though. That was constant. During meetings, every time they’d pass each other, from across rooms…

Ben’s not even sure what had happened that night. One minute he was blubbering his heart out to Homelander while it broke at the fact Homie thought he would ever do him dirty in such a cruel, malicious way, and then… nothing. Just a cracked rooftop and ringing ears from the sheer volume of his forceful takeoff.

He waited on that roof for an hour. Sent a couple texts. Watched from across the way as the disjointed band of mostly rejects that comprised the spider hero get-together went on. It was the first time he was actually going to go to one of those stupid things. It was supposed to remedy the miserable mood Benjamin had been drowning in all day which, of course, was only exacerbated after another chewing-out over the fact he hadn’t made up with his brother. He didn’t even bother showing up late. It was best not to spoil everyone else’s good night.

The day after, he felt like a husk. Ben barely even slept an hour that night, constantly roused over and over again by his overstimulated spider-sense going off at the smallest of things. He spent a fair amount of his time moping, occasionally venturing across the way to The Seven’s complimentary bar without any care to throw on his costume and protect his identity. No surprise that Maeve eventually caught him there for his third martini.

“Wait, it went well?” She’d asked in pure shock. Ben gave her the rundown on his week with Homelander, leaving out all the recent bits that would make him break his promise and potentially kick up some workplace rumors. Not that Maeve seemed the type. It was just better safe than sorry. “Jesus, I figured you’d drop dead by the end. You’re so soft.”

Ben just smiled and went wild with the martini shakers in each of his hands. “Pssh! Too bad I poured these already or I’d be halving your liquors. I’m not that bad!”

“I know.” She said, eyes falling to her empty glass. “He is.”

Nothing more was said on the matter, though the two shared their drinks together with casual banter on the state of affairs with the team– mostly, though, they just shit on Deep the whole time. And that? That's therapy, baby.

Later that night, Ben gave another shot at texting Homelander.

-i hope you’re doing okay -

He didn’t know what else to say, really. The bundle of texts he’d sent, all marked as read, rubbed salt in the wound as the cursor blinked at him over and over again. It barely took a minute for the new one to be marked the same.

“If you can hear me,” Ben whispered, skeptical that his voice would carry two floors up to those ultra sensitive ears of his, “I wish you’d talk to me…” He rolled over and pulled his blanket to his chin, shutting his eyes for what was ultimately going to be another night of unsatisfactory sleep. “Mm, oughta show up with more ice cream. That’ll get ya… Fuckin’ banana splits or something next time.”

Days two and three went about the same except for one teeny, fucked up detail. Swing around the city, burn out, head back, and then find out a plane dropped in the middle of the fucking ocean. It was almost strange to see Homelander on his screen. After a whole week of him, Ben feels like he should be listening to his star-spangled buddy tell the story himself. Instead, he gets to watch those eyes cry through his laptop while Homie milks the moment for the defense bill.

Gotta hand it to him, much as Ben hates the pandering to Vought's interests. Whatever Greek dude coined the term Kairos would be bowing at Homelander’s feet right now if they could see such an expert move. Ben huffed and shut the screen, sitting in silence to contemplate why their little falling out had him so worked up till his gut voiced its displeasure with his sporadic meal schedule.

He managed to run into A-Train in the elevator on the way down. The speedster gave him an odd look. To be fair Ben stuck out like a sore thumb in a tattered, hooded flannel, jeans, and scuffed up shoes.

“You new here?” A-Train had asked once the gaggle of businesspeople stepped off for their floor.

Ben, on his third day of hardly a wink of sleep, just jumped and dangled by the tips of his fingers from the ceiling. “Nah. Just not gonna dress to impress to go get food, y’know?”

“Man, I do love that party trick.”

“Thanks,” Ben hummed. “By the way, ‘grats on the race–”

Ding!

The doors slid open to reveal the absolute last person either of them wanted to see. He could practically feel A-Train’s mood sour in real time.

“Hey bros!” Chirped The Deep, sauntering in and slapping the button for his floor. Ben dropped from the ceiling and dug his nails into the palm of his hand to keep the look of sheer disdain from rooting itself on his face. “You guys goin’ down for grub?”

For fucks sake…

Which, of course, resulted in Ben’s plans to bask in the chaotic ambience of the cafeteria being stomped into a whole heap of nothing. Straight back to his room he went with extra seafood that he didn’t even technically want. But making The Deep squirm over a few fried shrimps and a crabcake? Worth it every fuckin’ time. Maeve would be proud; he knows it.

Benjamin checks his phone as he eats, pumping his fist in a mock victory of sorts. Not that every day in The Seven wasn’t damn near a vacation compared to regular non-superhero living, but tomorrow was an entire day off for everyone on the team not assigned to the Believe Expo. Ben in particular wasn’t chosen because he’d opted to make his nonprofit work pertain to uplifting queer youth and the Believe Expo was the last place that'd platform him for that move. Whoopsies…. not.

He’d rather not be there anyway.

Each buzz of his phone is like a knife to the heart, and the rare occasion it’s not Benjamin feels like a good enough reason to level the entire city. Homelander’s mind screams back and forth with ways to respond, ways to kill him, kiss him– anything and everything.

In the wee hours of the morning, he’d stopped by. Ben had finally managed to fall and stay asleep, and Homelander tried. He tried all day to float out from behind the exterior wall and into view of Ben’s window. He tried to convince himself that rapping his knuckles against it wouldn’t be the most terrifying thing he’s ever done, and he tried to remind himself over and over that Ben is kind.

Maybe that was the worst part. Kindness. All those stupid little acts. The ice cream, the banter, the attempts to know him and the way the bug held him so softly after the nightmares. By all rights, Ben should’ve taken a swing at him when Homelander had him pressed against that wall. Anyone else would've. Instead of laughing off the accusations, he fucking cried. Called him a friend… Said Homelander saved him from loneliness… Those innocent eyes carved slits into his heart with such ease.

He still hasn’t wrapped his mind around it. Homelander’s never heard such a sweet combination of words strung together just for him before. At least never in a way that didn’t reek of insincerity and opportunity. Every time he tries to make sense of it, his mind wanders back to the time he stole that featherlight kiss from Benjamin while he slept and how fucking good it felt. How warmth and electricity jolted through his body and left him floating in a blissful, excited haze. It drives him insane. His heart clenches every time. Yearning floods him, body and soul, and he becomes more lost than ever.

So he just… lurked. Observed. Took it all back to square one and stayed as close as he could while keeping as much distance as he could possibly stand. And when Ben fell asleep, he went inside. He hears it over and over again in his head as he takes in the sight of his sleepy little spider.

Johnny, wait!

Anyone else and he’d have turned around mid flight and crushed them into the fucking ground, stomped their head into a bloody fucking pulp for saying that . The fact he ever told Maeve was a fucking miracle in and of itself, and he’d thought he was fully committed to ensuring John remained a relic of the past. But his name sounds different on Ben’s lips. The product label rings with sticky, sweet endearment and all the gentle charm of the bug’s normal deep-set smiles. Even called out in frantic desperation, it still felt… good. Maybe it’s because of the nickname, but even unaltered was so…

Goosebumps erupt along his arms. That empty spot in the bed calls to him, but he knows he can’t. Ben’s out now, but the risk of waking him was so high… Homelander damn near darts when Benjamin shifts and mumbles in his sleep. He’s missed that little quality. Two nights with him was all it took to get hooked on those little ‘isms’ of his. The way he’d slide his legs together along the rough fuzz of the blankets, roll around a little– god, he liked that especially since sometimes they’d end up so close, and when he’d jolt awake…

He watches Benjamin shift once more and the blanket slips just enough to reveal a bare shoulder. His breath catches.

Oooh-la-la.

As if he hasn’t seen the bug bare from the hundreds of times he’s– okay, fine! Just one look…

With a tight gulp, he scans the length of Benjamin’s body, descending slowly from head to toe. His gloved fingers twitch, itching to shed their leather shell and slip under those blankets to touch the softness of his little spider’s flesh. He’s felt the weight of Benjamin pressed against his own body so many times. Two nights… just two fucking nights and Ben had tossed and turned into him more times than he could count. Restless little thing, but he always has been. Homelander would lay there all night yearning to let a hand slide over the bug’s abdomen and pull him closer, slip under his little shirt and–

He releases a tight exhale. His gaze falls between Ben’s legs and his tongue juts out to swipe his top lip. A pussy on a man was far from the strangest thing he’s ever encountered, but Ben made it look so fucking good. Maybe someday he could–

You could do it now if you weren’t such a baby.

But that would be… no. No, he can’t do that.

Well if you’re not gonna take from the source, you should grab a sample. A little something to keep as a souvenir.

Oh..? That was– that’s not an awful idea… Floating, he makes his way to Benjamin’s laundry basket, overflown, of course, since the bug was adamant housekeeping need not service his apartment whatsoever. Homelander slips a glove free and lets his digits fall against the mound of clothes. The first thing he snags is a t-shirt, pressing it to his nose to inhale deeply. His eyes roll back…

Bet he wore that one for a while.

The fabric was chock full of his scent, tickling that desperate little itch in Homelander’s brain. But that wasn’t quite the trophy he wanted. No, no… Neither shirts, nor shorts, nor sweatpants. His cock twitches in the confines of his suit the second his fingers graze the waistband of what he really wants.

You’ve struck gold.

He’s got them pressed to his nose in a fraction of a second, huffing slow, deep breaths. He could sustain himself entirely on the sweet aroma of Ben’s cunt– fuck, the taste. He has to know, he has to fucking know! Just one swipe of the tongue and–

He barely bites off the moan. His eyes go stark wide, terror coursing through his body in fear that Benjamin would rise at the sound. Homelander’s heart hammers at the thought and his whole body locks like a board, tongue trapped in place against the crotch of Ben’s drawers.

Nothing…

Thank fuck.

Ideally, he should bolt.

Finish your food, tiger.

But he didn’t need to be told twice. He locks the fabric between his teeth, suckling to draw out the flavor while he grows harder and harder against the cup in his suit until it's almost painful. Benjamin tastes fucking exquisite. He keeps his glazed eyes locked on the boy the whole time he indulges, scanning up and down his bare form, imagining it was that thick clit between his lips.

Credit where it’s due; he’s… tasty.

So good, so fucking– oh god…

Homelander lets a hand fall and press to his groin, rubbing firm and slow against himself. In a perfect world, it'd be Ben touching on him. Those gentle hands would unzip his pants and pull him free from his tight briefs. They’d grasp him so sweetly, stroke him softly, push him closer and closer to the edge of paradise. Oh, to come apart by Benjamin’s touch would be divine. Nothing could compare. He’d eat the boy’s pussy raw for just one measly little touch to his weeping cock. He’d do anything for it. He’d raze the world to ash for the chance to spread his legs and–

“Mmph!” He squeaks into the fabric, eyes screwing shut as he chokes off every sound, cock pulsing and spilling against his underwear. Each warm slither of come slicks his skin before inevitably soaking into his briefs. The aftershocks tingle through his limbs and haze his mind.

So good, so good, so fucking good…

And to top it all off, lady luck seems to be on his side. Benjamin doesn’t wake at his pathetic little noise. Homelander sighs and lets off, letting the silky boxer briefs slip from between his lips, trailing a string of saliva as he parts.

Now, throw them back in the basket and grab a fresh pair for later.

Fuck, that was a perfect idea. He rifles through again, smiling like the Grinch himself when his fingers find another pair. Ben won’t notice, right? It’s just one pair of underwear. Not like things didn’t get lost on occasion. Who hasn’t heard of a random sock being eaten by the dryer? Who’s to say it can’t do the same to underwear?

That’s the spirit. If you’re gonna fall into the bug’s web, we’re gonna at least make sure you’re comfortable in it. Now go clean yourself up and get to sleep. Gotta pander to all those god-fearing shit-for-brains tomorrow while they milk the plane crash.

That’s right, he’s got that expo tomorrow. Not a single part of him was particularly looking forward to it. He’d been hoping Ben would be there, but the lack of the bug’s name on the roster had left him infuriated. He went to Madelyn to demand a change, but she insisted his choice of nonprofit work was far too alienating for the demos that’d be there.

He floats to his balcony, recalling with near perfect clarity the way indignant fury filled his chest. Homelander simply scowled at her in the moment, but inside he pictured caging her head between his hands and squeezing until she was little more than pulp. She tried to soothe him. A hand on his chest, an invitation to join her on the couch, but he declined her. He'd never done that before. But he did, and it felt good.

After showering, Homelander curled up in bed. It’s not ideal anymore. The fur of his comforter and the silk of his sheets lack any of the coziness of Ben’s. Somehow, synthetic fibers and fuzzy, knitted blankets had become leagues better than the best bedding money could buy, and his last few days of sleep had been atrocious. Tonight, though, rest finds a way. Might have a little something to do with the garment he nuzzles his face into…

“Damn, you look rough.”

Ben pokes a meatball across his plate, watching it tumble aimlessly over mounds of saucy angel hair pasta. “Gee, thanks.” He hums. The little diner was loud as ever, but Jason clearly heard him anyway.

“You’re not like, killin’ yourself to do, uh… night shifts again, right?” The concern etched on his friend’s face is touching, but it does nothing to improve his mood. They’ve got, what, thirty more minutes? Fuckin’ lunch breaks…

“Nah,” Ben shakes his head, hand coming up to scritch at the scruff along his jaw. “Just— just a rough few days, y’know?”

“Felt,” Jase says, shoving a bundle of fries in his mouth. “Me and Dasia are having another fight, so I’m there with you.” Ben raises a brow for him to continue. “She’ll get over it, but she’s upset I’m still talkin’ to those dudes I met a few months ago at that club she hated.”

“You mean those–”

“Yeah, the ones I started buying from.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but Ben remembers. “They're cool though.”

It’d certainly be a case of the pot calling the kettle black if Benjamin, the vigilante, got up in arms about Jase, the enjoyer of substances, having his own not-necessarily-immoral hobbies. He gets the girlfriend’s gripe, though. Jason had a mean fight with addiction a couple years back, but today he claims to keep it all within moderation.

“Plus, they cut me a deal and she gets hers, so whatever.”

Ben skewers a heap of spaghetti and contemplates the borderline tasteless bite with its weird, chicken-y sauce while he listens to more ramblings. He wishes Jase would at least try to pry. He wants so fucking badly to be asked what’s wrong. Sure, he can’t say everything, but he just… he needs to say something. Fuck, a few weeks ago, him joining The Seven was all they talked about. Promises of an autograph from Maeve, fascination about the others and what they were like, all sorts of chances to spill the beans and talk about the occasional frustration. But now it’s all old news. No different than when they sat three rows away in their open layout office, clickety-clacking their lives away.

Even just blowing off some steam about his family situation would be a godsend, but he can’t find it in himself to interrupt anything Jason says. While he desperately wants to drop the heavy weight of his brother’s words and his mother’s insistence that he relent, Jase talks about the leaky faucet in his apartment and how his girlfriend wants to repaint the bedroom but the landlord’s an asshole and won’t approve it.

Ben wants to talk about how much he loved running around with Homelander. How it made him feel so fucking free. How, once the anxiety Homie initially caused faded, he found the American Jesus to be far less imposing and intimidating and way more enjoyable and just… just different. Homie showed him sights he never quite imagined seeing without a plane ticket and some chump taking up his armrest. He showed Ben the joys of running around the city with someone else, of sharing the setting sun and all the silly, stupid conversations he hasn’t had with anyone in so fucking long. Homelander lit up a part of Ben’s heart that hasn’t felt the beauty of unlimited companionship in so very long.

At some point, waking up to start their miniscule seven days together became the easiest thing in the world. And ending them together, falling asleep while some shitty documentary played became the best fucking part.

Someone to laugh with. Talk to.

Someone who made him feel less alone. Less isolated.

And now, someone to place a ten ton weight of sorrow on his heart. What if Homelander never talks to him again? What then? The thought alone makes Ben’s heart clench so hard it fucking hurts and it's weird that he's so affected by it. Other than regular meetings, run-ins, and the occasional pick-on-the-new-guy bullshit, that week was the most time they'd ever spent together. So, why..?

“– you gonna go or what?”

“Huh?”

“The siren,” Jason says as if it were so obvious. “Tell me Rapunzel’s not gettin’ lazy in that fancy tower.”

Ben breathes a weak laugh, shuffling out from the booth. “Nah. I’ll uh, I’ll V-Mo you for my food, yeah?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go do what you do.”

How to apologize to a friend.

How to say sorry to someone.

He’s noodled through ten pages worth of search results and they all say the same thing. Bring a gift, pour your heart out, and hope for the best. But that doesn’t help because he already fucking knows that! Homelander could swing just about any act at any time, but this was just… daunting. Texting it was simply not good enough. He’s gotta do something, but what? What could he get for Ben? What could he say? ‘Sorry I smashed you into a wall and threatened to pick your arms and legs off.’ It’s just not enough! His frustration with the matter bleeds into everything he does.

Even his speech.

Homelander! Homelander! Homelander!

Not that it matters. They all loved it. But, when he was floating through the crowd, there was only one person whose opinion he was genuinely concerned about. When Benjamin sees it, hears it, what will his little spider think? He sold it so perfectly, swung everything just right to get the whole crowd on board with the defense bill.

So why, when he returns to the tower, does Madelyn berate him?

“You cannot be bad.”

He swallowed hard and took it. Let her give him that look and shake her head in disapproval. Even after telling her off last time, there’s still a part of him that can’t help but follow her every whim. Even when she’s beckoning him closer to join her on the couch, he follows like a dog to its master, salivating for a treat he knows deep down he’ll never get even as she undoes each button of her shirt.

Even reclined with his head in her lap, Madelyn only gives in halves, and yet she’s never gone this far before. Fingers substituting what he wants. Sweet coos to placate him. It’s more than he knows what to do with. But, even then…

“You have to be good.”

It’s still there. Disapproval. He’d done his tricks, but not to her liking. Never to her liking.

“And you have to listen to me.”

As if on queue, her words melt away the veneer she’d so carefully crafted.

“You’re my good boy.”

But he knows that’s not true. He knows it; he fucking knows it! Back and forth, up and down, every which way she can, Madelyn toys with him.

She was so harsh on you, echoes the sweet voice of his little spider. The taste of vanilla ice cream floods his mouth, overpowering the intricate flavor of Madelyn’s skin. It sings to him sweetly. You deserve better than that.

He does… He fucking knows it, too. Homelander lets his eyes flutter open, peeking up to find her staring down with a faux tenderness almost like what she saves for that spawn of hers. It’s sickening. She’ll never give him the real thing. Her eyes don’t twinkle for him. Not the way his do. They don’t light up at the mere sight of him. Even now, there’s an emptiness in there. She should smell different. Sweet and warm. He should be able to taste the love on her skin.

But he can’t.

He suckles harder, teeth pressing tighter to her knuckles bit by bit until she–

“Jesus Christ!”

He wouldn’t sever them. No, no, doing so would cost him dearly, but that? That sends the message. The warning. Even a good dog will bite once in a while.

“Get the fuck out!” She cries, eyes watering while she scrambles for the tissue box on the table. Blood drips from her digits, the crimson a strange juxtaposition to what she’d been teasing him with. It tastes of pennies on his tongue. Not at all the sweetness she’s always holding just out of reach.

He leaves, but not because she told him to. He wants to. Homelander charges through the hall with a newfound confidence. He passes door after door, dropping by the team’s bar for exactly the right touch. He knows where he wants to go now. Where he should’ve gone instead. Bottle in hand, he walks right in nice and quiet. His eyes roll at what his poor ears are subjected to.

“Looks like it’s official folks. You heard it here. This grave news, this stain on our nation’s history is here to stay.” Ben’s got that burnout’s mug on the living room TV. “The Spider-Man is truly part of our great country’s defenders. What this means for us going forward is a mystery, but, rest assured, I will be here to make sure he’s held accountable. Once a lawless vigilante, always a lawless vigilante!”

As soon as their eyes meet, all the bravado drains from his body. He can practically feel it slip from his head and out through his toes. Big, wide brown eyes stare into his. If not for that grating voice in the background, he might have thought time stopped.

“Hey…” Greets his little spider. It barely comes out as a squeak. Homelander takes in the sight of him. Scruffy cheeks, dark undereyes, the same outfit he’s worn for the last three days…

God, what a fucking mess.

Every smooth introduction fizzles away. Every slick word he’d thought up on the way over goes right down the fucking drain and he’s got nothing but raw nerves and that goddamn deer-in-the-headlights look he can never quite conceal. His fingers twitch and the glasses clink together. “Do you wanna…” Homelander tries, voice softer than he’d like it to be, trailing off. Instead of continuing, he just watches a big, bright smile start to spread across Ben’s face before the bug practically leaps from the couch. Arms wrap around his torso, pulling him in tight. Ben’s face finds its way into the crook of his neck, right where he belongs.

“–I have to wonder: what in the world was Homelander thinking bringing a miscreant on the team!?”

“Whatever you’re gonna say,” Ben mumbles against his skin. “Hell yeah.”

“Mm, well I could say anything now. Naked Twister?” Oh, how he loves the way his little spider’s cheeks burn red. It revives some of that lost confidence.

“Pffft,” Ben blows a raspberry that tapers into the most precious, perfect giggle. “Pop that bottle you might convince me to do wacky shit. Maybe.” Benjamin tugs him to the couch.

Homelander’s hands shake the slightest bit as he pours each glass. He’s not even sure what he grabbed, only that it was the biggest bottle in sight, so he just opts to show Ben the label when he inquires about the type.

“Oh, good pick. That’s like the only kind I enjoy."

“Well, wine’s about the only alcohol I don’t hate." What they'd trained his palate to tolerate. "You really don’t like it?” Homelander asks, swishing the contents of his glass that he’d be conditioned to enjoy long ago.

“Nah, not most.” Ben follows his lead and does the same. “I mean, this is great, though! That wasn’t to like– I’m not saying I don’t like you bringing it, I just…” He sputters. “You know what I mean.”

Homelander rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face paints a different picture. He sips at his glass, kicking his feet up on the little table in front of the couch to play into a sense of casualness. He practically prays Benjamin doesn’t bring up what happened between them days ago. “So, what’s the entertainment tonight? I’ve been bored these last few.” Not a total lie, but certainly not the full truth. Watching Benjamin could never be boring, but it was certainly less stimulating than actually sitting beside the bug.

With a soft hum of acknowledgement, Ben grabs the remote and starts flicking through channels. They pass by a few Vought features, but ultimately settle on Animal Planet. On the screen, a small jumping spider navigates the dense vegetation of its habitat to find a mate. There’s a touch of endearment to it. Homelander blames it on the critter’s technical association with the man beside him.

“The silken road to finding her is littered with the remains of unsuccessful suitors.”

“Little guy’s sporting your colors,” Homelander says between sips. The wee thing’s abdomen has speckles of red and blue, and its cute demeanor is all too perfectly in line with Benjamin’s. Suddenly, it begins waving its legs about in the air, shuffling from side to side. “Tell me you didn’t pick your theme off a jumping spider.”

“Now, what can he do to win her over? Dance. Dance for his very life.”

“...maybe.”

The thought of Ben sorting through pictures of arachnids to find the perfect inspiration brings a tight, amused grin to his lips. Instead of teasing, though, he opts to lean back and enjoy the poor thing’s desperate attempt to woo the mate attempting to murder him.

“He’s done his bit and satisfied her needs. But, now, her need is over. So she kills him anyway.”

“Aww, no!” Ben cries, hands on his head as he seemingly mourns the insect. “Poor dude… I feel it though, buddy. Dating and spider life ain’t for the weak.”

“Women,” Homelander mouths silently with a smack of his lips. He draws parallels to his own situation with Madelyn, chewing at his lower lip while he contemplates it. Once upon a time he’d lose himself in thought over anything and everything about her, but the presence beside him and the duty of refilling their glasses keeps him from drifting away for too terribly long.

After a few more segments, a small break to put in a Vought-A-Burger order through V-Dash, and some lighthearted commentary, the series comes to an end just as easily as their bottle. Ben grins, sitting sideways to face him, head leaned against the back of the couch. “Hey, did you get your script yet for ‘Super America’ or whatever that shit’s called?”

“Mhm.” He fibs. In truth, he hasn’t. He usually gets them a day or so before, but it made no difference. Not like there was much he’d have to learn. Baseball, America, mom and dad, whoop, whoop, whoop. Same thing every time.

“It’s so weird.” Ben gripes. “I picked mine up yesterday. They got me set up as some kid from Queens.”

“Really?” There was some interest there. Benjamin’s situation would be a touch different than the others on the team. Much like his own story, Ben’s would lack any truth. After all, the bug didn’t want to give a single inch of his real identity to the public. Maybe it was the teeny-tiny buzz from the wine, but there’s a lurching feeling in his chest knowing Benjamin’s situation was even mildly similar to his own.

“Yeah. I’m apparently a twenty-two year old who grew up right on the poverty line, played lacrosse in high school– whatever the fuck that is; I don’t speak sports– dropped out of college, and apparently I’ve got three younger sisters.” Ben snorts a laugh, snickering at the absurdity of it all with a big, wide grin. Seems like the wine settled in nicely. “How’s yours?”

“Oh, you know. Baseball. Sunshine. Suburban paradise.”

“How much of it’s legit?”

“None.” He scoffs, bitterness brewing in his gut at the thought of every goddamn lie he’s gotta tell. “Absolutely fuckin’ none of it.” He doesn’t know why he admitted it. Maybe it just feels… safe to say to Ben. Safe to admit the lies to someone else whose entire life is about to be corporate vomit, too.

“Oh,” Ben arches a brow, wine-drunk whimsy fading from his face as it's replaced by some sickening blend of curiosity and concern. He shuffles a little closer as if to express his devoted attention. “Well… what was it like then?”

He remembers when the boy asked this the first time in that cramped little dressing room. Just one week ago… It feels different this time. Less like some wannabe sniffing his ass for favor and more like a friend. Someone who cares, or has a reason to. Fuck, he hopes so, anyway. “Not…” Homelander’s gaze falls to his hands. He picks nervously at his nails and he waves his socked foot from side to side on the table. Rehashing it too much brings back the dreams… He exhales tightly. “Not good…”

What are you doing?

“So all that Leave it to Beaver type stuff..?”

“Fake,” he rasps. He’s not even sure why he’s doing this. Sympathy is the last thing he wants, and he’d probably laser Ben’s head off if he even sniffed a lick of pity from the boy. But… it feels good to say it. Somehow, some way, it’s safe.

“Huh…” Ben sighs, shifting a little closer. He crosses his legs and sits less than a foot away now. “I don’t wanna pry, but if you ever wanna like, get some of that off your chest…”

He should’ve never drank anything. He can barely get more than a weak buzz, but fuck if it didn’t have him doing stupid shit anyway. As much as he wants to grit his teeth and give Ben a strict, cruel ‘no,’ he doesn’t. Instead, almost as if it had a mind of its own, his right hand creeps off his lap and halfway between them. Bare and vulnerable. He always sheds his gloves in Ben’s home…

Soft, warm digits curl around his. They give a small squeeze and it’s like he can feel them in his chest, wrapped around his heart. “I…” He doesn’t know what to say. He dares to look over and his gaze flickers back and forth between those rosy lips and void-like eyes. He could get lost in either so easily. “I, uh…”

Those pretty lips quirk into a sweet smile and he fucking catches himself inching forward.

“Did…” Homelander utters, clearing his throat weakly. C’mon, fucking think! “Did you… did you see my speech?”

You might actually be an idiot.

“Y-Yeah!” Ben chirps, leaning back a bit.

Was he also..?

“You were awesome up there! I’m not really on the whole god-fearing patriotism train myself but like, you just have such a way with crowds. Even I was feeling it, y’know?” The bug’s smile could practically melt ice, but it builds his ego sky high instead. “I thought the same back when you showed up at my big reveal thing. Like, yeah, the crowd cheered for me, but they went bonkers for you. Kinda envy it, to be honest.”

It’s nothing he doesn’t know, but it tickles like he’s never heard it before. His gaze falls once more to Benjamin’s lips, dancing down to his neck where an oddity rests. A black cord of sorts.

“Man, Starlight though…” He half hears. Benjamin’s never worn jewelry before. “Dude, I wanna beat the brakes off Deep so bad after that.” What if there was… no, no– that can’t be right. Ben didn’t see anyone but that deadbeat friend of his and that stink bug, Webweaver. There couldn’t be someone else vying for his little spider’s attention, right?

“Mhm,” he hums absently, hand slipping from Ben’s to travel up. He hooks a finger under the cord and slides down until the pendant slips out from beneath the dark edge of Ben’s shirt collar. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. “Where’d this come from?” Homelander murmurs, interrupting whatever sympathies Benjamin had been expressing for Starlight.

“Oh, this? I’ve had it for years. Was a present from my great-grandma.”

Good. If there had been any competition…

“She meant a lot to me growing up, so I've kept it this whole time.” Ben continues. Homelander slips the pendant back beneath the bug’s shirt, but he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he plants his palm softly on the side of Ben’s neck, a far cry from the threatening grip with which he’d held it just days prior. His thumb slides back and forth over stubbly little hairs.

A cat food commercial is the only noise interrupting the moment, but he hardly cares. Homelander rests his thumb over Ben’s pulse, feeling the gentle thrum that’s just a little faster than a resting rate should be. A soft grip wraps around his wrist and that warm, earthy gaze meets his.

One little tug and it’d be perfect. Their lips would graze each other and Homelander could relive that bliss once more, only this time… this time Ben could too. They could both feel those sparks… Ben could kiss him back, return every glide of his lips and swipe of the tongue. God…He practically can smell the excitement radiating from Ben’s body in more ways than one. The bug wants it too. He can tell. And yet, he can’t bring himself to act.

You cannot be bad…

“What?” Ben whispers. His cheeks are a light pink, eyes twinkling like stars. “Do… Do you–”

Knock, knock, knock!

The sound from the apartment door rips them away from their moment. Who the fuck could possibly be visiting so late? He’s got half a mind to just shoot a beam of heat right through the door.

“Oh, that’s our food!” Ben scrambles, hopping over the back of the couch to scurry to the door. Behind it is some quivering kid holding the burgers they’d ordered almost a half hour ago. “Hey, thank you! Sorry about the long elevator ride…” The bug tells him. The delivery boy stutters his gratitude and goes on his way after thoroughly ruining their moment.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda, eh sport?

“Time to see if the Big Homie Burger lives up to the hype!” Ben teases as he spreads out their late night snacks. Homelander doesn’t even like any of it, but he demanded Ben give his branded burger a shot after the bug admitted he’d never eaten at Vought-A-Burger before. ‘Listen,’ he’d said. ‘I like junk food as much as the next guy, but frying stuff in lard is crazy work.’ Which Homelander couldn’t even argue with.

The wrappers are labeled with names… one for Ben C.– extra pickles, and another for Johnny H.– no pickles. And there it is again… that funny feeling deep in his chest. Like fleshy flowers blooming right between his ribs, sprouting to soak up the torrent of emotion that floods his body at the sight of such a juvenile yet affectionate take on his given name.

“Eugh,” Homelander grits as he flips the top bun off. “They gave me pickles. Fucking morons.”

“Sweeeet!” Ben chirps. He slides his sandwich wrapper over and gently taps the corner to indicate where their new home should be. “I’ve come for your pickle~”

Homelander cocks an eyebrow. “They gave me more than one, though.” Unless Ben meant–

The bug snorts a laugh. “It’s from SpongeBob! But yeah, I’ll take all of ‘em.” Homelander gets to work on removing the foul ovals from his food while Benjamin reaches for the remote. Within a few minutes, the cartoon in question is playing. Homelander’s confusion only grows with every passing minute.

“F is for friends who do stuff together!”

And yet, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Ao3 Link HERE

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #homelander x reader #the boys #spidersona x canon #the benlander agenda #oc x canon

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dexlexia · 2 years ago

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ultra gold - vash x reader

part of the monster (energy) series

pairing: vash the stampede x reader rating: 18+ summary: When Vash told you he was a "plant", you didn't exactly know what that meant. Plants around here were dried grass, not tall, lanky blondes. But regardless you loved him, he was your humanoid typhoon. You were well aware of his scars, sometimes when he was asleep you'd kiss them gently in an effort to feel closer to him. tags: smut, whiny!vash, cowgirl position, breeding kink, nipple play (f receiving), vash glows when he’s turned on, fucky plant biology, don’t worry have some fun!

buy me a coffee

When Vash told you he was a "plant", you didn't exactly know what that meant. Plants around here were dried grass, not tall, lanky blondes. But regardless you loved him, he was your humanoid typhoon. You were well aware of his scars, sometimes when he was asleep you'd kiss them gently in an effort to feel closer to him.

So much done to his body, you could only imagine what he'd look like if there was a physical manifestation of the scars on his soul. But you loved him and he loved you, a pair of bounty hunters that traveled the land together. But in recent months, Vash had become more interested in the idea of settling down.

He wanted to find somewhere safe, where the two of you could set up a permanent home and live a life together. Perhaps, grow old together. You always told Vash that you'd be the first to go, and he responded if you did, he'd follow soon after. You then kissed him and told him that you were just another chapter and left the conversation at that.

As a result of trying to find a place to settle down, the inn rooms you stayed in became more lively. With the blonde typhoon working even harder on your body. His hands on your skin, his lips on yours, and that impressive cock he had was buried inside of you. Vash still was whiny in bed, there was always a submissive streak to him. But now he was on his little mission. Get his darling, beloved, angel, honey pregnant. He wasn't too sure if the biology was all there but he'd try for the sake of it.

You were in a small town at the farthest north of the planet, you were as far as you could get from the Seven Cities. It was cooler this time of year, so you and Vash took refuge in the same bed for warmth. It wasn't long before the lights were turned off, that you felt Vash's prosthetic hand trail up your sleeping shirt. He playfully pinched your nipple and you asked, "Can I help you Mr. Stampede?"

"Aw, nothing. Can't a guy feel you up?"

"Only one guy." You responded as you turned in bed to face him. Soon both hands were under your shirt and kneading at your breasts, "Still on your little mission?" You knew what he wanted, it wasn't good at hiding things from you. You could read him so easily. You honestly didn't mind the idea of having a child with the blonde. Maybe it'll bring some peace to your lives, although parenting was stressful but you both were craving a sense of normalcy and peace.

You were starting to prefer the idea of a crying baby compared to another shootout.

Vash lifted your shirt and started to kiss at the skin of your chest. His teeth scraped across your skin, leaving small marks on you. Eventually his mouth went to one of your nipples as he started to lick and suck on them. He could feel the steady rise and fall of your chest. His other hand played with your other nipple, playfully yet methodically pinching it.

"Oh." You moaned, you rubbed your thighs together in anticipation for what was to come. You combed your fingers through his hair, you yanked on it gently as his mouth and hands continued to play with your chest, "Oh, Vash."

He smiled against your chest before he beamed up at you, "I love when you say my name. It was like you were meant to say it forever." He trailed a finger down your chest and into the shorts you were wearing. He basked in your beauty as he reached under the waistband and grazed your cunt. Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment and stifled a moan as Vash inserted two fingers. You held onto his arms as he pleasured you. "Like that?" He asked.

"Yes." You squeaked. Your jaw clenched when Vash inserted another finger and started to quickly thrust in and out of your soaked cunt. Your breathing started to become heavier. The room felt warmer by the second as he continued to pleasure you. You in turn got your hand into his boxers and started to stroke his cock.

A moan got caught in his throat the moment you started to stroke his length. You two started to heavily make out, soon he was pushing your pants down your legs until they got caught in the mess of blankets. You both got yourself out of the t-shirt you were wearing. Vash cupped your face and passionately made out with you before the two of you started to work on his clothes. You pushed the blankets off your ever warm body and straddled his waist.

A soft noise left your lips before you pulled him in for another kiss. His hands rested at your hips as the two of you continued to kiss. You rubbed your wet cunt up against his cock, attempting to tease him. He always became so adorable when he was successfully teased, he'd do anything to sink into you and feel you all over.

"You feel so good, Vash." You moaned, you looked down at him and licked your lips. You watched him relax into the bed, his grip however remained firm on your hips. The bed squeaked gently as you moved your body back and forth. You eyed all the scar tissue on his body, you spread your hands on his chest and felt the mesh and scar tissue under your palms, "I love you."

"I love you too." He replied gently, he made a small whiny noise, "Now can you please start riding me, I can't take it anymore. You're my darling angel, why must you tease me." He held onto you tightly and tried to raise your hips a little higher to be seated on him, but you weren't budging.

"Alright, my dear. " You chuckled before you moved up and sank yourself down onto his cock. What you didn't expect was as he moaned, patterns lit up along his skin. His face became even more flushed as well. As he got a good feeling of your cunt around his cock, he lit up like a fireworks show. Along with a choked moan that left his throat. You looked at him curiously, "What... What's going on?"

He dropped his hips back onto the bed and his eyes opened to look at you. He noticed what his skin was doing and he responded hastily, "I told you I was a plant. When I get really turned on, this happens." He swallowed, "I hope it doesn't bother you."

You cupped his face and leaned in for a kiss as you started to move your hips gently, he lit up once more, much more briefly but still illuminated the room. You kissed him more and more as you began to get a steady pace. His glow remained as your bodies moved together. It was much more faint than the first time he lit up. His skin felt warm as you began to ride him. He palmed at your hips and ass, his touch was caring as you took control.

"Thank you." He whined, "Ah!" He really was a whiny man, but you loved him for that. Every noise that left his lips encouraged you to keep going. His face wound up in an expression of pleasure as the two of you had sex. He did want to breed you, he'd never explain in terms that made him sound archaic, but a deep need inside of him wanted nothing more than to bury his cock deep inside of you and get you pregnant. Something nagged in the furthest part of his brain to just fill you up and live happy lives with multiple little blonde's running around.

Your noises were immaculate, especially as you felt the urge to climax grow stronger with each roll of your hips. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth was slightly open. Vash took in the sight of you as he moved with your rhythm. He smiled when he hit a tender spot and you made your own whining noise. You really were a one of a kind woman, he could spend forever fucking you.

The idea of started a family really got him going, the visual in his mind of you taking care of the kids. He'd wondered how biology would work, but whatever came your way you'd take head on. He'd take such good care of you, anything for his darling amazing angel! Which included tons of belly rubs. The thought made him break out into a huge smile and move his hips even faster, letting you bounce in his lap. Every moment you two remained in this state, the more the voice in the back of Vash's mind grew louder. You'd be a former bounty hunter turned wife and mother, and he'd make sure you wanted nothing. He'd be the best provider ever!

His hands went to your stomach and touched it gently as you continued to move. The thought of you carrying turned him on greatly, he let out a small moan when you hit just the right spot. You really were perfect. He felt up your hips once more and the noises continued to leave his mouth. He felt on cloud nine at that moment, a primal part of his brain was taking over the whole thing.

The two of you went back to kissing so as not to have a noise complaint placed onto you. Between your pressed lips was the sound of heavy breathing as the two of you continued to make love. You may not fully understand Vash, but you knew deep down that you loved him. Every day you showed how much you loved the blonde and that wouldn't ever stop. Didn't matter what he was, he was yours and that's all that mattered.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Vash."

Soon the urge grew stronger between you too. Your eyes opened as you pulled away from another deep kiss. You gazed lovingly at him, the patterns on his skin as you moved your body against his. You cupped his face with both hands as you moved, you missed his lips a few times in the heat of your thrusts but eventually you laid another searing hot kiss against his lips.

You were going to have a child with the humanoid typhoon. The feeling was incredible. Your mouth stayed on him as you moved. Soon enough the pleasure became overwhelming and you really started to move your body. WIth a first more hard thrusts, you both came at the same time. Vash held onto you tightly and you did the same as he pushed all the way in and finished.

You slowed down your pace to catch your breath and reached for his face. You stroked his skin and smiled down at him, "How was that?"

He had a content smile on his face, "I always have the best time when I'm with you." The glow started to fade and soon he relaxed with his arm stretched onto the bed. You soon joined him in bed, your sweaty bodies close together. He peppered your face with kisses as you got comfortable.

"You're amazing." He smiled as he placed a hand on your stomach, "An amazing woman, I can't wait to spend forever with you." He nuzzled your cheek. You replied that you felt the same way and began to softly kiss him once more. He kept his arms around you until you eventually went back to sleep. Safely beside your lover.

Vash looked at you with all the love in his eyes. Yep, he wanted you for however long you wanted him.

#trigun #vash x reader #vash smut #vash the stampede #trigun 1998 #trigun stampede #tristamp #vash the stampede x reader #trigun smut #trigun x reader #stampede vash #the monster energy series #dexlexia writes

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mangoisms · 1 year ago

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter seven: just get me through the night | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.8k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Steph believes you when you tell her you tripped and hurt your wrist.

After all, it’s not exactly a lie. That is what happened. It just… happened to occur while you were being advanced upon by, you know, the Batman.

You don’t tell her that last part. It’ll just worry her, you think, and she was worried enough about you that following day, when you told her about how your shift was cut short and how you hurt yourself. She fretted about you coming back to your shitty apartment in Coventry on your own but you made up a lie about catching a taxi.

(Technically, in a way, you suppose it could’ve been the truth but you don’t imagine Red would appreciate Redbird being referred to as a taxi service; though, at the same time, he drives like a literal maniac, so, it doesn’t fit.

And yes, he did name his car.

And yes, it is actually named Redbird.

He claims he gets around by motorcycle more these days but that obviously wasn’t conducive with the weather, so he used the car instead. A very high-tech, ultra-expensive car that you had to wonder how the hell he managed to get. He’s your age, after all. But you refrained from asking. It’s impolite, considering everything he did for you.)

After Steph’s shift, you both head to her mom’s house, where Crystal Brown, a nurse at West Mercy, generously takes a look at your wrist, as equally as concerned as her daughter when she hears the story.

“It’s just a sprain,” she says, frowning. “I can’t be entirely certain without an X-ray but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured. No need for a brace, either, but if it keeps bothering you…”

“I’ll get it checked out,” you agree easily. “Thank you, Ms. Brown.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Crystal.”

“You know how she is, Mom,” Steph sighs, folding her arms over the back of the chair you’re in, dropping her chin to your head.

“As hard-headed as you? Oh, I know.”

You smile bashfully as Steph snickers. Crystal rises from the table, stepping back to the stove, where she has dinner cooking. At their insistence, you agreed to spend the night.

Crystal has always been kind to you. Both this summer and the previous one did she tell you you were welcome to live with her and Steph here at their shared home, since neither of you could live in the dorms unless you took classes during the summer. Steph abstained from them to get more experience and you abstained because your financial aid wouldn’t cover it, which left you grappling with a three-month lease at the shitty student apartments near GU.

“No Tim?” Crystal asks, covering the pan, turning to look at you two.

Steph clicks her tongue, pulling away from you to flop into the chair beside yours; underneath the table, her ankle curls beneath yours, shin pressed to your calf.

“Busy as usual.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“It’s not that big of a deal—” at the looks you get from both of them, you quickly backtrack “—I mean, I’ll tell him later… That new Mission Impossible movie came out a few weeks ago, so I was gonna see if we could watch it together…”

Crystal frowns. “But you don’t like those movies. Does Tim like those ridiculous movies?”

She probably wouldn’t be displeased if he did. Crystal isn’t overly fond of Tim. Steph says it’s because of their relationship when they were kids but sometimes, it feels far too deep for it to be just that.

Still, she’s civil to him and he rarely says no when Steph invites him (and you) for dinner. If anything, you think Crystal doesn’t mind the opportunity to make him squirm. Steph probably doesn’t mind it, either.

Steph stretches her arms above her head. “It would be on par with him but no. These two just like watching them and making fun of them. I’m good, though.”

“I’ll tell him, then. He’d notice it, anyway, since my mobility is still limited, but yeah…”

“Well, be careful,” she says, mouth pursed. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking about your wrist but about something else.

Steph coughs. Crystal looks back to the stove.

“Well, hopefully you two will see him soon. From what I’ve heard, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you say heavily. “A while.”

Crystal doesn’t pay more attention as she focuses on the sizzle of the chicken breast but Steph does, giving you a lingering look that makes you look away.

You… try not to give away too much to her.

You feel horrible enough to be in love with her ex-boyfriend; pining after him in her presence is just the icing on the World’s Worst Best Friend cake.

That’s why you avoided him, after realizing the culmination of your feelings in May.

To see if you could shake the feelings, if you could get rid of them.

Considering how hung up you are on him still, it hasn’t worked.

But you still want to see him again. It’s selfish, probably, to be okay with avoiding him for your own gain and then when he does it on purpose, you want to put an end to it.

But you know now it wasn’t okay.

You want to see Tim, want to hear his bad science puns, you just want him around.

Your feelings won’t go away for a while but avoiding him was the wrong decision. You just have to handle it on your own like an adult.

You would if you could see him more.

You hope you can. Even if it kills you to act normally, to be okay with being friends. By this point, you’ve started to realize having him in any capacity is more than enough.

It has to be.

newest mission impossible movie came out… i can’t believe they’ve managed five of them and this one is only part one of the fifth one. they need to put that series down already

anyway :D in that case, was wondering if we could see it together? on sunday? i’ll get the tix and you get the snacks? we can get ice cream after and talk shit about it

i can’t, sorry! family dinner on sunday, then some other stuff before then and on sat too. see it and let me know about it, alright? :)

You cry when the end credits start rolling.

Not because the movie is good or moving or even so bad that it makes you cry, you’re just…

So tired.

Tired of him never having time for you, for you and Steph.

One part of you wants to give up. What’s the point, right?

His continued lack of time means you can’t even apologize to him, can’t even ask if your initial avoidance was what led to his in the first place.

Mostly because it feels like it doesn’t even matter at this point.

Maybe this is what you deserve and there should be nothing else to say on the matter.

But that hurts even more.

You sit far at the back—shitty seats, he would say—but it gives you the privacy to shed a few tears.

You leave only when the end credits are almost done rolling and the theater is empty. You don’t care about the looks people give you, coming out red-eyed and sniffling from the Mission Impossible movie. You just want to go back to your apartment and hide away for the rest of the summer.

You emerge from the cinema; it’s only eight, so the sun is still out, warming you up from the chilly theater. Sighing, you start for the nearest station to take the subway back to Coventry.

You only get a couple blocks before your eyes catch the storefront of an ice cream parlor. Wallowing deep in self-pity by now, you easily take the detour. The patio in front of it is busy with people and through the large glass window, you see the line inside is long, too. But since you have nothing else to do, you head for it, anyway.

You’re halfway across the patio when you see it.

Through the window, in line for ice cream, is Tim.

Your eyes found him immediately, without intention or purpose. Poetic, almost, were it not for the fact of seeing him here breaks your heart.

Here, not just by himself but with friends. Friends you’ve never met but know of from pictures at his place.

You try to rationalize it initially, still standing there in the middle of the patio, staring into the parlor. Maybe the dinner was canceled. Maybe they dragged him out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then it makes you feel second best. Second choice. That he didn’t think of you when his schedule freed up.

That’s presumptuous, though, right? What gives you priority? Nothing, especially after what you pulled before.

But the ache in your chest hardly allows for that much introspection or self-awareness.

Mostly… Mostly, you’re just hurt.

Seeing him now, separated from you by thin glass, the yawning monster inside you that longs desperately for him is unleashed, because he is so close but he’s not here with you, for you. And that hurts. A physical thing, your chest tight, throat thick with growing emotion.

But then, he sees you.

His head turns and you go rigid as your eyes meet his, which widen as he recognizes you.

It’s been long, so terribly long, since you’ve seen him. See the soft blue of his eyes, this lovely shade, like cornflowers.

It makes this so much worse because you don’t think anything will change, even with this, so it’s like a taunt to see him, knowing this might be the last for a while. A long while.

Another moment between you two, the surprise on his face morphing into something else and you look away before you can see what it is, turning on your heel.

You have to get out of here.

The subway is across the street but the light just turned green. Too long.

The hiss of hydraulics snatches your attention. A bus, several feet away. One last person climbing on. You take off for it, scrambling for your wallet, ignoring how the rough motions make your wrist throb in protest.

You think you hear your name. You hope you don’t.

You barely wedge yourself in just as the doors close.

The bus driver eyes you with thinly-veiled suspicion but you pay the fare and take a seat at the far back, away from the windows.

You don’t even know where this bus is going.

You don’t care.

You just have to get away.

You bury your face in your hands, your tears flowing again as the bus pulls away from the curb.

The worst part about it, you think, is that he doesn’t reach out to you.

Neither does Steph, but you reason expecting that is irrational. Why would he talk to her? Why would he tell her what happened?

You can’t do it, either. It’s for the best, maybe, that you don’t say anything about it at all.

Instead, as soon as you get back into your apartment, you collapse onto your threadbare couch and take a nap. Only dragging yourself off it when you have to get up and get ready for your shift, accompanied with the headache throbbing in the center of your forehead.

You trade off with the evening shift and things are quiet for the most part. To distract yourself (mostly to stop yourself from bursting into tears if you think too hard about what happened), you take on your night shift tasks with renewed vigor. Cleaning the floors, the machines, adjusting displays, doing inventory.

Your wrist protests throughout it but you ignore it.

Steph would scold you for it.

So would Tim.

You pause in the middle of cleaning the counter near the Slurpee machine. Your wrist throbs at your side.

The sharp gust of wind and the sound of your name surprises you.

Shocks you, really, since you’re still a bit on edge from Batman’s visit last week and you yelp, turning around, throwing the wet cloth on instinct.

Your visitor dodges it easily. It lands on the floor with a wet splat.

“Flash? What are you—what—?”

He tilts his head, grass-green eyes narrowing slightly, mouth pursing, and you get the unmistakable feeling of being scrutinized very closely.

“What are you doing here, Flash?” you question.

He keeps making that face. “I wanted to see you.”

That surprises you. You blink.

“Batman won’t like that.”

“Don’t care. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to see you. He can’t say anything.”

You don’t think that’ll stop him but you don’t say anything. Flash probably knows. He just doesn’t care. He’ll complain about it sometimes, go to lengths to avoid it, but other times, he just—doesn’t care.

Flash continues to look at you. Scrutinizing you.

You don’t bother trying to stop him from doing it. You’re too tired and the way your eyes are still red and swollen is telling, as well as the circles under your eyes.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Flash.”

His frown deepens and one of his hands comes to your shoulders.

“Seriously… are you okay, kid?”

For some reason, that does it.

The smallest of splinters to your resolve first, your breath hitching, then it breaks entirely, emotion swelling inside you with tidal wave force, your vision blurring with tears.

Flash reels back in surprise at first, then softens, muttering, “Aw, kid,” and pulling you into a hug.

It doesn’t feel perfunctory. Like he is doing this out of obligation at seeing you cry, like this is just another one of his duties as a superhero. It feels genuine, the way he holds you tightly against his chest, like you’re a child being comforted.

That just makes you cry harder.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Then you get embarrassed, sniffling out an apology.

He hands you a napkin, then pokes you affectionately on the forehead.

“Geez, what do you take me for? I don’t mind. Besides, worse bodily fluids have ended up on me. Way worse. This is nothing.”

You laugh wetly.

He squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, though. Seems like you’ve got some stuff to talk about. What’s going on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears briefly takes hold of you. You take a deep breath, working through it, blowing your nose.

Flash grabs two Slurpees, one cherry and one blue raspberry, and hops up on the counter, patting the spot beside him. You manage to wriggle up using just your right hand, your left still throbbing.

With plenty of breaks in between to cry a little bit more, you tell him everything that has gone on for the past month. Including the stuff with Red and the others, then your impromptu visit from Batman last week.

“That how you hurt your wrist?” he asks, thoroughly displeased as he reaches for it with gentle fingers. It’s more swollen than before, irritated from you ignoring your body’s warnings, warm to the touch.

“It wasn’t him,” you mumble. “Just me. I tripped and fell.”

He purses his lips but nods for you to continue, which you do, telling him about everything that happened today.

“It just sucks,” you whisper. “I mean, what I’m doing to Steph, first of all, by feeling like that and then with the stuff going on with Tim. I know I shouldn’t have avoided him earlier because of my own feelings and maybe this is what I deserve for it but…”

He shakes his head, seemingly bothered by all of this. Really bothered. You expected some, along with the concern, but all of that seems tripled for a reason you do not know.

He says your name, solemn. “You don’t deserve any of that. Sure, it was stupid but… you still don’t deserve that.”

“I can’t change it,” you sigh, setting your cup down. Your fingers are numb from the cold of it. “I just… I dunno. Had to get it out, I guess, so thanks. Why did you really come here, though?”

He sips his Slurpee. “I really came here for you. I just had this feeling… I don’t know. But it paid off, didn’t it?”

“True,” you admit.

“You want me to talk some sense into this kid?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know,” he muses, his thoughtful tone bellying the tension that seems to permanently reside in his body now; he’s really annoyed by it. You’re touched, if not a bit confused at the depth of his feelings. “I think I should. Might be good.”

“It’s not totally Tim’s fault—”

“His reaction is his own entirely. You shouldn’t have done what you did but anyone with any amount of common sense would talk to you about it instead of turning around and avoiding you, too. It’s dumb. Don’t let him off the hook.”

“Don’t let me off the hook.”

“I’m not. But from where I’m standing, his offenses greatly outweigh yours, especially with what seemed to happen today and… everything else.”

“Flash…”

“I’m just saying. I am, admittedly, a bit biased but… still. I’m not wrong, am I?”

You sigh. “I guess not.”

“Exactly. And for that stuff with your other friend… she hasn’t said anything about it, has she? I mean, I told you what it’s like for me and Pipes. We don’t feel like that for each other anymore. If I had some friend who turned out to like him, I wouldn’t care. So, what makes you think Stephanie does?”

You throw up your hands. “Most people would! Flash, not everyone takes that approach to their exes.”

“True,” he concedes. “But they’re clearly still friends and just friends.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s okay with that. That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I shouldn’t… it never should have happened.”

Flash sighs, watching you for a minute. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”

You laugh humorlessly. “You’re just now getting that?”

“I knew before but this is… a mess of epic proportions. Seriously…” he mutters the last part, shaking his head slightly.

Before you can respond, the door opens. You can’t see it, the aisle hiding it, but Flash can; since he remains calm, you assume it isn’t anyone bad.

Then you hear your name, from a very familiar voice and—

“Steph?”

She appears around the aisle, her jean shorts and lilac purple t-shirt wrinkled and in a state of disarray, her hair equally as messy, frizzed from the humidity outside; a light sheen of sweat shines on her face. It’s like she rushed all the way over here.

You hop down from the counter, concerned. “Steph, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? What happened?”

She lifts a hand, cobalt blue eyes on Flash, saying, distractedly, “No, it’s… it’s alright, nothing’s wrong, I just… had to talk to you… Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Flash says breezily, hoping from the counter. “You can talk to her. I was just visiting.”

“Wait—” you don’t want him to leave quite yet but you don’t know how to say that.

“I’ll hang around,” he assures you, tossing your empty Slurpee cups in your next blink; the only indication he did anything is the way they disappear and the breeze that hits you and Steph.

“Batman—”

“Don’t care. If anything, I might like to talk to him.”

“Flash,” you say, nervous, not willing to reveal what happened to Steph but also trying to tell him to very much not do that.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “But I’ll be around. I’ll come back in a few.”

He lifts a hand, then he is gone, the breeze following him much stronger this time.

“I guess you two really are friends,” Steph says when it calms, sending you a small smile, making you relax.

“Yeah…” Though friends didn’t quite cut it for you. Silly, probably, considering you don’t even know who he is under the cowl, but you can’t deny it to yourself. It’s hard to quantify exactly what he means to you—a friend, a big brother, some kind of weird uncle. If anything, it feels like an odd amalgamation of all those things. You wonder if that’s how he feels, too. You won’t ask. You can only handle so much disappointment in one night.

“I’m sorry to come by so suddenly,” she says next, her words oddly formal in a way that puts you on edge. “But I just had to talk to you.”

“About…?”

“About Tim.”

You go stiff. You try your best to school your expression, to not give anything away. After all, concerning him, it could be anything. What happened today, maybe. What’s been happening.

Or your feelings.

You really hope it’s not that.

You’ve only just started to realize you might be losing Tim. You can’t lose her.

You can’t.

“What about him?”

She says your name. Everything inside you tightens.

“I know. I know how you feel about him—”

Your throat aches when you swallow. Everything seems to come bursting out of you in the next second.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Steph, I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—I wouldn’t do anything—” you take a step back, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest.

Her eyes widen and she steps forward, quickly closing the space between you, her hands coming to cradle your face.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not, I never should’ve—god, I’m so sorry, Steph—” your vision blurs with tears.

She says your name again, keeping you in her grasp.

“I’ve known for a long time,” she quickly says. “Okay? I knew, but it’s okay. I was never mad at you, never, it’s okay, I promise.”

“But—but—”

She shushes you gently. “It’s okay. Deep breaths, alright?”

A couple tears trace down your cheeks. She wipes them away, a small smile forming on her lips—for you, entirely for you, the warmth there reflected in her eyes.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asks, rubbing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s really easy to fall in love with Tim Drake. And this isn’t my roundabout way of telling you I have feelings for him. Those are long gone. I love him and he’ll always be my first love but that time has passed—for the both of us. But for you guys?”

“Stephie…”

“I don’t care that you have feelings for him. I really truly don’t. I just want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy. I think you two can do that for each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I think… you’re good for him. He’s good for you. That’s all there is to it, okay? If you really want my blessing, you have it, but… it doesn’t matter to me that you like him. And I’ve known for a while but I just… I assumed you knew I was okay with it. Like it was the thing that was there but we never talked about. Stupid, I know. But… I just need you to know that. Alright?”

She hugs you. You bury your face in her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly, unable to stop your tears from flowing.

“I’m not just saying this to try and be the bigger person, either,” she murmurs. “Go for it. It’s been long enough.”

“I don’t know…”

“Why?”

“I mean, he doesn’t… and today…”

Steph pulls away, frowning now. “He likes you, too.”

“No—”

“He does. I know.”

“Then why has he…” You can’t keep going, biting your lip.

“‘Cause he’s an idiot,” she mutters. “In more ways than one. But… I’m going to fix it, okay?”

“No, no, don’t—”

“It’s okay. There’s… there’s other stuff going on right now and we need to take care of that first, then you can talk about your feelings. But I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to try.”

“You don’t have to, this is our mess, my mess, I was the one who started avoiding him in May after finally realizing my feelings and then he…” you trail off, sniffling.

“There’s something else,” she says cryptically. “That’s… just take my word for it. But I’m going to fix it. He’s been an idiot long enough and I’m not going to keep tolerating it, not if he’s going to keep hurting you.”

You shake your head, confused. Is she talking about today? Did he tell her? You have no idea…

“He only did it because I did.”

“No, no, it’s… it’s complicated, okay?”

You snort despite yourself. “You think?”

She smiles finally. “I know. It’s… a lot. But don’t worry. I’m going to get him to see the light. Not literally, though I wouldn’t mind roughing him up a bit just for how idiotically he’s been acting but… another time.”

You’re still confused. Terribly, terribly confused. But Steph is so impassioned, so sure, you let it go.

“Let me help,” you say. “I should be the one doing this but—but let me help. I need to. It’s my mess, too.”

“It’s all of us,” she sighs. “And right now, I’m in a unique position. So… let me, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you more later, but hopefully, I can get something together soon. Just sit tight, alright?”

“You do too much for me,” you whisper.

“I’m doing what I should be doing,” she says, looking… guilty almost before the look is gone. “This has gone on long enough.”

She leans forward to kiss your forehead. “But it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it better.”

You just nod, going along with it for now.

You scrape yourself together after a few minutes, wiping your tears away and blowing your nose. Steph hangs around long enough for Flash to return, at which point she bids you a regretful goodbye, telling you she’ll talk to you tomorrow. You worry about her getting home but she brought her car, or so she tells you, and Flash generously sees her out.

After a couple minutes, he returns.

“So?” he asks expectantly.

“You were right,” you mutter. “She’s fine with it. I’m not entirely sure why she had to rush out to tell me or what she’s planning to fix but… I don’t think I can stop her.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” he agrees lightly. “I don’t think you should, either. It’s probably important.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “I still don’t think she should be doing it but…”

“There might be more pieces in play than you think.”

You send him a look. “I got enough cryptic talk from her. I don’t want any more from you.”

He holds up his hands, smiling. “No more cryptic talk. Got it. I do, however, come bearing gifts.”

“Where on earth—?”

“Well, I already had them when I came here. I wanted to check on you and give you this stuff, but we got interrupted,” he says. “Give me a second.”

You give him a second.

He leaves and comes back in that time. You raise an eyebrow.

“Check it out,” he says, holding out a box.

You take it from him. It’s a small thing, easily held in your hand. You pull off the top.

And promptly blink as the shiny display of a phone greets you.

“Flash, what—”

He can’t wait for you to finish asking your question, apparently too eager to tell you.

“It’s a phone, for you. But it’s programmed with my contact info, that way you can talk to me, and you can move all the stuff on your old phone over, too. It really is just a regular phone. Well, it does have League-level encryptions on it, but you know.”

“Flash… this is too much.”

“Not really,” he says. “I couldn’t give you that info without making sure your phone was secure and it would’ve been a lot more work to get yours secured, too. Besides, let’s be real, your phone has seen much better days. I think it deserves to finally be able to rest.”

“Jerk,” you laugh.

He shrugs. “Not wrong, though. Anyway, it’s not just for emergencies. You can talk to me. Text me. You know.”

“Flash,” you say, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pressing a hand to your face.

He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself last minute and just gives you a small smile.

“Come on. Let’s set it up.”

You agree, not wanting to continue to refuse since it would be rude and… you do want to have a way to talk to him. Not just for emergencies but other stuff, too. This stuff.

So much is still up in the air.

But you can focus on the here and now, with Flash here to ease your burdens.

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