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kamaluhkhan · 13 days ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.”

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall.

11:09am.

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play.

“that was before.”

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.”

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp.

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together.

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways.

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?”

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.”

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.”

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones.

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior.

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black.

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.”

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm.

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel.

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook.

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name.

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?”

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.”

“so….where do i fit in?”

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.”

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases.

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?”

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself.

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday.

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in.

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed.

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.”

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note.

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips.

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.”

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions.

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay.

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!”

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….”

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need.

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you.

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else.

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore.

you’re a friend.

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on.

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals.

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly.

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods.

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol.

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.”

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!”

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.”

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.”

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.”

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck.

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know.

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?”

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.”

you cheers, keeping eye contact.

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.”

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.”

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum.

“lucky her.”

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink.

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud?

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods.

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.”

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.”

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.”

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right?

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are

v ⚽️

pls u love it

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?”

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor.

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight.

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt.

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking.

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look.

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.”

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.”

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer.

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class.

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible.

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance.

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide.

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.”

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints.

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles.

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum?

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again.

nice, but different.

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice.

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too.

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.”

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

“f-fuck,” vi groans.

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough.

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages.

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong.

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me??

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong.

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks.

there’s no answer.

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries.

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled.

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi?

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work.

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah.

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming.

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.”

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.”

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i —” vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening.

there.

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made.

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence.

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.”

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you.

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.”

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand.

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.”

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.”

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her.

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler.

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.”

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye.

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone.

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch.

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back.

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights.

two minutes left in overtime.

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions.

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal.

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point.

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure.

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

vi takes a deep breath.

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them.

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field.

and this is the winning point.

the whistle blows.

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her.

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair.

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.”

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in.

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour.

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw.

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom.

“powder!”

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!”

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds.

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you.

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady.

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life?

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white.

deep breaths.

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along.

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe.

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?”

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….”

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you.

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?"

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point.

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her.

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless.

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit.

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest.

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it.

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin.

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago.

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for.

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.”

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself.

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love.

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter.

you’re out with someone else right now.

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together?

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents.

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe.

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.”

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless.

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made.

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work.

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously.

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired.

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents.

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue.

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.”

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically.

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands.

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi.

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway.

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip.

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next.

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real.

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?”

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond.

you shake your head.

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence.

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

2K notes · View notes

bvidzsoo · 4 months ago

Text

Cold Red Iron

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

⎊ Warning: suggestive speech and content, cursing, violence, weapons, stabbing, blood, hostage situation, mentions of domestic violence (not against MC) ⎊ Word count: 27.6k ⎊ Rating: mature, nsfw ⎊ Genre: Iron Man!AU, humour, Marvel references, superheroes!au, workplace!au, they can't stand each other but end up working together!au ⎊ Summary: Each day you wake up wondering what you did in a previous life to deserve your prick of a boss, who is also a womanizer and owns a company that made him a millionaire. But the job pays well, and there's Mrs. Bae too, so you suck it up. But one unfortunate event at the metro station seems to change your life for the better (?).

A/N: I actually thought I could make this oneshot 15~18k, who's the clown here now? Hii, hello, welcome back my lovelies to a completely random and uncalled for Marvel oneshot that is humorous (I hope so) but also deals with serious topics. For the sake of the story, Mingi is aged up and is closer to his thirties and our MC is around 25-ish, though unspecified, and Mrs. Bae, who is Irene/Bae Joohyun, is aged up a lot lmao, so yes, Yunho is younger than everyone ~oops. I think this is all I wanted to say, sorry for mistakes 'cuz some always somehow slip through, and if I missed tagging any warning lmk. I appreciate your feedback lots, so let me know what you thought of this little story, and I hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading ^^ divider

🕸️(you can find my Spiderman!Yunho oneshot here)

S. Industries, the name of the tallest building in our city is owned by possibly one of the city’s most affluent men. From engineering and producing weapons that are shipped out to other countries with masses, to fabricating gadgets and small electronic devices that have Mr. Song’s artificial intelligent assistant implemented in them, to joining a collaboration with Mercedes-Benz to produce a prototype never heard of before, S. Industries seemed to do a little bit of everything. Engineers of the best calibre fought to get a spot in the team and those fired often found themselves lost and devastated by their predicament. Smart and important people worked here, people who had a vision and had set their minds on changing the world. Mr. Song, the embarrassingly rich owner of the enterprise, seemed to have flamboyant and insane ideas often, yet, they somehow always managed to work out in his favour. There was rarely a day where Mr. Song wasn’t on the news or TV, smirking and winking at the cameras as he flirted with the reporters into oblivion—these were the good scenarios because there were days when instead of appearing for his good deeds and world-changing innovations, he appeared in scandalous hypostasizes that had to be fixed by none other than me.

He was exactly the man you’d imagine a young and super-rich CEO would be like. He drank and partied as long as the night lasted, and when dusk came, he’d bring ladies into his bed to satisfy his insatiable needs. No woman lasted long by his side, perhaps because his personality was truly dislikeable or perhaps because he couldn’t keep it in his pants for too long. There had been multiple occasions when security had to escort his screaming exes out while Mr. Song hid away in his office with his tail between his legs and the excuse that he was too busy working, meanwhile, he was busy whining and nursing his hangover. But he also liked to act like he was the bigger and better person in the room, often with his eyebrows furrowed and with disgust on his features as he looked at you above his narrow glasses and judged whatever came out of your mouth. I couldn’t fully understand the women that surrounded me and their desperation to be noticed by the CEO. Despite his very obvious good looks, I always thought his bad personality ruined even the thought of finding him attractive in the true sense of the word—meaning inside out. Sure, for a one-night-stand, the man was probably a perfect partner, but even then, I wouldn’t have wanted to be another body count added to his long and never-ending list so that he can gloat about it to his buddies while they have a beer—or wine, whatever thing these fancy people drink on a night out if they even do those.

And Mr. Song was shameless, he very obviously did not care about the working environment and neither about the fact that there was a power imbalance each time he decided to sleep with one of his employees. I yet had to see the day when it didn’t end up with his temporary partner fired as Mr. Song claimed that he was uncomfortable by their overbearing presence, irritated by the constant attention he got from said employee—or victim, as I liked to call them. The longest an employee he hooked up with managed to continue staying at the firm was two weeks and that one ended on a pretty bad note—she now has a restricting order on her hands, Mr Song doesn’t play around despite his often easy-going façade. I wasn’t one to be quick to judge, but I was thoroughly bothered and disgusted by the lack of care Mr. Song seemingly had towards his female employees, the nonchalance with which he dismissed others never ceased to make my blood boil.

And if it wasn’t enough that he was a womanizer, he was also a jerk to his employees when he so happened to ‘not be in the mood’, which translated to him getting up on the wrong side of the bed and so he had the right to be pissy and offensive to everyone around himself, including his so very sweet secretary that I swore to protect with my whole being. Mrs. Bae was an elderly lady who was in excellent shape and an absolute professional in everything she did, she was so eager to teach me everything I needed to know about administrative work as when I had joined S. Industries, I was still fresh out of college with barely any experience. Mrs. Bae was also very loyal to Mr. Song, for some reason, and she was diligent in her work and spent way too much time at the office, fixing Mr. Song’s messes that shouldn’t have been committed in the first place. But if there was anyone in this goddamn office that had even a little bit of control over Mr. Song, then it sure as hell was Mrs. Bae as she’d often storm inside his office without knocking—disregarding the fact that her boss might be in the midst of unloading his stress, if you know what I mean—and she’d absolutely put him in his place, scrutinizing him as a disappointed mother would with her disobeying child.

But still, that was just Mrs Bae, others weren’t so lucky. If Mr. Song decided he didn’t like you, you were dead meat, nobody would want to associate themselves with you, and oftentimes those employees would resign on their own, aware that the entirety of S. Industries had just rejected them. And this wasn’t all, Mr. Song also spoke with little respect and consideration, eyes often narrowed and eyebrows furrowed as he scowled and interrupted your speech, embarrassing you in front of your colleagues and unjustly dismissing your hard work. He would also laugh if you made a mistake or if your idea was catalogued as not good enough, sending most of his employees into an existential crisis whenever he did this. It was sad, truly, having to watch my colleagues crumble day by day. I, thankfully, had rarely come in direct contact with Mr. Song as I was a mere secretary assistant, but because Mrs. Bae was basically his right hand, I shared the same floor with her and our boss. That, however, meant that despite usually being overlooked by Mr. Song, I got to watch all of his shenanigans unfold, unable to do or say anything.

Working here has definitely taught me patience and Mrs. Bae advised me to just try and ignore Mr. Song unless I had to work with him directly, apparently, there was nothing he hated more than being ignored. He acted like a damn child that was desperate for attention and not like a man with a very serious burden on his hands, with one of the strongest industries in his hands, able to control the outcome of wars even if he so wished. I had yet to see the day Mr. Song acted like a decent human being, compassionate and understanding, kind and less of a prick.

So, knowing all that, you must understand my honest reaction to finding out that Mrs. Bae had fallen so ill that she had to be hospitalized, scaring half of the company to death when she sent us an e-mail. Of course, in true fashion to her, it was worded professionally and she asked us not to worry but to work even harder in her absence, and then she assigned all her subordinates what their respective assignments would be in her absence. When I had reached my name on the list and read that I was to replace her since I knew everything about management and Mr. Song’s schedule, I was pretty much devastated. There was no definite time of when Mrs. Bae would return and that meant that I could be working as her replacement for a day, maybe a week, or even three years. I knew I would barely last one day by Mr. Song’s side, let alone three years. And, because this devastating news called for a cold jug of beer to drown my sorrows in, my poor best friend had been the one to suffer through a drunken night of me going off about my boss, calling him names and describing atrocious ways of how I would bring his demise forth if it were only legal.

But Sooyoung was a good friend, she’s been with me since fifth grade, and she sat through the night and giggled whenever I hiccupped or started speaking too loudly, to the point I had people turning our way as I cursed Mr. Song’s name. She was an angel and a sweetheart as she carried my heavy body home that night, giggling and snapping pictures when I told her I felt like throwing up and that I needed a breather. She called her boyfriend when she realized I wasn’t able to walk anymore, my high heels long abandoned and in my hands as the freezing ground was none of my concerns at that moment as my eyes bore into a billboard that had Mr. Song’s sharp face and sexy smirk displayed.

“You’re the devil!” I was sure my voice was loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood as I stumbled to my feet, pointing a finger at the billboard as Sooyoung spoke on the phone, “I’m going to get you, Song Mingi!”

I huffed and glared at the man’s small and narrowed eyes, shivering when a cold breeze blew past us, “Don’t smirk at me, fucker.”

There was a loud giggle behind me and then the slam of a door and I heard my best friend pocket her phone as two sets of footsteps neared me, “You see that monstrosity? He picks his nose when he thinks nobody is watching, the fucker forgets to turn on the blurring effect to his windows, and I get to see him lazing around his office the whole day, meanwhile, I have to delete articles and call up journalists and beg them not to publish their next issue about how Song Mingi fucked four women and gave them chlamydia or whatever.”

I was sure my words came out jumbled and less clear than they sounded in my head, and I flinched when high-pitched laughter made my ears ring, way higher than Sooyoung’s had ever been. With my head spinning and bile rising in my throat, I swung around and narrowed my eyes at my best friend’s boyfriend. He laughed a lot, loudly mostly, and if I found it cute sober, I absolutely loathed it while drunk, “Shut up, fucker!”

“Or you’ll beat me up like you’ll beat up our boss?” He teased with a mischievous glint in his eyes and I snorted, pulling my shoulders back as I banged on my chest.

“I sure will!” I called loudly and the guy just started giggling again, meanwhile, Sooyoung just shook her head with an amused expression on her face.

“Let’s get her inside the car, Wooyoung, I don’t want her to catch a cold.”

“Why is she even so drunk?”

“Mrs. Bae is really sick and Y/N is to replace her.”

“Oh, so she’ll be finally working with Mr. Song directly?”

“Exactly.”

I groaned and bared my teeth at nothing in particular as Wooyoung and Sooyoung came up on both sides of me to hold me up and walk me towards Wooyoung’s running car, that fucker, he was an engineer at S. Industries and he was rich enough to afford himself a really nice car. A Mercedes-Benz, to be exact, thanks to the collaboration the two companies had going on. For once, I hoped Mr. Song’s project went terribly and I’d have to answer the calls with a smile on my face and then feign mock disappointment when I’d relay the message to Mr. Song. Surely the failure of one project wouldn’t bring the downfall of S. Industries.

“Well, Y/N, at least there’ll be a raise in the paycheck this month.” A particularly hard slap to my back had the bile in my throat rising until it wasn’t inside my mouth anymore at all, but on the sidewalk instead, as Wooyoung shrieked and Sooyoung just sighed, holding my hair back for me as I doubled over and violently emptied the contents of my stomach.

That whole ordeal was three days ago, on a Friday evening, when Mrs. Bae delivered the devastating news. Now, it was Monday and my muscles were tense and my teeth were gritting as I exited the metro and took the escalator, feet already aching from the blisters my other heels left on them. I seriously wanted to die, but Wooyoung was right for once in his life, I would at least get a raise for filling in for Mrs. Bae, but at what cost? The only joy I could find in the horrible day I had ahead of me was my iced caramel macchiato in my hands and the fact that the metro was right next to the building I used to love working at up until three days ago. Higher paycheck or not, I found myself wondering whether it was worth it if I had to work directly with Mr. Song.

I plastered on a smile despite my sour mood as I entered the intimidatingly tall building and greeted the receptionists, who apparently knew of my predicament as they sported matching looks of pity. If there were other women who didn’t fall for Mr. Song’s charming persona, excluding Mrs. Bae who was too old to entertain such a young boy and was busy scolding him whenever she could, then in the receptionists I knew I could trust. One of them had a bad run-in with Mr. Song and ever since the two stayed far away from him, sharing my displeasure whenever I came down to have lunch with them. They were sisters and foreigners, yet their knowledge of the language oftentimes surpassed mine, never failing to take me off guard as I watched them with a grin on my lips. They were both in college and apparently, a really pricey one if they resorted to working at S. Industries.

I scanned my badge at the entrance gate and nodded at the security guard, Chanyeol, who looked more like a club bouncer than a security guard at a high-tech company, closely surveyed and littered with cameras in every nook and cranny. The elevator ride up to the top floor was rather lacklustre and filled with silence beside the generic music coming through the speakers, and I basked in the ignorance the engineers exerted towards me, nothing out of the ordinary. But when they got off on their floor, I found myself fidgeting as I still had ten more floors up, turning around to check myself out in the huge mirror. It wasn’t even my first day here, yet I felt jittery and questioned my choice of clothing despite it being what I usually wore. A black pencil skirt that stuck to my frame uncomfortably paired with a white off-shoulder blouse that was tucked inside, a dainty belt bringing the look together nicely. My black high-heels weren’t as uncomfortable as the ones I had worn on Friday—they were still new—and I couldn’t wait to sit down and step out of them. I have pulled my hair in a bun and strategically pulled out front pieces that I curled, framing my face if I didn’t want to look like an egg due to the oval shape of my face. My makeup was soft and natural looking except for the red lipstick, and I found myself playing with the small cross pendant around my neck, waiting for the elevator doors to open as I reached the top floor.

The hall, my little office, Mr. Song’s huge office, and the small kitchen were all dark, signalling that I was the first one to arrive at work. Of course, that was no surprise as there were days when Mr. Song would come in just a few hours before it was time to go home for his employees, and then he’d usually find something faulty with everything, thus forcing everyone to stay after hours. I hoped today wasn’t a day like that because I was sure I’d end up fired by the evening, something I couldn’t afford as I had just moved to my new apartment and the rent was rather high, but the area was good and it was a lot closer to my job, so I couldn’t complain. I switched on the lights as I walked towards Mrs. Bae’s desk, now mine until she returned, and I hung my coat on the hanger, placing my purse on the floor just next to it. I powered on the desk computer and headed for the kitchen to prepare coffee for Mr. Song. I had decided to take this burden off Mrs. Bae’s shoulders back when I had joined the company, so I knew his preference by heart, unfortunately.

I watched the coffee machine with unfocused eyes as I ran through in my mind the schedule I had closely studied yesterday. Mr. Song had a meeting before lunch with the engineers about the prototype they were developing, which could take quite a few hours if he was in a pissy mood, and after lunch he had another meeting with the company they were collaborating with, and since that was out of our hands I couldn’t estimate the length of the meeting. Before his first meeting, however, I had to print the monthly expenses and bring them to him, and sometime along the day—preferably before lunch, was what Mrs. Bae’s note had said—I had to fix a date and time with a local magazine for an editorial shoot they had been discussing with my boss for months now. The thought made me roll my eyes and I switched the coffee machine off, grabbing the oat milk out of the fridge and brown sugar from the cupboard. The coffee was just a little above half of the cup and I filled it up with the milk, putting in five teaspoonfuls of sugar. I wondered whether Mr. Song would realize I had mixed up his milk on purpose while making his coffee—since he’s lactose intolerant—if I ever got the courage to sabotage my boss even if it was silly. But today wasn’t that day and I grabbed a tray and placed five cookies on a small plate before I placed both his coffee and the cookies on the tray. I would take them to his office and then print whatever he needed. If maybe I sneaked inside his office before he came in, then maybe I didn’t have to face him often as Mrs. Bae would communicate with him through the phone despite them being just a few steps away from each other, I intended on doing that too.

But my steps halted as I returned to the lobby, eyebrows furrowing as the glass to Mr. Song’s office was blurred and light poured outside from underneath the closed door. Oh, had he come in early? My eyebrows furrowed as I wondered whether I was hallucinating, had I been so lost in thought I didn’t hear the elevator, his footsteps, and the closing of the door? I could space out annoyingly well, so maybe that really was the case. I sighed and walked towards my desk, needing a second to gather my courage and steel my nerves as my eyes fell on the unlocked computer. So, Mr. Song not only came in earlier but he also unlocked Mrs. Bae’s computer before heading inside his office. That was rather confusing, and just when I had started wondering whether someone had broken in on our floor, I heard his unmistakable raspy and deep voice coming through the glass that separated us. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it was Song Mingi, no doubt. Glancing at the door and then down at the computer, I decided that I didn’t want to enter his office twice today if it really wasn’t necessary so, I quickly printed the monthly expenses and bound them together after placing them in order. The numbers were so high that I struggled to read them correctly, but it wasn’t surprising, the company was huge and what they expertise in was even bigger.

I grabbed the papers and the tray into my hands, mindful of my steps as I headed for Mr. Song’s office door, taking a deep breath as I paused in front of it. He was still talking, probably on the phone, and I decided it was best I slipped in and out while he was distracted, so I knocked and went inside without waiting for his answer.

“Yes, I know.” His voice was harsh and tinged with annoyance as I veered my way around his office like an expert, having been inside too often. Who do you think cleaned up his mess and dusted off his shelves? Exactly, me because I couldn’t handle watching Mrs. Bae ruin her already aching back and knees, “Honestly? I don’t fucking care. I told you I couldn’t design it and produce it in a month, so is it really my fault that your superiors are blaming you now?”

I was curious what this was about, but I knew my place and not to snoop around, so I just headed for his desk hopeful that Mr. Song wouldn’t notice me as his chair was swivelled around to face the huge windows overlooking the bustling morning city, mist having settled in the distance where it was closer to the mountains. The view was beautiful from here and I often found myself gazing out the windows when I had to be inside Mr. Song’s office, wondering if I’d ever earn enough to live in a penthouse, it was wishful thinking but at least it made me more determined to work harder.

“Then deal with it.” Mr. Song snapped as I placed the tray on the desk, in its usual spot, and my eyes fell on the back of his head as he scoffed loudly, his fingers drumming against the armrest of the leather chair he sat in. He was so tall that even his massive chair couldn’t hide his form and my eyes stuck to his broad shoulders outlined by the shoulder pads of his black jacket before I snapped out of it and moved as quietly as possible to place the documents I had printed in the middle of the desk, “I’m not taking the blame for your incompetence, idiot, call me when you have a real reason to speak with me.”

Just as I had straightened up and took a step back, Mr. Song hung up and groaned as he threw his head back, eyes screwed shut as he groaned, “What a fucking idiot, he can’t even design his own gadget and then I’m at fault for prioritising real projects.”

Well, I was sure I wasn’t meant to hear his whining and inner monologue said out loud, so I took a tentative step backwards, praying he’d remain with his eyes closed and with his back turned so that I could slip out of his office before he’d even realize I was in there. For a man who regarded himself so highly, he lacked the skill of being aware of his surroundings at all times, something I didn’t mind for once. But my hopes were soon crushed as I stepped on something that made noise, eyes widening as I froze, watching as Mr. Song’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, “Ah, Joohyun, morning. Can you please call up—”

Of course, he’d call Mrs. Bae by her name without any regard to her age and accomplishments, I wasn’t even surprised he failed to respect the only person who remained stuck to his side in this company, vouching for him when nobody else did as few people liked the CEO. But his eyes opened and his words stuck in his throat as we made contact, albeit a little silly as his head had fallen off the headrest and he was looking at me cross-eyed. The speed with which he swivelled the chair around and fixed his posture should have been comical, but I knew what was coming and so I didn’t enjoy it. The slight worry and annoyance were gone from his face in the blink of an eye, replaced with a chilling arrogance and a self-assured smirk as his eyes very shamelessly ran all over my body, checking me out. I clenched my jaw and fixed my posture as well, plastering on the corporate smile that I wished conveyed the message of ‘fuck yourself, Song Mingi’, but it apparently didn’t as he intertwined his fingers and placed his elbows on the table to lean forward, tongue poking out to lick his lips.

“My, my, if only Joohyun looked anything like you, I’d come in early every morning.” His smirk only spread wider, eyes shining with a newfound resolve as he waited eagerly for a reaction, for anything. But it didn’t come as I remained impassive, eyes boring into his with nonchalance and coldness as I burned away on the inside, screaming and cursing at him in my mind. How dare he disrespect the lovely Mrs. Bae and disregard all her sacrifices made for his ungrateful ass just because I was young and relatively alright looking?!

“Mrs. Bae is sick and until she returns I will be replacing her, but I suppose you’ve been informed of the changes, sir.” I tried to keep my voice levelled so that I wouldn’t snap at him, but it was a little hard as he bit his bottom lip when I addressed him as ‘sir’. I didn’t want to think about it for even a second and I suppressed a sigh as he leaned back in his chair, legs spreading wide as he let his eyes run over my body again. Fucker, I hope he swallows his coffee wrong, maybe I should prepare his coffee with regular milk from now on, “The monthly expenses and payments that still have to be made are on the desk, sir, I have printed them as Mrs. Bae does.”

He glanced at the bound paperwork for a second before his lips pursed, eyes falling back on me. There was a slight change to his features, the quick glimmer of curiosity as he regarded me with inquiring eyes, but it was gone again as he rubbed his plump bottom lip with his forefinger, his hands littered with rings that were huge and somehow looked classy on him instead of making him look like a wannabe punk. For a CEO, he certainly wasn’t afraid to dress however he wanted while still being mindful that he was at his workplace. Sometimes he wore suits that highlighted his body and muscles in the right way, turning heads and having me throw him a second glance as he waltzed inside his office, and sometimes he wore outfits that you only saw on the runway, like today. His attire was all-black, non-conferring to society’s gender norms and unique in its way. He wore a blouse that seemed to fall a little lower on one shoulder, tucked inside pants that reached the floor with a skirt over them that reached just below his knees, his jacket cropped and with shoulder padding. The silver chains around his neck only added to the outfit and I couldn’t deny that he was quite the sight to look at with his black hair pushed back, and his undercut fresh. It made him look sharper, it defined his high cheekbones, and with his hair pushed back like that his eyes only became sharper and more intimidating.

“Trying to leave an impression on me already, huh?” His chuckle was mocking and laced with an undertone that almost had me marching up to him and punching the shit out of him, “It’ll take a few months before I can say whether you’re qualified for this job, sugar, newbies are great but they always fuck up, no offence.”

“None taken,” I grinned, trying to contain my rage and pride to lengthen my stay at the company, “I’ve been working here for four years, Mr. Song.”

He blinked once, then gulped, and then his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he took me in again, but finally not with lustful eyes but plain confusion as he probably tried to recall a time he’d seen me before. Instead of being offended that my own boss, the man I shared a floor with and crossed paths with in the hallway more than once, didn’t recognize me, I felt accomplished that I managed to dodge him for a complete four years. We’ve ridden the elevator together not once, but I huddled in the corner and always waited for him to get off first in order to stay out of his sight, I just couldn’t stand the man and it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes.

“Ah, perhaps if I hear your name…” He trailed off and then eyed his coffee, eyebrows twitching as his eyes lingered on them, hand reaching for a cookie reluctantly.

“Five teaspoonfuls of sugar and a quarter of oat milk, just the way you like it.” It actually felt freaking awesome seeing the confused and slightly taken aback expression on Mr. Song’s face, who knew I’d enjoy being in his presence for once, “And I’m Miss Jang.”

“Jang…?” He asked quickly but I just remained smiling, not about to tell him my name. He could look it up very easily with a search in the database, either way, if he was curious enough.

“I’m the secretary assistant, so don’t worry, I know everything I need to know.” I ignored his question and took a step towards the door, signalling that I was out of his office in the next five seconds, “Let’s both pray Mrs. Bae returns fast, I quite enjoy shadowing her.” Instead of having to face you, but I didn’t add that to my short speech.

Mr. Song’s eyes narrowed as he took in my retreating form and for a split second, I noticed annoyance on his features, making me feel victorious in a way I never imagined I could, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. She’s too stubborn to remain sick for long, she’ll be back soon, but until then I expect nothing but excellence from you, I would hate to fire you if you’ve been working for me for four years. Anyways, when’s my first meeting?”

“At eleven, sir.” I checked the time, two more hours until then.

“Good, call Miss Kim and tell her I have something to discuss with her.” He paused to grab his cup of coffee and I refrained from rolling my eyes at his theatrics, “Tell her to come as fast as possible and that we’ll talk in my office.”

Or fuck, is what he meant but didn’t say. I hummed in order to swallow the scoff that threatened to leave my lips and bowed my head just slightly, in the way I knew it was enough to be respectful but still not that much. But Mr. Song wasn’t looking at me anymore so he wouldn’t see, he was too busy flipping through the paperwork as he sipped his coffee. I gripped the handle of the door but paused in the doorway, eyes falling on the unwrapped and empty package of a condom I had stepped on just minutes ago, “I’m not cleaning that up too, pick it you yourself, Mr. Song.”

And when his head snapped up with a scowl, eyes following the direction I was pointing at, he scoffed loudly and gave me a sharp glare. I smiled in a way that I knew couldn’t outwardly be catalogued as a ‘fuck you’ smile, but it also made sure to convey that I wasn’t dumb nor his rag that he could throw around and find amusement in. Then, without waiting to be dismissed, I slipped through the door and walked towards my desk, a smirk making its way on my lips as I graciously sat in Mrs. Bae’s chair, swivelling closer to the desk as I went to raise my hand and flip my boss off, but suddenly, the blur from the windows was gone and I went rigid, hand already midway raised. Mingi’s arm was outstretched as he held the controller, eyes glaring and fixed on me as I scoffed and returned his fierce glare, picking up the central telephone to dial Miss Kim and ask her to come to Mr. Song’s office.

I guess today would be exhausting in all the different ways I didn’t think possible before.

And I was right, it was exhausting in a way that had both my blood boiling and making me feel resigned as I was finally able to shut the computer off, the sun about to set any minute now. I had to stay for longer than expected as Mrs. Bae had a lot of workload, and without having an assistant to help out, I had to do it all on my own. I couldn’t complain about that as long as Mrs. Bae was healthy and up on her feet in the following ways, I would fill in for her and work even nights because I respected her and loved her a lot. She was a motherly figure and a good guide for both office-related and life-related things. I couldn’t wait to see her and hear her voice, already missing her dad jokes and shrill laughter. But perhaps what I missed the most was that she was the only one who could put Mr. Song in his place, something he desperately needed.

The blurry effect stayed off the windows the whole day and I felt Mr. Song’s sharp eyes on me more often than not, it was slowly driving me up the wall. I knew what he was playing at, he didn’t like my attitude towards him and he was trying to find reasons to get rid of me. But he couldn’t because I was trained by Mrs. Bae and I was damn good at my job, there was a reason why I survived four years at the company without working as an engineer or down at the lobby—Mr. Song rarely meddled with the lobby girls, and perhaps that was the only smart thing he was capable of doing. But now I had him on my back the whole day, making me uncomfortable as I sat in Mrs. Bae’s chair rigidly and with an aching back by how strained it was, fingers spasming from how much I had been typing away on the keyboard, and a crazy itch to finally go home. At least he wasn’t a complete ass and told me to get lunch while he was in the meeting, even handing me his card which I, obviously, declined. He had a peculiar look in his eyes that I couldn’t decipher, and then Wooyoung was up on our floor to fetch Mr. Song with a shit-eating grin on his lips.

“Ah, my favourite person in the whole wide world!” He had called loudly while Mr. Song was inside his office, door open, gathering paperwork, files, and the jacket he had discarded hours ago. My eyes narrowed at Wooyoung as I paused writing the email for the editorial photoshoot and leaned forward, raising my chin.

“Aren’t you supposed to be annoying your engineer friends?” I raised an eyebrow as Wooyoung’s grin only grew in size, “You seem to be lost, this isn’t your floor, Dr Jung.”

Wooyoung gave me a deadpanned look at the title I used as he leaned forward, resting his arms against the top part of the desk, “Don’t call me doctor at our workplace, dummy.”

“Don’t call me a dummy at our workplace.” I mocked Wooyoung and he glared at me before he stole a gummy bear out of the bowl placed there for our clients.

“Well, I see you’re doing just fine,” Wooyoung spoke while chewing, eyes running over the place, “The secretary role suits you; I should snap a picture for Sooyoung to see.”

“Don’t you dare.” I snapped and stood up to snatch the bowl of gummies when Wooyoung went to grab another one, “It’s for the clients, Wooyoung, and stop bothering Sooyoung while she’s at work. Besides, I already sent her a picture.”

“Of course you did.” He rolled his eyes and pouted as he swiftly leaned over the desk and managed to snatch a gummy still, making me gasp as my eyes widened, giving him a nasty look, “How’s working with your worst nightmare? Have you flipped him off already? Or have you cursed his name out in the bathroom? I bet you switched up his milk for a regular one like, you said you’d do—”

“Wooyoung, it’s nice seeing you on time for once.” Mr. Song’s sharp voice interrupted us, and I gave Wooyoung a warning look before I smoothed my skirt out and placed the bowl of gummies back in its place, “Although the blazer and your pants don’t match—”

“They do!” Wooyoung cut our boss off with a whine as Mr. Song came closer, “My fashion sense is better than yours.”

“You wish,” I muttered under my breath as I settled in the chair, thinking that it was quiet enough, but both men looked at me at the same time, making my eyes widen for a fraction of a second. Mr. Song’s impassive façade broke as he gave me a smirk, plump lips pursing as he let his eyes drop to my collarbones and explore my exposed shoulders due to my blouse. I fought back an eye roll and just sighed as I looked back at Wooyoung, “Tell Sooyoung when you see her that I might get off late, we’ll postpone our dinner for another day.”

“Yes!” Wooyoung fist bumped the air in glee and I fixed my glare on the side of his head as he eagerly took the files our boss was holding, “After Friday, I wouldn’t have survived another drunken dinner so soon. Imagine my poor ears having to listen to you whine about our—”

“Goodbye, Wooyoung.” I interrupted him with urgency, aware of the panic that coated my features as he snickered like the evil bastard he was, eyeing Song Mingi from the corner of his eyes as the man looked between us with curiosity written over his features. But then it was gone just as Wooyoung opened his mouth, Mr. Song was giving me a sharp look.

“Call Miss Kim and tell her there’s been a change to our plans, I’m busy tonight.” I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t his messenger, but as his secretary, I pretty much was. I nodded and pulled my chair closer to the desk, getting ready to finish the email when Mr. Song continued, “And get back to work.”

I bit my tongue to refrain from wishing him a lovely descent into hell, and I knew I wasn’t able to hide my irritated face well enough because Wooyoung snickered as Mr. Song took off towards the elevator, my best friend’s boyfriend lingering just behind him. He gave me a wink before he was right behind our boss, and I sighed as I got back to typing, catching the beginning of their conversation about some issues they’d run into while designing the new prototype. But other than that quick interaction, Mr. Song ignored me for the rest of the day minus the fact that he was spying on me from his office whenever he could, eyes boring into the side of my head and making me type just a little harsher than necessary.

But Mr. Song said something about being busy and not wanting to be bothered anymore half an hour ago, and after he closed and locked his door, the glass became all blurry and I understood the message: I was dismissed, I could finally head home—and head home I did, more eager than ever before. The metro was busy as most people were, similar to me, headed home and crowding the place. I stayed a decent distance away from the tracks and typed away on my phone as there was a commotion not too far from me. I didn’t react to it, used to the loudness and sometimes crazy people that came down to ride the metro. However, my dismissal quickly turned into alarm when there was a loud shout and a pained cry followed right after it and people ran left and right, knocking into me and almost sending me to the dirty ground. I stumbled and tightened my grip on my phone, not understanding the sudden hysteria until it was too late.

The crowd had cleared up enough so that the scene was visible to me, and I gasped as a woman lay on the ground, clutching her side as blood pooled underneath her. Despite living in a big city where crime was inevitable, I had never come across a scene like this and I felt frozen, terrified, and all of a sudden too dumb to do anything. People were screaming around us, mostly male voices demanding something, but my eyes remained fixated on the crying woman as her hands trembled and sobs echoed despite the loud commotion. Someone next to me was calling the ambulance and cops, at least five men surrounded the wounded woman and screamed at someone that I still couldn’t see, and just when somebody shoved me and told me to get away, I snapped out of it, but it was too late. A calloused hand was wrapped around my throat as cold metal pressed against my throat, already wet and dripping red with blood from the aggressor’s previous attack.

“Don’t make me do it!” The man screamed at the top of his lungs as I was rendered frozen, heart beating out of my chest and breath stilled in my throat, “Don’t make me kill her too!”

I went even more rigid, if possible, body shaking from fear as I remained silent, eyes darting around the place and silently crying out for help with my eyes, “Listen, we can settle this, no need to harm her too.”

“You’ll immobilise me if I let her go,” The man’s voice that held me captive thundered over my head and I tried to gulp but was afraid the movement would make the blade cut into my skin, “I’m not going to jail. She had it coming, she was a cheating bitch!”

“Alright, we get it, man!” A man that was crouched next to the wailing woman snapped, eyes burning with passion as he turned to face us, “You got what you wanted, the woman you’re holding right now is innocent, let her go.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” At the shout and jerk of my captor’s body, I whimpered and grabbed onto his sleeve as I felt the cold blade press much harder into my skin, making my lips tremble as I fought back tears. I tried to pull the man’s arm away, desperately so, but he was relatively stronger, “Stop moving around, bitch, if you don’t want to die!”

I was breathing hard by now, trying to keep it together, but I was failing as my vision became blurred by tears that I tried to hold in. I could hear sirens in the distance and the people around the woman fussed about as they tried to stop her bleeding, but it didn’t seem to help. I wished someone would snatch me away from the psycho holding me and save me, but I knew the bleeding woman needed the help more than I did—unless I was injured too, who knew, maybe I’d never get to see tomorrow. The thought was frightening and I gulped down another whimper as the man's fingers dug into my shoulder as he kept me pressed against himself, he was breathing even harder than I was, his chest moving up and down quickly against my back.

“Listen, the woman you’re holding right now did nothing to you.” Another person tried to reason, a soft-spoken boy who was crouched right in front of the injured woman, hands bloody and eyes hardened, “She’s a complete stranger to you, she doesn’t even know who you are. If you want another person’s blood on your hands and a lifetime sentence, then by all means, go ahead and kill her too.”

I went to protest with a whine, but I felt the man’s grip loosen after a few seconds as he cursed under his breath. I was shaking, still clutching my purse in both of my hands as I had dropped the one holding onto the man’s arm out of fear of agitating him even more. Gasps could be heard above us, where the entrance of the metro was, and suddenly a peculiar sound filled the space. It sounded mechanical but not quite, hard and scraping like metal, and it was loud. The sirens were even louder now and I knew help was close by, I could only hope it came before I suffered any serious injuries. My heart was thumping so fast I was sure the artery in my neck was pulsating too, just the more inviting to be slashed or stabbed. The thought made me shudder and just as I was about to open my mouth and plead for my life too, something red and robot-like descended only a few feet away from us. Everyone gasped and murmured, my own eyes widened as I stared at the robot-like red machine, all armour and menacing looking from up close.

I had only seen Iron Man on TV, and suddenly, everything I had heard about the anonymous superhero seemed to be true. The person behind the iron armour was tall with wide shoulders and narrow hips as the costume moulded onto his body perfectly, and the person’s face was concealed by a mask that never came off, teasing the public of who could bear it. Despite knowing that the person behind the mask had no mal-intention and was here to rather save me, I couldn’t help but watch it with doubtful eyes, intimidated by the loomingly tall body and firm structure of the costume. There was a collective moment of pure silence, everyone holding their breaths as they waited for Iron Man to do something. The man holding me cursed loudly this time and I gasped as my eyes widened, his knife digging into my skin so that it scrapped my skin. I bit my bottom lip and tried to refrain from crying despite every particle of my body crying out in desperation to be freed and finally saved.

“Well, what do we have here, huh?” The superhero’s voice sounded somewhat robotic, but it wasn’t hard to make out that the person’s voice was grave, deep, and rather sharp as he spoke, “Terrorizing innocent women at the metro, is that a new hobby of yours? Did your mother not love you enough or what?”

“Shut up!” The man screamed and made me flinch as it made my ears ring, and suddenly I doubted that Iron Man was here to save the day. Why in hell would he be antagonizing an armed man holding a hostage?! I hoped the superhero could see my glare as I blinked my tears away, suddenly my terror blending together with anger due to nobody doing anything to help me, “What the fuck do you know about love, you iron fucker?!”

The armoured man chuckled and it was raspy almost, “I don’t fuck iron, but my costume is made of iron, hence the name—”

“Cut the attitude!” The man hissed and I gulped, fidgeting around and reaching inside my purse to see whether I had anything on me to use as a weapon to free myself since nobody was doing anything real to help me, “I’ll kill this bitch!”

“Don’t call her a bitch, you lowlife.” Iron Man snapped with irritation and I paused, eyes boring into the mask where its eyes were. At least Iron Man seemed to be a decent man when he wasn’t mocking and teasing the criminal, “Now, I’ll tell you how this goes—”

“Just shut the fuck up—”

“If you interrupt me one more time, I’ll blast off your face, dude.” The patience of Iron Man seemed to have snapped all at once as he raised his arm, something blue glowing in the middle of the iron palm. It didn’t look friendly nor like it wouldn’t hurt as it twisted and turned, accumulating more and more energy, “Like I was saying, this can go two ways. You release her and I take you to the officers without unnecessary injuries or you keep being foolish and I’m forced to take you down to free her, which are you choosing?”

“Fuck yourself!” The man turned his head and spat on the ground, making my face scrunch up in disgust as my body continued to tremble, wondering how Iron Man could hurt my captor without hurting me in the process as well. Certainly, whatever thing he meant to blast at the man wasn’t smart enough to go around me or dodge me, no matter how I tried looking at the situation, neither looked like I would get out of this unscathed. But if my hope in the superhero faded, it returned when the cops and paramedics finally showed up, spilling down the stairs, the cops pointing their guns at me and the man as the medics ran to the injured woman to help her and take her away to the nearest hospital. I gulped, counting the seven officers as they closed in on us, stopping just behind Iron Man as they assessed the situation.

“Sir.” The captain addressed Iron Man and the superhero ignored him besides the small nod of his head, “We’ll handle it from here.”

“How?” Iron Man chuckled, apparently amused meanwhile I was seriously on the verge of bursting out in tears. I’ve never had so many weapons pointed at me and I didn’t know how to react other than prepare for the pain the bullets would probably leave, “By harming her too?”

The captain said nothing as he sent the superhero a sharp stare, then faced me with a reassuring smile on his face, “Do not worry, ma’am, we’ll get you just in a second.”

“Cut the crap.” I hissed, surprising everyone—even my captor—as my body shook and my voice was laced with fear and annoyance. I wasn’t a child they could fool that everyone would be alright, I was conscious that they’d have to hurt me in order to take down the man holding me, “Just do your job.”

The paramedics rushed the woman above ground, probably to an ambulance, and I wished for nothing more than to be free and sitting in an ambulance where they’d check for my injuries, hopefully not too many.

“Sir, you’ll have to drop the knife if you don’t want to—”

“Mr. S!” A boyish and excited voice called out from behind us and I sighed, mind too tired to keep up with everything that was happening. Just who was this new person and why was nobody doing anything to help me?! But almost as if the newcomer was a mind reader, he called out again, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it!”

And then everything happened at once, there was web on the man’s wrist that held the knife to my throat, and then it was yanked away, finally letting me breathe without the fear of cutting myself accidentally, and I was shoved really hard. I stumbled as my legs had gone numb, and I was sure I would crash to the ground with a loud and painful thud, but it never happened. What I did crash into was cold and hard, but it wasn’t anything like the ground. It was sturdy under my grip as I gasped and gripped onto the iron shoulders of the man, and suddenly, I craved a warm body and some fabric my fingers could dig into for comfort. My chest rose and fell so quickly I became lightheaded as I clung to the superhero with desperation, legs going jelly as he had to hold me up, “It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re safe, Miss Jang, I’ve got you.”

A sob left my throat but no tears fell from my eyes as the police officers were shouting around us, only making my panic rise as I forced my eyes shut, telling myself that if I couldn’t see then it wasn’t real. Iron Man tsked and grumbled something intangible before I felt a metallic arm underneath my knees, the other holding me up by my torso, and then I was lifted into the air bridal style and taken away from the scene of the policemen arresting my captor. I tried to reassure myself that everything was fine and that I was safe, but the lack of warm skin and a face I could associate with my saviour only made me more jittery and uncomfortable. Iron Man seemed to realize this as my muscles were tense to the point they were aching, and so, he sat me down on the stairs and tucked me away from the eyes of the world as everyone rushed around us. He stood in a way that he obscured the world for me and I was grateful as I could finally breathe. I held my head in my hands and brought my knees up to my chest, pressing my forehead against my knees, “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s over.”

I whispered over and over until my brain finally believed what it was hearing and my muscles relaxed just a little bit, but the trembling never went away. I knew I told Wooyoung to tell Sooyoung I wouldn’t go over for dinner tonight, but I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep alone in my apartment tonight.

“Are you hurt?” Iron Man asked as he remained standing, and I gulped and licked my lips, which had become painfully dry in the span of a few minutes.

“No,” I muttered, keeping my eyes closed, “he probably scratched me, but I’m fine.”

“Good, you’re safe.”

“I know.”

My whisper was drowned out by the loud voices of the journalists who made their way down to get the last-minute news just as the cops escorted the man up the stairs. I knew I had to leave a statement and that I would be probably called to the station, but all I wanted to do was get to Sooyoung’s place and soak in a bath until it was time to go to sleep.

“Hey, Mr. Son—I mean, Iron Man!” The same boyish voice that apparently actually saved me from my captor was loud and made me cringe as I raised my head and blinked my eyes open.

“Stop yelling, idiot.” Iron Man hissed and held the man, Spiderman, back by the shoulder as he skipped over to us.

“Oh, sorry.” His voice was slightly distorted, but it was obvious he felt sorry as the eyes of his mask blinked, freaking me out even more than Iron Man’s cold costume. I was very aware that I lived in the same city as certain superheroes, but encountering them felt weird, and if I was being honest, I wasn’t much of a fan. I much preferred seeing them on the news and in newspapers. Spiderman, who sounded way too young even with his voice distorted, seemed to be just as tall as Iron Man, if not taller, and he was lean but muscular. It came as no surprise since he crawled around buildings and hopped around in the sky, hanging off his web—you needed some serious muscles for that, “I didn’t mean to startle you, are you both alright?”

“Yes, not even a scratch—”

“I was scratched.” I snapped as I looked up at the two, hugging my knees close to my chest still. Spiderman’s mask blinked again and I averted my eyes as it made my skin crawl, “But I’m alright, thank you for saving me, Spiderman.”

“Spiderman?!” The iron-clad superhero asked with an edge to his voice, almost as if he was pissed off, “I was the one to come to your rescue first—”

“And yet it was Spiderman who actually did something to save me,” I hissed, utterly spent and pissed off now that I wasn’t held at knifepoint anymore, “All you did was chat away and mock the man, endangering my life even more.”

Silence followed my harsh words but I couldn’t care less as I saw a paramedic with kind eyes and a kind smile approach us carefully, greeting the superheroes meekly, “Miss, we will have to check up on you too now.”

“I’m fine though,” I muttered and tried to stand up but found little to no power in my legs, before I could stumble, Iron Man was by my side and helping me up. I looked up at the iron mask and said nothing as I still felt disdain towards the person behind the mask.

“You don’t look fine, Miss Jang.” I huffed and allowed the superhero to help me stand until the paramedic came to my aid, holding me up as the two superheroes followed us up the stairs.

“Should I carry you, ma’am?” Spiderman asked with worry, “You’re a bit pale, I can carry you if you want me to, I know I look scrawny but I’m actually really strong!”

“I carried her just fine before, do you need assistance?” Iron Man huffed and turned his head sharply towards Spiderman as the two men walked on each side of me and the paramedic. My body was still shaking so it was a little hard to coordinate my legs, but with the help of the paramedic, I was managing just fine, except for the violent thumping of my head and the haze that followed my vision.

“What I need is you two shutting up,” As an afterthought since they did save my life, I added, “Please.”

“Sure, ma’am, but just let me know if anything’s wrong, I can—”

“Shut up.” Iron Man groaned loudly, and the paramedic snickered as if a situation like this one was something anything out of the ordinary to him.

“Yes, Mr. Son—uh, Iron Man! I mean, Iron Man, sorry sir, I’ll shut up now.” Spiderman’s voice was defeated and a little tight, and I could swear Iron Man muttered a threat under his breath, but once we were up on the surface and all the hustle and bustle of the city hit me, I felt faint. Dangerously faint as I squinted my eyes, the swirling red and blue lights of the ambulance and cop cars blinding me for a second.

“Alright, you can sit in the ambulance and I’ll do a quick check-up.” The paramedic let me know as Spiderman eagerly opened the back of the ambulance and helped the paramedic walk me up and onto the bed, “Do you have anyone we can call to take you home?”

“Park Sooyoung,” I heaved a sigh and opened my purse, “If she doesn’t pick up, then Jung Wooyoung.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“Shut up!” I flinched at Iron Man’s harsh tone as he yanked Spiderman by the collar all up in his face, shaking the younger-sounding boy as he just chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head.

“Sorry, Mr. S.”

The paramedic snickered again and I handed him over my phone as he grabbed his little light to flash my eyes and momentarily blind me, “So, because it’s protocol, I’m going to ask how you feel again. Anything that’s changed now that we’re above ground?”

“No, nothing, I’m feeling fine.”

And then, the whole world went dark.

I stared at the screen of my phone, I actually had been for a few good minutes now, but my brain didn’t register the words. Sooyoung was asking if I was up to grab a quick lunch with her, of course, if my oh-so-lovely boss allowed it, but I was way too distracted by said boss’ deep voice speaking in a hushed tone coming from the kitchen. It’s been three days since the whole metro fiasco and I had been down at the police station, gave them my statement, and I would be probably called in as a witness once the court date is set—that fucker isn’t getting out of jail after he tried to kill his girlfriend, I wouldn’t allow it.

People looked at me weirdly and I heard them whispering behind my back whenever I walked down the hallways as, of course, that idiot of a Wooyoung had run his mouth and now the whole company knew that I almost died—his words, not mine. A quick session with the company’s therapist had her convinced that I was alright and needed no further sessions despite my initial disdain to even go to one because I knew I was fine. Of course, I was a little jumpier and avoided the metro even if it took longer to get to work and then home, but until my mind would fully accept that it was a freak accident and that I was at the right place at the wrong time, I couldn’t help but indulge to the small voice of fear at the back of my mind. Sooyoung has been kinder than usual, offering up her spacious couch if I felt like crashing over at her place, but quite frankly, since Wooyoung was almost always over I preferred the quiet of my own apartment, even if I had to triple-check that I locked the front door before I went to sleep.

I was fine, I really was—and this isn’t me trying to convince myself—it’s been three days after all, and to be frank, the fact that these so-called superheroes actually do their job was another comforting thought. Well, Spiderman at least does, can’t say much about Iron Man. The only ‘help’ he offered was to stall and distract my captor, something me and the other on-lookers were managing just fine on our own too. But still, I felt a little bit of gratitude for the iron-clad superhero too for holding me and reassuring me when my brain was fogged up with terror and conviction that I was going to die. But now, three days later, things that seemed insignificant at the moment came back in flashes that had me questioning myself whether it was a fragment of my imagination or it truly had been said.

The first and biggest issue that seemed to concern me was the fact that Iron Man seemed to know my name when it wasn’t said or mentioned at the scene at all. It didn’t even occur to me at that moment as I was too wrapped up in the fact that a knife no longer put my life at risk, and even welcomed the familiarity and reassurance the superhero brought with his words. But now that I was conscious and no longer ridden with fear, I was thoroughly confused. I knew nobody had uttered my name, not even me, so just how was it possible that the iron-clad man had known it? Did superheroes have mind-reading powers too, or was it just common knowledge that Iron Man knew these sorts of things? Had I been hallucinating? But that couldn’t be either because I was sure he had said it twice, that must’ve meant something. Like the fact that I wasn’t hallucinating.

And then, not because I associate and compare all assholes to my boss, but the way Iron Man mocked my captor sounded a lot similar to the way Song Mingi would talk down on his employees, sneer on his face as arrogancy laced his tone. The voice modulator Iron Man used made it harder to assess any emotion in his tone, but I was sure I have heard a tinge of cockiness in it when he was busy mocking the man instead of saving me from him. It was a far-fetched reach, I knew it, but there was also this gut feeling that told me to trust myself and roll with the delusion. And my intuition had never been wrong before.

The third reason that it all seemed a little suspicious to me—completely aware that this was a relative fact and any man could have the physique of my boss—it still made me search up photos of Iron Man that had been taken on a whim for magazines to compare to those editorial shots Song Mingi enjoyed doing. It was a match, their shoulders wide and broad, hips narrow, creating the perfect inverted triangle shape that so many people went crazy over. Their heights seemed to be a match too, both tall intimidatingly so. I read through forums to see what others who had encountered the superhero had to say, and I wasn’t surprised to find out that they were rather condescending about him. Apparently, he liked to talk a lot before he got to do the saving, and it put other’s lives more in danger, sometimes resulting in grave injuries. He spoke like he ruled the whole world and everyone else had to bow down to him, and he oftentimes after saving the victims disregarded them and told them to go on their merry way and be more mindful next time, as if it was their fault that they had fallen victims in the first place.

And lastly, because perhaps it was the most pressing issue after the fact that Iron Man knew my name, it was the certainty that Spiderman seemed to be familiar enough with the other superhero to know his identity and address him by his name. Now, Iron Man stopped the other one each time from saying his name fully, but I had caught the little he had said, and ever since I had been thinking. I have heard others at the workplace address Song Mingi as ‘Mr. S’ more than once, even Wooyoung liked to call him that—and truly, ‘Mr. Son’ could be just an abbreviation for Mr. Song Mingi. I knew I sounded crazy to most, at least to Sooyoung definitely as she laughed when I told her my crazy theory, she didn’t understand why out of all the people I suspected my boss. Well, to be fair, I had no reason for that, but given the fact that the superhero showed up quickly to the scene, it was a real possibility. Even Spiderman and the police took longer, the company was right by the metro and Mr. Song specifically told me to go home as he wished to be alone.

Plus, because I knew Sooyoung would still consider me crazy, I told her about the fact that one time when I had been cleaning my boss’ office I discovered a hidden entry while I tried to move a decorative piece on the bookshelf. It looked like some classic villain shit at that time, but I said nothing about it to no one as I was rather complacent about keeping my job—I was still relatively new at the company. Sooyoung just laughed it off and told me that he probably had a vault in there for all the money and worthy items he owned. In fairness, it sounded plausible if my brain hadn’t decided to be suspicious of Song Mingi’s identity.

I had been devising a plan for the past two days, wondering about ways I could find out the superhero’s identity, or how I could catch my boss red-handed, but nothing was smart or subtle enough. He’d be able to trace it back to me and then all of my hard work at this company would go to waste, I didn’t want that. However, before I could start dwelling more on this, I was snapped out of my thoughts as Mr. Song’s voice carried closer to me.

“No, I told you not to come here—” Then he cut himself off with a groan, and I quickly straightened up in my chair as Mr. Song rounded the corner, the light in the kitchen switching off behind him. If he was good at something, even I couldn’t deny that it was the artificial intelligence he developed and then implemented in the whole building, “I’m not paying for your lunch again, Yunho.”

Gripping my phone a little tighter as I still had to text Sooyoung back, I allowed my eyes to rest on my boss as I took in his form, trying to recall Iron Man’s too at the same time. Mr. Song wore a suit today, all black and extremely form-fitting, with his black hair pushed back, showing off the undercut he thought made him look hotter. His vest expanded over his chest and became narrow at his waist, however, when he turned his back to me, I noticed that he had it pinched in so that it would cling to his hips instead of hanging freely and comfortably. I knew he was a man full of himself, but it was extremely infuriating that he knew how hot he was and he wasn’t ashamed to show it off too, “I told you I’m busy, kid, I can’t just free up my schedule whenever your devices go to shit.”

I flinched when Mr. Song suddenly turned, narrowed eyes landing on me as I turned my head and looked down at the computer, pretending to type away on it as I placed my phone next to the mousepad. My boss continued watching me and I tried not to peek at him, unusual to see him wear his thick glasses. Mrs. Bae had told me that he much preferred contacts and that we’d need to order new ones for him from time to time, so it made me fidgety as I wondered whether amidst my workload I had forgotten to order him some new ones, “Yunho, you’re a big boy, take care of it yourself.”

And then he rudely hung up as I could hear the other person still speaking on the other end. Mr. Song groaned loudly and my muscles tensed when he approached my desk, coming way too close for comfort. He leaned his hip against the side of it and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking down at me. I tried not to scowl as I fixed my posture and read through the email that just made it into the inbox.

“Slacking off already?” Mr. Song mused, voice impassive, “It’s barely your fourth day.”

I remained silent and opened the email instead, skimming through it. The magazine for the editorial shoot has proposed a date and time, so, I turned my head and looked at my boss with a bored look on my face, “Is Wednesday next week good for the editorial shoot?”

“I don’t know,” He scoffed, a smirk pulling onto his lips, “You’re my secretary, you’re the one that knows my schedule.”

My jaw clenched as I stared into his sharp eyes for a second longer, hoping that he’d see I wasn’t impressed by his jabs, “Your Wednesday is free, sir, that’s why I’m asking. It so seems most of your schedules depend on whether you’re in a good mood or not, sir.”

I smiled sweetly as Mr. Song’s eyes narrowed just a little, and then he bent down, his face coming too close for my comfort, “How attentive of you. Tell them I’m only available at noon for two hours, and you’re coming too.”

“I’m doing what?” I asked alarmed, eyes widening, “Mrs. Bae never had to go with you—”

“But you’re not Mrs. Bae, are you?” I wished to punch the smirk off his face as his eyes once again took me in closely, travelling lower on my body before they stopped on my lips, making my heart beat just a bit quicker, “So free up your own schedule and dress in something sexy, can’t have you looking like a grandma if you’re to be seen in public with me.”

I couldn’t help but gape at his blatant disrespect, palms turning into fists as I turned my chair to face him better, disgusted and irritated as I tried to remain level-headed, “Since it’s my closet and my body, I’ll dress in whatever I find fit and comfortable for such occasion, Mr. Song, thank you for the recommendation though.”

“It was an order, not a recommendation.” Mr. Song’s smirk widened and my blood boiled as it was clear as day that he was enjoying the exchange, that he was having fun that I was getting heated over this, “I can buy you something pretty, Miss Jang, if that’s the issue.”

I stood up, unable to control myself as I glared my boss down despite him being obviously taller than me, “I don’t need you to buy me anything and I won’t have you order me around unless it’s strictly work-related. Just because your name is Song Mingi and you’re rich and can have anything and anyone, don’t think I won’t hurl your ass to court for breaching the contract and for trying to exploit your employees. I’m not your pet, Song.”

All amusement and arrogance left Mr. Song’s face as his expression turned cold, his sharp eyes running over my features before he hummed, rubbing his bottom lip as his glasses slipped lower on his tall nose, “Sweet, Miss Jang, perhaps then you can cancel the lunch with Mr. Park I should be leaving for right now, something more important came up. I assume you can do this much since it’s work-related.”

I gritted my teeth and exhaled, letting my features relax as I plastered on my generic smile and bowed my head just slightly, “Sure, Mr. Song, anything else?”

He took a second as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose then smoothed out his vest, leaning incredibly close so that I would hear his low voice, “The celebratory party for our collaboration with the car brand is this Saturday, I assume you know most employees are invited. You weren’t since it was Mrs. Bae supposed to come, but since you’re replacing her, I’ll be expecting to see you. Jongho will pick you up half an hour before the event.”

My mouth fell open as Mr. Song hummed and cast me one last glance before he turned and headed for his office, my mind reeling at what just happened. Jongho was his personal driver and assistant, he was almost always at his side when the two were out and about as he also served as Mr. Song’s bodyguard. I tried to form some coherent words and refuse the weird proposition, but Mr. Song was already inside his office, however, he left his door open again. My eyebrows furrowed as I settled back down in my chair, nose picking up on a sweet but musky scent that never failed to invade my nose whenever I went inside my boss’ office. It was the cologne he had been using ever since I got to know him, and my eyebrows furrowed as the elevator suddenly dinged, signalling that someone had come up to our floor. Coming to think of it, despite the metal and the obvious smell of iron, something sweet and musky clung just faintly to Iron Man’s costume the day he had saved me.

“Hi!” I flinched at the excited and loud voice, shaking my head to clear the thoughts away as I looked up. I was surprised to see a teenager standing in front of my desk, eyes round and smile brighter than my future as his puffy cheeks were tinged slightly red. He had a scarf around his neck that hid his chin and lips and he pulled his beanie off, ruffling his greenish-bluish-greyish hair, “My name is Yunho! I’m here to see Mr. S.”

“Uhm,” My eyebrows furrowed as I looked down at my computer to quickly run through Mr. Song’s schedule, “Yunho and…?”

“Jeong, Jeong Yunho, ma’am.” He answered, tone warm and soft and yet boyish at the same time as he rocked back and forth on his heels. I scanned through the schedule but his name didn’t pop up.

“Well, I don’t see you in here, Mr. Jeong.” I pursed my lips remembering Mr. Song’s orders and what I managed to eavesdrop on while he was on the phone, “But he did cancel an important lunch, were you just on the phone with him?”

“Yeah, some of my—uh, devices for school broke and I need Mr. Song’s help.” The young boy tried with a tentative smile and I hummed in acknowledgement, eyeing him curiously. But before I could tell him that I needed to check with Mr. Song first, the man appeared in the doorway and sighed loudly.

“Come on, Yunho, I don’t have all day just because you decided to parade your girlfriend around the city and broke it again.” Mr. Song deadpanned, but I was surprised to see fondness in his eyes as Yunho grinned widely, darting towards my boss after he gave me a cute wave, “Miss Jang, you can go have lunch, we’ll be busy for an hour or so, take your time.”

“Oh, Miss Jang, that’s why—” Yunho’s eyes widened as if in recognition, and I watched him with confusion as Mr. Song slapped a hand over his mouth and yanked the boy who was slightly taller than him inside his office, door slamming closed behind them, “I didn’t know she worked for you—”

“Shut up.”

And just like that, my suspicion of their identity intensified. Could Song Mingi actually be Iron Man? I didn’t know yet, but I was convinced to find out, and a brilliant idea just came to mind. I grabbed my phone and texted Sooyoung that I was too busy to have lunch today and left for the security room of our building. Call me crazy but my gut feeling was never wrong.

However, there was a single flaw in my plan. How in the hell was I going to execute it without raising suspicions? But it was too late to dwell on that as I had already knocked on the door and was waiting for the security guy to open it. Chewing on my bottom lip, I wondered which lie would be more believable, and just as I debated on wringing Wooyoung into it too, the door opened. Thankfully it wasn’t Chanyeol as he’d be able to tell my bullshit from miles away, so I smiled cheerily and hoped the middle-aged security guard would fall for my lie.

“Hello, I’m Jang Y/N, I’m Mr. Song’s secretary assistant.” I handed my badge to the security guard and he grunted as he looked over it, handing it back to me, “I was wondering if you could let me take a peek at the security footage. My car was scratched yesterday and I’d like to see who did it since they didn’t bother leaving a note on my windshield.”

I tried my best to look disheartened but also slightly annoyed. The security guard froze for a second and then glanced behind himself, “Uh, I mean, I can look at it for you, just give me the car model and license plate.”

Fuck, that’s not how this was supposed to go. I bit my bottom lip and tried to improvise before the guard caught onto me, “You see…my ex works here too and I am pretty sure it was him. We weren’t able to settle things nicely and I know he’s still got a vendetta for me. I would hate to make this difficult for you, but I’ve got a restraining order pending and I would need the footage like…right now, you know? I can film it with my phone and later on get it emailed, but my lawyer is expecting it today if it actually was my ex.”

I almost grinned at how put-together and real my lie sounded, proud of myself. The guard’s face fell and I tried to school my expression into something like sadness and worry as he sighed, looking behind himself, “Fine, come in.”

I offered him a thankful smile and followed him inside, bowing at the other security guards as they gave us curious looks but greeted me back wordlessly. The guard led me to a different room littered with monitors and I stopped behind the chair he sat in, eyebrows furrowed as he opened a new window and typed in a code I couldn’t see as it was protected from view, “This was yesterday? When?”

“Well,” I fiddled with my fingers and tried to rake my brain for the time Wooyoung left work, “maybe around six or seven in the evening?”

“You stay a lot for someone who’s Mr. Song’s secretary assistant.” The guard made small talk as he typed in some more codes and opened up the app.

“His secretary is sick so I’m replacing her for the time being, there’s a lot of work,” I explained and he hummed, nodding his head in understanding.

“When I don’t have the overnight shift, I also spend my whole day here,” He didn’t sound as bothered as I expected him to be, “The company is huge so we must work hard to keep it going, Mr. Song appreciates us and treats us well after all.”

Well, I didn’t want to crush the false image he had of our boss, but the guard was a man and after all, Song Mingi treated his male employees a lot better and with more respect than his female ones. Besides, I bet he barely came in contact with any of his security guards—besides Chanyeol, I suppose—so of course they’d have a positive image of their boss.

“Right, you’re right,” I answered absentmindedly and watched the guard click onto the screen that looked over the garage, clicking some more to rewind the footage to yesterday.

“What car are we looking at?” He asked and I almost groaned, trying to remember the model of Wooyoung’s car.

“It’s a Mercedes-Benz, the newer type.” The guard paused and gave me a look over his shoulder, “Sorry, my ex is part of the engineering team who are developing the new prototype, and I never bothered asking for the model’s name but I’ll know when I see it!”

“I see.” The man muttered and clicked some more and there it was, the footage of Wooyoung’s car but he was nowhere in sight yet, “I’ll speed it up since you don’t know the exact time, tell me when you see him.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a wide smile and the guard grunted as he pressed play, people and cars moved quickly on the screen, but not so quickly that we wouldn’t be able to recognize them. However, this is where the issue of not having a well-thought-out plan came into play. I had no idea how to get the guard to show me footage of Mr. Song’s office, and I was also sure he’d never show it to me and would even get me fired. I tried to think hard of a way just as I spotted Wooyoung headed towards his car, I sighed but spoke up, “That’s him!”

The guard stopped the video to slow it down to regular speed, and then pressed play again, making me chew on my bottom lip and wonder whether I’d be fired if I knocked him out right now. There must be cameras inside this place too and just to make sure, I looked up towards the corner and saw the blinking red light of the CCTV. I sighed but focused back on the screen just as the guard’s phone rang. He cursed as he looked down at his phone and then paused the footage, swivelling around in his chair.

“I have to take this call; it’ll take a few minutes.” He said as he stood and hurried towards the door, “I’ll be back and then we can have a look at the footage together.”

“Sure, take your time!” I grinned at him and waved him off as he quickly left, accepting the call before the door was even closed behind him. Bingo, this was my time to shine. I waited for the guard’s voice to fade into the background and to make sure that no other guard came onside, and then I took my spot in the chair and swivelled closer to the screens. It took me a second to realize how to switch between the many screens, but having paid attention to the guard I realized that it was easier to moderate the system than I initially thought. I clicked on the window that had Mr. Song’s office and squinted my eyes as I watched him and Yunho huddled together at his desk, things pushed to the side as they both were leaning over something. I searched the screen for something that would make the image larger and grinned when I spotted the emoticon, clicking on it quickly as I was curious to see what got the two men so concerned.

Something small, a device as they had called it, was placed on the desk as they crowded around it, lips moving as they spoke to each other. The younger boy had disregarded his backpack, coat, scarf and beanie on the leather sofa and seemed rather comfortable despite this being the first time I saw the two together. But based on Mr. Song’s body language and the way he spoke to him, I knew the two were familiar with each other. A little intrigued myself by that little device, I found myself curiously watching the footage, a yelp almost leaving my mouth when the two men sprung back as something wet exploded out of it. It covered the two in a sticky-like substance and I watched amazed as Mr. Song’s rigid expression melted into that of amusement as Yunho’s head was thrown back, body shaking from his laughter. It only took another second before Mr. Song was also laughing, pulling his glasses off and nudging Yunho as the taller one clung to my boss and threw more of that weird substance at Mr. Song. I had never seen my boss so laid back and happy so it took me a second to snap out of it and stop admiring his crooked smile through the CCTV, subsequently remembering why I was here.

Adrenaline rushed through my system as I realized the guard could be back anytime and catch me red-handed, surely I’d be fired with a case on my hands then, and despite Song Mingi being a nightmare, the paycheck and people working here were too good for me to want to actually leave this company. So, I found the option that allowed me to rewind the footage, only to get my hopes crushed when it asked for a code. I bit my bottom lip and tried to recall the numbers the guard had typed in since I took a peek at the keyboard, but it was fruitless. I found myself slightly panicking and pulling at the collar of my blue striped shirt, the chain of my badge brushing against my hand. My eyes widened and I looked down at it wonderingly, could it work? Pressed by time, I decided to try my luck once again as I flipped my badge and searched for my security number on it. I glanced back at the screen and decided to do it, type in my security number. The worst that could happen was the artificial host that Mr. Song designed would recognize someone was trying to ‘hack’ into the system and shut down the whole company while alerting the police and Mr. Song—lovely.

Sweating a little as my finger hovered over the enter button, I took a deep breath and swiftly pressed it as I had wasted too much time already. To my surprise, the screen started loading as it scanned the code and then suddenly it flashed black before a new window popped up asking for a date and time. My jaw dropped open in surprise and I fumbled for a second as my heart thundered in my chest, unable to celebrate my victory as I pressed in the date and approximate time with shaky fingers, chewing on my bottom lip. I must’ve eaten the lip tint already despite applying it this morning with how much I bit and licked at my lips due to being nervous. The screen loaded once again and then there it was. Mr. Song in his office, all alone, the hallway dark outside as I had left just a few minutes ago. He was sat in his chair, leaned back with his legs spread wide open as he stared out the window, running his fingers through his hair. Something seemed to get his attention as a red light flashed on his desk, and I realized it was coming from the thing I assumed was his desk clock. His lips moved but there was no sound as the cameras only recorded images, and then I watched as Mr. Song’s jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed. He sprung out of his chair and rushed towards the massive staircase, his fingers brushing against the books and the decorative piece I accidentally discovered myself.

I wasn’t surprised to see the staircase moving, making way to a dark passageway that was lit up as Mr. Song quickly hurried down, disappearing from the camera. I looked over the other windows and realized that there were no cameras in the room he had just gone in, so I prepared my phone's camera pointing it at the screen, and pressed record. The wait made it worse; my heart was thumping fast and every sound outside the door made me jump, but just when I considered fast-forwarding, Song Mingi appeared in the frame once again. No, not Song Mingi but Iron Man. Its mask was still open so nobody could even deny it that it wasn’t Song Mingi and I gasped as I watched him walk towards his window while pressing buttons on the left arm of his suit. The mask closed and the window slid to the left, making way for Iron Man to leave the office. And then, he was off, flying towards the metro station and leaving me gaping as I paused the footage and stopped my recording. My fingers shook as I fell back in the chair and I ran my fingers through my hair, not having actually expected Mr. Song to be Iron Man.

Of course, I was quite suspicious and even almost fully convinced it was him, but I fully expected to be proven otherwise since I was only being delusional, as Sooyoung had claimed. But no, it was real, my gut feeling was right once again. I took a second to try and wrap my mind around my findings and rationalize my next thought, but there were loud noises outside the room and I panicked, clicking through the windows and struggling to get rid of the footage I had just watched as I couldn’t find the ‘x’ button. The door opened just as I jumped out of the chair and raised my phone as if I had gotten an urgent text or phone call.

“Sorry about that, it was an urgent—”

“Mr. Song just texted me that he needs me up at the office, thank you but I’ll come back sometime else!” I rushed out as the security guard looked at me confused, stepping aside when I hurried towards the door.

“Oh, if you tell me the license plate, I can email it to—”

“Don’t worry about it!” I gave him a bright smile and a tap on his shoulder before I dashed outside, heart beating fast as I clutched my phone to my chest, the video in my gallery glaring back at me as I ran for the stairs, trying to keep my legs steady due to the heels I wore. But what would I do now? Do I tell Mr. Song that I know who he is? That I know he’s Iron Man? Or do I try to exploit this since he’s always an asshole and even a jerk to me? Does Mrs. Bae even know? What would she do in this situation? She’d certainly be disappointed in me if she were to know I tried blackmailing my boss, but if Mr. Song had been a nice person, then I wouldn’t have tried my luck with this crucial information on my hands.

Blackmailing it is, then.

The rest of the day felt like torture. Pacing up and down outside Mr. Song’s office while he was busy with his meetings and who knows what else didn’t help at all with soothing my nerves, and despite a quick Google search of effective blackmailing tactics, I still came up empty-handed. I had to admit that I wasn’t as brave as I had once regarded myself, but if there was one thing I knew about myself, it was that I was stubborn and determined to go through with this no matter what. I didn’t have an exact reason as to why I was doing this, but I was self-aware enough to realise that I wanted to feel in control, that I wanted to show Mr. Song that he wasn’t untouchable and neither the hot shit he believed himself to be. Of course, he could fire me and blacklist me at all companies, but as Wooyoung once had said, why live a boring life when you can bring a little edge and excitement into it by fucking it up yourself. He was right, but I didn’t know whether taking advice from someone like Wooyoung was smart or not.

So, without wanting to gain anything out of blackmailing Song Mingi, I decided to stay for as long as he did, and just be upfront when he’d be on his way home. Surely, he’d be too tired by then to give too many fucks about his stupid secretary assistant—now secretary replacement—and maybe he’d offer me more money, which…I would accept, obviously, but not without making a few demands like, he’d have to behave if he wanted to talk to me and respect me like any other male employee he had. Surely, I wasn’t asking for much, but with my boss, you never knew what was too much.

So, when it was well after working hours and my legs and back ached from sitting all day long, I decided to brew myself some tea and wait for another hour before I’d finally go home. Mr. Song had been cooped up in his office for hours now, the door closed and locked, and the windows were blurred so that only the light pouring out from underneath his door was the only visible thing and a tell-tale sign that he was still at the company. I couldn’t lie, I was actually quite curious about what he was doing in there, but my pride wouldn’t allow me to ask him—maybe I could ask Mrs. Bae once she had returned. While the kettle whistled and sizzled as I poured the hot water into my cup, I failed to hear that Mr. Song unlocked his door and opened it with a loud groan, too caught up in not spilling the hot water like I had done so before many times. With two spoonfuls of honey in it and the teabag thrown into the bin, I smiled in content as I made to return to my desk. Since I was still here, I figured I could phone up the accountant and settle the monthly appointment he had with Mr. Song, but I was scared out of my mind once I spotted Mr. Song’s tall frame leaning against the doorframe. His arm was up and pressing into the doorframe. His hair looked dishevelled, his black shirt was untucked from his pants with the top buttons unbuttoned, and his vest forgotten somewhere in his office.

I halted as if I was caught doing something bad and stared back at my boss as he fixed his thick glasses. He pursed his lips and looked rather displeased at seeing me, but his eyes curiously fell onto the cup I was holding, mindful of the hot ceramic, “What are you drinking?”

“Wildberry tea,” I answered and cleared my throat, resuming my walk over to my desk. Mr. Song hummed and licked his lips, eyes stuck to my form as I gave him a questioning look once I sat down in my chair.

“Could you make me some too?” He asked, sounding so unlike himself as his tone was laced with exhaustion, “Is it sweet?”

“Yeah, it’s sweet,” I said as he tapped the doorframe before he turned to head back inside his office.

“Make me some!” He called over his shoulder and I rolled my eyes, slouching in my chair. I didn’t want to get up again and fetch him some tea when my feet were killing me, he could get it himself, but he was too lazy and I knew he had fun walking me around all day as if I were his pet, it was infuriating. But perhaps this was my chance to finally do what I was here for, blackmail him. I grinned as I got up from my chair with a newfound passion, hurrying towards the kitchen to pour my boss tea and add two spoonfuls of honey. I placed the cup on a tray as well as three chocolate chip cookies, a napkin, and then I headed for Mr. Song’s office after I fetched my phone. It sat heavy in my dress pants’ pocket as I knocked on the open door as a heads up that I was heading in, and then I walked inside, my red high heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as it was dead silent in Mr. Song’s office.

It was dimly lit now, unlike when the door was closed and locked, and I let my eyes quickly run over the place as they lingered on the hidden door, it was closed, of course. I averted my eyes and looked back at my boss, whose eyebrows were furrowed and glasses discarded in front of him as he stared at his computer’s screen with mild annoyance on his face. Some strands of his black hair stuck up in places in a funny way, and I gulped down the chuckle that threatened to escape my lips, It was rather unusual seeing Mr. Song so stressed and pressed by whatever had him annoyed.

“Here’s your tea,” I announced as I came to a stop next to him, not too close though, and placed the tray carefully on the desk, in its usual spot. Mr. Song hummed, his eyes still glued to the screen, and too curious for my own good, I took a peek at it, surprised to find him reading the news about a war that’s been ongoing for way too long now. I never took Mr. Song as a person who would worry about others or would feel pressured to do something, but the creases on his forehead and the slight sneer on his lips were rather obvious factors that he wasn’t pleased with the development of the war. And then, looking at the article for a little longer, I realized they were bashing his weapons and his company. Now it made sense that he looked annoyed, suddenly I didn’t feel as brave as before to tell him that I knew he was Iron Man.

“Did you put sugar in it?” He suddenly asked and glanced at me, making me stand up straight and quickly avert my eyes from his computer’s screen.

“No, it’s better with honey,” I answered and his eyebrows only furrowed further as he glanced at the tray then back at me. He fell back in his chair and heaved a long sigh, chewing on his bottom lip. The longer I looked at him, the more I realized something was bothering him. I didn’t dare ask whether anything was wrong, and he said nothing as he continued looking at me. My heart had started beating faster and I gulped as my phone seemed to weigh bricks in my pocket, a reminder of why I was still at the company and not at home, in my bathtub soaking up my flowery scented bath bombs.

“I don’t like honey.” Mr. Song muttered at last and I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying something I might regret later. I sighed and reached for the teacup with a displeased expression on my face.

“Fine, I’ll bring you another one with sugar—”

“I’ll drink it.” I froze as he grabbed my hand, looking up at me with glimmering eyes, and suddenly I couldn’t think straight. He looked very much nothing like the man I had known for years, and it almost made me question myself. Could Mr. Song have an actual soft and caring side? Was he not always an arrogant prick who hit on women and only used them for his sexual needs? I gulped and looked down at our hands, his big palm was calloused and it almost completely engulfed my hand. It made my cheeks flush and I found myself speechless for a second.

“Oh, okay,” I said quietly and went to pull back, but Mr. Song didn’t release my hand just yet. His eyebrows were furrowed and he seemed to be in deep thought as he looked up at me again with defeat in his eyes.

“Do you ever feel alone, Miss Jang?” My eyes widened at the sincerity in his voice and more so because of the question he asked. I had never thought a man like Song Mingi would be asking me such a thing, certainly, he cannot be lonely, he’s got everyone and everything he could ever want. Perhaps it’s a trick question he can fire me over.

“I think everyone feels alone at times, Mr. Song.” I answered truthfully, not expecting him to nod along and hum in agreement. I almost jumped when his thumb started caressing my skin, covering my arms in goosebumps as I once again looked down at our hands. His touch was warm and gentle, inoffensive and almost as if he wasn’t doing it consciously as it was slow and inconsistent.

“Even if they are constantly surrounded by people?” I nodded as I continued looking down, shifting my weight from one leg to another.

“Of course, it doesn’t matter how many people are around us and, on our side, if they only want something from us.” I shrugged and looked up, finding Mr. Song already looking at me intensely. I gulped and continued unsurely, “I mean, many people only create connections to exploit them later on, so I think it’s important to surround ourselves with genuine people who want what’s best for us, like our friends.”

“And if the individual doesn’t have genuine friends?” Mr. Song suddenly stood and I felt a little intimidated as he placed my hand on his desk and pressed his over mine, pretty much trapping me in one place, unless I wanted to rip it out from underneath his touch.

“Then it must be a truly lonely life, Mr. Song, they should look for quality and not quantity.” My eyebrows furrowed as Mr. Song’s strong cologne reached my nose, and it was a sore reminder that I had a plan that I still hadn’t gone through with yet.

“There are few chances to meet genuine people in my line of work,” He chuckled bitterly and stepped closer, making me look up at him as my heart started racing uncomfortably once again. His proximity felt a little uncomfortable but not as bothersome as on my first day—perhaps because he had no regard for personal space and always managed to invade it somehow, even if he was just talking to you, “There are few people who see me for who I am.”

I hummed and bit my bottom lip to stop myself from slipping up and telling him that there was a reason for that and that it was because he was a complete asshole to almost absolutely everyone. But my silence seemed to only spur him on and I was rather surprised that my boss was pouring his heart out to me in his office, after working hours, “There’s few people who don’t want what I own and even fewer people who aren’t eager to get in my good graces just because I’m powerful and able to change their lives for the better or worse. And even fewer women who wouldn’t bed me just because I’m rich and own a mansion and luxurious cars.”

Ah, so Mr. Song was only trying to get in my pants. I was surprised to find myself disappointed and bitter as the thought settled deep in my mind while Mr. Song’s hand slowly gripped my wrist, pulling me gently towards himself as I was unable to react just yet. I thought we were having a genuine conversation about a rather trivial issue that everyone faced daily, but no, he just wanted to fuck me. I should’ve expected it, of course, he wasn’t trying to pour his soul out to someone willing to listen, even if that someone was his secretary’s assistant. Of course, he wasn’t a good human being who tried to find solace in another one, to make a genuine connection and speak honestly. Instead of being disappointed by Mr. Song’s actions, I should’ve been more disappointed in myself and the fact that I believed he could be good even if for a few minutes. It made me want to cry, but instead, I felt rage simmer under my skin and my expression became schooled as Mr. Song continued staring into my eyes deeply, his face coming closer and closer. I didn’t move, I let him grip my waist and angle his head so that his lips would brush against mine, and then I spoke.

“I know you’re Iron Man.”

Song Mingi froze, face giving nothing away but his body went rigid and his grip on my waist and wrist tightened. He didn’t have to say anything for me to know that he felt caged, that his mind was twisting and turning to find a reasonable answer that could deny my claim. But I wouldn’t stop now because he didn’t deserve it. He was a piece of shit and I have had enough of him.

“Don’t try to deny it.” My voice was bitter and tone snappy as I glared into his eyes, gripping his arm to push it off my wrist, “I have proof, Mr. Song, and I will take it to newspapers if you try to sweet talk your way out of this.”

“What do you want?” Mr. Song’s was eerily cold, eyes that had been previously soft now all sharp and glaring as he leaned down so that we’d be eye to eye, our jaws clenched as I hoped my expression conveyed the spite I felt towards him.

“Nothing,” I shrugged and watched as his eyebrows formed a small frown, “Nothing material that is, but you should start fixing your attitude towards your employees and women especially. It’s sickening that you think you can toy around with us and then fire us because you got bored of fucking the same person, Mr. Song. It’s disgusting—you are disgusting by doing this.”

He released me at once and took a step back, furious very obviously as he scoffed, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes, “And this concerns you how? I thought you were a mere employee and not my mother, Miss Jang, but by all means, please tell me what else I need to fix to fall into your good graces.”

I smiled at him, all sarcastic and ready to tell him to fuck himself, “The last thing I wish for is to spend more time with you, sir, so don’t worry, you won’t have to fall into my good graces, I don’t think that’s even possible at this point. I was merely making a suggestion, perhaps you’d feel less alone if you tried to maintain a pure and genuine connection with someone for once.”

“If that is all, you can go home, Miss Jang.” Mr. Song crossed his arms in front of his chest, lips forming a sneer, “Maybe I shouldn’t have saved you if you’re so ungrateful.”

“Spiderman saved me, not you.” I snapped with fire in my voice, annoyed and irritated, “Even when you’re supposed to save someone all you can do is be arrogant and satisfy your need to show you’re superior to others, it’s pitiful—”

“Out, now.”

With one last shared glare full of spite, I stormed out of his office and Mr. Song walked after me to slam his door closed shatteringly strong.

I should have been fired. I know I should have been because I was disrespectful to my boss, and perhaps if I had been in his place, I would’ve fired myself for sure. But I knew his secret and maybe that played a part in me keeping this job for who knows how long. But still, I should have been fired, or at least never spoken to again by Mr. Song, so explain why I found a fancy black box in front of my front door this morning after I returned from grocery shopping. Yes, it was Saturday and I was expected to show up at this fancy get-together to celebrate the collaboration of the two companies, and yes, I did consider emailing Mr. Song that I had fallen ill and wouldn’t make it. So, imagine my complete shock when I unboxed my anonymous package and found a gorgeous black dress with the price still on, making my jaw drop not once but twice. It cost a fortune and I might as well have lost my mind when I found the small note tucked underneath the satin fabric.

There’s a dress code for the party, wear this. ~ S.M.

Perhaps getting an existential crisis would’ve sounded much better than getting an insanely expensive cocktail dress gifted by your boss to an event you had no business attending, but because his secretary couldn’t go you had to fill in for her. I love Mrs. Bae dearly, but this was not in the job description when I sent my resume in. I knew people of all sorts would be there, all important and owners of multifaceted businesses and companies that were just as rich as Mr. Song’s, and I was understandably nervous. I knew I wasn’t supposed to speak to anyone, which I was more than glad to do, but what if anyone spoke to me? What was I supposed to do then? Mind racing with all different sorts of scenarios, I decided to ask Sooyoung to come over and help me get ready—which was actually just a distraction from the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about that damned Song Mingi.

Sooyoung, as always, was a sweetheart and made me laugh while we had lunch, while Wooyoung harassed us with phone calls, saying that he also wanted to come over and participate in all the gossiping he knew we’d be doing. San wasn’t available tonight, which meant that Wooyoung would be bored, but in the end, threatening to block his number on both phones managed to calm him down, so he finally left us alone. Sooyoung just sighed and apologized because Wooyoung was still clingy after three years of dating, and Sooyoung knew I could get easily annoyed and overwhelmed by her overbearing boyfriend. But I knew he meant well, and I never guilt-tripped Sooyoung too much for her boyfriend’s obnoxious personality.

But the moment to get ready came and I was more than mortified when Sooyoung emptied her tote bag on my bed and started listing off all the lotions and serums and perfumes and bath bombs she brought over for me to use, “You never know where you’ll meet your man, Y/N, you must be ready at all times!”

“Does that mean I must exfoliate my body with three different body soaps?!”

“Well, obviously yes! Your skin needs to be soft!”

“My skin is already soft, you know that. I’m not using all of that Sooyoung, please.”

“Fine, but shave at least, okay? For me?”

“I don’t shave, I only wax.”

“But tonight—”

“I’m not going there because I’m trying to bag a billionaire, Sooyoung, I’m going because my boss told me to go.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“And risk getting fired?”

“Fair enough, go on then, time is ticking, bestie.”

And that is how I found myself two hours into getting ready, only a few more minutes until Jongho buzzed me to go down so that he could drive us to the company. Sooyoung helped me do a low bun that sat securely at my nape, front strands curled and framing my face prettily. My makeup was simple because I refused to let her help me with a smokey eye, I opted to wear a softer eye look so that I could wear my red lipstick. Sooyoung had a similar reaction to me when she saw my dress, and her jaw was on the floor as she reluctantly touched the glittery tulle dress, eyes switching between me and the dress.

“So, he bought this for you?” She asked with her mouth still hanging open as I changed into clean underwear in my bathroom.

“I’m sure he had it lying around somewhere in that big mansion of his,” I muttered with a scoff and Sooyoung tsked.

“No, I’m sure he bought it specifically for you, Y/N.” I rolled my eyes and prayed the stockings wouldn’t rip as I pulled them over my knees.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not some peasant turned princess overnight, okay?” I muttered with a huff as I started sweating, this stocking was kicking me in the butt, had I gotten a size smaller?

“Y/N,” Sooyoung’s serious voice made me yelp as she appeared in the doorway, pushing the door open. She had an incredulous look on her face like she had seen a ghost or had been just proposed to, I couldn’t decide, “Your name is on the tag, sewn into it, more specifically—”

“What?” I asked alarmed as I pushed past her and went to my bed to see for myself. I managed to adjust my stockings and gave a last prayer that they wouldn’t rip until I made it back home, then I wouldn’t care about it anymore. I held the dress carefully and touched the tag, leaning down to see it better. My eyes widened when I realized Sooyoung wasn’t joking, and I looked at her with round eyes, “What?!”

“Exactly!” Sooyoung shrieked and I gulped, jerking my head away when she came and hugged my side, “Are you sure you’re not into your boss?”

“Yes, very sure.” I huffed and made sure Sooyoung wouldn’t ruin my hair or makeup as I let her continue embracing me.

“Not even a little bit?” She grinned and batted her eyelashes at me, “Because I’m sure he is into you—”

“Alright, stop right there.” I groaned and pulled myself out of her embrace, “My boss is a womanizer and two days ago he tried to tell me a sob story to try and get into my pants, so no, Song Mingi isn’t into me and I’m not into him. Case closed, Sooyoung, I hate him and I hope he hates me too. I cannot wait for Mrs. Bae to return so that I don’t have to face him ever again.”

Sooyoung pursed her lips and gave me a look as she raised the dress for me, “Fine, but nobody gifts a dress like this—”

“He’s a millionaire—if not billionaire at this point—so no, Sooyoung, he can gift me a dress like that because it’s nothing compared to how much he spends monthly.” Before Sooyoung could oppose, I raised my hand, “I know because I’m the one who puts together his monthly expenses.”

“Okay, whatever.” Sooyoung huffed in defeat and walked closer, “Jongho is supposed to arrive any minute now, let’s get you into the dress.”

And I let my best friend help me wear the expensive and gorgeous dress, soft against my skin and exactly my size. I didn’t want to think too hard about how Mr. Song knew my exact size, but I suppose when you sleep with so many women, one glance at their bodies and you just know. A rather disturbing and disgusting thought that I didn’t care to dwell on too much right now.

The dress reached past my knees and the sparkly fabric that came over the satin didn’t bother my skin at all. The corset bustier was semi-transparent and had a heart-shaped neckline in the front and lacing back, complemented with a sparkly black cape, which came with voluminous sheer puffy long sleeves. The gown was made of sparkly tulle and satin, its skirt puffy and creating the impression that I was wearing a puffed-up princess gown. Both Sooyoung and I stayed silent as we stared at me through the mirror and I gulped, twisting and turning to check myself out from all angles. I hated to admit it, but Mr. Song’s taste was spectacular. The dress looked rather pretty on me and delicately suited my shape and form. Each time I attempted to finally step away from the mirror and stop admiring myself, I found something new to marvel at, and, thus ended up grinning from ear to ear when Sooyoung started snapping chaotic pictures of me, the both of us a giggling mess when there was a buzz at the intercom. We froze and looked at each other and then I was racing towards it. I knew it was Jongho, but it could’ve been anyone else too.

“This is Jongho, I’ll be waiting by the car.” The man’s gruff voice said through the intercom and I felt jittery and nervous all over again.

“I’ll be down in a second!”

Sooyoung already had my coat and purse in her hands, and I gave her a grateful smile as I quickly wore my high heels, not keen on making Jongho wait too long for me. Sooyoung grabbed her stuff quickly too and then we were out the door, the front door locked, and headed for the elevator in a hurry. The ride down was filled with more laughter as Sooyoung tried to distract me since I was feeling nervous, but it didn’t help much when I spotted Jongho leaning against Mr. Song’s sleek Mercedes-Benz, a sophisticated beige colour. Despite not having vast knowledge about cars, I knew that this one was a classic as I have heard my boss gloat about it to others not once or twice, but many times. The car was from around the seventies and the model’s name seemed to stick with me, it was a Pagoda. It felt illegal to touch it, let alone lean against it as casually as Jongho was doing.

“Good evening, ladies.” There was a playful glint in his eyes as he bowed almost mockingly, and I huffed as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“Hi, Jongho.” I greeted as Sooyoung waved at him, the two knew each other because Wooyoung liked getting drunk at team dinners and it was usually Jongho who drove him home as he rarely drank, busy running after Mr. Song’s ass.

“Well, if we don’t leave in two minutes our lovely Mingi will have us both fired, so…” He trailed off as he pushed off the car and opened the door for me with that playful glint still present in his eyes. Jongho was a well-built man, strong no doubt, but with a soft and cute face and a smile that could charm many—I had been charmed too, unfortunately, since he knew how to use it to his advantage and made me lose a significant amount of money one time when he decided he wanted to play the claw machine. He was tenacious and smart, a deadly combination for a weak-hearted person.

“Don’t worry, Jongho,” I gave him a huge grin as I walked closer, “we’re too precious to be fired, after all, who would clean up Mr. Song’s mess if we weren’t there for him?”

“That’s right,” Jongho muttered and I pressed a quick kiss to Sooyoung’s cheek before I hurriedly sat inside the fancy car, mindful not to scratch the red leather and interior of the car. It was beautiful and expensive, I didn’t understand how Mr. Song allowed anyone else to drive the car, but after all, Jongho was a trustworthy person and a good driver. Besides, I am pretty sure Jongho is the only person who Mr. Song considers to be his friend despite him being his employee, and I’m also pretty sure Mr. Song is a little bit afraid of Jongho because he never misbehaves when the other is around.

“Are you joining us at the party?” I asked curiously as Jongho sat inside too and ignited the engine to life, the rumble a low purr, a rather satisfying sound. Sooyoung grinned at us and waved as Jongho carefully pulled out of the parking lot, and we were off to S. Industries, my heart in my throat. I could only hope at least one familiar face would be at the party, someone I could talk to and hide behind if necessary.

“I’m not in the mood, to be honest,” Jongho said with his lips pursed, turning onto the main street with ease. The hardtop of the car was on as the weather didn’t allow us to ride without it, something I would’ve actually really enjoyed doing now, “But Mingi did say he wanted me there so I’ll just stick close to the exit. You know, doing bodyguard stuff.”

I chuckled and adjusted myself in the seat, admiring the interior as I carefully reached forward to touch the dashboard. I’ve seen the car numerous times but I have never come as close to it as I was right now, “Are you nervous?”

I gulped and looked at Jongho as he sped through the yellow light, “Is it that obvious? I’m shitting my pants, I’m not going to lie.”

Jongho laughed, sounding cute and warm, and his lips stayed in their usual gummy smile, “You should relax, you’re not supposed to do anything, so really, it’s just a good opportunity to get to know more people. Maybe someone steals you from Mr. Song and then there’ll be a big scandal that I’ll happily enjoy from the sidelines.”

“I know I have no actual reason to be nervous, but I’ve never been to an event like this one before and I just…I don’t know, actually.” I sighed and looked out the window as Jongho turned onto the street where the company was situated at, traffic was scarce tonight, “I’m not particularly fond of people like Mr. Song.”

“Mingi especially.” Jongho muttered with a cackle and gave me an encouraging smile as we stopped at the gates of the underground parking lot of the company, “You’ll see you’ll find likeable people tonight, maybe some new friends even. At least I know Mr. Park is a very humble and generous man, if you stir up a conversation with him, he’ll be more than happy to indulge.”

“Wait,” Suddenly I realized something I hadn’t thought about before, “Wooyoung will be here too, right?”

We were let in as the gate opened and Jongho waved at the guard as we drove inside the parking lot, “Yeah, unfortunately. Who do you think will drive his drunk ass home tonight? Me, and I don’t want to, but I’m a good friend.”

“I thought you weren’t friends.” They were, but Jongho denied it every chance it was brought up since he was embarrassed by Wooyoung’s personality. Jongho grumbled something and I chuckled as he parked the car rather skilfully.

“He said he won’t take me to the Bahamas if I keep denying that we’re friends, so…” He gave me a look which made me laugh, and we both got out of the car once it was parked with the engine killed. But for the rest of the way, we remained silent, especially since the elevator was filled with people dressed in fancy outfits as they were headed up to the fifteenth floor, which totally had a ballroom sort of thing going on. I didn’t want to wonder much about why such a room existed in a company like Song Mingi’s, but I supposed he’d flaunt his wealth any time he could.

The hallway was decorated with golden accents and dimly lit, a red carpet laid out, guiding you towards the entrance of the ballroom. I followed the others as I stuck to Jongho’s side, and he gave me a grin as we reached the entrance, bodyguards stopping everyone to check their invites and if their names were on the list. It was a pretty exclusive party, people couldn’t just sneak in if they wanted to. It was mainly to avoid a bunch of press people and journalists who liked to stick their noses where they didn’t belong to. I froze for a second when I noticed the security guard who helped me, sort of, by the door as recognition passed his face when he spotted me. I tried to look normal as I nodded towards him and thankfully, he was distracted by Jongho when he went over to greet his colleagues. He wished me luck and then I was off, greeted by Chanyeol when he told the bodyguard to let me through since I was Mr. Song’s secretary (assistant).

The inside of the ballroom was better lit than the hallway, it was decorated with anything golden, and there was a bar filled with people ordering drinks. Orchestra music was playing at a pleasant volume so that people could converse but also dance if they so wished to do, and I found myself not knowing what to do now. I stood awkwardly in the doorway and then decided to move towards my left, keeping close to the wall as waiters walked around with trays, carrying champagne and even some snacks and fruits. Everyone was dressed to the nines and most women wore festive gowns or cocktail dresses and jewellery that glimmered in the lightning subtly, surely worth more than everything I owned as they were mostly diamonds, no doubt. I felt out of place as I slipped out of my coat and looked around, trying to find a hanger or anything. There was none and I jumped when a waiter suddenly stood in front of me with a bored look on his face.

“Champagne?” I wanted to refuse but one quick glance around me told me that everyone had a glass in their hands, so I accepted it, fumbling with my coat and purse.

“Do you know where I can put these down?” I motioned towards my belongings and the waiter sighed before he extended his arm.

“There’s a wardrobe, I’ll take it there.” And then he went to walk off, but paused, “Do you perhaps work for Mr. Song?”

“I do.” Suddenly I felt extra self-conscious, was it that obvious that I didn’t belong here?

“Oh, good.” The waiter seemed to perk up a bit, even smiling a little, “You’re Miss Jang, his secretary?”

“Uh, secretary assistant.” I corrected him, and he just waved it off.

“Yeah, good, I’ll put your stuff with Mr. Song—”

“Don’t do that!” I almost but exclaimed, and quickly blushed when a woman who walked by us gave me a look, “I mean, please, I can hold onto it or something—”

“These are Mr. Song’s orders, so I can’t really go against it.” Then he bowed his head a bit and walked off before I could object some more, leaving me with wide eyes. Why would Song Mingi bother with telling the waiters to take my belongings to where his were? It made no sense, but perhaps that’s the treatment I got for being here in Mrs. Bae’s place. I cradled the champagne glass in my hands and looked around, looking for Wooyoung even if he was annoying and embarrassing. Although I doubted Mr. Song would’ve let him come if he didn’t know how to behave in a place like this. But as my eyes surveyed the crowd, instead of finding my best friend’s boyfriend, I found my boss. Unsurprisingly, he was at the bar, leaning against it as he was chatting to some pretty woman who was all smiles and laughed at almost everything Mr. Song said. I couldn’t imagine anything my boss ever said would be funny, but he most definitely acted differently towards people who weren’t his employees. I mean, he was well-known for sleeping with women left and right, so it wouldn’t surprise me if he was on the hunt tonight despite the gravity of this event.

He held a glass in his hands, and I wasn’t surprised to see a ring on almost every finger of his, the one with a big ruby in it rather eye-catching. Being himself, Mr. Song certainly dressed to impress, and as I took in his attire, I realized with alarm that indeed there was a dress code to this event and it wasn’t black. Every woman in the room wore different shades of golden or beige, all light and sparkly at times, meanwhile the men wore mostly beige or a darker shade of cream. Eyes snapping back to Mr. Song, I realized it was quite literally just the two of us wearing black outfits, and suddenly I felt really stupid and embarrassed as I stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. I now understood why everyone was giving me looks once they passed by me, and I had to take several deep breaths to stop myself from blowing up or crying, I couldn’t decide which one just yet.

Mr. Song’s blazer was cropped and put accent onto his shoulders, and perhaps it was glitterier than my dress and all the other ones combined. His pants seemed to be high-waisted and loose as they came down past his ankles, and as he angled his body to face the front of the room, my eyes widened when I spotted him wearing nothing but a simple vest underneath his blaze. It came up to his pecks and it was buttoned up all the way, stopping just above the hem of his dress pants. Heavy silver chains hung around his neck, complementing the jewellery on his fingers and bringing out his tan complex more. I didn’t understand why I had to be wearing black as well, surely, he didn’t want anyone else stealing the spotlight from him, yet here I was, merely a secretary assistant with our outfits assorted even down to their sparklines. I hated it, I concluded that it made me want to cry and I swiftly downed my champagne in one go, jaw clenching and eyes glaring as I turned my head away, unable to look at my asshole of a boss anymore.

I tried to hunt down another waiter with a tray to place my empty glass onto, but they were nowhere to be seen, so I just stormed towards the exit with the glass still in my hands. People were still coming in and it proved to be a bit hard to leave the room as I had to wait until everyone came inside, and unfortunately, Chanyeol had spotted me.

“Y/N,” He said with a small smile as he checked a man’s invitation, “You look gorgeous, that dress looks amazing on you. It’s almost as if it was tailored for you.”

I gulped to force down the lump in my throat and tried to smile as the man he allowed inside gave me a long look, a smirk appearing on his lips, “Thank you, do you think I could slip out for a second?”

“Bathroom break?” Chanyeol chuckled, and meanwhile I usually appreciated how carefree he was, I wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat around with him. I nodded wordlessly and he asked a lady to step aside for a second so that I could leave. I was glad that Jongho was nowhere to be seen as I stormed down the hallway, aimlessly as I had never been on this floor before and had no idea where the bathroom even was. The music grew to just a mere hum as I rounded a corner and found myself standing in a lobby, huge doors to my left and right. It was the restrooms and I headed for the emerald-coloured couch in the middle of the room. It was a semi-circle and had its back to the other couch and I plopped down on it, not minding my dress as I slouched, placing the glass on the floor next to my leg. I sighed loudly and closed my eyes, trying to calm my nerves since all I wanted to do was walk up to my boss and demand an explanation as to why he bought me a black dress. Was he mocking me? Was he making fun of me? Did he enjoy berating his hard-working employees? Was this some sort of stupid powerplay? I was furious and I was ready to go on a full whispered rant when the doors to the men’s restroom slammed shut loudly. I had missed the footsteps, but it seemed like whoever entered hadn’t noticed me either.

I knew hiding out here wasn’t smart on my part as Mr. Song would certainly want to see me, so I took a deep breath and told myself that I could call him out later or at the office on Monday, if not tonight. I couldn’t let him get under my skin again, I had to be better than that. Perhaps I should find Wooyoung and grab a drink with him, let him introduce me to some smart people and watch where the night takes us. Grabbing the glass, I rose and fixed my dress, checking myself out in the big mirror to make sure I looked fine. My cheeks were a bit rosy from my sudden anger, but if I plastered on my fake smile, nobody could tell I wasn’t feeling so fine. I took off and rounded the corner just as the men’s restroom door opened again, slamming shut irritatingly. Already annoyed, I stopped and intended to call out whoever was keen on slamming doors, but the hushed voices made me halt.

“She’s gone, bring out the weapons.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait for longer?”

“All the important ones are already here, I don’t want more collateral victims than necessary.”

“Fine, boss.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I remained rooted to my spot, not having a good feeling at all about this. Who were these people and why were they talking about weapons and victims? I thought this was a highly secured event, so these two must’ve been on the list or something. Otherwise, it made no sense to how they got in.

“That Song prick will pay tonight for fucking us over, Sehun, mark my words.”

“When do you want to attack?”

“When he gets up on the podium for his fucking speech.”

“And his secretary?”

My heart stilled as my eyebrows furrowed, and I made sure to stay out of view as I listened attentively, disregarding my red lipstick as I had started chewing on my bottom lip.

“It’s not that old hag anymore, pity, the new one is rather gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Do you want me to take her hostage, sir?”

“Yeah, kill her if Song isn’t cooperating.”

I gasped and pressed my hands against my mouth, hoping I wasn’t loud, my heart beating fast as my hands started shaking. My ears rang for a second and I swore my head became hazy, but I had to focus. I had to stop this before anything would happen. I wasn’t dying, and nobody was getting hurt tonight.

I knew exactly who to tell.

With a racing heart and unstable legs, I hurried down the hallway, grateful for the red carpet as my heels made no sound. I ignored everyone as I very rudely pushed people out of my way, ignoring Chanyeol’s smile and questions as I snapped at him to get out of my way. Jongho was back and his eyebrows furrowed when he saw my disposition, but I had no time to speak to anyone but Song Mingi—Iron Man. I felt judging eyes on me as I tried to keep my breaths laboured, eyes frantically searching the crowd for my boss, my heart beating even faster. As his secretary, I have read through the schedule and I knew Mr. Song’s speech was soon, I really couldn’t waste even one more second. Taking a breath to calm my nerves and think clearly, my eyes fell towards the bar and that’s where I spotted my boss. Without thinking, I marched over to him—and the woman he was with—pushing people out of my way without apologizing, but I’m sure they’d understand if they knew what was soon to occur.

“Mr. Song!” I called out with an edge before even reaching my boss, but he didn’t react as he probably didn’t even hear me, too busy leaning towards the woman he was talking with as he touched her bare shoulder, trailing his fingers down her skin. My eyebrows furrowed as I came to a stop rather close to them, but neither seemed to notice me just yet, “Mr. Song.”

At the insistency in my tone, my boss cast a glance my way and I watched as his grin turned forced, “I’m busy Miss Jang, find me after the speech—”

“I cannot do that, sir, I need to speak to you in private.” When the woman gave me a dirty look, I felt my jaw clenching, “Right now.”

Mr. Song seemed just as displeased by my rude interruption as the lady—but she seemed to be more pressed about my presence as she leaned back against the bar and took me in from head to toe—but when I pushed my trembling hands behind my back and looked at my boss with pleading eyes, he seemed to realize something was wrong, so very wrong, “Please, Mr. Song, we need to talk.”

He cleared his throat and adjusted his sparkly blazer as he gave the woman a dashing smile, grabbing her hand to press a faint kiss against her knuckles, “Don’t get too bored in my absence, Miss Han, I’ll be right back.”

She chuckled and nodded her head, then threw me another dirty glare, and then Mr. Song was finally looking at me with questioning eyes and without thinking, I grabbed his wrist and took off, pulling him after myself urgently. I apologized to people this time as we walked through the crowd, headed for the exit, and Jongho tried to stop us when he noticed us, but Mr. Song raised his hand to stop him. I was too scared to walk towards the restrooms as I didn’t know whether the men were still there, so instead, I guided us towards the elevator.

“What is your problem?” Mr. Song’s tone was sharp as he snapped once I stopped walking and I whirled around, his eyes were narrowed as they sharply looked down at me.

“Someone wants to hurt you.” I rushed out and before Mr. Song could interrupt me, I continued, “I needed a moment so I went to the restroom and after leaving, I heard two men talking and they were saying they will make you pay and—they have weapons, Mr. Song, they—they said they’ll kill me if you don’t cooperate with them—”

“This isn’t a prank or a joke, right?” Mr. Song asked as he stepped closer, and I quickly shook my head, grip around his wrist tightening.

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this!” I hissed as Mr. Song’s eyebrows furrowed and worry coated his expression, “They’ll attack before your speech.”

Mr. Song averted his eyes as they seemed to cloud over with even more worry and stress and then suddenly, he stepped closer, eyes boring into mine, fierce and burning with determination, “Do you know their names?”

“One is called Sehun.” I barely finished my sentence when Mr. Song tsked and looked at the ceiling, looking irked as I finally released his wrist, a little embarrassed for having held onto it for so long. Mr. Song licked his lips and then glanced down at me, opening his mouth to speak when there was laughter behind us and chatter. I barely blinked when I felt myself shoved backwards as my back collided with the wall, Mr. Song’s tall form looming over me as he caged me in between himself and the wall. My eyes widened in surprise and out of reflex, I tried to push him away. I grabbed his waist and attempted to wrestle myself out of the hold, but Mr. Song only pushed his body against mine as the laughter and chatter came closer.

“What are you doing?!” I whisper-shouted as I looked up at him with a glare, blood boiling that he wasn’t taking the situation seriously again and was trying to do—whatever with me.

“I’m sorry, Miss Jang, but everyone saw us walk outside together and, well, I have a reputation to uphold, you know?” He smirked and lowered his head as I sputtered, trying to push him away once again, “I will let you go when they have walked past us, stop being so fussy.”

“I wouldn’t be so fussy if you weren’t pinning me against a wall against my own will, sir, kindly fuck off.” I snapped and Mr. Song dared to chuckle, “There’s lives on your hands and you’re here with me instead, play-pretending that something that isn’t happening is happening, putting everyone’s life at risk—”

“Relax a little, will you?” Mr. Song groaned and poked my forehead with a finger, making me flinch away, “They won’t attack until I give my speech, so, we’re good. I could just not say that speech the whole night and everyone would be okay—”

“No, because they want revenge and they will get it, no matter what.” The people enjoying themselves had almost reached us now, Mr. Song cradled my jaw with one hand and tilted my head up, making my heart race as I gulped, “What we all need right now is a superhero to save the day, sir, we need Iron Man.”

“I thought Spiderman was the one who saved you.” Mr. Song’s voice dropped low as his eyes searched my face and I felt breathless for a second, his cologne strong and wrapping around us, “But you’re asking for Iron Man now? Don’t you hate me? Wouldn’t you rather have someone else save the day—”

“I don’t give a fuck who saves the day, Mr. Song, as long as they stop those two men, alright?” My jaw clenched and my eyes threatened to flutter closed as Mr. Song’s head lowered and his lips came close to mine, “I know you’ve done good things before, just—I don’t want to die.”

“I know.” Mr. Song whispered and suddenly the people went quiet as they had spotted us, “I don’t want you to die either.”

Mr. Song and I stared into each other’s eyes as I let his words sink in, trying to desperately ignore my quickening heartbeat and the way my muscles seemed to tense when he smiled softly, the hand holding my jaw coming to play with the front strands of my hair before he pushed them behind my ear. The people in the hallway suddenly giggled and muttered something about Mr. Song clearly enjoying himself, and then they rushed off while looking at us curiously. I exhaled once they were gone from sight and thought Mr. Song would release me, but his eyebrows were furrowed and he looked conflicted. I raised my eyebrows at him and slightly tried to push him away again, but he barely took a step back.

“I need you to go back to the ballroom and tell Jongho that there’s been a change to our plans, then tell Chanyeol to announce that my speech will be soon starting, alright?” His tone was soft and almost worried as I nodded, finally able to relax as Mr. Song completely released me and stepped away, his warmth disappearing with him. I gulped and fixed my hair, pulling the strands back to frame my face once again, failing to notice that Mr. Song watched me closely with a small gulp, “You’re gorgeous tonight, Miss Jang.”

My head snapped up and I looked at Mr. Song with an alarmed expression, but with a nod of his head he was gone and I knew what I had to do next. So, heeding his words, I ran back to the ballroom and called Jongho aside to tell him there’s been a change to their plans, watching as realization crossed his features. He squared his shoulders as his expression became schooled and cold, different from the man I knew. He thanked me and told me to stay safe before he was gone too, and then I knew that Jongho also knew who Song Mingi was. Next, I told Chanyeol to gather everyone and announce that Mr. Song would be giving his speech soon, and then I walked closer to the exit, eyes surveying the crowd and trying to figure out who the two men were. Nobody looked suspicious, and I felt more and more nervous as time went by and the room filled up with even more people. Everyone was eager to see and hear my boss, and the room was filled with loud chatter as the music had stopped playing. I jumped when the doors were closed and Jongho stood in front of them, hands intertwined in front of him and eyes steely as he looked around, searching.

The lights flickered and everyone looked at each other, surprised and a little confused, and then the lights went out completely. I gasped as the chatter died down at once, my breaths quick as my muscles tensed, waiting for the worst. I could tell everyone thought this was a trick Mr. Song came up with, but I knew just in how great danger we were. But then, before I could panic more and even start crying, the lights were back on and nothing changed. The stage was still empty and nobody had moved from their spots, I felt confused as Jongho and I shared a glance. Perhaps it was a malfunction or something, but that was unexpected and almost impossible as the building had backup generators that kicked in as soon as the electricity went out. Then, somebody cleared their throat loudly.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” People whirled around as we looked towards where the modified voice came from, a red iron costumed man stood behind the bar, polishing a glass. I could feel everyone’s confusion as they gaped at Iron Man, some even looked excited, and I caught Jongho’s amused smile before I looked back at Mr. Song, “I heard you’re waiting for Song Mingi’s speech, he’s a really good friend of mine, did you know that? We’re practically like twins, that’s how close we are.”

People laughed and some even got their phones out to snap pictures as Iron Man placed both the rag and glass onto the bar, resting his elbows on it as he leaned forward, chin in his palms, “Before I let my dear twin proceed with his speech, I heard there are people here who had planned a surprise for all of us. Kim Junmyeon, are you in the room with us?”

The crowd went silent again and looked around, my eyebrows furrowed as I tried to see if anyone reacted weirdly, but I couldn’t tell as there were many people in there. Iron Man chuckled and then stood up straight, trailing an iron finger against the counter, “I heard you brought your little brother too, Oh Sehun, so where are you two hiding?”

The lights went out and I yelped when I felt someone touch my wrist, bony fingers curling around my skin as I started yanking my arm free. Then, two spotlights suddenly snapped on and I whipped my head to my left frantically, ready to punch my captor and free myself and was rather glad to see Wooyoung. His eyes were big and he looked confused and borderline scared too, “I hate the dark, what the fuck is happening?”

“Are you drunk?” I whispered as I looked towards the spotlights, two men were illuminated. One stood in the middle of the crowd, which now had made way and stepped away as if sensing danger, and the other man was rather close to the exit, Jongho’s fierce glare was fixed onto the man.

“No, but I wish I was.” Wooyoung whispered, moving closer until his side was pressing into mine, “Are we going to die?”

“We shouldn’t,” Then I looked towards Iron Man who slowly walked around the bar, somehow managing to look menacing as the two men put on the spot looked towards each other, expressions tense and eyes glaring, “Do you trust Iron Man?”

“Fuck yes,” Wooyoung whispered as his grip tightened around my wrist, “remember that bad accident I was involved in? He’s the guy that saved me before the engine exploded, I owe him my life.”

I looked at Wooyoung with surprise as his eyes remained on Iron Man, slightly shaking but filled with admiration. Wooyoung rarely spoke of his accident, and even when he did, he never mentioned how he got out of the car, saying something about it being too traumatic to be spoken of. I gulped and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, “We’re not dying then.”

“We better not, I wanted to propose to Sooyoung next week.” But before I could react to Wooyoung’s words, everyone gasped as the two men drew guns, and my eyes widened as Wooyoung suddenly stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body. My heart swelled and I gripped the back of his shirt as I looked at Jongho who was moving towards the one that stood close to him.

“Fuck off, you arrogant prick!” The man in the middle of the crowd exclaimed, enraged as he pointed his gun towards my boss, “What’s the meaning of this? Where’s Song Mingi?!”

Iron Man chuckled and as he started walking towards the man, the crowd parted for him as everyone ducked down in fear, “He’s busy fucking his secretary assistant.”

“Fuck off.” I hissed as my glare bore into the side of Iron Man’s iron mask, and as if sensing my rage, the superhero’s head turned just briefly, but I knew Mr. Song was looking at me. Wooyoung cackled in front of me, as if the situation was actually funny, but didn’t question it despite it being about me. Did Wooyoung know too, perhaps, that our boss was the superhero?

“Well, Mr. Kim, now that the man you’re searching for isn’t here, won’t you lower your weapons?” Iron Man turned his head, “You too, Mr. Oh.”

A man yelped as the one closer to the door suddenly sprung forward and grabbed him, holding his gun against the man’s head, a seething expression on his face, “I’ll blow his brains out if you don’t get Song Mingi in here, right now.”

But my boss didn’t react as Jongho slowly crept towards the pair, ready to fight off the man holding the weapon. Everyone screamed as a warning shot went off, the man in the middle had his gun pointed towards the ceiling before he pointed it at Iron Man again. There was a tsk and then Iron Man’s hand was pointed towards the criminal, something opening as blue light simmered in its palm, just like when he was supposed to save me.

“You’re being rude and you’re also destroying the décor.” Iron Man snapped and then walked just a bit closer, “You have five seconds to lower your weapons and it won’t be too painful this way.”

“Fuck you.” The two men spat in unison, and suddenly, the ceiling opened up and large weapons descended, pointed straight at the criminals' heads. They froze as the crowd went dead silent once again, everyone scared to make the wrong move as if they’d detonate the weapons. Two red dots sat on the criminals' foreheads, and I saw the one in the middle of the crowd slightly falter, fire dying out in his eyes.

“Still want to fuck me?” Iron Man chuckled, lowering his arm, “I only have to press one button and then both of you will be dead.”

I gulped and felt thankful for having Wooyoung with me as his presence brought comfort despite his shaking frame and constant silent curses, eyes darting between Iron Man and Jongho as the driver/bodyguard almost reached the criminal. Wooyoung looked like he wanted to help, but I grabbed his arm and halted him into place, knowing that I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.

“Give us Song Mingi.

“No.”

And then the man in the crowd fired shots at Iron Man foolishly, emptying his ammunition as Jongho tackled the other one to the ground, getting on top of him to pin him down as the doors slammed open and police officers filled in to take the two attackers hostage. Iron Man casually grabbed the criminal’s gun and snapped it into two before he headbutted him, the man instantly falling to the ground unconscious. Wooyoung seemed to relax as people tried to flee the place, scared and confused, but the police asked everyone to remain calm as the threat had been neutralized. The Captain greeted Iron Man before they collected the unconscious man off the floor, the other one was trashing around and screaming as they had him handcuffed and held down by five officers and Jongho. Despite it being over, I found it hard to breathe as my body continued to shake, and I had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from crying. The incident at the metro was too fresh in my mind, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t eavesdropped on the two men. Wooyoung, sensing my panic, turned and pulled me into a warm embrace, rubbing my back up and down as he muttered reassuring words, cracking jokes that weren’t helping at the moment. I did appreciate them, though.

Once the police took the two criminals and Iron Man mysteriously disappeared and Song Mingi showed up to do damage control, the crowd seemed to remain tense, and thus the party was postponed. Not everyone left, some decided to stay behind and drink and dance around, but as it neared midnight, few people remained. The event was ruined, but surprisingly, Mr. Song didn’t look too disappointed by it. After talking to the police and calming the crowd down and apologizing profusely, he sauntered over to the bar and downed a shot of tequila before beckoning Jongho over to drink some whiskey. The younger refused his offer but remained by his side, soon joined by a squeamish Wooyoung who was reluctant to leave me on my own. I assured him that I would be fine and needed the breather as I headed towards the huge windows to gaze outside. The city lights were pretty from the fifteenth floor, and I released a long sigh as I felt exhausted and ready to leave. I didn’t want to stay behind, but somehow both Wooyoung and Chanyeol managed to convince me as they offered me another glass of champagne to loosen up. Most of the employees stayed behind, eager to speak to their boss as it was a rare occasion if you didn’t work directly with him.

Distracted by the soft music and my own thoughts as I watched people walk down the street from time to time, I wasn’t aware that Mr. Song had approached me. He stood next to me, looking down at the city too, lips pursed as he spoke up quietly, “You did really well, Miss Jang, thank you.”

My eyes rounded as I turned my head to look at my boss, having never heard him thank anyone before so sincerely. It felt nice, it made my body jittery and my heart race a bit, “Would you like to dance?”

That surprised me as well as I froze, looking at my boss questioningly. Did he really want to share a dance with me? Although there weren’t many people who could see us, rumours spread quickly at our company—especially if they were about Song Mingi and his women.

“Uhm, alright,” I muttered and almost flinched when Mr. Song took my hand to walk us towards the dance floor. I gulped and stepped closer when we faced each other, Mr. Song’s free hand went to my lower back as he pressed our bodies together, and I gripped his shoulder as he, for some weird reason, intertwined our other hands. Our closeness felt a bit too much, too intimate, but I said nothing as it didn’t feel like he meant to do anything inappropriate. During this one week of working with him, I realized he sought out physical contact more often than not and stood rather close whenever he spoke to someone.

“Are you alright?” I chanced a glance at Mr. Song, but he wasn’t looking at me. I licked my lips and tried not to feel awkward as I nodded, suddenly reminded of when he comforted me while I didn’t know Iron Man’s identity.

“Yes, you—you did a good job tonight, sir, thank you.” My voice was small and I took a deep breath, feeling awfully vulnerable all of a sudden, “I wasn’t ready to be taken hostage again, I was scared.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Miss Jang, just don’t leave my sight.” Perhaps Mr. Song didn’t mean to say that as he gasped quietly right after before he cleared his throat and tapped my lower back, “Iron Man saves people too, you know? Not just Spiderman.”

“Are you really jealous over that?” I decided that I didn’t want us to be too vulnerable with each other, I still didn’t like my boss, so I tried to change the tone of the conversation. Mr. Song scoffed and moved us around the few dancing couples, he was rather good at dancing, fluid and gentle.

“I’m not the jealous type, besides, why would I be jealous of somebody like Yun—” The cut-off was way too abrupt and my ears perked up, eyes widening comically as I pulled my head back to look at Mr. Song’s face. He looked flabbergasted by his own words and I broke into giggles, averting my eyes when Mr. Song’s narrowed at me.

“I don’t think I was supposed to know the other superhero’s identity,” I said amused, and Mr. Song groaned as he gripped my hand just a bit tighter, as if warning me to stay silent. Well, at least now it made sense what I saw through the CCTV, that thing Yunho and Mr. Song were fixing had probably something to do with Spiderman’s web. So, it seems Jeong Yunho is Spiderman, what a small world.

“Just don’t tell anyone, specifically him, he’ll get excited and he’ll never shut up about himself—”

“Oh, sounds like he had a good mentor.” I mocked with a raise of my eyebrow and Mr. Song glared at me, “But I won’t tell anyone. Isn’t it even more dangerous for him, he’s still a teenager.”

“Do you worry about me as well, Miss Jang?”

“No.”

“That’s a pity, maybe you should.”

“You’re quite alright inside that iron suit.”

“Nothing is indestructible.”

“Then you’ll have to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to be more careful now.” Our eyes bore into each other’s, and I felt my cheeks warm up as Mr. Song’s warm eyes were intense and curious, glinting with a seriousness that was rare to see on him. But it didn’t last for long as he looked away and twisted me around abruptly, making me gasp as I had to cling onto him before I lost my balance, “Mrs. Bae will be back in a week, think you can handle me for a little while longer?”

“I don’t think I can,” I snorted, realizing that I was almost hugging my boss with the arm that was supposed to only hold onto his shoulder, “But I don’t have a choice.”

“You’re smart,” Mr. Song chuckled and he lowered his head to be able to look me in the eyes directly, “And quite useful. You tried to blackmail me, you move fast, and stick your nose into everything, these aren’t necessarily good attributes, but they could be of use to me.”

My eyebrows furrowed as a wide smirk made its way onto Mr. Song’s lips, eyes twinkling with mischief, “What do you mean?”

“Are you trained in any martial arts?” I shook my head and Mr. Song pursed his lips, seemingly in thought, “Well, that’s easily changeable. Are you good with tech?”

I shook my head again and Mr. Song seemed disappointed, “Well, that’s not an issue, I have Yungi—”

“Who?” I asked confused as Mr. Song grinned.

“The artificial intelligence I designed to help me, he’s rather smart and a good friend when a man’s lonely.” That was perhaps impressive, but I didn’t say that to Mr. Song, he didn’t have to hear it from me too, “Well, anyways, I can find something useful for you to do.”

“Am I not useful already?” I asked confused, just slightly offended, “I help Mrs. Bae a lot, I’m her assistant after all, and by helping her, I help you too, sir.”

“Mingi.”

“What?”

“Stop calling me ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Song’, it’s getting a bit repetitive.” I gave him a funny look as Mr. Song just raised his eyebrows challengingly.

“But you’re my boss, sir.”

“Am I though?” My heart stilled as Mr. Song suddenly dipped me down, our noses touching as he looked dashing under the dim lights, blazer sparkling and eyes twinkling.

“Are you firing me right now?” I asked alarmed, both arms going around his shoulders once I was in a standing position again. Mr. Song’s strong arms went around my waist as he swayed us slowly to the rhythm of the music the live band was playing.

“Yes and no,” Mr. Song—Mingi—hummed, and then his voice rumbled quietly next to my ear, “You’ll be working less for Song Mingi and more for Iron Man.”

My eyes widened as my heart raced now, skin tingling at the weird proposition, Mingi continued to explain, “Mrs. Bae will be retiring soon and I already have the person who will replace her, and surprisingly, I quite like you, Y/N. I want you to help me out—”

“But how?” I couldn’t find anything with which I would be more useful to Mingi. He chuckled, and I felt him play with the strands that had fallen out of my low bun.

“Iron Man needs a secretary too.”

“And if I refuse?” I knew I couldn’t, there were too many factors at stake right now.

“Jongho will kidnap you tonight.” That sounded terrifying, “I can’t let you go, you know too much. But I assume you already know that, right?”

“I do, Mingi, but if you’re subjecting me to more hours spent with you—which will be my own personal hell—I expect the paycheck to be higher too, you know?” Mingi giggled, the sound deep and surprising, and I found myself smiling.

“I’ll give you anything you want, Y/N, just stay by my side.” His voice was low and sincere and I gulped, feeling butterflies in my stomach.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Does Mrs. Bae know who you are?”

“She’s my godmother, of course, she knows.”

I chuckled, not having expected that, “That explains a lot, actually.”

“She’s a menace,” Mingi grumbled and I chuckled again.

“And so are you.” I watched another couple join the dance floor, and suddenly remembered something, “You said there was a dress code, so why is it that only the two of us are wearing black?”

“Because there’s a dress code.”

“And it’s gold, not black.”

“Exactly.”

“Mingi.”

“I’m the host, I can dress however I want.”

“And me?”

“Shut up, I love this song.”

The song, in fact, was just another classical piece that I was convinced Mingi hadn’t heard before in his life, but I remained silent and decided to bring up this subject again sometime soon. Just what was Iron Man’s secretary supposed to do?

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