#as if it arrives to the wrong recipient

[chericherrybaby]

I’LL PICK YOU UP ON THE WAY HOME

Summary, Jealous ex-boyfriend, Harry picks you up from a party after a last choice call was made from you.

Warnings, Jealous Harry?

This is so many words and not much dialogue. Enjoy the first of many!!

…

Harry was an ex you hadn’t spoken to in almost two years.

He was someone you had loved very much at the time, he was just a little bit too protective over you at the time, which is not what you had wanted as a 21 year old girl who’s friends loved a party.

You had never ridded his contact of your phone, it felt strange since he had been the first number to go in it after you had gotten it with him. Plus, he had never done anything wrong and you felt slightly bad for ending things the way you did.

You hadn’t been together that long at the time, you had told yourself hundreds of times, trying to rid the guilt you had whenever one of your girlfriends would tell you how miserable he was.

It was terrible that one of your girlfriends was dating his best friend, and you were a main source of topic for their entertainment.

You had thought about calling him as soon as your date had pulled up to the house, you could hear the music booming atleast 4 streets away and the place looked crammed with 17 year olds, a weird place for a 25 year old to take you on a first date.

He had led you inside the house, letting you follow his heels, greeting almost everyone that was in his path.

Your first red flag was a girl coming up to your date, who was unfortunately named Chad, you’d heard it all from your girlfriends already, and him hugging her with his hands a bit too close to somewhere they shouldn’t be.

This had made you pull your phone out, scroll down to the very bottom of your contacts and send a quick message to someone who may not even answer you, you’d been so lucky he hadn’t blocked you already and you were so grateful.

You sent a quick “hey” and hoped the recipient didn’t hate you as much as you hated yourself for texting him.

…

About an hour later, the party felt a bit dull compared to when you had arrived, everyone feeling lulled on the couch from everything they had drank, smoked and consumed in many other ways.

Including your date.

You had never been happier to feel your phone ringing in your back pocket and feel the excitement yet dread when your screen read “Harry Styles”

“Hello” you said sounding a little ashamed, making your way to sit on the front porch away from the booming music and the yelling of party goers who were still feeling their high.

“Hey” he replied sounding a little too groggy for you liking, like he’d woken and immediately called you “Why’d you text me? Thought you wanted nothing to do with me”

You felt your heart pang a little at this, but you could feel the hurt in his voice also “I’m at a party with a bunch of high schoolers. I need an escape”

“Gonna need more than that to get me going Y/N” he’d never sounded so irritated to you, but you also understood. The first time you’d texted him in almost two years was for an excuse to leave a party.

“Please come get me, i’ve basically been ditched and none of the girls know i’m here” You sighed feeling so ashamed you were doing this”

Harry ended the call. You waited, hoping he was still the sweet boy you had met 5 years ago.

…

10 minutes later, Harry’s car pulled up outside of the house. You jumped to your feet, jogged over to the car and placed yourself in his passenger seat

“Thank you so much Harry” you looked at him, your eyes pleading for his to meet yours.

He hummed in acknowledgment.

You sat in silence for 5 minutes while Harry drove in the direction opposite of your apartment, He came to a stop when he came to a quieter road with houses all using dimmed lights. He turned the car off and placed his hands in his lap.

“What are we-”

“Why have you done this to me Y/N? You know i’m still so utterly in love with you. So you text me at 11pm a shitty message saying ‘hey’”

“In my defence you’re the one who called me, you could’ve ignored my message and blocked me, you can’t blame me for your lack of self control”

You heard harry chuckle quietly to himself, that’s when you realised you’d said something that maybe you shouldn’t have.

“What are you even doing at a party full of children, you’re 23 Y/N” Harry finally looked at your face, your red cheeks prominent and wasted makeup.

His heart broke knowing after he dropped you home, you were gone again and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I was supposed to be on a first date, but instead he drove us to a high schoolers party. Basically touched up a girl right infront of my face, then got pissed and probably even high while letting me fend for myself when these are people he knows”

Harry slightly laughs to himself, but tires to cover it up by slapping his hand over his mouth. “You sure know how to pick ‘em”

“Picked you. You’re alright” You remarked back and Harry’s head quickly snapped back up to you and slightly glared at you “Sorry, that was really mean”

“I really fucking hate when you go on dates, y’know. Makes me so cross knowing ‘yer going out with all these shit guys when i’m right infront of you”

It’s like he was on his knees begging, pleading for you to love him. Tearing his heart out of his chest ready to give to you.

“You’ve always been such a jealous prick” You smirked at him and he couldn’t help his lips curling up into a smile.

“Hard not to be, look at you. You’re insane and i had my chance and fucked it with you, Cause i was scared to lose something i wanted forever”

You sighed and reached over to place your hand on top of his, he flinched away slightly. You curled your fingers around his hand and held it tightly.

“I love you” You admitted shamefully “It never went anywhere and i think i may just be slightly ashamed that i ended something so good just for what? To get drunk and dance around at a party full of strangers. When i had you waiting for me with open arms no matter the time i came back”

Harry shifted in his seat and moved towards the centre console of his car, you kicked your shoes off and sat cross legged on his passenger seat. Turning towards him, being able to see his face fully.

“You infuriate me, you know that don’t you” He says moving closer, close enough you could feel his breath of your face.

Swearing you could heart his heart beating out of his chest.

“Can you please” You thought for a second, were you making the right decision? Telling him you wanted him all over again, when you feared you may be slightly high from all the fumes in that house party.

Harry hummed gently “What would you like, Angel? Anything for you. I swear” His eyes flicked down towards your lips but quickly returned to your eyes.

“Kiss me” you practically begged him.

His lips crashed onto yours, his hands finding your jaw and cupping your cheeks while you sat in, what felt like an isolated area.

Kissing a man that you thought was just madly possessive over you, instead he just wanted the world for you, and you were the world to him.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

THERAPY SESSIONS•••

bau!team x psychiatrist!reader ↳ part 2 here

Synopsis: you have been a longtime psychiatrist for the BAU team. Always there to listen to their troubles. But what if you mysteriously disappear? WARNING: use of y/n and l/n. curse(s?). mentions of trauma (kind of) A/N: nothing sweets, enjoy!

Monday, 11:04 AM

"Have you heard from Dr. L/N? I wanted to schedule my next appointment but can't reach her cell." Spencer, being your frequent visitor, asked his teammates as he stared at his flip phone in deep thought. Maybe the problem was his phone?

Emily turned her seat, legs crossed and arms flat on the armrests of her chair. "I actually wanted to schedule one yesterday. I couldn't reach her cell either." She shrugged, leaning backward.

Derek rolled his eyes, "Maybe she's on a date? Let the woman have a life." He was your newest patient, though you have been listening to his troubles for 2 years.

You have been the BAU team's psychiatrist for the past six years, or more, you couldn't remember. All you could remember was how they slowly piled, one by one, into your office and shared their deepest sorrows in the safety of your listening ear.

It started when Spencer needed someone to rant to. He arrived at your clinic, soaking wet from the rain and clutching your business card in his hand. You were about to leave for the day, but you didn't mind the extra hours you had to spend.

Then came JJ, who brought up her concerns for Spencer but was completely anxious over different things. She was the sweetest woman alive that you have ever met. And it sometimes pained you to know that she had to endure adversities.

The others crammed right in like children asking for a little bit of company in the dark, and you were more than happy to provide them with a cozy sofa and a listening ear.

Spencer and Emily let go of the topic. Derek was right. They had to let you have a life outside of work, outside of listening to their cries. They bothered you with the shallowest inconvenience 24/7, and it didn't sit right to deprive you of having time off.

With that said, nonetheless, you have been part of their family. Even if you weren't a profiler, they welcomed you to one of Rossi's dinner parties just the same.

Emily loved to joke that you were their sweet, softhearted mommy, while Aaron Hotchner was their strict dad. You always laughed at that.

Tuesday, 4:32 PM

Penelope was maniacally tapping on her keys as she searched for information that the group asked her to look for. They flew out this morning, almost teleporting to Los Angeles for a fast-escalating serial killer.

A ringing echoed in her background, waiting for the recipient to pick up the call. The number was yours.

"[You've reached Dr. L/N's line. Please don't leave a message at all. Text me directly instead at 571...]"

She sat up, rolling her chair across her room to reach her telephone, and dropped the call. "No! Y/N! I need you to answer me so you can listen to my dilemma!" Penelope whined and speed-dialed your number once again.

You may be the BAU's psychiatrist for six years, but you have been Penelope's psychiatrist for eight years. You were there when she broke down about the horrors of their recent cases when she got shot and many more events in her life that she couldn't help but rant about to you. You were her friend, and you felt honored to become one.

Wednesday, 10:57 PM

"Something's wrong," Spencer announced, sitting on the swivel chair with his legs crisscrossed.

Hotch immediately lifted his gaze from the file he had in his hands, glancing at Spencer. "What did you find?"

What the Unit Chief didn't know was that his youngest profiler had been staring into space for a good 30 minutes. Spencer fidgeted on the hem of his slacks. "Dr. L/N has never been MIA for more than a day." He replied, unaware of his conversation with his leader.

"Reid. I need your focus on this mission and not Dr. L/N's?" Hotch diverted, bringing his attention back to the file in his hands.

Thursday, 7:00 AM

Spencer's statement didn't leave the back of Hotch's mind, sending you a text as soon as his alarm went off. He couldn't get a blink of sleep.

As much as he tried to think about the case, worry for a compassionate friend began to creep into his veins.

Hey, if you don't mind. Would you happen to have time for me to visit on Saturday afternoon?

He tapped the sides of his phone, staring at the screen. With a small sigh, Hotch exited the bed and got ready for work.

Within the ten minutes he spent showering, Hotch glanced at the screen with furrowed brows in the absence of your reply.

It wasn't like you were obligated to respond to him at that time of the day, but he had known you enough years to know that you were wide awake at the strike of 7 AM.

Hotch remembered clearly how the two of you coincidentally met at the park where he usually goes for a run. He learned then that you never fail to wake up at 5 AM in the morning, emptying your mind to make space for people's troubles that you gladly eased.

He dialed a phone number, "Hello, Garcia?"

Friday, 1:29 PM

The team arrived back to Quantico, wiped out and drained from the case, unenthusiastic about the fact that they had to stay for a few hours and complete some paperwork before they could finally go home.

"Did L/N change her number?" JJ walked in the bullpen, waving her phone to the others. She placed a hand on her hip as she navigated through her phone, preparing to edit your contact information.

Not to create competition, but JJ had it worst in their past case. The anxiety that coursed through her bloodstream needed the comfort of your soft voice. She would discuss it with her husband, Will, but you always understood better. She loved the way you explained her emotions to her, giving her a clearer vision of what she was feeling. It made it easier for her to express her feelings when she came home to Will.

Spencer perked up, "I don't think so. She's very consistent with everything. She would've told us if she changed her number." He sat on his seat with his legs crisscrossed.

Derek didn't waste a minute and dialed your clinic's main landline. They should've been calling there to set an appointment anyway, but they were too attached to you to even bother. In their eyes, you were the whole clinic; no other psychiatrist was available.

"[Hi, you are calling from...]" Multiple sighs of relief escaped from the four of them when they finally got someone to pick up the call. "[This is Alexa. What can I help you with today?]"

"I wanted to set an appointment with Dr. L/N, does she have any open spots for this weekend?" Derek asked, making eye contact with the three agents with him, assuring them that everything was alright.

Until it wasn't.

"[I'm sorry, Sir. Dr. L/N is not available right now, but—]"

"Is she on vacation?" Emily interjected, moving to the edge of her seat.

"[Uh, who am I speaking to?]"

They all exchanged looks. JJ leaned against Derek's desk, clearing her throat. "This is Jennifer Jareau from the FBI. I'm a friend of Dr. Y/N L/N and haven't been able to contact her in a while. I just wanted to ask if, by chance, you have other means of contacting her?"

A long pause. Worry began to creep over their minds. They could hear murmurs and movements, and after three minutes of waiting, someone picked the phone back up.

"[Good afternoon. My name is Dr. Basset, and I'm the head psychiatrist in the clinic. Unfortunately, we haven't heard of Dr. L/N since last Saturday. She hasn't been showing up for her shift either. We were getting worried because she wasn't answering her personal cell and home landline. One of our staff knew where she lived, but her apartment was quiet. They said no one answered the door.]"

Well shit.

That wasn't normal for you to just disappear. You always notified the whole team three months before you would go on vacation or requested leave. So, you being unavailable with your means of communication spiked up their worry through the roof.

They nodded to each other, making a wordless agreement that whatever was happening, it was clear that it was not something they should take lightly.

"Okay, Dr. Basset. Is there a chance you can provide us with any other information about Y/N? Her emergency contact, parents' names, anything would help us." JJ swallowed the lump in her throat. Where could you be?

"[Of course! Let me just go get it.]" Dr. Basset said, shuffling on his end.

Rossi walked out of his room with the intention of filling up his cup with another dose of coffee, but the expressions that the four agents had on their faces didn't pass his peripheral. "What happened? Did you all lose a bet with Garcia?"

Spencer turned his seat, "Dr. L/N is missing." He announced.

"Missing? Did someone report her missing?" Rossi knitted his brows. He wasn't frequent in your office, but he did have a monthly visit.

"She hasn't been to work for a week or answering any of our calls," Emily stated, biting the nail on her thumb.

"Call Hotch," Rossi told Emily, who didn't waste time nodding and went straight to Hotch's office. He looked at the others. "I know everyone is tired from the case, but this one is very important."

Derek stood up, leather jacket wrapping his lean build. "You don't have to tell us twice." He glanced at Spencer, who was already standing, clutching his messenger bag. Then, to JJ, who nodded her chin of approval.

Emily was about to knock on Hotch's door when it swung open, a file in his hand. "We have a case." He announced.

"But-" Emily attempted to intervene, but he continued speaking.

"We need to find our psychiatrist, Dr. Y/N L/N. Penelope's on her way to debrief us. Gather in the conference room in five minutes."

[sgiandubh]

Ashley was in Scotland Glasgow and Edinburgh already before London on this trip .

Dear Already Anon,

Sorry for the short delay: I was having a late lunch with Shipper Mom. Best Chinese takeaway in town, a stone throw from our home.

I think you are wrong. It was Siobhan Mackenzie who was in New York, on November 1, 2024, as a recipient of the American Scottish Foundation's 'Young Scot Award for her outstanding contribution to contemporary Scottish fashion':

Connections being what they are (el mundo es un pañuelo, heh), it turns out Barbour's Vice-Chairman wore one of her creations at a previous event organized by the same NGO.

Siobhan's arrival in the US has been cheerfully announced by herself, on Ashley Hearn's IG, on October 28th:

And look who liked that post - Nicorette, LOL:

More details came to those who can read:

And also, hey, look who liked that post, too:

Finally, Siobhan herself thanked the hotel sponsor in a very clear post from NYC, pics taken by her friend, Ashley:

If you happen to have more info, I stand corrected, as always. Last thing I know, Ashley was in London, touring all the fancy & expensive bars, in what obviously was a promo spree. It's been a tough/busy week for many people in here and I obviously wasn't following very closely.

Please step forward for more, in DMs, or forever hold your peace.

[Later edit}: @mojo106 knows better than me and can prove Ashley was in Scotland on Monday and Tuesday. Check out her post, reblogging and amending mine: https://www.tumblr.com/mojo106/766684292109811713/ashley-was-in-scotland-glasgow-and-edinburgh?source=share

See, Anon? That is the beauty of it. We are a team of people with normal egos, here. No Queens, no Experts, no Timelines, no Arrogant 'Remembers', no cackle and no libel. A common, honest effort to look for answers - by friends, for friends.

Thank you, darling. As for the Milady thing, I am not so sure. What I do know is that there were two NYC get togethers: one at Paul Donnelly's Soso bar (no C), one at Milady's (C present).

Could it be that Ashley and Siobhan left for Scotland together? I think so, not that it would be important.

[gargoyleandgremlinpress]

Renegade 2023 Bound Exchange: Strike Anywhere by Mad Lori

My recipient for the annual @renegadepublishing bound exchange this year was @sits-bound, which gave me the chance to explore some new Schitt's Creek fic!

Strike Anywhere by @madlori is a Schitt's Creek AU, where Patrick is a firefighter in Toronto, and David is a municipal engineer called in to consult on structural issues at fire scenes. They HATE each other on first sight, fight constantly… and inevitable end up secretly hooking up… and then secretly dating… and then secretly married, too embarrassed to admit it to their coworkers.

I had fun with the theme for this one, and used a blueprint image for the endpapers, and so many flames. So many! I'm really happy with how it turned out in the end, but there was a moment where things VERY MUCH had not gone to plan.

I like how the case turned out in particular! Too bad that I then had to cut the entire text block out of it and add sixty missing pages the day I planned to put it in the mail.

So let me set the scene. It's Dec 28. Exchange books are due in the mail Jan 1. I have spent several hours the day before finishing off stenciling the cover and spine of both books I'm sending, and am taking pictures before I package everything up. I flip to the back of the second book, and… huh. I know I formatted the AO3 metadata at the back of the book. Did I miss a page somehow?

It is then that I realize that something has gone badly wrong. On checking the typeset��� my printed book ends at page 216. The typeset ends on page 277.

I got the textblock out of the case, sacrificing the endpapers, but with everything else intact. Realized that my pre-cut textblock paper was still sitting on my desk at work. Decided fuck it, I need to reprint the endpapers anyhow, and skulked in to use the big colour copier, even though I was on vacation.

The signatures fit into the case! Some funky cutting and gluing was required to take out the few duplicate pages and the blank pages from the original, make some tabs out of the edges, and glue it all in.

The mull did not come off as well as the endpapers, but it DID come off.

I cut off the sewn endbands, and the bookmark, glue everything back together, and trek back into work the next day to use the big guillotine and retrim the textblock.

The edges are re-speckled! Sewn endbands would mean forcing the needle through multiple layers of glue, and time is tight, so I made endbands out of bookcloth to match the case.

And! It! Fits! Casing in actually went better the second time.

I DID get it into the mail by the deadline, and it safely arrived in @sits-bound's hands, so now I can share the saga. I still can't believe it fit back in the case.

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A21

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: As a Human Representative

Characters: Daniel, Nagi, Netaro

Summary: Daniel finds Nagi collapsed in the lounge area. Although Nagi did not reveal the reason for it, he had discovered Netaro’s true identity… 

Thank you aca @463ce6, myun @/myuntachis Niri @/Niri_riri and jes @/arcanecrayonn for helping me with proofing!

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Lounge

Daniel: Phew… This is pure bliss~ Saunas really are the best… 

Daniel: Huh?

Nagi: …… 

Daniel: Nagi, what’re you all sprawled out on the ground for? 

Nagi: …… 

Daniel: I get that it was too hot for you, but you're just gonna end up catching a cold if you do that right after a bath.

Nagi: …… 

Daniel: You could at least— Wait, is he knocked out!? 

Daniel: Nagi, you okay!? Get a hold of yourself! 

Nagi: Ugh… Buchi-san… 

Daniel: Good, at least you’re conscious. Did you get dizzy? 

*Netaro pops out from behind Nagi*

Netaro: I believe this is a minor case of anemia. 

Daniel: Woah– Damn, you scared me. Didn’t know you were here too. 

Netaro: Mhm.

Daniel: At least help him out instead of just sitting on your ass with popsicles in both hands!

Netaro: Nyam nyam. 

Daniel: Nagi, think you can stand?

Netaro: Can you~?

Nagi: …Oh, yeah. 

Daniel: What’s wrong? Was it really just anemia? 

Nagi: …… 

~~~(flashback)

Netaro: Hm… So be it. I was inclined to hold back for a while longer, but now that it’s come to this—

Netaro: You’ll have to suffice.

Nagi: *fearful breathing*

Nagi: (I feel like I’ve been struck with sleep paralysis— )

Netaro: You’re unable to move, aren’t you~ It seems the heat from the sauna has caused me to glitch, you see. 

Netaro: I cannot even mimic the human form at this moment… 

Nagi: (M-Mimic…?)

Netaro: Would you like to see my true form? I’m right beside you. 

Nagi: !?

Netaro: Those retinae of yours cannot retain my image, so I’m Invisible Netaro now.

Netaro: In accordance with Article 1156 of the Interstellar Constitution established by my planet, any local lifeform that learns of my true form is applicable to receive necessary information and given the opportunity to make a choice.

Netaro: At the same time, exceptional measures are to be taken in the event of the endangerment of an official investigator, such as myself.

Nagi: (????)

Netaro: I, Netaro Yowa, am an extraterrestrial lifeform from the planet “Proxima Centauri b,” designated as such by you earthlings. I have arrived here for the sake of a certain mission.

Netaro: As this mission is top secret, you will not be made aware of the details, even if you choose to follow Article 1156.

Netaro: My main goal is to conduct an investigation on the primary lifeform on this planet, the human race, at a military-level secret operation. However, in the event of an emergency, my life is to be prioritized over that of the local lifeform. 

Nagi: (W-Which means…?)

Netaro: In order to maintain my continued activities on this planet, as well as my mimicry of the human form, I need to intake a specific amount of adaptive factors within a fixed timeframe.

Netaro: I would like you to act as my prospective donor. 

Nagi: (I don’t get what he’s saying…)

Netaro: This is all you need to understand—

*Netaro reveals a contract*

Netaro’s Proposed Contract

The following agreement is made and entered into by and between Netaro Yowa (hereafter referred to as “Recipient”) and Nagi Hachinoya (hereafter referred to as “Donor”):

The Donor is to provide the Recipient with a specified amount of his body whenever it is requested of him. a) The frequency and volume may vary, as long as it does not lead to the Donor’s loss of life.

The Donor must not reveal any confidential information about the Recipient to any other lifeform (including AI).

The Donor must cooperate with the Recipient to ensure that no confidential information is revealed to any other lifeform (including AI).

In the event that the Donor breaches any terms of this Agreement, the Interstellar Court will act as the court of instance with exclusive jurisdiction over the matter. The Recipient has the right to restrain the Donor until a resolution is reached.

Netaro: I’m certain those back on my planet will have no complaints in this case. 

Nagi: (This is getting more and more confusing… What does he even mean by “a specified amount of his body”...)

Netaro: As long as it is something produced by your body, anything is fine. I quite prefer blood, myself.

Nagi: !!

Netaro: To put it simply, if you refuse to act as my donor and protect my secret, you will die. 

Nagi: !?

Netaro: Local lifeform Nagi: You have two choices.

Netaro: To agree to this contract, or to be eaten whole by me; which do you prefer?

Nagi: …!

Netaro: Will you cry? Are you tearing up~? I enjoy tears almost as much as I do blood~

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: Will it hurt…?

Netaro: I could indeed compound a drug that could numb your sense of pain, but that will have to be for next time!

Nagi: I won’t… die, right…?

Netaro: You just read the Agreement, did you not!? I wouldn’t want to destroy a precious dispenser of adaptive factor!

Netaro: Though, I’m not entirely confident, as I’m far too hungry at the moment. 

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: Okay. I’ll do it. 

Netaro: Yaaayyyy~!

Nagi: Even if I did die, it’s not like it would affect anybody. 

Nagi: You might be an alien, but I don’t think it’s very nice to leave someone alone when they’re suffering… 

Nagi: I don’t want you to have a bad impression of earthlings… 

Netaro: Good. You are prepared, yes? 

Nagi: Huh, wait– Right now? Here!? Hold on–

Nagi: A-Ahhhhhhhhhhh………

~~~(end flashback)

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Lounge

Daniel: …Nagi, you listening? 

Nagi: *gasp* Oh, sorry… 

Daniel: You sure it’s just anemia? 

Nagi: Yeah. I’m okay now. 

Daniel: Alright, then sit down over there. You want a popsicle? 

Nagi: Oh, but I already had one so… 

Daniel: Then I’ll give you my share. What flavor do you want? 

Nagi: Thank you… Then, I’d like pineapple. 

Daniel: Got it. Netaro over there is just stuffing himself on these though, geez. 

Netaro: Nyam nyam.

Nagi: …… 

Daniel: Here. 

Nagi: Thank you.

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: (This is orange…)

Netaro: Delicious, is it not? Gii.

Nagi: Urk… Yeah, it is… 

Netaro: Shall I share some of my grape-flavored one with you? 

Nagi: …!

*Nagi bumps into Daniel*

Daniel: Woah there, what’s wrong? You just sprang out of your seat like some grasshopper. 

Nagi: It’s… nothing. Sorry. 

Netaro: Even though it’s so delicious… 

Nagi: …… 

Notes:

Proxima Centauri b is an exoplanet orbiting within the habitable zone of the red dwarf star Proxima Centauri, which is the closest star to the Sun and part of the larger triple star system Alpha Centauri.

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Masterlist

[sooverwhitesandpinks]

Wish You Were Sober

fratboyharry x friend!reader Inspired by the lyrics of Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray

Warnings: angst, alcohol, weed, frat party, no mention of gender, idk.

You never really wanted to come to these parties. Maybe the first few in the beginning of the semester, but you grew tired of them quickly.

Beer, weed, loud music, and sweaty bodies. The bathrooms were always trashed and the floor was always sticky, but you still spent your Friday nights in these humid frat houses. Not for your personal benefit, but for Harry.

"Is he really worth it?" Your roommate, Gianna asked. You were on one of the couches in the living room. Her boyfriend, Danny, was on her other side with his arm lazily slung over her shoulder, scrolling through his phone.

You sank further back into the couch. Your eyes hadn't moved away from Harry in minutes. He was leaned against a wall in black jeans and a dark henley, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the buttons unfastened, exposing his chest. A red flannel was tied around his waist, he'd taken it off within the first half hour of you two arriving.

He looked too good, he always did. His eyes were bright, his hair was perfect. His smile was killer, though the only thing killing you was that it wasn't being sent your way. The girl he'd been chatting up all night was the lucky recipient.

The girl, Piper, was in one of your smaller classes. She was pretty, you understood why Harry liked her. She was sweet and genuine but fuck, did you wish you could hate her.

They looked cute together, you guessed. She stood in front of him, drink in hand as she effortlessly flirted back. You watched as she shrieked something that he laughed at before they switched drinks and took a sip. They both pulled a face before switching back. You shook your head and finally looked away.

"Is who worth what?" You played dumb, turning to Gianna.

"Is Harry worth pining over? You follow him around like a lovesick puppy and he just keeps dragging you behind him," she tsked, sipping her seltzer.

You ran your thumb over the rim of your drink can and bit your cheek before answering. You and Harry became friends at an involvement fair at orientation over the summer. You were instantly smitten, but you never told him and he acted like he didn't notice.

"He's a good friend to me," you replied, shrugging.

"Is he? He's gotta know you like him, and he plays with your feelings anyway," she told you.

"He doesn't know," you shook your head, though you didn't put any effort into hiding your staring or blushing.

"He uses your feelings against you. He drags you out to these parties, he gets drunk, he knows you'll always take care of him," she sat up, staring down at you.

"He's just drunk, it's not intentional," you responded with a shake of your head, though you didn't know why you were excusing his behavior. She wasn't wrong.

"Either way it's fucked up. It's happened too many times. He brings you to these stupid parties you don't like, he flirts with other girls in your face, he gets too drunk, and you always sign up to take him home. Plus he tries to bone you when his flavor of the night won't fuck him 'cause he's hammered," she ranted. "You deserve better."

"I know," you dropped your head into your palm. You did deserve better. "I gotta get over him."

"Go get another drink, and go dance or flirt or I don't know, just don't look at him again. He'll be just fine without you," she shooed.

You lazily got off the sofa, making a point to look everywhere except the corner of the room Harry was currently occupying.

"Okay, I'm going," you nodded, setting your empty can beside the pile of them on the side table.

"'Atta girl," Gianna whooped. Your first stop was the kitchen, you grabbed your second seltzer of the night from a cooler before stepping out into the backyard.

The cool air of October nipped at your nose and the exposed skin of your knees. The back deck had been converted into a beer pong arena, people were crowded around the white folding table. You bypassed the mass of people and headed toward the bonfire in the yard.

"You mind if I sit here?" You asked, pointing to an empty folding chair beside some guy you'd never seen before.

"Not at all," he shook his head. His voice was lazy and his eyes were red tinted and heavy.

"Thanks," you nodded. You stared into the fire pit as the few other people in the circle conversed.

"You smoke?" The guy from before asked, holding a half-smoked joint out.

"Sometimes," you shrugged, accepting it. You brought it to your lips and sucked in a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs.

"You seem sad," he observed, taking the joint from between your fingers and hitting it himself. You exhaled.

"Maybe I am," you shrugged. He blew a cloud of smoke in the other direction before turning to face you again.

"How come?" He asked, handing you the joint. You took another hit, held it, then exhaled before you replied.

"I don't even know your name," you said, still blowing smoke. You handed him the joint again.

"I'm Zayn," he smiled before batting his long eyelashes. You told him your name before finally answering his question.

"I'm desperately in love with one of my friends, but he couldn't care less. My roommate thinks he's stringing me along, and honestly she might be right," you admitted. You sat back in your chair as the buzz from the weed startled to settle in.

"Damn," he hit the joint once more before he passed it off to the girl a few seats over from him.

"Damn indeed," you nodded.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked, you could feel his eyes on the side of your face even though yours hadn't moved from the flames.

"Not particularly," you answered. If you talked about it, you might cry. You saw him nod in your peripheral before he turned to face the fire as well.

The two of you sat side by side, the crackle of the fire and the cheers of the cup pong club were the only sounds in the air. You weren't sure how long you were sitting there. You weren't exceptionally high, but definitely buzzed. Your drink was almost empty by now, the alcohol in your system only providing a slight buzz as well.

"I'm gonna go get another beer, you want anything?" Zayn asked, rising from his seat.

"I'm okay," you shook your head. He nodded before walking off.

He returned a few minutes later, beer in hand and a couple trailing behind him. The girl, who you now realized was Piper, was holding Harry up. He was behind her, slumped over her shoulders.

"These two were walking around calling your name, I told them you were out here," Zayn said as he plopped down into his seat again.

"Harry's hammered. I asked him who he trusted to take him home and he said your name," Piper explained. She gestured to the boy behind her who stood up upon the mention of his name.

"This your friend?" Zayn asked. You nodded.

"Okay, I'll uh-- I'll get him back to the dorms," you stood, suddenly thankful you hadn't taken another hit.

"Thanks. I would do it but I don't know which building he's in," she smiled, patting Harry on the arm.

"Why can't we go back to your place?" He slurred, looking to Piper, who giggled.

"Because you're too drunk," she told him. "Call me tomorrow, if you can remember."

"Oh I will," he pointed. Piper waved at you before walking back to the house.

"Hey," you felt Zayn's hand wrap around your wrist. "Don't get strung along."

You didn't say anything, just nodded. You grabbed Harry's arm and wrapped it around your neck so you could help him walk.

"Hiiiiii," he cheesed, starting to walk with you.

"Hey, Harry," you sighed.

"Can I hit that joint I saw back there?" He asked, jabbing his thumb back in the direction of the bonfire.

"Absolutely not," you shook your head as you walked alongside the house.

The two of you stumbled down the street, Harry babbling incoherently and you trying to lug him just a few blocks further.

"You're so nice," he hummed, tripping on every third or fourth step he took.

"I know," you sighed, disappointed with yourself.

The two of you eventually made it to the dorm hall, slowly climbing the few steps ahead of the door. You had to instruct Harry on which leg to lift when.

"You're so pretty too," he added. You shook your head and let it roll off of your back, he always started with that. You pulled him into the building and dragged him to the elevator. The two of you leaned against the back wall after you hit the button for your floor.

"I think I might be a little drunk," he giggled. You wanted to laugh with him, but you couldn't.

"Maybe," you simply replied. The doors opened after a minute or so. You stood up again, letting Harry's weight fall back on you once again.

You walked down his hallway, stopping at his door. He mumbled something about this looking like his room as you punched his code in and opened the door.

You dropped him on his bed, his roommate gone like usual. Harry fell back onto his mattress, his fingers sliding down your arm until they grasped your hand.

"You should lay down with me," he suggested, patting the small space beside him with his other hand.

"No, Harry," you shook your head and pulled your hand from his. You moved to his dresser and grabbed his water bottle.

"C'mon, please," he begged. You sat down on the corner of his bed and held his water out.

"No. Just drink some water," you sighed. This was how it usually went. You would bring him home and he would try to pull you into his bed. You wouldn't ever take advantage of him, but it somehow felt like he was trying to take advantage of your kindness and love for him.

"Okay, okay," he nodded before he clumsily sat up beside you. He grabbed the bottle from your hands and took a small sip.

"More," you urged, wanting to leave this entire situation. You pledged to never accept a party invitation from him ever again. Gianna and Zayn were right. You can't keep getting caught up in your own one sided feelings and let yourself get dragged behind him.

"I'll drink this whole thing if you let me fuck you," he said, leaning closer. You closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh, the smell of alcohol mixed with his cologne consuming you. You jumped when his lips met your jaw.

"Harry, I'm not gonna fuck you," you shoved him away gently. You still hadn't opened your eyes.

"Why not?" He leaned in again, this time speaking lowly into your ear. "We both know you want it."

You shook your head again and shoved him back a little harder this time. You stood from the bed and tried to breathe calmly, but you were honestly at your breaking point.

"Is that all I am to you?" You asked, not turning around to look at him yet.

"What do you mean?" He slurred, reminding you just how drunk he was.

"I can't keep doing this, Harry. I can't keep letting you drag me around. It's not good for me anymore, not that it ever was," you started, turning around to look at him.

"I'm sick of watching you parade other girls around all night. I'm sick of still being a good friend and taking you home when you're too drunk to walk. And I'm extremely tired of you toying with me when your first choice won't have sex with your drunk ass," you huffed, frustrated tears pooling in your eyes. "It's exhausting, and I'm tired of it. I deserve to be called pretty when you're sober."

You looked down at Harry, watching him stare back up at you. He seemed a little less drunk than he was before. He blinked a few times, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm a shitty friend," he shook his head, setting his water down on the floor.

"You're not, Harry. Most of the time you're great. Honestly, it's not your fault. It wouldn't hurt so much if I wasn't hopelessly in love with you," you bravely confessed. You figured he wouldn't remember it anyway.

"It is my fault, though. I knew you liked me and I still said all that terrible stuff to you," he spoke. You wiped your tears away with the heels of your hands, even though fresh ones replaced them almost immediately.

"God, Harry. I think I need to be away from you for awhile," you said, blowing out a shaky breath. He didn't say anything, just nodded.

"Are you going to remember this in the morning? You usually don't."

"Do we have this conversation often?" He glanced up at you with a hiccup.

"No, not the conversation. You usually try to get in my pants though," you grabbed a bottle of painkillers and set them on the table by his bed.

"I'm sorry," he fell back onto his mattress again, clearly exhausted. He rubbed his eyes.

"I know," you stated, pulling the door open.

"I wish I was sober for this conversation," he sighed, turning onto his side.

"I wish you were sober too," you walked out.

Masterlist

Part 2

[hisunshiine]

—grey area: avoiding the red | ksj

📈pairing: CFO!seokjin x senior accounting manager!reader 📈au/genre: CEO au, fake dating au, c2l, fluff, smut, angst 📈rating: M 📈wc: 27,659 📈warnings: swearing, vulgar statements, misogyny, eventual mutual pining, fake dating bet, leg injury/sprain, minor boat crash, explicit sexual content: strawberry juice dripping, straddling, making out, clothed grinding, marking, fingering, consent seeking, foreplay, unprotected sex, cock riding, wall sex, stairs sex, mutual orgasm, breast play, oral (f & m receiving), cum swallowing, hair pulling   📈an: beta readers: @peachiilovesot7, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, @colormepurplex2, @moonleeai, @pennpad-bts thank you so much for all of your beta reading and brainstorming and help! to all my readers who have stuck by me, you mean the world. I am so sorry it took me so long to post this, but it's finally here! 📈summary: Recently inducted CFO Kim Seokjin is the head of finances at JinHit Conglomerate after his father retires. You, the senior accounting manager for the company, begin to stomp around in your heels complaining about areas that need mitigating for the business to continue to run smoothly after a meeting gone wrong. When Seokjin makes a bet with you to see if the two of you can hide a romantic relationship from work peers, several things are revealed OR The one where Seokjin wants to get you only in your heels.

taglist: @flxrcnt @ggukkieland​ @yoongisdragon​

masterlist | one | two | three | four | you are here | six | seven

in the red (idiom): spending and owing more money than is being earned

Jaw clenched tightly as you ignore the tension running through your body, your finger slowly scrolls the webpage you’re viewing on your laptop. Price tags be damned, you couldn’t care less about the cost of the bejeweled heels—you had to have them. It will just have to wait a few paychecks before you can purchase them. If you could even afford them after today. The Saeda 100 Unicorn Printed Satin Pumps with Crystal Embellishment; a gorgeous colored pump that would be the pièce de résistance to an all black or white outfit. 

Online shopping is one of your favorite coping skills, a great calming technique to get your mind off the email you received almost a half hour ago, for a meeting you were summoned to attend in five minutes. A meeting JinHit’s Board of Directors summoned you to attend, to be exact. You checked the email several times, opening the list of recipients to full view to see everyone who was invited, and the vein throbbing in your forehead pulses at the reminder. 

Only the C-Suite and the heads of each department will be in attendance, and the knowledge of what this could mean sends a shiver down your rigid spine. Seokjin had asked you to prepare the financial report last week for the board to review; it doesn’t seem coincidental that the meeting is being called a day after you sent it. 

Adjusting your position where you sit in the meeting room currently, having arrived earlier than normal to choose your favorite seat, you cross a leg over your thigh, bouncing your matte black Balenciaga Knife 110MM pumps in time with your anxiety.

“Can you please just relax?” Seokjin mutters. “The constant bouncing is giving me a headache.”

You grit your teeth, molars grinding against each other as you hold back your remarks. Easy for you to say, you think, not all of us have the luxury to relax. Stilling the ankle that was flexing up and down in a jittery dance, you lower your leg and straighten your slacks.

“I’m sorry, sir.” My leg wouldn’t bother you if you hadn’t followed me from the accounting wing. “The board meeting has me worried. If office gossip on WeVerse is anything to go by, I’m afraid we might not be employed for much longer.” 

Jin twirls a Montblanc fountain pen worth more than your monthly rent as he stares at you, nonplussed. 

“I highly doubt that, Kicks. There’s no need to exaggerate. You’re busy looking at expensive heels again, anyway, so it’ll be fine.”

You huff at the nickname he’s bestowed upon you for your shoe obsession, rolling your eyes as you close them before taking a deep, deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“Maybe you’ll still be CFO of JinHit, sir, but not all of us are nepo-babies. If anyone is going to be fired, it’ll be me. So I’m looking at heels to see the last thing I can purchase with my severance pay before I’m destitute. Sir.” 

“I don’t know why you bother keeping up pretenses by calling me ‘sir’ when you talk to me like that,” he mutters. “Calling me a damn nepo-baby.” 

You run down the list of all of the attendees in your head once more. Kim Namjoon, CEO, Kim Seokjin, CFO, Min Yoongi, General Counsel (the company's main attorney and primary source of legal advice), Jung Hoseok, JinHit Entertainment Division manager, Kim Taehyung, recently promoted Property Acquisition Division Manager, Jeon Jungkook, CIO, yourself, and a few other heads of departments you aren’t as familiar with. Lastly, all of the board members, minus Park Jimin’s father, though he’s in the room instead, stepping in for his father who is away on vacation.  

“You make me laugh, Kicks. I’m so glad to have you by my side.” Seokjin can’t help but chuckle. 

“If only I could say the same,” you grumble under your breath.

“One day, you’ll say you love me.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention to the men walking in through the door. Discreetly you close the tab to the Jimmy Choo website and pull up your email instead, awaiting the soft ding! that alerts you to the agenda and any additional documents you will need. 

The room is full of the sounds of creaking leather and quiet chatter as the gentlemen settle into their seats for the meeting to commence. 

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“This is an outrage!”

“What have the heads of finance been doing? Getting their fucking dicks wet by fucking secretaries in the janitor’s closet?” 

You narrow your eyes at the older man who had the audacity to speak in such a way during a meeting, seemingly forgetting that the Senior Accounting Manager is you, and that you do not have a dick to fuck said secretary with.

“Please, Mr. Choi, the finance department has been working just as much as everyone else, and the Senior Accounting Manager,” the CEO gestures to you as he reminds the man of your name, “she has been more than transparent with me about the state of our finances for this quarter.” 

The other men in the room appear to have the wherewithal to look flummoxed at Mr. Choi’s outburst in the presence of a woman, but their reactions don't keep his thin lips quiet. 

“So, she’s the one getting fucked in the janitor’s closet. Either way, the finances are abysmal and something must be done!” Mr. Choi throws a printed copy of your financial report in your direction, and you can see the top sheet flutter onto the floor with your name splashed across it. He was being obtuse on purpose—he knew damn well who prepared the financial report.

Seokjin’s hand clamps down on your thigh, holding you back from lunging across the table at the grey-haired misogynist as he speaks. 

“Please, Mr. Choi, I know you’re a little jealous that no one is fucking you,” everyone in the room laughs at Seokjin’s light banter, “but I promise you, the finance department is working on options to help make up for the expenses.”

Incensed, Mr. Choi stands up, face red with fury at being made a fool. You almost expect him to turn his ire on Seokjin for his words, but the reality of the situation is that Mr. Choi would never dare to curse out the son of the previous CFO and namesake of the company. 

“As the Senior Accounting Manager,” he starts with a sneer, “you should’ve had a better handle on what was happening right under your nose.” He thrusts his fat finger at you, spittle flying as his anger gains traction. “This is why women shouldn’t be in positions like this. You’re useless to this company, and if it were up to me, I would fire you for letting the company get so close to the red line. Seokjin, she reflects poorly on you.”

“Mr. Choi.” Namjoon’s tone is final as he rises to his feet, dragon eyes cutting daggers. “Please respect my employees.” The ‘or else’ is not said, but implied.

You shake with rage, holding back tears of frustration at how no one is coming to your defense. Sure, the CEO asked the board member to respect you, but only after said board member had already besmirched your name. After he had so rudely made insinuations about how poorly he thinks of you and ignored that Kim Seokjin is the Chief Financial Officer and the true overseer of the finances. No one says anything to defend your honor or put the man in his place for talking to an employee this way.

“I’ll respect her when she does her fucking job right! You have until the first quarter of the new year to fix this shit.” Mr. Choi turns and leaves the room dramatically, and for once, you’re glad that you didn’t say anything, because you aren’t fired—yet. Had you opened your mouth, you might have been.

The rest of the room quietly turns to light talk as you direct your heated face to the open report on your laptop. The finances for the year highlight some of the major spending across the departments totalling several million once all added together; several million that were not accounted for at the start of the year when budgets were drawn up and outlined. 

First, there was the $2 million dollar loss from the Property Acquisition department thanks to one Kim Taehyung and late paperwork, then stocks dropped from the Facebook video released of C-Suite members and the impromptu start of the non-profit side company NAMU. The cost of going green to implement practices to support NAMU and raise the value of the stocks once again, and the cost of acquiring a new partnership with LeeCo Cosmetics due to Hoseok’s arranged marriage.  

“Ahem,” Namjoon clears his throat, calling everyone’s attention. “Now that everyone has had ample time to review the finance report, I think the best way forward is to come up with a plan to implement for the start of the next quarter to change the projection of the report away from the red line.”

“How long do we have to develop a plan?” Seokjin asks, eyes darting over to your silently seething frame.

“You have the month, Jin. December will be spent researching in order to make a decision and create a plan to implement in January. We will re-evaluate the financial report at the end of the first quarter to ensure that there are no negative consequences for the decisions we’ve made, and go from there. Remember, the fiscal year ends March 31st, so we only have the quarter to fix this. Dismissed.”

The room empties out, with Namjoon cutting his eyes at Seokjin to keep him seated. You still needed to gather the documents and calm down before you did something rash, so it’s just the three of you left once the door swings shut.

“Seokjin, I understand why, but do you have to always be so unserious?” Namjoon sighs out. 

“What do you mean? I was just giving back what he was dishing out,” Seokjin defends, not seeing the issue with what transpired. 

“You know he went and called your dad as soon as he walked out of the room, right?”

“And? The man retired—I’m the CFO now, not my father. It’ll be fine!”

Namjoon just stares at him, before giving you a pitying look that you despise. You know he means it more as sympathy for how you were treated, but it makes you feel different from the others somehow, like you can’t handle the atmosphere of the “wealthy businessmen club”. He nods at you both before he stands and leaves, and Seokjin is not far behind him. 

You bend down to gather the documents once your breathing has regulated. 

You were right to have been worried about this meeting.

The first week after that dreaded meeting, you spend your time researching the various financial avenues the company has and begin to dissect them for potential areas of mitigation. Seokjin pulls you aside into one of his many offices, this one located on the financing floor, and tries to talk to you about what happened with Mr. Choi, but you don’t let him get but a few words out before cutting in to tell him off for letting you take the blame as soon as the door closes behind you. 

“You actually sat there and didn’t say anything to that sexist pig!” You jab Seokjin in the chest to emphasize the last three syllables. “I should report him to HR for sexual harassment! That’ll teach the geriatric asshole.” 

Grabbing your shoulders gently, Seokjin leans his face down to your height. Maintaining a calm, soothing tone, he attempts to placate you. “Kicks, I did speak up, but he’s my godfather and I can’t go around cursing my daebu (대부) at work—”

“You didn’t speak up to support me, Seokjin, you made a joke and defended the department, but he was attacking me, and you didn’t say shit. None of you did.”

Pulling away from him, you wrap your arms around yourself as if to self-soothe with a hug, taking several deep breaths to compose yourself. His touches have been growing more frequent lately, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re acting like a deranged woman since the dreaded meeting, or if you’re noticing it because of other reasons. Not that you would ever date a coworker or anything… 

Stepping away from him allows you a chance to breathe, despite how nice it feels when he uses physical contact to comfort you. Arranging your features, you steady yourself as you turn on your heel to face him again. 

“I’m sorry for my language, sir. If you will excuse me, I’ll take my lunch now and then we can meet to discuss my findings.” 

Without waiting for Seokjin to respond, you step around him and exit his office. You walk towards your desk and grab your convertible laptop and a thin manila folder before you head out of the finance wing. Trekking through the hallways to the elevator, you shake off the outburst as you pass through the waist-high metal safety gate and into the lobby. You hear a high-pitched voice yell out your name.

“Hey, I know you’re plenty busy, but I’ve been tasked with spearheading the holiday party committee, and we need your approval for the budget. Can you sign off on these documents for me?” Ji-Soo asks. “If I had the time, I would run this up to finance,” she adds, “Seokjin is so hot…Damn. How do you handle working so closely with him?”

The front desk representative bats her kohl-lined eyes at you, swinging her long black hair over her shoulder. Her flowy off-the-shoulder blouse reveals a cute, tiny heart-shaped tattoo inked onto her skin. You hate her insinuation that you’re attracted to your boss and the way her eyebrows move as if to suggest that you and Seokjin are anything like her and Jimin. You may find him good-looking, but you have more sense than to be seen C-Suite hopping.  

Ignoring her second question, you respond, “I’m on my way to grab lunch, but I can review the documents and let you know if the budget is approved.”

Ji-Soo’s face morphs into one of distaste.

“Why do you need to review it? Can’t you just sign it now? Seokjin always approved the holiday party budgets in the past.”

You groan, knowing that you would be competing with the legacy Seokjin left behind after his promotion to CFO after his father stepped down for retirement. When it was okay to be fiscally irresponsible, because other employees hadn’t racked up millions in expenses out of the blue. 

“Sorry, Ji-Soo. Orders from the stakeholders—all budgets have to be reviewed before approval.” You grasp the papers she unceremoniously brandished at you and tuck them into the manila folder. “I’ll get this back to you once it’s been properly assessed.”

“Hey!” Ji-Soo calls after you as you walk away from her, “I need that by the end of the week! Party planning is not cheap!”

Feet still moving, you wave your hand over your shoulder at her, not bothering to spare her a glance. “End of the week, got it!”

Lunch is boring; you hadn’t actually meant to leave for your thirty-minute break today, but after your outburst you felt some exercise would do you good. The small cafe near the office building is the perfect spot to set up your laptop and browse through documents, the Jimmy Choo website, and perk up with a late afternoon latte. 

Opening up the fillable PDF file for budget assessment proposals, you begin reviewing the holiday party plans. It pains you to see some of the outlandish expenses they want: an ice sculpture of the company logo, open bar with top-shelf liquor, performance by an upcoming American artist breaking into the scene, and several gift packages for raffles, just to name a few.

Downing the rest of your coffee, you type up your review and draft an email to Ji-Soo, attaching a PDF scan of her proposal and your budget assessment, denying her requests. You ask her to reduce the cost of the party by several hundred thousand, providing a list of things she can mitigate to reach the approved goal, and then you turn on your auto reply so as to avoid her wrath. Walking back into the office building, you blend in with the after lunch crowd and make it back to the small finance department conference room to meet with Seokjin. 

Seokjin’s POV

Kim Seokjin sits in the conference room in finance, several levels away from his office where the other C-Suite executives reside, waiting for you. Seokjin has worked with you for several years in finance before his promotion, and you were by far the most qualified Senior Accounting Manager he’s ever met. 

He knows he’s lucky to have you, and not just for your skills and personality—you’re also easy on the eyes. Seokjin’s always been tempted to ask you out, cross that boundary of coworkers, but the timing’s never been right. With his promotion at the start of the year, the chasm has gotten wider, his resolve fading with it. 

After you leave for your lunch break, he settles into the conference room replaying the way your hips swayed as you walked away from him. Chuckling at the way your perfect image cracked and he got to hear his name roll off of your tongue—that is until the smile is wiped away as he remembers what led to it. You were right. He didn’t defend you in that meeting earlier in the week, simply too gobsmacked by Mr. Choi’s choice of words to even think clearly. The image it put into his head, you in the hallway closet with those legs wrapped around his waist, letting him fuck you into oblivion—in just those heels you stomp around in, so authoritative-like…Seokjin licks his lips as his fingers clench the edge of his desk, before he shakes the image away. 

He hates that you feel like you do; growing up he spent so much time at the office, running around with Namjoon as their dads built the company from the ground up, and the women in the office always took care of them. 

Mrs. Im was the payroll bookkeeper when he was just a child; his love for numbers and accounting started with her. She tutored him in math through primary school, even helping him pass the Suneung, or the CSAT national test, to get into college. He saw how hard it was for her to move up in the department, often being looked over for her male counterparts, despite being better than them. As far as the finance department goes, payroll is the lowest on the totem pole. Mrs. Im only made it one level up to Staff Accountant, despite being able to count circles around the men and it never seemed fair.

Now, the company is much more with the times, with many women in not only the finance department, but in information technology, and men in nontraditional roles as well, like the secretary who is in the entertainment department, Kai. As for your position, the only person above you in the hierarchy is himself, and some days Seokjin wishes he could promote you into his role for all your hard work. He curses his daebu in his head for the way his backwards thinking has negatively affected you, and then curses himself for not being able to support you the way you deserved in that meeting. 

Seokjin fields text messages from his father about the company’s finances, Namjoon’s assumption that Mr. Choi called his father, having been correct. It’s been an ongoing conversation since the moment he left the meeting—his father bothering him day and night about his behavior.

아버지 (Father) - 12:48 pm : You should not have spoken like that in a meeting. Choi told me that you were talking back, not taking any accountability for the financial crisis the company could be facing, and that girl was impertinent. For once, can you just take this job seriously? Can you take your life seriously? Jin - 12:49 pm: Aren’t you retired?

Once your lunch break ends, Seokjin can’t hide the smile on his face as you enter the room, setting your belongings on the table with a sigh. 

“Ji-Soo stopped me as I was leaving to talk about the holiday party. Can we discuss it at the end of the meeting?”

“Of course. Let’s get the business out of the way, then.”

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“Absolutely not.”

“But sir, the amount of money that we spend every month on the Friday event, especially with it being a half day of work getting done…even to reduce it for the first quarter could make significant gains to remain in the black.”

Seokjin crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back in the office chair. 

“You have to understand, Kicks. The Friday event is only once a month. It’s important for employee morale, not to mention the amount of impact we have on the community right here. There’s the Cho family who runs the Korean street food truck. Half of their monthly revenue comes from this one day. The parents have a daughter in college and she has a small son they look after while she’s in class. They wouldn’t be able to support them both without us.”

You level Seokjin with a gaze that he wishes he could act upon, taking you up on the challenge it serves.

“You want to continue Fun Fridays to save this ONE restaurant?” you ask, leaning your elbows onto the table as you peer closely at Seokjin, analyzing him. Your hands are clasped tightly in front of you as you hold back the urge to fix the wayward strand of hair that falls across his forehead.

“Well, no—not just this one. It helps all of the local companies who come out to provide for us—this was just an example that should pull at your heartstrings.” Seokjin leans towards you, placing his hand atop yours to sell the sentimental connection he’s using to keep Fridays as is. “These are real people who rely on us. And our employees rely on them. People want to work here and our stocks do well because the employees brag about once-a-month Fridays on WeVerse. It would be foolhardy to our reputation to remove it.” He gestures dramatically with his hands to emphasize just how foolhardy he finds it, and you suddenly miss the warmth of his hand on yours. 

“Fine.” You look down at the next item on the list, gathering your thoughts away from the dangerous path of Seokjin’s hands on yours. “My next proposal is to make a change to the employee health benefits. I looked into it and we can lower company costs if we choose the specific provider for employees. I’ve found a clinic with three primary care doctors that provided us with an estimate. They project to have a great low cost for the company and there would be less contribution from the employees as well. A win-win.”

You smugly slide over the information you gathered for Seokjin’s review. He can’t help but admit to himself that this is a possible option. He doesn’t like that it would throw off the plans already in place, but as long as the doctors are reputable, he feels confident in this choice. 

“Can you tell me a little bit about the clinic or the doctors we would be assigned?”

“Sure, uh, their names are…Hyun Yong-in, Jung Hyun-tae and Lee Wan-soo. They work for—”

“—Incheon 21st Century Hospital,” Seokjin interrupts. You glower at him. 

“Next idea.”

“What? Why?!”

“Because, Kicks, if you had done a little more digging, you would know why the fee is so low. They had a massive lawsuit, malpractice and fraud, allowing interns and assistants to perform surgery on patients without consent or supervision. They should’ve lost their licenses. I didn’t realize they were done with their jail time. Two years goes by fast.”

He watches you pale visibly at the news, just a few shades lighter than normal as you swallow the information. Folding his convertible laptop so that it becomes a touchscreen tablet, he taps for a few moments before proffering the screen to you. 

“Oh,” you gulp. “Well, I have one more idea to help the company.”

Pulling out the printed paper from the manila folder, you pass the list of departments to Seokjin for him to review. 

“These are all of the departments of JinHit Conglomerate with a brief description of what they handle.” Leaning over, you point to a small subsection under the Information Technology sector. “This right here is a small department that is listed under IT, but could also be considered Marketing. It houses the Social Media Managers—three employees who oversee engagement, content, and analytics for the company’s online platforms and presence.”

Seokjin nods.

“Yes, they are the ones who caught wind of the video Khaity posted…We had to make sure that moving forward they didn’t contact the board first, but me and Joon.” Seokjin shakes his head at the memory. “That was a shitshow,” he mutters.

“Well, take a look at the expenses this department has incurred. The cost of new equipment for all three members, including desktops here in the office and work devices, to take on the go and to have at home; high-speed gigabit internet speeds, several purchases for access to databases and systems to track the company name and various projects we are working on, a stipend for food—I don’t even know why they need that—plus these charges to the company card for a massage therapist to come in-house three times a week!” You huff in indignation at the ridiculousness of the expenses as Seokjin’s phone chimes from an incoming message.

“So what are you proposing we do? Cut out massages? Or are you offering to be my personal masseuse? I have a few areas you could—”

“I will call HR so quick—”

“I’m kidding, sheesh! You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered! Anyway,” you redirect the conversation away from another spiraling train of thought as your tablet dings, “this department incurs more expenses per member than some of the entertainment sector, so I think we need to merge these workers into other departments with a significant decrease to the special treatment they have been receiving and do a sweep through ALL department expenses, mitigating all of the superfluous things, like fucking massage therapists being on-call in-house three times a week.”

“The employees are not going to like this—we've always allowed them the ability to not be micromanaged when it comes to workplace spending,” Seokjin answers, but he knows this is the best bet to meet the board’s requirements and stay on your good side. “But okay.”

“Great. I’ll draft the memo to be sent out as soon as possible so that from now on, all expenses will be reviewed by me before charges can be processed by the company.” A quiet pinging chimes as you talk. “All spending must go through a request and approval process. I’ve already drafted the forms for requesting funds, and this is a great segue into Ji-Soo and the holiday party. She can be the first to complete the new process for approval, since I’ve already completed the form and sent it to her.”

Jin huffs out a disbelieving chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment of relief.

“Well, that explains the back-to-back emails she’s sent while we’ve been talking. She must not understand that emails are not like text messages.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say that Ji-Soo is surpassing the CEO with her IQ score.” You click the keys on the tablet keyboard, avoiding looking at Seokjin, lest you start to laugh as another ding fills the silence from his constantly chirping phone.

“Kicks! It’s so rare to see you snip back—she must’ve done something to get under your skin.” Seokjin smirks, thinking about how he wants to be next.

“Just thinking about how if we could fire some people, that would also help with costs.”

“For now, we’ll stick to option three and your plan to assess all company fund requests. I’ll report this to Namjoon and you can work on your memo. And please, if you love me at all,” Seokjin pauses so that he can stand up and gather his device and pen, “reply to Ji-Soo before she files a complaint.”

“Yes, sir.” And you will, but not because you have any kind of feelings for your boss. 

Reader POV

Ji-Soo is not happy with the reply email you sent to her, but you don’t care. Unfortunately, it’s your job that’s on the line, though you wish it would be hers. Her many office dalliances are of no secret to you thanks to being so close to one of the C-Suite employees, but there isn’t much you can do about it.

The rest of the weekend and following week is spent writing up the memo for the CEO to approve and send out to all departments, prepping all of the review documents you will be using for requests, and meeting with the CIO, Jeon Jungkook, to discuss the rearranging of the IT Departments so that the staff members can be placed accordingly. 

Friday afternoon, a reminder email comes through about the Company Holiday party happening tomorrow. You didn’t forget about it—not with the way Ji-Soo bothers you almost daily about how hard it is to plan the event with the limited funds you provided her. You roll your eyes at her email—the slight dig at the change of venue due to the financial department’s mitigations did not go unmissed by you. 

In actuality, she has the same amount of money for decorations and food as previous years—making her use the JinHit building as the location instead of renting out an expensive ballroom or hotel conference room allowed you to approve her decorations, food, and drink budget. 

Moving the email into the relevant folder, you close down your computer for the weekend, excited to finally be done with the long week. You plan to attend the event, and as you pack up your belongings to head home, you think through the various outfits in your closet to piece together what you might want to wear. 

“Hey, Kicks!” Seokjin’s loud voice calls out to you as you wait for the elevator car to arrive on your floor. The finance department is located on the 48th floor, below the C-Suite offices, and it isn’t every day that people frequently travel this high. Most of the Property Acquisition department left earlier, also located on this floor; so the quiet atmosphere allows his voice to travel farther than usual.

“Hey, Seokjin. Have a good weekend,” you say in greeting and farewell so as to not prolong a conversation. He doesn’t take the hint and steps next to you, his heady cologne filling the elevator waiting area. His black hair is pushed back off of his forehead, showing his annoyingly handsome face, and you turn away from his brown eyes smiling at you.

“Oh, I’m sure this weekend will be more than good. Are you coming tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Need to witness with my own eyes how it turns out so Ji-Soo can’t lie.”

Seokjin laughs as the elevator sounds to alert that the carriage has arrived. The two of you board, the enclosed space unsurprisingly empty. Being alone with him is nothing you aren’t used to—but lately you’re noticing he’s frustratingly handsome, which makes it harder for you to still blame him for the finance meeting debacle.

“Sounds like something she would do,” he finishes after laughing, pressing the button to the 50th floor, causing the trajectory of the elevator to lurch upward.

“Seokjin!”

“What? You know I have two offices and I left my briefcase upstairs. Wait for me, please?” he begs as the door opens and he takes off at a slow jog down the hallway. You sigh, pressing the door open button a few times as you wait for him to return. You’re annoyed and ready to go home, and this just highlights how much he enjoys getting under your skin and earning a reaction from you. He’s back quickly, only slightly out of breath as you press the button for the ground floor.

“Thanks, Kicks. It’s creepy leaving here by myself.”

You look at him incredulously.

“It’s not creepy. Most of the lights are still on!”

“Barely! Plus now that it’s winter, the sun sets earlier. Look,” he gestures out the elevator’s tinted glass window. “It’s already setting.”

“It’s not setting, it just looks darker because the glass is tinted for shade so we don’t fry on the way up to the office.”

“If it’s hot in here, I can get off,” he offers, pointing to the button for the 37th floor that he can press to stop the motion of the elevator’s descent.

“You really think you’re hot, huh?”

“You don’t agree?” Seokjin challenges, stepping into your space. His arms cage your body in, and he tilts his head to look down at you. You fight the urge to stare at his lips, instead biting your own as you maintain eye contact. 

“Oh Seokjin, there are so many things I don’t agree with you on.” You decide to take this opportunity and fluster him for a change. You close the gap dividing you from Seokjin and begin to run your hand along the top of his head, as if in a loving manner. You hold back a laugh at the way his eyes close in contentment at the feel of your fingers sliding along his scalp, unaware of your actual goal. Your fingers curl around his locks, giving you a good grip to pull his head back and away from you.

“Ow, ow!” He hollers as he steps away from you, releasing you from the tension built within his arms.

“Sorry, sir.” Smugly, you cross your arms as he rubs at his scalp while shooting daggers at you, knowing it’s all in jest.

The two of you continue to playfully banter on the way down to the main lobby, parting ways as he heads to his reserved parking spot and you walk to the bus stop near the building that most employees utilize to get home. 

📈📈📈📈📈

Glancing at yourself in the mirror, you fix your dress, eyes leaving the thigh slit in your dress to gaze at the black Louis Vuitton FAME pumps adorning your feet. The cocktail dress is black, showing off ample shoulder and legs, while accentuating all of your best body parts. Grabbing your winter coat and clutch, you head downstairs to the waiting KakaoTaxi that will take you to the office.

The lobby of JinHit is full of people arriving, greeting each other and taking photos in front of the ice sculpture of the company logo. On the other side of the main desk from the elevators, a makeshift coat check has been erected, with a small line of your coworkers turning in their heavy coats so they can enjoy the party. After dropping off your own jacket, you make your way to the elevator, waving salutations to coworkers you see. The CEO’s secretary, NaBi, poses with the CIO, Jungkook, in front of a beautiful backdrop of a snowy forest, fake snow falling from a machine positioned above. Yoongi and Jimin stand to one side, clearly arguing back and forth about something, though both have a smile on their face. Reaching the elevator, the doors open as soon as you press the button, and you’re quickly rising to the 5th floor. 

The 5th floor is often referred to as the Study Area, because it houses several quiet areas for the employees to access. The entertainment section uses it the most, with the various celebrities signed to JinHit doing work, studying their craft, and holding meetings in the rooms. The first door, and the main location of the party is called The Library, because one side of the wall is filled with bookshelves and books, while the opposite side holds floor-to-ceiling glass windows. There is a balcony within The Library that looks down upon the main floor, and tonight, it’s filled with white covered tables with a good sized area for people to dance and mingle.

As you take in the decorations, you can’t help but admire Ji-Soo’s efforts, and when she appears from a side door directing a working staffer on the placement of silverware, you tell her so. 

“Thank you, YN…not that your goal to cut down on spending was of any help.”

“Yes, I am sure that this is not the venue you had in mind, but you’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Wow, babes, this looks great!” Jimin walks into the room, followed by Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook. 

“Yes, I worked very hard for almost two weeks on planning this.” Ji-Soo curls herself into Jimin’s arms as he wraps an arm around her waist. They walk further into the room to allow the crowd to enter, and soon The Library is full of people grabbing plates for the buffet line and getting drinks from the bar set up beneath the balcony. You decide to get a drink first, avoiding the crowd lining up to get first dibs on the food emitting a delicious aroma into the room.

The bartender is skilled, shaking bottles and pouring liquor for your waiting coworkers. The Malibu Bay Breeze you ordered is paired with a couple of cherries that sway in the glass as it slides down the bar to you. Taking a sip, you enjoy the refreshing taste of the cran-pineapple and coconut rum as it takes over your tastebuds.

“What did you order? Is it good?”

You nod your head at NaBi, who recently joined you at the bar, as you take another long sip from the thin black straw. 

“It’s perfect! Not overly sweet, but the rum isn’t overpowering it either.”

“I’ll have to try that one after I finish my amaretto sour.” She gestures to the bartender who is mixing her order. 

“They taste so good, I bet the party will get a little wild soon.” 

You both look at the crowd on the dance floor, surprised that so many people are already swaying to the beat and most of the tables are full with diners. The event planner is wrapped around Jimin, body gyrations bordering on dangerously inappropriate for a work party. NaBi laughs at the display before leaving you alone to join her work husband, Jungkook, at a table near the thrusting lovebirds. 

Heading to the buffet line, you decide to eat before you order a second drink, wanting to keep some semblance of control over your gross motor functions and not end up as the gossip all over the WeVerse App.

📈📈📈📈📈

“Wow, Kicks…you look amazing.”

You try your best to turn around slowly, but the alcohol seems to come out of nowhere and you’re a little wobbly on your platform pumps. Luckily, you didn’t choose a stiletto, or you might have fallen straight into your boss.

“Hello, sir. Thank you.” You blink a few times, trying to get his handsome face to stop turning into triplets. 

“Why are you hiding up here?” He looks down at your coworkers from where you’re both standing against the clear railing of the balcony. “Are you okay? Too much to drink?”

“You know? I think the juice tricked me. It was sweet so I had a few more than I usually would…now you have twin brothers.”

Seokjin guffaws loudly, but the music is now so loud it doesn’t draw anyone’s attention.

“You look a bit flushed, do you want me to get you some water?”

“Actually, yes, can we go get water? I was afraid to go downstairs in case I tripped and fell.”

Seokjin nods, offering his arm to you so that you can balance as he walks you over to the stairs to guide you down them safely. You thank him as he leads the way to the bar, loosening his bowtie as he motions for two water bottles. You fan your face as he uses one hand to pick up the bottles placed on the bar, and taking in your current state, Seokjin places his hand on the small of your back to head towards the outdoor access entrance through the glass wall. 

The winter chill of the night air is soothing to your hot skin and you sink into the patio loveseat to rest your heels and your eyes.

“Here,” the crackling of the water bottle opening signals you to reach your hand out blindly and grasp the cool plastic.

A big gulp and deep breath help immensely, and you feel the loveseat dip as Seokjin drops down next to you. His body heat radiates comfortingly, and you catch yourself cuddling into his side. You miss the way Seokjin’s eyes sparkle at the initiation of touch. 

“So, despite cutting costs, the annual holiday party turned out pretty well, I think,” Seokjin says, raising his water to his plush lips to drink before continuing, “did you have fun?”

“We’re still here, but yes, I am having fun. Thank you for getting me outside. I feel a lot better.”

“That’s good,” he murmurs as you curl into him more, seeking his heat. He hesitates before lowering his arm around the back of the loveseat, resting it behind you as if to welcome you into his space more. “I can’t believe it’s already December.”

You sit upright, a gasp leaving your mouth as his words ring in your eyes. 

“Oh my god, it’s December.”

“I know I just said tha—”

“I missed your birthday!”

Seokjin watches your face as it cycles through all of the stages of grief before settling on a pouty acceptance. 

“It’s no big deal, I didn’t get to celebrate much with everything going on right now. We’ve had to stay late and double check the daily financial reports, and I’ve been meeting with the department heads and it’s not a big birthday anyways. Next year though, you better remember.”

You nod solemnly, tipsiness clouding your ability to see through his playful manner. “Yes, sir. I will, I promise.”

Seokjin chuckles at your seriousness, hand moving to the top of your head where he smooths down the pieces that were disturbed when you had leaned into him. You preen at the touch, chest pushing into his side as you close your eyes and enjoy the feel of his fingers against your hair. 

“You’re cute when you drink.”

You glare at him as best as you can, but it just makes him laugh harder. 

“So, what do you want for your birthday? Or for Christmas since I missed this year?”

Seokjin’s face turns thoughtful, eyebrows furrowing together as his eyes look to the night sky in thought. 

“I think…I just want my father to recognize how much I actually care about the company. I’m trying to be the best CFO I can be, but man, if by Christmas he can relax from hounding me over the finances, that would be fucking great. If not, by next year we better be as far from the red as possible.”

His words strike a chord with you. The past week that you’ve been working hard at the mitigation plans and finance approvals, you didn’t even take into account how busy Seokjin was—to the point he didn’t even make a fuss about his birthday. He’d actually been really helpful, providing you with information to make your job easier.  

“We will be, Jin,” you promise, “you’re doing a great job helping me with mitigating things. Speaking of—I wish we could mitigate her.” You stare pointedly through the window back into the building, where a very drunk Park Jimin has his white shirt unbuttoned seductively low as an equally drunk Ji-Soo is taking pictures of him with her phone. 

“Ji-Soo? She’s harmless.”

“No one who has slept with a C-Suite executive is ever harmless to a company. Workplace romances rarely work out. She isn’t harmless; she’s a risk, and untouchable right now.”

A strong gust causes Seokjin to shiver, unconsciously pulling you closer to his body and you seek his warmth. Closing your eyes, you cuddle into his broad chest as you listen to him continue with the conversation.  

“She’s just the front desk secretary, Kicks.”

“Exactly. A lower level employee who has slept with both Kim Namjoon, the CEO, and Park Jimin, a board member’s son—who knows who else is on the list. She can choose to sell her stories to the highest bidder, at any time, for any reason. But she does her job, so we have no reason to fire her that wouldn’t be contestable in a court.”

“Ohhhh,” Seokjin’s eyebrows raise cutely, “the risk is that she could cause us to spend money in court, be tied up in litigation, or spend money on a settlement.”

“I knew you were the CFO for a reason,” you smile up at him from where he has you comfortably tucked, and he looks so handsome from this view.

“Ah, Kicks, you need to have a little fun in your life. No risk, no reward.” He winks at you, and under the city lights, he looks dazzling. “I would also like to point out something you may or may not be privy to…but I happen to know there are currently four successful workplace romances happening at this moment. They’re cute,” he sighs wistfully, “I wish I had a cute work boo.”  

“Yes, I am privy to this knowledge, seeing as I work with you, gossip queen,” you tease, “but also, relationships can look one way to outsiders, but in reality, there could be all sorts of issues, abuse, infidelity, petty arguments…”

“Yeah, those are my friends outside of work—accusing them of abuse and cheating is a bit of a reach to try and prove your singular example right.” He looks at you thoughtfully. “I bet if we were dating, we would easily be successful. Not everything is a risk.”

“If we were dating, we wouldn’t be stupid like them,” you nod back to where the two lovebirds are canoodling in the shadowed corner of the room, “but still risky nonetheless.”

“How about this…I’ll take you out on a few dates, and we can see if anyone we work with catches wind of our fake relationship. I think we could keep it under wraps for two weeks.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“How about those pretty Jimmy Choo heels you were eyeing? Prove me wrong and they’re yours.”

You feel your eyes grow wide, imagining those coveted heels on your feet as you walk into work once the new year rolls in.

“I’m feeling like I may regret this in the morning, but what the hell, I want those shoes…It’s a deal.”

📈📈📈📈📈

The following Sunday evening finds you lounging around at home, cleaning and doing laundry as you sip a glass of red wine and come up with your list of rules for your challenge with Seokjin. In the light of day and with sober minds, you texted each other, realizing that you need some way to measure the challenge. Also, he needed to make sure that you weren’t set on sabotaging the relationship from jump, just to get the shoes. 

Jin (8:47 PM): I’ve thought about it, and here are my rules. Okay? We’re dating, so act like we’re dating but be discreet and don’t tell anyone and win on purpose. You (8:47 PM): That’s…so professional of you. Jin (8:48 PM): There you go again… You (8:49 PM): Shut up. You (8:50 PM): Anyways, here’s what I came up with: [Link to spreadsheet]  No telling anyone that we’re dating during these 2 weeks ~Saturday Dec 9 - Saturday Dec 23 Must go on 6 dates, 3 each week, with at least one date each week right after work, where you drive us  Have to attend two meetings together with other coworkers and successfully get away with the following: Disappear at the same time from desk/office during peak work hours for 30 minutes, twice during week 2 without anyone growing suspicious of the two of us missing Jin (9:02 PM): I appreciate your attention to detail, but also, you kind of take the fun out of the dating part. You (9:04 PM): You want to make sure I don’t cheat, and I want to make sure you don’t either. So, in order to test this accurately, we need to be able to measure it. By having set actions and goals we have to get away with, I think this is the best way to determine who wins in the end. Jin (9:05 PM): We could just act like a couple and wing it, but I guess knowing what to do with you is easier. You like being touched…noted. You (9:06 PM): Don’t make it awkward. Jin (9:06 PM): You didn’t mention kissing at work? Are we doing that? I think it would be fun. Jin (9:08 PM): Or does that come with the sneaking away? Should I pick up some listerine for the office? Any preference on condom brands or flavors? You: {Left on Read}

📈📈📈📈📈

Sitting at your desk, your eyes drag to the bottom corner of the computer screen to the email alert. Clicking it open, you see a message from Seokjin with weekly reports he’s run for your review. As you begin to open the spreadsheets he’s sent, you notice he’s changed his signoff at the end of the email.

Your Handsome Lover, Jin-Oppa

You hold back a gag, unable to believe the audacity he has, before it turns into a giggle. He really has no shame, you think, deciding two can play this game. Hitting reply, you send him a thank you, making sure to sign off in like.

Leaning back in your chair, you stretch before diving into the work he sent. 

Time seems to fly by, with the sun filtering into your office slowly moving across the carpet. You don’t notice, so engrossed in your work as you are, that Seokjin is leaning in your doorway, eyes watching you with a soft smile. 

“Ready to go, baby girl?”

Seokjin’s voice startles you, breaking your concentration. Your boss has changed out of his business suit slacks, a crisp pair of blue jeans tailored to fit his body now gracing his frame as his button down disappears into the waistband. The sleeves are rolled up halfway, revealing his expensive watch and veins as he flexes involuntarily. 

“Seokjin!” you gasp out, clutching a hand to your chest above your now racing heart.

“Now, is that any way to address your boyfriend who is about to take you out on a date?”

You raise your eyebrows at him. 

“Fake boyfriend, you mean,” you correct, gathering your purse onto your shoulder as you lock your computer before looking down to arrange the printed reports neatly.

“Real enough for the next two weeks, baby girl,” he counters, voice significantly closer. 

You feel the warmth of his body pressing into your backside as he envelops you in a hug, his face nuzzling into your neck as if seeking comfort. Freezing, your body betrays you as a burst of butterflies flit around your tummy and your neck cranes as if to accommodate his face, waiting for him to plant a kiss on your sweet spot. 

Instead he steps back, and it takes you a few seconds to regain your composure.

“I’m gonna regret signing my email as that, aren’t I?” you question, following him out of your office.

“Hmm, it's possible, but more likely, you’ll prefer it to Kicks and ask me not to stop calling you that.”

“Doubt it,” you mumble, though your conscious thought is looking at you skeptically. It’s been one day, and your body is already taking this fake relationship as reality.

“We’ll see,” is his only response, though after the two of you step into the elevator, he reaches for your hand.

“You’re quite the touchy-feely boyfriend, Jinnie-Oppa,” you tease.

“Because I know it’s what you like. I know you’ve identified set things you’d like to do to test the relationship, but I’m more of a go with the flow guy, y’know? And I have a reputation to protect. Fake or not, I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

Again, the traitorous butterflies appear, and they remain long after he’s dropped your hand to walk across the lobby to the parking garage entrance, looking mischievously around the lot as he opens the passenger side door to let you into his car. 

Date number one surprises you, as you’re expecting Seokjin to resort to either typical chaebol actions, like a fancy reservation at an upscale restaurant, or be lazy with his choice, and take you to something owned by his family. Seokjin did neither, instead he surprises you with a fun outing. He swings by your place, telling you to change into something casual and you’re glad you did. Zzang Games, located in Hongdae, is a multi-floor entertainment center, perfect for competing or pairing up for various arcade and VR games. 

For a Monday evening it's not too busy, mostly tourists and students on the claw machines and engaged in battle royales, and you think it’s pretty smart of Seokjin to choose this. Your coworkers most likely would not be out at a place like this on a weekday, so you’re less likely to get caught, and as a date, it’s definitely the type of relaxed setting that would allow two people to learn more about each other. If that was something the two of you were interested in, which it’s not. Right? 

Later that night in bed, you fall asleep thinking about how much fun you had with Seokjin and that maybe he’s right about workplace romances, but if he is, then you can kiss those Jimmy Choo shoes goodbye...

Seokjin wasn’t lying to you when he said he would be the best boyfriend you’ve ever experienced in the two weeks assigned to dating, and it’s only been three days. Yesterday, you received a delivery of flowers discreetly signed from Your Lover. Several of the women that share your floor asked about the blooming perennials, curious to know who they came from. You just said it was a new thing, much like the vase full of buds that was blossoming; not yet a relationship, but still something nonetheless. 

Today, just before you head to the Tuesday weekly meeting, Seokjin comes into your office to deliver you a cold French vanilla latte with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle across the fluffy topping. 

“Well isn’t this sweet,” you say with a thank you, instantly mouthing at the whipped cream. You watch as Seokjin’s eyes follow your lips as you try and get the excess cream off the sides of your mouth. Turning away from you, he moves to leave. You follow, ready for the meeting, when Seokjin stops abruptly, turning on his heel in the doorway. 

“What—”

His plush lips land on yours, a hand moving to the back of your hair to hold you in place as he gently bites your bottom lip before pulling away from the unexpected kiss.

“You missed a spot, Kicks, didn’t want anyone else coming to your rescue in the meeting.”

He steps away, resuming his path to the conference room as you blink feverishly at his departing silhouette. It takes you a few seconds to gather your wits and hustle after him, heels click-clacking on the tile as you hurry to catch up.

📈📈📈📈📈

Meetings lately suck. 

Ever since you, or, the finance department, has been put on the hot seat, it feels like everyone is looking to you to fix things that aren’t your area of concern. It doesn’t help that you and Seokjin have made this stupid bet to see who is right about workplace romances. All so you can have those coveted Jimmy Choos. 

“Thank you Taehyung, I’m sure the board will be able to vote on your proposal after reviewing the presentation.” The CEO’s voice snaps you back from where you’re daydreaming, face still warm and mouth tingling from your fake lover’s amorous encounter earlier. Absent-mindedly you run a finger across your bottom lip, not really listening to a word any of your coworkers have to say. 

“Next up will be an update on the finances—we’ll take a quick five minute break before we resume.”

You jump when you feel a hand on your thigh, a soft pressure as Seokjin turns your chair gently towards himself.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you want me to present this time,” he says lowly into your ear. You feel the breath of his words caress your neck, a shiver rolling down your spine at how close he is. His hand then moves to your back, and to anyone in the room watching, it would look like two work partners preparing for their presentation. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Maybe because you look a little…flustered. Don’t worry baby girl, this presentation’s on me.” Seokjin grasps your hand under the conference room table, and you don’t really hear anything else he says as he brings his other hand to the tablet in front of you, clicking a few things so he can connect to the projector now that Taehyung has packed away his materials. “That was much longer than five seconds, I think I’m killing it.”

“Huh?” you question, confused.

He releases your fingers from where they were intertwined with his own, raising his hand to wiggle his five left fingers in your face with a smug look. 

“Just sit here and look pretty, darling,” he jokes, but his eyes look serious when he swoops his hand over your ear, tucking away a wayward strand before standing to present, “and can you click through the slides for me?” he says this part louder, drawing everyone’s attention to you. 

You can only nod, bashful and confused, and curse Kim Seokjin for being so goddamn charming, and so damn good at this game. 

📈📈📈📈📈

Seokjin’s POV

Date number two the following day is your idea—a nice tandem bike ride along the Han River before sunset. The temperature is chilly, but you make sure to warn Seokjin in advance so he meets you wearing a warm fluffy white jacket, a matching beanie, and gloves. He’s thankful you let him know to dress warmly.

Seoul winters have 5 AM sunrises and near 8 PM sunsets, so the view along the river is gorgeous, a clear Wednesday with barely a cloud in the sky. Seokjin can’t believe he actually works up a sweat during the leisurely ride, but with the sun still out and no clouds to offer any shade, when the two of you finish your trip, he strips off his jacket for a breather. 

He notices the way you eye his arms as they flex to grab his wallet from his back pocket so he can pay for your hot cocoa. It makes him feel good about himself, and his chances with you once this competition is over. What better way to make you fall for him and realize dating him is feasible, than by a trial run—as he likes to call it. 

Seokjin is aware that you play by the rules, not just in work, where it’s expected, but in your day to day too, in relationships with coworkers and how you move through life. The only time he’s witnessed you behave in a way that goes against this is when you splurge to buy heels online. He feels like it was pure luck that he was able to finesse his trial run relationship with you, but he knows it is the data that you need to prove it’s worth the risk—he’s worth the risk. 

When you shiver from the breeze coming off of the river, he wastes no time layering his fluffy jacket over your thin, long-sleeve athletic shirt, loving the way the jacket dwarfs you despite your heeled boots—yes, even when riding bikes, you make sure to have that slight lift that makes your ass sit ever so nicely in your jeans. 

He enjoys the way you snuggle yourself deeper into his jacket, subtly inhaling the scent of his cologne and it’s just another confirmation to himself that maybe you could really turn this into something real with him, that maybe you like him back. He played it safe with the first date, and your choice for today is cute, but he doesn’t have much time to prove to you that he’s serious. He knows that the next date is the time for him to turn up the heat.

📈📈📈📈📈

Reader POV

The atmosphere in the restaurant for date three is so far removed from the arcade of date one, you don’t really know how to behave. You use the term restaurant loosely, seeing as you are currently floating along the Han River. A candlelight dinner on a ferry at sunset was not what you expected from Seokjin. Looking around the room, you can’t help but notice how many of the tables are empty in comparison to what your friends have told you about this experience, but you’re sure Seokjin pulled some strings. There’s maybe seven other couples in the room. He confirms as much as he pulls your attention back to him. 

“I bought out as many of the tables as I could to ensure your utmost devotion during our date, and still you can’t keep your eyes on me,” he jokes, bringing his wine glass to his lips, “but some people had already purchased tables and I couldn’t get them to refund it.” Your eyes follow the burgundy liquid as it slips between his lips, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows it down. You tug at the form-fitting maroon dress you have on, one that Seokjin presented to you before leaving work to make the reservation.

“I was just wondering why it was so empty, but now that I know, I promise to focus on you.” You hate how much you don’t hate how the words sound; Seokjin is a sight to behold as the sun begins its descent below the horizon, and you find that you don’t want to look away from him. It’s a bit confusing for you because there’s a small part of your brain that doesn’t want to like this. He’s your boss, for one, and two, your competitive side is thinking about the fact that you want those shoes. Plus, you also like to be right. Though if you’re being honest with yourself—

“All women do is lie,” Seokjin says, paired with a firm settling down of the glass goblet onto the tablecloth. “Promising to focus on me, and then daydreaming seconds after—unless you were daydreaming about me?”

“Yes, daydreaming about strangling you for being so insufferable.”

“Didn’t know you were also into asphyxiation, but I will add that to the list alongside ‘likes to be touched’.”

You want to wipe the smirk off of his face. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that this is Kim Seokjin, and no matter how he seems to fool you for a moment, give it a few minutes and he will say something to reign it back in. 

“So, I know we’re going to run this relationship for two weeks, and I thought about the perfect way to figure out if we pass or fail.”

You nod as you take a bite of the filet mignon on the plate before you. “Oh, do tell,” you implore, chewing delicately so as to not appear impolite. 

“Be my date to Namjoon’s Christmas party.” Seokjin’s nonchalant tone throws you for a loop and you miss the connection between the two things.

“Be your—excuse me,” you cough, clearing your throat from when you inhaled unceremoniously. “You want me to be your date to the CEO’s Christmas party?”

“Yeah, it makes perfect sense. When we arrive, everyone will either act surprised seeing us as a couple, or think that I invited you as my friendly, plus-one coworker. Either way, we can use that as the true test to see if we passed or failed.” Seokjin grins proudly, waiting for you to applaud his brilliance.  

“Hmm, it does seem like a good idea.” You look back at your food, hiding the fact that you were confused earlier. “I’m assuming the people invited will be people who attend meetings with us or work with us regularly?”

“Obviously, I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll be your date.”

“Great. I’ll forward you the e-vite later tonight so you can prepare yourself for it, I know how you are.”

You smile softly at him; despite his teasing tone, you know that the act of sending you the details is one that shows he knows you and cares to some degree about your comfortability. He’s seen you freak out a few times over lack of information before meetings or events that you’ve had to attend for the company. You wonder what other things he’s filed away about you to make sure that you’re taken care of, so to speak. Maybe this is also who Kim Seokjin is. His duality is throwing you for a loop.

Before you can think of a way to safely broach that topic, the live band playing shifts to a song you recognize, but without lyrics, you can’t name it just yet. 

“I love this song!” Seokjin surprises you when he comments, proffering a hand to you. “Do you want to dance?”

In the fading sunlight, his eyes sparkle with a joyful playfulness that you can’t say no to. Taking his hand, you allow him to pull you towards an opening, thanks to the lack of patrons on board, and gathering you into his arms, the two of you sway to the beat. 

You are acutely aware that his hands are placed right at the small of your back, pinkies bordering the curve of your ass as you hold onto his broad shoulders. 

“Relax a little, can you look like you actually enjoy dancing with me?”

“Sorry, I—” 

“Shhh, just dance with me—you look beautiful by the way.” He smiles down at you, and you comply, wrapping your hands to rest casually around his neck to loosen your stiff posture as you try to hide the heat rising to your face.

As the music plays, you hear Seokjin humming gently along to it before he begins to sing lightly. “Say my name and everything just stops, I don’t want you like a best friend…Only bought this dress so you can take it off, take it off, ah ah ah~.”

Hearing the lyrics jogs your memory of the song, and you remember how much of a fan Seokjin is of Taylor Swift. Until the words catch up to your brain and you look up at him scandalized.

“Only bought me this dress so you can take it off?” you ask, trying to step away from him, but his hold on you is firm. 

“Kicks, everything that I buy you from here on out, I would love to remove from your body, except for the heels.” He doesn’t look at you, playfully swirling you around in a circle with a smile, but there’s a sincerity in his tone that you can’t shake. You bite your lip, unable to stop the racing thoughts as he takes one of your hands from where you’ve moved them to his chest, spinning you in a circle on the dance floor as the band continues to play. 

He pulls you close again, this time with your back to his front and keeps hold of your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. 

“Are you having fun yet?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?” you deflect, and he chuckles knowingly.

Seokjin resumes his gentle singing, swaying with you as other guests begin to dance and waiters clear the finished entrees so they could prepare for dessert. As the song finally ends, you walk back to your seat, sitting gingerly to combat the pooling between your thighs from the friction dancing must have caused. Rubbing up against someone is just a part of dancing. What else could explain the slight bulge you felt nestled between your cheeks as you swayed in Seokjin’s arms? 

The small crystal bowls of strawberry gelato are a nice distraction to cool down the heat you feel around your throat and cheeks, but watching the way that Seokjin’s lips wrap around the metal spoon to gently suck at the ice cream, smoothing down the scoop of pink dessert sitting on it, well, it doesn’t help as much as one would hope. 

When you’ve both finished and the boat begins to dock back into the wharf, Seokjin comes to your side, offering you a hand to help you stand. You grasp it, but as you stand, the ferry lurches on the water, and you stumble into his chest. The motion causes him to fall backwards taking you with him as he attempts to protect you on the fall. 

As the boat settles, you look up, seeing that you’ve landed side-saddle style on Seokjin’s lap, his legs bent to the side opposite of where yours are. Your hands clutch onto his shoulders still, your faces much closer than you’ve ever found them to be. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, arms tightening from where they’re wrapped around your waist.

“Mmhmm,” you nod, the act bringing your lips closer to his with every upward movement.

“You sure, Kicks?” he breathes out even quieter, face inching ever so closer. 

“Never better,” you answer, a rush of air caressing his lips, so close you feel the blowback of it, and an urge like never before comes over you to just lean in and taste the strawberry off his lips.

And just as his lips begin to touch yours, a flurry of activity from the ship's stewards pulls you apart as they check on your wellbeing. They help you climb off of Seokjin’s lap, apologizing profusely for the boat’s severe rocking and offering coupons on drinks and food and a free trip to save from receiving a bad review. You let Seokjin negotiate with the workers, focusing solely on your breathing. You do this as you leave, as Seokjin drives you home, and as you stand in the steaming shower attempting to scrub yourself of his touch, of the feelings they elicit from you, and what it might mean.

But there’s nothing that you can do to stop the images that infiltrate your thoughts as you dream of a satin dress falling to the floor, strawberry lips that cover every inch of your skin, and your high-heel-clad feet resting on his shoulders.     

Work the next day is weird to say the least, as you expected to be bombarded with Seokjin smirking and strutting around the office, but when you arrive, he’s nowhere to be seen. In order to keep your mind free of all of the newly budding feelings, you throw yourself into your work, following up on the financial reports for the week so far to track the flow of money within the company and see if the different measures you’ve put into place have made a difference in the end-of-fiscal-year outcome and if the company is in the black once more. 

The day seems to go by fast, with Seokjin never appearing in the finance department at all, and no encounters with him when you left to grab food with NaBi, Khaity, Khaity’s best friend Leah, and Hana. You expected to see him round the corner and enter your office at least once you were back from lunch, but he doesn’t appear, and instead of feeling relief at avoiding what you feel will be an awkward encounter, you feel nervous and worried about where he’s at. 

After spinning aimlessly in your desk chair, having read the same line in the report seven times, you reach for your phone, finger hovering over his name. Would an email be more appropriate? It was working hours and you’ve never really called him outside of work like this before. You decide to call anyway, brain already coming up with a way to write it off as part of the challenge much like he did the whip cream kiss, when he answers. 

“Hello?” he answers, a little breathless, and you pause, confused at the sounds you hear in the background. “Kicks?” 

You’re about to answer when you hear a feminine voice from the background, asking who Kicks is.

“Give me a moment,” you hear him say, followed by the background sounds fading a bit as he steps away from wherever he’s located. He says your name, but you’re still stuck on what you’ve heard. “Baby girl?” he tries, and it works, breaking you from your green-eyed stupor.

“I’m here,” you respond, voice lowered as you try and navigate the feeling in your chest. 

“Is something wrong? You’re worrying me.”

“No, nothing’s wrong, I just haven’t seen you at work today—”

“Oh, I had a dentist appointment this morning, but Namjoon sent me to meet with some fiduciary specialists and can you believe they don’t have elevators in their building? I had to walk four flights of stairs and I was so worried something was wrong and I was going to have to run back down those four flights to get to you—”

Your peals of laughter halt his rambling, and he stays quiet as you taper off into light giggles. 

“No, everything is fine, sorry to interrupt your meeting.”

“No, I forgot to put it into the calendar so you would know, I’m sorry if I worried you. This woman who looks old enough to be my grandma is glaring at me though, so let me finish this meeting and then I’ll fill you in on what I learned tomorrow.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m coming now—okay, babe, be good, bye!”

The phone clicks off and you set it down, utterly confused at the ease with which he called you a pet name; it wasn’t done teasingly, but more like a slip, as if he always referred to you as such and was comfortable with doing so. But even more pressing is the way you feel, no longer anxious at Seojin’s unknown whereabouts, no longer jealous of him being around another woman sounding suspiciously out of breath, and tummy all aflutter at him calling you babe.

📈📈📈📈📈

“Friday, fighting!” NaBi calls out as you both head towards the entrance; her weekly Friday morning greeting makes you wave at her. 

“I hope you have a great day, NaBi!” you say as you both make your way towards the elevator. You expect to see NaBi press the button to Namjoon’s floor, since she is essentially his personal assistant and secretary, but instead she chooses to go to a different floor, IT. 

“Same to you, I’m sure it will be a great Friday. Any more horrid meetings?” she asks, privy to the situation thanks to her role within the company.

“No, thank god. We’re back to our weekly Tuesday meetings, and luckily, since they know Jin and I are working on the finances, they’ve left me alone for most of them.”

“That’s good, I hope Jin isn’t working you to the bone,” NaBi quips, and you have to stop yourself from sharing your latest thoughts and feelings. 

“No, no, everything is good there, he’s actually been really attentive and helpful with trying to fix all of the wanton spending, so hopefully there’s no more vile meetings with the crusty old board members.”

As the doors slide open to the IT department, NaBi steps out, a large smile on her face as she looks towards a specific open door.

“When are you going to tell him how you feel?” you ask pointedly, nodding towards a certain muscle bunny’s office before the elevator has a chance to close. 

“When you wear sneakers to work!” she laughs out, waving you off.

“Never!”

📈📈📈📈📈

The weekend seems to go by quickly because you’re still working remotely on financial reports in your pajamas, so despite the turmoil you feel about everything, it gets set to the back burner. You remember late on Sunday that it’s once again your turn to plan the date for the following day, and so while you may not wear sneakers ever to the office or even tandem bike riding in winter, you will rock the heck out of the blue, red and tan bowling shoes when your competitive side strikes. And after such a romantic, sexually charged date, you want to try and put some space between you and Seokjin once again. 

Your pep talk to yourself on the way to work Monday morning consists of you reminding yourself that this isn’t real. 

“Seokjin’s unserious, you know he’s not capable of real emotions.” Your face looks back at you from the reflection in the window on the bus. “The date meant nothing. He’s just playing with you because he can. He wants you to let your guard down and forget the true game is afoot.” The man behind you on the bus looks at you as if you’ve lost your mind talking to yourself and you pretend you’re talking to someone on the phone. “You are in this to prove to Seokjin that dating at work is risky because people always find out, and thus win a pair of heels. Nothing more.” 

But if what you told yourself this morning is the case, why do you want to sit and watch Seokjin run his fingers through his hair as he combs it out of his face? Why do you want to stare into his coffee-colored eyes as he talks to you about different techniques for bowling? You could care less about bowling skills, but watching the words come from between his pink pillow lips makes it mesmerizing. 

“Do you want bumpers?” he asks as he finishes lacing his shoes.

You shoot him a glare before answering, “No, I do not need bumpers, I’m decent at bowling, thank you very much.”

You aren’t lying either, you have pretty good hand eye coordination, but it has been several years since you’ve last gone bowling. You can typically score in the range of seventies to the hundreds, not a gutterball queen like he assumes. You hope to dazzle him with your abilities. 

“Okay, I think I’m going to use the 12-pound ball, what size do you need? A 7 or 8-pound?”  

“An 8-pound please! I sometimes use a 7 or a 9-pound when I need speed or to slow down for precision, but I’ll start with the 8 for now.” You stand and stretch, missing Seokjin’s eyes rove your figure.

“Got it boss, I’ll deliver you an 8-pounder.” Jin chuckles to himself as he grabs the two large spheres from the rack.

“Why does it sound like you’re planning to give me a newborn?”

“My mother and father would be happy to have a grandchild, now that I think about it,” Seokjin winks as he places the bowling balls into the ball return. 

“Kim Seokjin, sometimes I really just want to bang yo—”

“Me against the wall outside in the alleyway? I won’t lie, that would be a good way to get my parents started on a grandchild.”

“Ugh! Please just bowl, it’s your turn.” You sit down and cross your arms, irritated with his quips. He’s the most unserious person you have ever met, and yet he still manages to push the boundaries of unserious levels daily. 

Despite this, you are enjoying yourself as date four progresses, with game one ending with you beating Seokjin, and game two causing a tie to declare who is the best at bowling. Game three starts off the same, but halfway through, now pleasantly pliant with several soju shots, you both are giggling a lot more, being playful with trick shots. 

“Okay, okay, that was surprisingly accurate,” you laugh as Seokjin rights himself from where he had bent over to throw the bowling ball between his legs. You step up with your bowling ball, poised to be dramatic like you’ve seen people do on TV.

“Always the look of surprise from you, I am actually quite talented at many things, especially when it comes to using my hands.” His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, but with his face flushed red from being upside down and from alcohol, it is more comical than sexy. 

The burst of laughter that follows throws you off balance. One second, you are gearing up to do a ‘professional’ throw, left hand bracing the ball you have held in your right, three fingers balancing the weight, but when your hand swings back, he says his lewd saying and instead of releasing the ball when your arm pendulums forward, you keep hold of it. The weight of the ball still attached to your fingers propels you forward and you lose your footing on the overly slick flooring of the lane. 

“Oh fuck!” You can’t help the curse escaping your mouth as you try your best to maintain your footing, but your ankle rolls as your body topples onto the resin-coated wood floor. You cry out from the twinge it causes, a shooting pain traveling along the side of your leg.

Seokjin laughs, loud squeaks that resemble windshield wipers that have seen better days, and while you are nearly in tears from the stinging ache, you start to laugh too as you hold your ankle slightly above the ground.

“Jin, stop laughing, it hurts!” you giggle through the tears, and the bouncing from the laughter jostles your ankle and you let out a whimper. He’s next to you instantly, still chuckling as he tries to soothe you. 

“I’m sorry, but that was the funniest thing I’ve seen all week,” he wipes away a tear and then touches your leg gingerly. “Does it hurt here?”

You nod. “Yes, it’s similar to shin splints, but on the side.”

“Can you stand?” Seokjin offers his hands to you and you pull yourself up onto one leg, too afraid to put any weight on the hurt ankle. Your bowling ball lay forgotten as you hobble to the nearest seat. “I meant like can you put weight on it, but it appears you can’t…We only had three frames left anyways, let’s call it a night for bowling.” He looks at you with sympathy. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“No, I promise, it’ll be fine, just some ice and I’ll prop it up on a few pillows.”

Seokjin puts away the bowling balls and cleans up a little while you slowly loosen the laces. You transition one boot back on, and he comes back over to you in time to help gently remove the other bowling shoe off your foot. 

“Let me return our shoes and then I’ll help you to the car.”

You stretch as far as you can reach to gather your purse and test the mobility of your ankle, hoping to avoid being carried bridal style out. It still hurts and looks a little swollen, but you’ve done this a few times as an adolescent so you already know how to treat it. Seokjin squats down in front of you, giving you his back so that you can climb on and he can koala-carry you out of the building. 

Hesitantly you wrap your arms around his neck, realizing that this position is much worse than if he had chosen the bridal style. Now you know exactly how well he fits between your thighs, how firmly his hands wrap under your thighs. There’s no way to distance yourself from him as you physically have to rely on him to transport you to the car, your breasts pressing into his back.

Surprisingly, Seokjin doesn’t make any jokes as he carts you out, just asks after your pain and comfort levels. Once he’s parked outside of your building, he helps you to your door. You draw the line there though, not letting him come in.

“We have work tomorrow, I��m just going to take some painkillers, take a quick shower, grab some ice and pillows, then sleep. Promise, I won’t do anything strenuous.” 

“Fine. On one condition though. I’m picking you up to take you to work the rest of the week until it heals.” Seokjin looks at you with eyes that showcase his finality, and you agree so you can escape him. 

“I’ll meet you downstairs at 7:30 sharp,” you acquiesce, “and Seokjin…thank you.”

“Anything for you, I told you, as your boyfriend these two weeks, I’ll be the best boyfriend—as long as you let me.” 

Before you can protest, he leans down and kisses your forehead gently, and he disappears from sight before you’ve moved to shut the door. 

Seokjin’s POV

Watching as you walk gingerly into the Tuesday morning meeting, Seokjin shakes his head at you remembering your refusal this morning to change into flats or sneakers, so Seokjin only agrees to allow you to continue to work if you sport an ankle wrap under your heeled boot. He stops at Daiso before parking, but because of the time, he lets you out with a promise to put it on once you get to your office. 

“Why are you limping so badly? The bandage should be giving you more support than that, is it on correctly?” Seokjin asks as you walk to your seat next to him. He stands to pull out the wheely chair for you, one hand on your back to guide you into the seat and the other holding your hand as you lower yourself to get comfortable. 

“I haven’t put it on yet,” you reply, avoiding eye contact. He returns to his chair sending you a searing stare full of judgment.

“Kicks, the longer it takes your ankle to heal, the longer I can’t enjoy seeing you in heels. You know I love how you look in heels.” His hand grazes along the top of your thigh, but you clamp a hand on top of his to stop the movement. 

“I knew you had an ulterior motive!” 

He chuckles, but it fades away as you seem to take advantage of the situation and thread your fingers through his. He fully expects that after ten seconds you’ll pull away and go back to taking notes on what the CEO says as he talks to the group. Except that you don’t, instead settling into the meeting, holding hands with Seokjin for far longer than necessary, not that he’s complaining. 

Once the meeting adjourns, you disappear back to your office faster than Seokjin thought possible with an injured ankle, but he takes advantage of the time to shoot an email to Namjoon and Yoongi before going to gather some items. It’s not long before he appears in your doorway. 

“Come with me, and bring your wrap,” he demands, though his tone is not harsh. He can’t be mad at you, not when you’ve provided him with the perfect opportunity.

With a sigh, you hobble over to the door and follow as he leads you around a few corners until you’re alone in one of the many break rooms in the building. This one in particular is similar to the library where the holiday party was held, but smaller, with a conference table in the middle of the sun-filled room.

Seokjin leads you to the table, and preemptively picks you up by your underarms to place you on the table before you can resist. He makes sure to be gentle as he lifts your leg to the table, undoing your boot so he can check your ankle out. You’re wearing loose slacks today, which makes it easier for him to access your sprain. Delicately, he smoothes the pant leg up your leg, his hand warming as it skates across your skin. 

He swears he hears an intake of breath from the touch, a reflection of the sparks he’s feeling, but instead of calling attention to it, afraid of scaring you off, he reaches behind you, retrieving the bag of ice wrapped in paper towels. Settling onto the tabletop, he puts your foot in his lap.

“This might be a little cool, but we need to treat the swelling.”

The moment feels oddly intimate, and it’s Seokjin’s turn now to duck his head and avoid eye contact. He adjusts the ice pack onto your ankle, one hand cupping your heel as the other keeps the pack in place on top of your foot. Your foot struggles a little at the frosty feeling, and Seokjin has to maintain his breathing as you unknowingly wiggle atop his crotch. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, settling your hands behind you on the table as you get comfortable. 

“It’s expected,” he returns, and the smile you give him only adds to the hope blossoming in his chest. 

The next twenty minutes are spent talking about everything and nothing, and the last ten he spends tickling the bottom of your foot as he helps slide the bandage onto your ankle, all so he can hear your laugh and have your hands on him as you try to get him to leave your foot alone. 

“I don’t want to kick you in the face, but if you touch the bottom of my foot again, I can’t say I—Jin!” you squeal, wriggling backwards in an attempt to escape, but he just follows you, his body covering yours as you lean back breathlessly on the table. 

“Yes?” His smile is teasing as his arm extends to protect the back of your head as he presses closer to you.

“Please, I can’t take it! I’m too ticklish!”

“But that’s exactly why I can’t stop, Kicks. You’re too cute when you’re flustered, under me like this.”

He sees the exact moment that you notice the precarious position he’s put you in, with Seokjin leaning between your knees, chest to chest as he cradles your head. He didn’t know that he would love the feel of your body under him this much, almost as much as when you were on his lap on the boat. He can smell one of the fragrances you carry, whether it be your shampoo, a perfume, or just a natural scent, he already knows if he can’t make this thing with you real, he’s going to miss it.   

“Jin,” he watches you bring your hands to his chest, expecting you to push him away, but to his surprise—and probably your own he suspects—you don’t. He stares at you, drinking in all of the things he’s grown to love about your features over time: the way your eyebrows furrow in thought, lips slightly parted as breaths escape them, and gorgeous eyes wide in wonder as you look back at him. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

This close up, he watches as your face changes slightly, lips closing to a shy smile, cheek more prominent and your eyes glittering at the compliment. If you plan to ask him later about the kiss, he’ll tell you it was him if it keeps you from getting scared off, but he sees you move first, clear as day in the reflecting sun. You lift your head out of his hand where it’s cradled, pressing your lips to his and he lets out a tiny groan to rival the throaty moan you release as his tongue seeks entry into your mouth. 

He’s both happy and sad at the position he has you in, because while it allows him to be here like this, kissing you, it also doesn’t allow for much more and is becoming quite uncomfortable as he attempts to keep his weight from crushing you. His tongue plays with yours for a few more moments before he tapers off, slowing the progression of the kiss to playful pecks. 

Once Seokjin is satisfied that you are giggly and pliant, he clambers off of you, reaching both hands out to help pull you back into a seated position on the table.

“So,” he starts, wanting to test and see how he’s doing in terms of winning you over, “am I the best short-term boyfriend you’ve ever had?” He doesn’t notice the way your eyes dim slightly hearing the phrase ‘short-term’, as he’s busying himself with adjusting the ankle bandage before helping you put back on your boot.

Jin is excited to hear you softly reply, “Yes, Jin, you are.”

If he’s a little more aware, maybe he’d be able to pick up on more than just your words, and realize a lot more about how you’re feeling concerning the situation you both are in.   

📈📈📈📈📈

Reader POV

It’s killing you to not be able to talk to your work friends about what’s going on. Seeing as you missed out on lunch yesterday due to your shenanigans with Seokjin, the girls ask a few questions. 

“I got our favorite shrimp tempura sushi to split with you, but I ended up eating it all myself,” Leah pouts at you as you join them today.

A lie easily rolls off your tongue. “Oh, last minute reports were emailed to me, with the deadline coming up thanks to the holidays, they’re running them daily now to look for any sign up upward movement on the graphs.”

They buy it, easily shutting down any romance rumors they could have generated. You realize that you could have told some of the truth, that Seokjin was babying you because you sprained your ankle, and maybe help you win the shoes that started this insanity. Instead, with that little fib, it appears you’ve worked against your best interest, planting no seeds to make the others think something’s going on romantically between you and Seokjin. 

You’ve been so busy with work and secretly dating, you forgot that your girls would be the best chance you have to prove that you are right and Seokjin is wrong. 

Seriously, I could have told most of the truth, and that would have been enough to have the girls ask why Seokjin was taking care of me. I would deny anything they accused, because I can’t break my own rules, but planting that seed would allow them to at least wonder. They might then, as women do, embark on a hunt for the truth. Then when it came time at the party to ask if anyone had found out, they would be the ones to stand up and say yes! But I’m a little too good at this, you say, forehead wrinkled in disdain at yourself, exactly what Seokjin must be banking on to win this thing.

“Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles and then you’ll be single forever!” Hana jokes, and you laugh listlessly.

Maybe it’s time you call someone you can talk to about everything going on. 

📈📈📈📈📈

“Grandma, you don’t understand, he’s unserious on his best days, insufferable on his worst, and…” you pause, adjusting your leg where you have it propped up on a small chair you stole from an empty office. You plan to leave in a few minutes so you can go home and get ready for your date with Seokjin, but wanted to rest your ankle briefly before walking to the bus stop. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but you want to make sure it heals up well to avoid any weakening later.

She hums knowingly in your ear. “Let me guess, he’s handsome, rich, and doesn’t appreciate his status in life.”

“Yes! Exactly, he lives with an all play and no work attitude—”

“And you want him to be your boyfriend,” she tacks on, effectively shutting you down.

“Grandma!”

“What? You called me for some real talk, right?”

You whine, and she laughs, her musical giggle making you miss her.

“Sweetie, listen. I’ve known you your whole life, so I know you pretty well. You like things that are orderly and neat, that fit well into your life. But that’s not much of a fun life. And it’s not what we hoped for you when we sent you off to Seoul.” You hear her sigh, and remain quiet, knowing she’s about to impart something that will stay with you. “It sounds like this Jin guy is exactly the kind of man you need in your life. He’s realized one of the best things about life that most of us don’t realize until it’s too late: Life is not so serious that we need to live a life with regrets. Yes, he has moments where maybe he should behave with a little more…sincerity, but overall, it sounds like you do that enough between the two of you.”

You nod, biting your lip as you take in her words. “Maybe.”

“You’ve been working so hard on your schooling and then your career, and you’ve made it so far! Overcome every academic and career goal thrown at you. But that’s only part of who you are. I think it’s nice that this young man is so attuned to you, that he’s challenging you in areas like love and life.”

“Who said anything about love? We’ve only been seeing each other for a week and a half!”

“No one said you were in love, sweetie, but your defensiveness means you like him a little more than you thought.”

You tuck your phone between your ear and your shoulder, logging into your desktop so you can check some emails while you chat. Multi-tasking always helps you when you need to open up—focusing on a menial task helps cover that feeling in your chest when you discuss said feelings.

“I mean, if I’m honest with myself, yes. He’s surprised me in ways I wasn’t expecting. And I know that two people can kiss when dating, but, I don’t know…is he kissing me because he’s taking advantage of whatever this is, or is he kissing me because he likes me and wants it to be more? I’m confused about what happens next, you know?”

“My smart girl, have you thought about asking him?”

“I can’t just ask him! He’s my boss!” You wish she understood that times are not the same as when she was young.

“Yes, your boss who you are already dating!”

“But not for real! Not after Saturday!”

“What’s happening Saturday?” she questions, and you stall, not wanting to hear what she’s going to say when you tell her the full truth.

“Well, we’ve been going on dates because…we made a bet. To see if workplace romances can be kept secret or not. It started last week and we have set rules so neither of us cheats, and this Saturday is the CEO’s holiday party, which Jin invited me to as his date, and we will see if any of our work friends noticed we were dating or not.”

She laughs heartily, and you hate that she seems so wise about this when you feel so clueless.

“Oh, I needed that laugh. You’re telling me that your boss—a hot, rich executive—made a bet with you to see if workplace romances can work, he’s kissed you a few times and takes you out on dates, drives you to work now that you’ve sprained your ankle, asked you to be his date to another exec’s party, and you’re still confused about where the two of you stand?”

Hearing her put it into this perspective bolsters your confidence a bit. It isn’t like you haven’t already thought about this same formula, but your grandma is missing one term from this equation, and it's your feelings. Your feelings are clouding your ability to act on this information. You tell her just as much.

“I’m just scared. I think that the risk of rejection is overpowering everything for me right now.”

“I know that risk is scary, you think I wasn’t scared when you moved away to attend school? But the reward? Seeing you excel in your career has been so lovely to witness. I’m so proud of you. I just want you to have someone to take care of you when I’m not here anymore.”

You want to fight her on this, but you don’t want to discount her emotions. “I know, and while I’d be fine having you take care of me forever, I think it would only be fair to let you pass the heavy lifting onto someone else.”

“And by the sounds of it, Jin has a nice set of shoulders for that.”

You’re about to answer her when a knock at your door startles you.

“Hold on, Grandma,” you say before raising your voice. “Come in!”

The topic of conversation steps into your office, shutting the door behind him. “Hey, I’m so sorry to do this, but we have to push our date tonight to tomorrow.”

“Oh? Is everything okay?” you question, taking in the way his face is pinched, grumpy.

“Yeah, I mean, no one’s dying or anything, but my dad just sent me an email, summoning me to meet with him about a potential investor.”

“Wouldn’t this typically be Soobin’s job?” you point out. Choi Soobin, the investor relations director for JinHit, typically would meet to discuss potential investors first before looping Seokjin in as CEO.

“Yes, but you know my father…”

“I’m sorry, bab—um, b-but, it’s okay, we can move it to Thursday.” You stumble over the words, trying to cover up the slip of tongue.

“You’re amazing, you know that? I’m so sorry to do this.”

“No, I get it. You want to prove to your father you got this, and rightfully so. You’ve done amazing helping me with everything, even though you have so much on your plate already.”

“You know good and well that you, Soobin, and the others take on a lot of the responsibilities, I just oversee it. It’s been nice to actually get my hands dirty with work, use my degree.” Seokjin’s phone chimes. After a roll of his eyes, he apologizes again. “Duty calls. I’ll see you tomorrow, babe.” With that last remark and a wink, he leaves your office. You can hear laughter coming from your phone, forgotten in your hand. Bringing your grandma back to your ear, you speak before she can.

“Don’t even start, Grandma. I already know what you’re going to say.” You click on the email invite that Seokjin sent you about the holiday party at Namjoon’s, eyes re-reading the info. “So just help me think of a good present to get him for the party Saturday.”

📈📈📈📈📈

Seokjin’s POV 

Seokjin can’t help but to grin as he walks back to his office. You almost slipped up and called him babe. Or baby. Either way, he feels like he’s on cloud nine, and tomorrow will be the perfect moment to tell you just how he feels. He hates that he showed up less than a half hour before you get off to cancel, but he would rather give you the respect of doing it in person than over text. 

He scans the subject of the email he received while in your office, seeing it’s a reply to the email he sent yesterday, from Namjoon. Hustling back to his CFO office, he logs in and clicks through the various apps until the email pops up. 

Seokjin, Thank you for keeping me up to date with the financial reports, the numbers seem to be trending back up thanks to the mitigating efforts you and your department have done. Make sure to tell your better half thank you, since I know it was really all her. Also, your signature is a little…informal for work…I would love to know who is on the receiving end of the “Your Handsome Lover, Jin-Oppa” so I can congratulate her for tying you down. I would say bring her to the party, but I know you are already planning to bring YN, and it would be rude to swap them out last minute.  Kim Namjoon, MA, BSBA CEO of JinHit Conglomerate

“Ah fuck.” Jin smacks his head, realizing his mistake. This is exactly the kind of fuck up you said couples dating at work would make, but luckily, his best friend is clueless to the fact that the same person Seokjin plans to bring to the party is the same person who will hopefully end up taking him off the market. Will this lead Seokjin to lose on Saturday? He doesn’t care about losing the bet and having to buy the shoes—he can afford to buy you the same shoes every day for the rest of your life. 

No, what Seokjin is most worried about is that if he loses on Saturday, it will be the data that you need, the proof that will make you decide that you can’t be with Seokjin after this is all said and done. And he can’t have that. 

He begins typing out a reply, mostly to say that he agrees with Namjoon, that his email was informal and he was sorry for not paying attention, oh and of course he would make sure to introduce Namjoon to the woman one day, hopefully soon, and that yes, it would be quite rude to swap out dates last minute. 

It’s an hour later after he’s finished typing out this reply that he leaves work to cross town to meet with his father. Seokjin’s feeling a little sour about the fact that he had to cancel his plans with you and meet with his dad, especially since it’s not his job to do this part of the investment process, but thanks to Do Not Disturb while driving, he misses the message his father sends. 

Jin (5:15 PM): I’m leaving work now, I should be there in time for the meeting at 6:30. 아버지 (Father) (5:45 PM): The investors can’t make it today, which is lucky since you aren’t taking rush hour traffic into account. I will let you know when it has been rescheduled, and I will make sure you will be on time.  Jin (6:28 PM): [Request Pay from Kim Namjung ₩25,000 for gas]

Reader POV

By Thursday, your ankle is finally feeling back to normal but you don’t want to push it too much, so you put on your lowest heels. You figure this would be perfect with your cinch-waisted dress, held shut by the buttons running down the middle. Despite the chill as you head downstairs to wait for Seokjin, you are glad with your choice thanks to the appreciative look Seokjin gives your figure. His right hand rests along your thigh as he drives you to work, talking about the date he’s planned for the two of you tonight.

“I know it’s a little chilly out, so I figured we could go check out Seoul Sky tonight, and then eat afterwards. What do you think?”

“Wow, how am I supposed to top that? I’ve never been to the observatory, but it sounds amazing.”

“What kind of food do you want to eat? You seem to like most foods, based on what you eat for lunch, but what’s your favorite?”

You ponder his question for a bit, eyes roving around the car as you gather your thoughts. “Mmm…I guess my favorite is home cooking. I miss my grandma’s meals the most since I’ve been here.”

“Ahhh, home cooking always hits the spot. I used to cook a lot when I was younger. My father was always busy with work and my brother and I were left alone a lot. My mom scolded us once for bothering the staff too much for specific meals, so we decided to learn from them how to make the meals we enjoyed. In college, I would cook a lot for the fraternity and it became a hobby of mine. My brother actually is the head of Food Science for JinHit. He handles the cafeteria, catering for entertainment, as well as Nutrition for the idols employed.”

“Really? I’ve met him a few times to discuss finances for catering services and resources for nutrition programs! He’s really cool.”

“Don’t tell me my girlfriend secretly loves my brother and I have to duel him to the death for you.”

You burst into laughter, giggly peals filling the car as Seokjin just glances at you then looks back at the road. “No! He’s just cool and he feeds us, which is super important.”

“Okay,” Seokjin says as he pulls into his designated CFO  parking spot, “so the way to your heart is through shoes and food, got it.”

You climb out of the car before he can come around and open the door for you. “And don’t you forget it,” you tease, walking away from him. 

Your day goes well to start, with not too many taxing assignments with the weekend fast approaching. Tomorrow is the last day at work before the office is closed for a three day weekend. Christmas falls on Monday, and despite half of the company not celebrating religiously, it is a public holiday and enjoyed as a day off by all. With the work day coming to a close, you hear when the arrival of good news enters everyone’s inbox. 

“Did you see?” Soobin sticks his head into your propped open doorway, a large smile covering his face from cheek to cheek.

“Not yet, but it sounds like it’s worth celebrating!”

“It is!” His happiness is contagious. “Our gracious CEO gave us off until the 2nd of January! Since it would be a short work week anyways, he wanted everyone to be able to enjoy the holiday with family, whether they live in Seoul or Busan.”

“That’s amazing!”

“I’m off to find Yeonjun in IT, we might catch the train home together.” Soobin ducks his fluffy head out of the entryway and disappears down the hall with a loud whoop! as others continue their cheering. You smile softly to yourself as you check the email; your last minute idea to have the office closed for the holiday would save the company more than it would lose during this time. The company would be able to save on day-to-day expenditures of running a company, work that typically does not happen because of the distraction of the holiday will continue to not be done, therefore the tradeoff between having the building open for work but no work getting done would balance out, and employee morale will be greater upon returning and resuming work in the new year.

It was an idea you had thanks to your talk with your grandma. When you pointed out that Seokjin was all play no work, and unserious, she had mentioned that you needed some of that in your life. Why wouldn’t the rest of the workers in a large conglomerate also need that? You knew you weren’t the only person with a Type A personality in this building, who worked too hard and barely rewarded themselves with a vacation or fun. So a little forced vacation will do wonders all around, without a loss in sight.

Stretching your arms above your head, you finish the last of your auditing and save your report before locking your computer. You’re excited to experience Seoul Sky tonight, and not just because it is your first time experiencing it, but because who you will be with is worth the trip to such crazy heights.         

📈📈📈📈📈

Seokjin’s POV

“It’s incredible!” The view you are witnessing truly is, Seokjin can’t lie. It looks as if the city goes on forever, and the fiery rays cascade along the horizon in a beautiful show of combusting fragments of stardust.

“We made it just in time, and we will get to see the night sky too before we eat,” he says. “Let’s step a little closer, you’re missing some of the view.” He ushers you to step onto the glass floor, your low heels clicking weirdly on the thick glass. 

“Oh, Seokjin, it’s exhilarating!” 

“From here, you can see JinHit, it’s right there,” Seokjin leans into you, holding you tightly as if you might fall from so high up. He aligns your body so you have a better chance of seeing what he’s pointing to. 

“I see it! I bet it’s gorgeous at night.” 

“Mmm, yes, but maybe we should shut off the power to save money...”

You laugh at his joke, and he feels his heart flutter a little. You’ve changed towards him, and the view offers more than just all of the sights of Seoul—so many opportunities lay at the tip of his finger, still pointing at JinHit—the first one being you.

“Can you imagine how the air must be from up this high?”

He can’t bear to make a negative joke about the air quality in Seoul as he sees the way your irises seemingly reflect the setting sun, a small milky way of glittering solar systems he could get lost in.

“Yes, Kicks, I think it’s rather breathtaking...like you.”

You turn away from the sunset and he sees you catch his gaze trained in your direction, and it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time. The view of Seoul at sunset from almost 1,821 feet disappears around you. You’re the only thing he can see, and he only hopes that you feel the same, or at least you are starting to feel the same about him as he does for you. 

📈📈📈📈📈

“When you told me about how you can cook, I didn’t know you meant that you would be cooking for me!” Sitting at the large island in Seokjin’s lofted penthouse apartment, you watch as he moves sveltely between the sink and the island stovetop, pans heated as he adds the ingredients he chopped and minced with you. 

“Ah, well I wanted it to be a surprise.” He looks great in his slacks, button-down sleeves rolled up with an apron around his neck and waist so he doesn’t stain the baby blue fabric. It is quite the surprise, and you tell him so.

“Homemade Japchae sounds amazing right now, are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do to help?”

“No, Kicks, you already prepped the vegetables and now it’s just time for you to relax and enjoy. Look around if you want.” Seokjin sets aside the stir fried vegetables as he adds the protein option to the pan, seasoning and cooking it until browned. You decide to give yourself a small tour, not venturing too far or into any closed doors. The penthouse is modern, with a lot of black furniture, grey accent pieces, and white walls. The glass walls are two stories, spanning the height of the lofted area as well, situated above the kitchen. You take a few steps up the stairs until you can see through the clear banister into what appears to be Seokjin’s bedroom, before returning to your seat. You’re much more comfortable there than exploring dangerous areas alone.

The two of you continue to talk about your lives outside of work as he cooks; you share more about your family and where you lived before Seoul, and him about his fraternity days and hobbies. Once the glass noodles were cooked in the Japchae sauce, and the protein and vegetables re-added, you move to sit comfortably on his couch, eating as you watch a popular K Drama on his large flatscreen. 

“I really enjoyed tonight, Jin.” You can’t describe in words how you feel, you just know you haven’t felt feelings like this towards Seokjin of this caliber before. Something has changed, but you don’t know whether it’s you or Seokjin, or both. He places his plate into the sink where you stand, washing dishes, then leans against the counter to watch you. “Since you did all of the heavy lifting, I’ll clean up.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. This is still a date.”

“Yes, but even in relationships, people go on dates and I’m sure that they still take turns with household chores and stuff.”

He hums in agreement, then disappears out of the kitchen. You finish washing, lay the dishes on the rack with the pans, and then turn around to make your way back to the living room. You find Seokjin lighting the last of the candles he’s placed around the room, a tray and two flutes of champagne on the low glass table near the dark colored couch.

“What’s all this?” you ask, voice low in astonishment and something else. The room is dim, but the candles provide enough light to see and the ambiance is much more romantic than anything you’ve previously shared with Seokjin.

You watch as Seokjin’s features flit through different emotions before answering you, and before you can question him more about it. “I, well a proper date should be more than just a home-cooked meal. I also have dessert for us, and wanted to celebrate a bit, too.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yes,” he pats the couch next to where he’s sat. “I saw the preliminary reports. I think we’re gonna clear it this fiscal year. All thanks to you.”

You cross the rest of the distance to sit next to him, still feeling timid in his home. You take the flute of bubbly gold with a shy smile, still not used to this treatment and praise.

“You worked hard too, Seokjin. We did it together.” Clinking your glasses together, the two of you down the Dom Perignon. As Seokjin sets down his glass, he reaches for one of the chocolate-covered strawberries set atop the tray.

“Try this, these are grown on my uncle's farm,” he shares, scooting closer to you on the couch so he can feed you the strawberry. You lean in, mouth watering at the aroma of the chocolate coating the fruit. With the first bite, an explosion of flavor erupts in your mouth, and you moan a little at how succulent it is. A trickle of the red juice rolls from the corner of your lip. Too busy savoring the flavor, Seokjin slowly swipes up your chin to gather the strawberry juice, bringing it to his lips to suck the flavor off. 

You watch as his tongue pushes through the part in his lips, the tip rolling backwards across his bottom lip as he brings his teeth to bite the plump, pink skin. The look in his eyes matches the candle flames and you’re positive yours reflect the same. Placing your hand onto his shoulder, you guide him back onto the couch so he can sit properly as you swing your leg over his thighs. Planted on his lap, it’s nothing to lean in, your mouth seeking him in a slow kiss, wet sounds filling the quiet as you press yourself into him harder, hips grinding down onto the tent pressing into your core. 

“Fuck,” Seokjin hisses when your mouth moves to his neck, biting gently to avoid leaving marks in visible spots. His hands grasp your ass, pulling you into him with a rocking rhythm with more force. His lips search to bring yours back to his, hands pulling at your dress. Once his hands breach the hem, you feel the warmth of his skin on your thighs, fingertips trailing up to the waistband of your panties.

He pulls back from the kiss, forehead resting against yours as you both try and catch your breath. “Do you want this?” he asks, fingers tugging gently at the lace.

“Yes,” you breathe out, not waiting for more words as you kiss him again, raising your hips to allow him to pull your panties down your thighs. You raise each knee off the couch, helping him until your bare skin meets his slacks. His fingers dip to your center, and you’re pleased at the sound he makes when he feels just how wet you are. You stay up on your knees as he explores, the subtle teasing around your clit only heightening the feeling you crave. 

When he presses two fingers into you, you keen, face pressing into his neck as his fingers scissor and glide, thumb pressing into your clit with each plunge. You rock your hips, seeking more friction and he gives in, using his palm as he sinks deeper inside of you, allowing you to take control of your pleasure. 

“You feel so tight, but you’re so wet,” he marvels after a particularly hard shudder, and you sit back, knees weak as he pulls his fingers free.

“Want you to feel me properly,” you pout as his tongue licks up the side of his finger before he sucks them both into his mouth. You clench around nothing, the action making you want him more. You finger the buttons on your dress, popping each open in secession. It’s your turn to reach for the waistband of his pants, eyes on his as you seek his consent. “Do you want this?”

“More than you know, baby.” You smile to yourself as you focus on the button and zipper on his slacks until his hands join yours to grip the edge of both his briefs and pants until he has them past his knees, hardened cock bouncy as it awaits you to take your rightful seat upon it. You gasp as your eyes take in the size of it being bigger than you expected; it explains the cockiness he exhibits in his day to day.

Spitting into your hand, you grip his member, thumb trailing down the pearlescent stickiness from the head. He breathes out a huff, the steely silk growing more solid with each stroke. 

“Don’t tease me, Kicks, I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Once again you rise onto your knees, inching closer to him with hands on his broad shoulders for balance. You can feel Seokjin lining up the head to your core, running it across your pussy several times to coat it with your essence. Dropping onto his thick length, he fills you to the point of stretching you out, toes curling from the press into your most sensitive parts. You don’t wait, enjoying the way that the stretch burns as it turns to pleasure, and you let loose in a way you haven’t before. 

It’s frenetic, the way each of your hands travel along each other's bodies, lips seeking and sucking into each other's skin, opening clothing for more points of contact, to bring you closer to each other than you’ve ever been. It doesn’t take long, riding him as you are, for the coil to build and snap inside you, crying out as you throw your head back. 

“That’s it, baby, let me feel you,” Seokjin coaches you through your climax, holding you as you shake in his arms. You mewl as he shifts, thighs lifting you both as he stands, cock still sheathed inside of you. He steps out of his discarded clothing and walks you to the stairs that lead to his loft. He’s impatient, pausing every few steps to press you into the wall and fuck himself up into you until he makes it to the landing of his bedroom. 

Getting you to the bed, he places you on your back at the edge, hands trailing up along your legs until he grips your ankles. Bringing them together in front of him, he rests your calves onto his shoulder before slow-grinding himself into you, your swollen lips suctioning him deeper as they mold to fit around him.

“Jin, fuck, you feel so good,” your voice a high pitch as you squirm. 

“Yeah, baby?” He’s breathless, hips picking up speed as you clench around him, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching show just how good he feels. He spreads your legs then, picking you up and placing you farther on the bed so he can join you, this time sans shirts. 

With a grunt, he pushes deep as his hands reach around and skillfully unhooks your bra. He slows his hip rolls as his lips toy with a freed nipple, tongue laving until it’s pert and he moves to the other to give the same treatment. He takes a hand, trailing it down the center of your body. His thumb presses into your clit, and he speeds up, pleading, “Cum with me, you can give me another one.”

You give him what he wants, his voice raspy with restraint is the thing that topples you over the edge, and his restraint is let go moments later when you squeeze him impossibly tight. The deep sounds that he lets out are loud, curses mingled with your name, not your nickname, but your real name, tumble from his lips as he releases into you, short pumps of his cock until he’s empty. He collapses his weight onto you, but it’s comforting, not crushing. You feel his arms wrap around you as he rolls onto his back, pulling you with him to cuddle your body into his chest. 

“I’ll clean us up in a minute, wanna enjoy this feeling.”

Seokjin closes his eyes, but you agree with him, you don’t want to move just yet, because the pleasure coursing through your veins feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and not just because of the sex—you’ve done that a few times. It’s because of the man whose arms you're in, but his light snores let you know it's too late in the night to tell him.

You wake long before your alarm, but less sticky than when you fell asleep, Seokjin keeping to his word. You feel his arm strewn over your middle, so you turn and take in his slumber-filled face. His hair flops onto the pillow, lips puckered slightly as quiet breaths escape him. Smiling at how peaceful he looks, you don’t want to leave just yet, not when the bed is so warm, and even in his sleep he wants to keep you close, but you have no clothes for work. You silently climb out of his bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up before getting dressed. You call for a KakaoTaxi, and once it arrives, you kiss Seokjin on the forehead before leaving. 

Once at home, you take the time to shower and get dressed for work, thinking about what you can do for the last date tonight. You know you want it to be special, because after the amazing night spent in Seokjin’s arms, him between your legs and splitting your walls…you’ve come to realize something significant. You like him. You like Kim Seokjin and you don’t want to stop being with him once tomorrow comes. 

Deciding to take a leap of faith, you channel your grandma’s advice and decide that tonight at dinner, you will confess your feelings to him. You’re pretty sure that he feels the same way, based on his words and actions last night when you both showed each other a whole new side. You send a text to Seokjin saying he doesn’t need to pick you up, that you’re heading to work early and you’ll see him later. 

He sends a quick reply of Be safe, beautiful. Can’t wait. Which is more than you expected from him so early in the morning but makes you feel giddy, solidifying your assumption of how he feels about you.

Once in your office, you utilize the extra time to search for a place to take Seokjin that’s worthy of hopefully becoming the place where you and he can become a ‘we’, but out of the limited places you contact, there’s no reservations available. You don’t have the sway to pull strings the way Seokjin could, but asking him or your coworkers for help would break one of the rules of your agreement. 

The sun shifts across your office, giving way to midday as you work with good old-fashioned paper, pen, and highlighters, but you haven’t seen him or his broad shoulders that you’re sure you left some marks on last night. Rolling your computer chair back from the desk, you lean back precariously as you take a much-needed deep stretch and vacate your seat. It’s a quick trip from the 48th to the 50th floor; you figure if Seokjin isn’t in his office near yours, he must be working in his C-Suite office upstairs. Unfortunately, when you peek your head into the room, the vast dark-oak desk is empty, his large Samsung monitor turned off when you venture farther in. 

With a sigh, you leave the office, nearly walking headfirst into Kim Namjoon. 

“Looking for Jin-hyung?” his low baritone questions. “He's at a meeting with his dad to discuss some financial stuff, he’s been emailing me all day asking to be rescued.”

“Oh, I wonder if he emailed me too. I’ve been reviewing printed reports all morning.”

“I made the mistake of answering him thinking he needed work-related info—nope! He just wanted to tell me about how he’s been craving the truffle pasta at Flavors.”

You laugh at this, unable to hold back the smile as you imagine how bored Seokjin must be to be emailing about food. You thank Namjoon and head back to your office, an idea of where to go now planted in your mind.

Everything is falling into place for tonight, and you send Seokjin an email before you leave at 5 PM, detailing the plan for your reservation at Flavors tonight at 7 PM. His response is full of excitement, shocked that you read his mind about his craving (thank you, Namjoon!), and that he’ll meet you there and you better not be late. 

Closing down your computer for the long holiday weekend per IT’s email, you gather your belongings and head home to get ready.

📈📈📈📈📈

Seokjin’s POV

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Seokjin tries to hide his grin from his father. 

“What are you smiling about?”

Seokjin takes a breath to keep from rolling his eyes and relaxes his face into a look of innocence. “Nothing,” he shrugs, mentally doing the math as he clambers into the car his father has chauffeuring them around. “Are we headed back to the office now? I have a few things I need to do tonight for Namjoon’s party tomorrow.” And a hot date waiting for me, he thinks.

“Not just yet, actually. I have one last meeting for us at Paradise City.”

Seokjin groans. “Father, it’s a holiday weekend, there’s nothing more we need to do today that we can’t do after Christmas weekend.”

“It won’t be long, Seokjin, we’re around the corner already. I swear your work ethic is piss-poor, sometimes I regret naming you my successor.”

It might not be a long trip from the hotel they just finished meeting at to Paradise City, but they were already over an hour away from where he should be meeting you in less than two. Irritated, Seokjin quietly tries to do the math for how long this meeting can be before he has to be on his way to you, but knowing his father, he worries about making it to you on time. 

As the car pulls to the front of the main entrance, Seokjin decides to message you, just a warning that he will be late due to his father’s overbearing and controlling tendencies. He exits the car first, standing to the side to type a quick message as his father follows him onto the pavement. 

“Put your phone away.”

When Seokjin ignores his demand, his father snatches his phone from his hands, pocketing the small device.

“Really, Father, you are being insufferable right now.” 

“And you, son, are being rude.” Seokjin’s dad leaves him to head into the bustling hotel and casino, and with his phone held hostage, he has no choice but to follow him inside. 

Once seated next to the thief at a four-top, Seokjin begs for his phone, but his father ignores him as he smiles at someone behind Seokjin’s head. 

“Lee Jaeyong-ssi!”

“Kim Namjung-ssi!” The man bows to the elder Kim before sitting in the seat next to Seokjin. Seokjin gapes in horror at his dad as he realizes what his father has roped him into when the 19-year-old daughter of the country’s largest GDP contributor walks around the table to sit across from Seokjin.

📈📈📈📈📈

Reader POV

You’re prompt, body electrified as you give your name for the reservation and are led to a quaint, black-marbled table. The only downfall to the seating arrangement of the restaurant is that larger group tables line the walls with comfortable grey booth seating, while the tables for couples fill the middle walkway. Smoothing the little black dress with baby doll straps, you sit in the chair pulled out for you.

You take in the romantically lit room as the Maître d' pours you a glass of red wine, leaving the expensive bottle in a wine chiller on a small stand next to the table. Checking your phone, there’s no reply message from Seokjin of his estimated arrival time, but you don’t worry too much, thinking he’s probably parking his car or nearby enough. It’s only minutes past the hour, so you shirk off the cropped, fur-lined jacket from your shoulders and drape it over the back of your chair. 

It’s fitting that the table is in the middle of the room, out in the open as if a reflection of where you want to take this relationship with Seokjin. You think you’re finally ready to admit to him what you realized last night and this morning.

7:17 PM. The Maître d' returns to ask if you would like to order. You tell him that you are still waiting for the other person to arrive, and give a little white lie that he’s just running late.

“What is the name of the other half of your party? I will make sure to bring him promptly when he arrives.” 

“Oh, it’s Kim Seokjin,” you reply shyly. His eyes widen minutely at your unintentional name drop, and that coupled with murmurs from the guests seated nearby, leaves you feeling a heat rising up your neck. He excuses himself, saying he will be back to check on you once your date arrives. 

7:47 PM. The looks of pity start to trickle into your view as you turn your head to look towards the door for the millionth time. The Maître d' has walked past to escort other patrons to tables, but he avoids coming over to you—you guess it’s because he doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that you’re still alone, and he said he would be back only once Seokjin arrived. You appreciate his tactfulness, but you worry as you check your phone again for a message. 

8:17 PM. Your phone is held to your face, dial tone ringing in your ear but you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve called him. All of your text messages have gone unread, and inside you simmer with feelings of shame and embarrassment. Your phone (along with others in the vicinity) chimed with a notification from the WeVerse App, reporting a major headline. 

JinHit CFO Kim Seokjin Spotted with 19-year-old Samsung Heiress—And Their Fathers!

And in smaller font underneath: Marriage meeting? Should we expect wedding bells and a massive business union? The read more teases photos catching the quartet out at Paradise City.

A fool, you think, realizing Seokjin must’ve never planned to come. Paradise City is almost an hour and half by car at this time of night. I am a fool for even entertaining the thought of giving my heart to this man!  

Standing from the chair, you don’t bother hiding your emotions on your face as you grab your jacket and toss the cloth napkin onto the table before fleeing to the front to hail a taxi, waiting in the cold as unique snowflakes begin to fall from the sky with fluttery movements, before melting away a few moments after making contact with earthly items.  

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At home, you sit on the edge of your couch unclasping the delicate buckle on your Manolo Blahniks. Tonight’s fucked with your mind more than Seokjin has the entire time this deal was in place. What started as a way to win—a way to prove you were smarter than Seokjin, better at mitigating for the company, gain a pair of expensive shoes—is turning into a stock market crash of the worst proportions. 

Your grandma’s words float through your head and in this moment, you’re hit with a sudden clarity that this was never about a pair of expensive shoes. It was about letting yourself take a chance to live a little and be happy for once—hopeful that happiness with another person was within your reach—the heel you clutch in your hand, having slipped it off of your foot, sails through the air, hitting the off-white wall of your apartment. 

You wake, puffy-eyed and unexcited, thinking about how things will be weird tonight for the party at Namjoon’s place, because not only have you slept with Jin, he’s also shattered your heart into a million pieces. It’s not the first time the thought crosses your mind that he might have known he was going to be set up with a child (no offense to 19-year-olds, the age gap is ridiculous no matter how rich your daddy is) and chose to spend his last weeks of freedom stringing you along, choosing to finally sleep with you right before he was off the market.

You fell asleep easily, but your phone ringing repeatedly woke you up close to midnight. The screen was blinding, but you could see who was calling you and you decidedly ignored the call, silencing your phone. You were then unable to return to sleep until hints of sunlight peeked through the curtains, and the consequences of that are now reflecting in your mirror. 

This is just Jin being Jin, your mind says, when has he ever been serious about anything? He’s just flirty, and wanted to get his rocks off before robbing the cradle in sickness or in health. This is nothing new and he was just having fun with you. Going through the motions of your skincare routine, the feelings of disappointment and hurt are there, lingering in your chest with each breath, but you’ve decided to be tough. Your brain doing what it does best, trying to rationalize everything that isn’t a fact, blaming the way your emotions temporarily made you dumb. 

‘I should’ve known’ repeats like a mantra in your head no matter how you try to drown it out with music from your phone. You’ve always had an uncanny ability to be hopeful when you know you shouldn’t, because good things like this never work out. You just forgot that little fact, but last night is the perfect reminder. 

The thoughts settling in help as you go through the motions: toner onto a cotton pad wiped along your face, moisturizer gently massaged into your skin. Once you’ve finished with your makeup, it’s as if you move on autopilot, your fingers deft as they put the final touches wrapping the gift for Seokjin you finalized after work yesterday. Your logical brain reminds you that this party is nothing more than coworkers hanging out, a chance to put the bet—and your fake relationship—to rest, and making sure to bring a gift like the invite said is your way to show Seokjin that he didn’t get to you. He might win the bet, he might’ve had you wallowing last night, but he won’t continue to win power over your emotions. 

You reread the last message he sent before sending him a text as you slip into the persona needed to survive tonight.

Jin (2:04 AM) - Please, baby, just…let me know you’re okay. I can explain everything. You (1:14 PM) - I’m getting ready to go to the party, what time will you be here?

Your phone lights up as an incoming call flashes across your screen, but you ignore it, letting your ringtone play until he hangs up. 

Jin (1:15 PM) - Can I come now? You (1:20 PM) - I’m not ready yet and have some things to do beforehand, so if you can just let me know what time to expect you, I can make sure I’m ready when you get here.

You set your phone down, watching the bubbles pop up and disappear, indicating that he’s typing, but it still takes him ten minutes to send five words.

Jin (1:30 PM) - I’ll be there at 7:30.

📈📈📈📈📈

The drive to Namjoon’s party goes well for you, if you say so yourself. Not ready to deal with being alone with Seokjin, you make sure to call one of your friends from back home, spending the entire trip with your phone glued to your ear, rudely ignoring Seokjin’s attempts to talk to you until he gives up.

Walking into Namjoon’s place, the distinct smell of a fresh Christmas Tree wafts into your senses as his fiance greets you at the door. She’s all cute and small with a pretty smile as she bounces through the home to lead you and Seokjin to the living room. You greet the others who have already arrived, Yoongi and his girlfriend Leah, and Hoseok and his fiance, YuRim. A table near the Christmas Tree holds the gifts, so you walk over to deposit your gift bag, Seokjin following with a bag of his own to set down. 

The layout of the room is an open concept, and Namjoon stands in the kitchen with oven mitts on. It’s a little strange to see your boss in such a state, matching fleece Christmas onesies with Khaity, oven mitts covering his hands, and a stressed look on his face as he stares at the small timer on the counter.

“Oh, honey, let me take the cookies out, okay? Come sit down with our guests.” Khaity rises onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek as she slips the mitts off his hands before gently nudging him towards the sitting area.

Another knock rings out, and soon Namjoon leads Jungkook in with NaBi. You aren’t sure whether she came with Jungkook or arrived at the same time and was invited by Namjoon, seeing as she is his secretary, but the way they smile at each other softens the wall that you built up against love. Even if you and Seokjin were a failed attempt, you hope that those two blind co-workers might figure it out. 

The macadamia nut cookies are first out of the oven, Khaity plating and placing them on the table between the couches where everyone is gathered. The last to arrive, Taehyung with Hana and Jimin, trickle in a few minutes later complaining that the cookies were all gone. 

“We have chocolate chip ones coming out next, you can have first dibs, okay?” Namjoon appeases before his face turns into confusion. “Wait, where’s your plus one?” 

“I ended things with Ji-Soo.”

Everyone shows various levels of shock, and despite avoiding him since arriving, you can’t help but to meet Seokjin’s eye with a raised brow. 

“Really? Why?” NaBi asks, truly invested in their drama.

“She’s just…a little brainless. Nice tits, but let’s be honest, we live in the plastic surgery capital of the world.”

“Well, I guess we know who gets to wear the ‘Ho, Ho, Ho’ santa hat tonight,” Leah jokes, tossing the furry red cap to Jimin.

“Gladly! But I had to block her number, she’s been blowing up my phone the past few days, and it’s gotten to be too much.”

“Probably for the best, right? You start your last semester next month,” Taehyung reminds his best friend. 

“We’ll see, I might need to find a hot tutor in the class, maybe I can convince her to do my homework.”

“Do your homework, or do you?” Jungkook asks deadpan, and everyone laughs, the room full of mirth and holiday cheer.

“Why not both?” you second, sending the room into another round of giggles, and despite the awkwardness with Seokjin, you feel yourself relax into the persona you’ve adjusted into place to get through the night. You can do this, you remind yourself.

And you do a great job meshing with the group, hanging out with your coworkers and helping Khaity in the kitchen with some finger foods and more cookies to avoid Seokjin until the inevitable moment arrives. Gift exchange.

“All right, I’m going to get more wine in the kitchen,” Jimin stands, stretching his arms high as he steps over the others to escape the lovey dovey atmosphere as the couples exchange gifts. 

Seokjin calls to him to wait, and everyone watches as he grabs the gift bag off of the table. Holding one of the dainty handles, his free hand reaches in and reveals a decent sized wine bottle in his grasp. “Can you take this with you? I got it as a contribution to the party.” 

Jimin busies himself across the room with an open bottle of wine and his glass and you wish you could join him instead of engaging in the most awkward event since everything imploded last night. You pass the gift over to Seokjin who takes it with a little bit of shock, as if he’s just realized what type of party he came to and what he was supposed to do—and how he just fucked up.

Leah opens her gift first, a lavender velvet box containing a necklace. A small slip of paper flutters out, and she reads it before sharing the information. “A 100% pure sterling silver necklace with amethyst stones spelling a morse code message.”

“What’s the message?” Hana asks, leaning to look at the glittering stones.

“Badass Bitch.”

Taehyung laughs the loudest, almost choking on the chocolate chip cookie he was chewing.

“So, Seokjin, wanna tell us about the latest WeVerse gossip?” NaBi teases from the floor where she sits cross legged, cheeky grin as she rocks side to side next to Jungkook. Her hands fidget with the small charm on the bracelet Jungkook gifted her that you’re too far away to see clearly.

“Oh fuck, what a nightmare. My father basically kidnapped me. Took my phone and everything so I couldn’t contact anyone and let them know I was effectively unable to leave or even signal for help.”

“You wanted to be rescued? I thought dudes liked young, hot, rich heiresses. Your own Paris Hilton,” YuMi asks, and you can see her question holds a little…bite to it. You instantly like her.

“Hell yeah, I did not want to be there. I actually had plans that I was really excited for, but my father…he kind of ruined my night.”

“But the hot chick made it better, right? You’re gonna marry into the richest company, right?” Jimin shouts from the kitchen, cheeks ruddy from the wine. You, on the other hand, are over the topic of conversation. Moving towards the kitchen, you decide to follow Jimin’s lead and drown your sorrows.

“No way, she’s like eleven years younger than me. She’s barely old enough to drink, just finished Secondary, and we have nothing in common. Besides, I’m not attracted to her.” You can feel Seokjin’s eyes piercing into your skull, but you refuse to give him what he wants. 

Namjoon’s gift from Khaity interrupts Seokjin’s next words, as he drops the small box holding an egg vibrator and turns red as everyone begins to laugh at his reaction. Except for you. Your eyes finally look at Seokjin, challenging him to finish his thoughts from earlier as the group settles back into silence as the last few finish opening their gifts. Yoongi finally frees his gift from the box Leah wrapped it in; he holds up a black leather Valentino backpack to show everyone.

“I…actually—I’m dating someone else.”

The group instantly grows loud again, voices trying to speak over one another as various tones of disbelief, shock, and animosity filter through their accusations. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because, I wanted to make sure it didn’t interfere with work first, I didn’t need HR getting involved with my love life.”

“Oh?” Namjoon focuses on this tidbit of information, ears perked for more. “Do I need to worry? It’s not Ji-Soo, right?”

You sputter into your wine, but luckily the males in the living room are cackling at the accusation. 

“NO! I draw the line at sloppy thirds, thank you very much.” You try to slink away, the balcony looking like a great hiding spot when Seokjin says your name and everyone turns to you. “I brought my girlfriend and wanted to tell you all tonight.”

The group goes crazy once again at this turn of events, with Leah being the voice of reason once everyone settles. “Seokjin, I promise you, we never would have guessed…you didn’t even trade gifts with her, so color me a little shocked!”

You know Leah means to call Seokjin out and make him feel shitty, but the reminder also makes you feel a little despondent. Even if Seokjin had no intentions of marrying that girl, his current actions speak volumes. He couldn’t even be bothered to get you a gift; Kim Seokjin was not actually interested in you. 

As the group continues to pester Seokjin about how everything played out last night since he’s dating you, you take advantage of their deviated attention and head for the balcony to escape for some fresh air. You don’t really pay attention to the group behind you, but you can see shadowy movements as people get up and begin to filter out for the evening, a few of the girls coming to the balcony door to wish you a happy holiday break, their muffled voices saying jolly goodbyes.

You struggle to return their holiday spirit, and how can you, when you think about how while you’ve lost the real bet, you won the experience of having Seokjin as your boyfriend. This time with him has been…better than you ever expected. Living life with a little more color, risk, and fun, but now that the bet is over, you not only lost the shoes, but you’ve lost the taste of a different life, a fun life, with Seokjin by your side. Especially if his father demands that he marry that…child.

The sound of the glass door sliding open is quiet, but you hear it despite not turning to look. You can tell from the spicy scent of bourbon & vanilla that it’s Seokjin.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks by way of greeting, and from the corner of your eye you see him fidgeting with a wrapped box.

“I’m used to it.”

He hums, and you sense he wants to say more. A few moments later you are proved right.

“Thank you, for the gift. It, uh…means a lot, coming from you.”

“No problem.”

He huffs, and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed at your responses or if he’s annoyed at himself.

“Look. I’m sorry.” Seokjin’s voice is sincere, and you cave for a moment, meeting his toffee eyes. “I know that I royally fucked up last night, but I meant what I said earlier. I didn’t know and I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be with you. I tried to text you, but my father—he’s a dick, you know?” His following laugh is empty of humor. “I hope that you’ll forgive me, Kicks. Holiday spirit and all, if you feel the same way that I feel…fuck—I don’t even know what to say.”

Seokjin hands the box he’s holding to you, stepping closer. “I know according to our friends, I won, but last night…it definitely violated the rules. So while I most likely would’ve won…I know in my heart I didn’t…but I think you had fun with me these two weeks, right? It…doesn’t have to end here, you know? I think the one thing I really want to win…is you.”

His gaze is too intense, too scary and full of the hope you stuffed way down, so you focus on the gift in your hands. Pulling at the open edge of the wrapping paper, you unravel the gift wrap to reveal a marbled cream box with gold letters across the top. Your breath grows shaky as cynicism sneaks into your chest, only to be replaced with astonishment. The Saeda 100 Unicorn Printed Satin Pumps with Crystal Embellishment lay in the box, sparkling in the light filtering through the balcony windows.

“Jin,” you try to speak, but all you can say is his name.

“You deserve these, and not just because I lost on a technicality. You deserve these because you are just as magical as these fucking shoes are. You challenge me, push me to be better, and help me along the way. You believe in me more than my own father. You just,” he sighs your name softly, taking the shoes from your grasp and setting them on the outdoor table so he can hold your hands, “you see me. All of me. And if I remember correctly, you weren’t opposed to what you saw, might have even liked it.”

His light teasing, alluding to that night, has your body warming despite the December chill.

“Do you mean it?” You hate that you have to ask, but you need to know it’s real. Not just you reading into something because of false hope clouding your judgment.

“God, you are so brilliant and yet, so dense.”

Seokjin closes the remaining space between your mouths, plush lips firm as they show you how much he meant every word.

“I want to be with you. No bets, no rules, no strings. Just you.”

📈📈📈📈📈

Seokjin’s POV

The drive back to Seokjin’s place is fast; neither of you can keep your hands off of each other and he refuses to slow at yellow lights in fear that he’ll combust if he doesn’t get you naked…

The moment he has you standing in his lofted bedroom, he pauses just to take you in. Seokjin swears he never thought he could get so lucky—he always thought his fate would be similar to Hoseok’s arranged marriage, though that turned out well in the end. But someone like you? He never saw it coming.

Shrugging his shirt off of his shoulders, he lets it fall quietly to the floor, stepping closer to you. His hands feel way too hot when he places them to your cheeks, but if he’s supposed to die from a burning desire, well fuck, he guesses there isn’t a better way to go. He’s falling hard for you, and as he ducks his head to meet your lips, he lets his hands move to undress you. 

Seokjin doesn’t understand how you can be so soft, so warm, so inviting; everything about you envelops him until he’s consumed by you. Leaving you only in your underwear, he uses his hands to cup behind your thighs and lift you, carrying you to the bed.

“You look like an angel.”

Seokjin’s sheets are black, and with your white matching bra and panty set stark against the sheets, he’s in awe of you. He wants to savor you. He wants to defile you. Slowly, so slowly that you whine at him, he trails his lips along your clavicle, fingers lightly brushing your exposed sides. He pauses every so often to lave at your skin, supple beneath his tongue, before his dexterous fingers slide the straps to your bra down each arm. A quick tug frees your breasts, and his kisses continue to taunt and tease, circling but never reaching the pebbled nipple despite the arch to your back.

“Please Jin,” you beg, fingers fisting into his hair. He just chuckles at your neediness, your pleading words only adding to the pressure tenting in his pants. Trailing kisses lower down your stomach, his tongue traces the edge of your panties until he bites at the edge, making you squirm from his teeth. 

He loves that he gets to have you like this; wants you like this always, pliant and happy beneath him. Settling himself lower, his chest between your thighs, Seokjin begins to mouth at your covered core, tongue searching for the slit between your lips where your clit waits, probably throbbing for him. 

The sounds you make are pornographic, egging him on more. Wrapping his arms under your thighs, he curls his bicep so that his fingers can reach the edge of your panties. Pulling them aside, he pours his energy into leaving the sloppiest kisses around your clit and lips, strong arms not allowing you any room to pull away from the pleasure he’s delivering. Not that you’re trying to; your hands have a tight grip on his hair so you can roll your hips for maximum pleasure. 

Tonguing at your leaking core, he flicks along your opening, reaching inside you before alternating to flick your clit. He wraps his lips around it and sucks, the pressure building as you cry out for more. Like a siren's call, he can’t deny you, so he surrenders two fingers to your pulsing walls, plunging them inside rapidly as you pant, moans slipping from your lips until you cry out his name. 

He laps at you lazily as you ride your high, and when you pull back from over-stimulation, he pulls himself up along your body, flopping down to lay next to you where he can gaze upon you. You, his beautiful…girlfriend? Did you establish that? He ponders it for a minute until you call his attention. 

“Fuck, Jin…You’re a demon.”

“I’m your demon,” he responds, looking for an opening to broach the thoughts on his mind.

“Only mine, right?” 

He can hear the way your voice trembles as you ask, and he wants to kiss away any lingering doubts in your mind.

“Only yours. You’re my girlfriend, exclusively. If I’m honest, you have been since you agreed to my bet. It was only ever you.”  

“Good,” you say, and he jumps when your hand rests atop his aching cock only two layers between your skin and his.

You eye his zipper before looking back at him, eyes low and simmering with heated desire. “Can I?”

Seokjin moves quickly to shed his remaining clothing, eager to have you in a way he’s only dreamt about. You laugh at his silliness, and while he was exaggerating a little to make you laugh, part of him really feels this way. Heart-racing and giddy, because of you. 

You kneel onto the carpeted ground between his legs, waiting for him to lower himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He leaves his feet planted on the floor as he strokes himself, weeping with pre-cum that aids him in sliding his palm across his silky skin.

You trade out his hand for your own, delicate touches to show how much you cherish him before you take him fully into your mouth. He can’t look away, leaning back on one hand while the other strokes your head lightly, eyes on your face as your lips work up and down his shaft, tongue tickling his frenulum. Seokjin shivers with each pass. Your mouth is so warm, wet and dripping each time you choke a little on his cock, and your eyes look so pretty lined with unshed tears. 

Fuck, Seokjin thinks he could fall in love with you fast, if you continue to look at him like that, with eyes wide as you deep throat his cock until your nose is tickled by the hair of his happy trail. Moaning as your throat convulses around his throbbing tip, light swallows squeezing the head. He almost says it when you pull off of him with a pop, just to take him deep again and add your hand to cup his balls as your dripping spit coats them to make for an easy slide through your fingers as you roll them in your palm. 

Seokjin knows his own sounds are not very manly but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know how good you make him feel, and his breathy groans are a little higher than his normal talking voice but if anything when he lets out a sound it seems to invigorate you more and—shit—“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby—” spills from his mouth and instead of popping off him and letting him cover your beautiful tits, you hold yourself closer to him until Seokjin’s sighing out your name as he falls back onto the bed, his eyes screwed shut as fireworks shoot through his veins. 

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Reader POV

Returning to work after a week off is always tough; having to adjust your alarms to wake up on time, no more lazing away in bed watching Netflix or reading a new Best Seller you were gifted. No breakfast in bed after being Seokjin’s breakfast in bed—no time when you’ve overslept your alarm after a late night on Facetime with your boyfriend.

Seokjin’s out at his family’s vacation home, has been just for the weekend, where he told his parents about you and successfully avoided the marriage plans his dad attempted to trap him in. Once he gets back, there’s plans to have dinner with them—apparently his mom is excited to meet you. 

Seokjin’s entrusted his car to you while he’s been gone, saying it’s because the oil and gas shouldn’t sit and build gunk in the engine, but you have a feeling it’s because he thinks it’s sexy when you drive. And you love how the car smells like him, like bergamot and spicy vanilla—a warm hug until he returns to you.

Parking in his designated spot, you enjoy the perks of dating the CFO as you ride the elevator straight from the parking garage to your floor. It’s easy to settle back into your work routine, checking emails and reviewing reports until NaBi pops in on her way to grab food, reminding you of the time. 

“Overworking already? I thought dating the CFO meant you could relax a little.”

You laugh at NaBi’s teasing, shoulder bumping her lightly. She presses the call button for the elevator to go down to the cafe. “I can relax a little. I just miss him, so it’s easier to focus on work until he gets—Ahhhhh!” You’re happily surprised when you see a slightly tanned Seokjin appear when the elevator doors open. The other workers hanging around the Property Acquisition cubicles startle and look over, but you don’t care. 

You greet him excitedly, kissing him right there for everyone to see. Openly showing him affection, where before you would have shied away, you can feel Seokjin is receptive to this as he pulls you in closer. 

“I got us lunch,” he says between quick pecks before releasing you, and you realize he’s holding a tied plastic bag with styrofoam food trays.

“Sorry, NaBi!” 

She eyes you as if to say, ‘bitch, you lying’, but her smile shows she’s not mad at you. You have a feeling this is the perfect excuse for her to have lunch with a certain IT coworker…

Following Seokjin to his office, you hold his free hand with both of yours. “I missed you,” you muse, and he chuckles at the sappy look you give him. 

“I was only gone for the weekend,” he says with a wink as he leads you to his massive desk, “but I missed you too, so I thought I would surprise you with lunch. I’m glad I did, I get to see this version of you that I’ve always known was there.” 

His words have you furrowing your brow, tilting your head in question. 

“You know, my girlfriend, who I’m able to be goofy with, but who still maintains the same work ethic and drive that I love, just with heart eyes only for me.”

“Ew, why are you being so cheesy?” His words make your heart flutter, so of course you have to wrinkle your nose at how soft he’s making you feel. 

“Because, you know, I kind of like you. A lot.”

Seokjin gestures to the corner of his desk, and you notice that the photo frame you purchased him for Christmas sits there, ‘World’s Best Boss’ engraved in gold with a purple frame surrounding a picture of the two of you taken on the candlelit dinner cruise. The card, where you poured out some of your most heartfelt thoughts about Seokjin and how much you believe in him, lay open under the clear, protective placemat on his desk along with the photos of his fraternity days, his mom, and other notes from Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi.

You feel an overwhelming emotion fill your chest, so you lean in and kiss him, unable to contain it.

“I like you a lot too, but honestly, you’re lucky to have me. Your lover, your friend, your partner in crime…in sexy ass heels.”

Seokjin laughs with his whole chest as he sees you’ve got on the shoes he gifted you, and you thank your lucky stars for whatever brought the man in front of you into your life to help you avoid the red.

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2019-2023. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[lazybutsmexy]

Choices have consequences

Alejandro Vargas x reader (GN)

Warning: light angst, culinary crimes, talk about past food insecurity.

Summary: There is an unwritten rule that you assumed Alejandro would have learned by now, after three years of committed relationship: don't anger the cook. You were wrong.

On AO3

A/N: I'm like, five vodka cocktails in. If there are any mistakes I'll fix them when I'm sober. Also I got inspired by @ragingbookdragon 's badass reader because I just know Alejandro is. So. Whipped.

When you had decided to move in together, an arrangement was made: all household chores would be shared when he was present, but you would be in charge of meal planning and cooking.

It was a convenient set-up for the two of you; you wouldn't be burdened with all the chores when he was off-duty, and would only look after your own load of housekeeping when you were by yourself. Besides, Alejandro was by no means an incapable man when cooking, you were just better than him in that regard - by a lightyear.

To you, cooking wasn't just a means to an end - it was an act of service, a declaration of love. And to date a passionate man as Alejandro, you showed the same passion for your culinary art.

The kitchen was your realm, and you were the regent. No matter whoever was going to be the recipient of your hard work, you always chose the finest ingredients. You loved to experiment with flavours and aromas. You had transformed an unused closet at the far end of your kitchen into a walk-in pantry - your spices occupied nearly an entire wall in there.

You put your heart and soul into every dish, it didn't matter if it was for Alejandro and you, a house full of guests, or just yourself. Those close to the both of you knew that a dinner invitation to your house meant a culinary experience that could rival that of a Michelin star restaurant.

And you were damn proud of yourself for that. You nurtured yourself on the faces of your guests when their head tilted slightly backwards, their eyes closed, and a soft moan escaped them as soon as they tried your meals. Alejandro himself had more than once interrupted himself from eating to cup your face in his hands and kiss you to thank you for your efforts.

Which is why the very words that came out of his mouth hit you like a train dead on.

Granted, he didn't say them to you directly, you overheard him on accident the previous day while he was talking on the phone. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but he wasn't being secretive either. He was sitting in the living room, and the conversation was quite light-hearted, so you assumed that the topic was nothing related to his work. You still kept quiet, sneaking behind him to grab a book you had meant to start reading for a while.

The conversation had shifted to meals, somehow, and it caught your attention immediately when he mentioned some of the meals you often made. It never failed to warm your heart when he gushed about your culinary skills.

"...I mean, I appreciate the effort because it's such a hassle to cook and they do it all from scratch, but a few times it felt like I was eating rations in the field."

...What?

He couldn't be talking about your food, right?

...Right?

He ended his sentence with a chuckle, and you just stood there, fingers grasping the spine of the book. Your eyes were fixed on the shelf as his conversation moved on, his voice fading from your perception.

There was a weight on your chest that expanded to the bottom of your stomach and to the middle of your head, settling right behind your eyes. Knowing what was to come, you left the book in its place and walked back to the room you'd come from, just as quietly as you'd arrived.

After twenty minutes or so, you emerged from your hiding place, face freshly washed and - hopefully - no traces of the little angst marathon you went through. Alejandro still sat in the living room, this time he was watching a rerun of some fútbol match, completely unaware of the beast he had unknowingly set loose.

You walked straight to the kitchen with a newfound determination, a mission if you will. After gulping two cups of water to rehydrate yourself - and a quick prayer to your late abuela for forgiveness for the crime you were about to commit - you put your hands to work. You usually took about two hours to cook, but you were sure that you would be over much quicker than that.

You carefully washed, sliced, and prepared the main ingredients, making sure that the meal would have everything necessary to look absolutely normal. You were akin to an explosives expert assembling a bomb, every step carefully calculated to achieve your goal.

The light scent of that escaped from the pot caught Alejandro's attention, and he robotically moved to set the table. You stole a glance at him, finding him eager and looking forward to dinner with a tiny grin on his face.

Estúpido mimado.

A few more minutes passed and the rice stew was ready. You looked at it, quite bland and lacking some colour, and knowing exactly how it would taste. Memories from a time long past flashed in your mind and you forced yourself to shoo them away. Carefully, you brought the pot to the table and filled two plates - Alejandro's, like always, had a extra spoonful.

You both sat down and started eating. You kept your eyes on your plate as you heard him chomp down eagerly, then quietly slow down until pulling to a stop. You tried your best not to break into a devilish smirk as he finally spoke to you.

"... Mi amor?" He sounded confused, if not a bit concerned, "the food tastes... Uh... Different than usual."

"...Yeah?," You quipped, knowing exactly what was wrong with the food, it wasn't just bland. It was sick dog level of blandness. No spices at all, no herbs, not even salt. "I tried a new recipe today."

"Uh, okay?," He frowned a bit, slowly pushing the food around with his plate, wondering how to tell you that he didn't like it one bit, "it just... It has no spices...?"

You can't contain your smirk this time, it felt like getting away with a crime. It was a criminal masterpiece.

"Pues claro, mi amor," your voice was sweet, but the mirth in your tone couldn't be hidden, and ran a shiver down his spine, "I wanted to emulate the flavour of the rations you seem to love so much."

Alejandro blinked once, twice, and felt his blood run cold. Had you heard him?

"Mi amor-" he began, but you interrupted him, pointing your spoon to his face.

"Escúchame bien Alejandro Vargas," you scolded him and he gulped and shut his mouth, sitting straight in his chair, "this kind of food would've been a banquet for me growing up. The sort of food I so lovingly dedicate myself to prepare everyday is the result of my dreams and desires from when I was a kid, and you disrespected that by acting como un estúpido mimado."

"Pero claro," you pitch raised and Alejandro had flashbacks of his own mamá whenever he got a scolding, "el señor put my meals at the same level of the rations he gets from the army, which I know how they taste like and don't you forget that," you accentuated every syllable with the spoon, which was still pointed at his face. Alejandro gulped as he watched you, and you continued on, "so I decided that you will eat this meal - all of it - and be thankful for every meal you receive from today on, mine or the army's, because making fun of the meals I so lovingly make for you is the same as making fun of me as a kid who got this only when there was something to celebrate. Entendido?"

"...Si, mi vida," Alejandro stated with a nod, feeling like a little kid under your harsh glare, "cada palabra."

"Good," you nodded, and carried on with eating your own meal, "que sea la última vez."

Alejandro took a few seconds to carry on with his meal, making a mental note to bring you a bouquet of flowers in the morning with your breakfast.

[romione-trope-fest]

The Perfect Pair

Title: The Perfect Pair

Author: adenei

Trope: OOTP MM

Summary: OOTP Missing Moment following the aftermath of Hermione’s epic fail when finding out Ron’s prefect, not Harry.

WC: 1,139

Rating: G

TW: none

***********

Hermione’s probably going to wear a hole right through the floor if she keeps the constant pacing up, but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop. Constant moving is the only thing that briefly wipes the look on Ron’s face out of her mind.

  She knows she messed up. Big time. She should have never assumed anything. But why on earth was Harry holding Ron’s Prefect badge? What else was she supposed to think?

  In her defense, she did look to Ron first for confirmation, but his back was to her and his head angled down. It’s not like the recipient’s name was plastered on it.

  Realistically speaking, Hermione figured it would be one of them. She supposed it could have been Neville too, but definitely not Seamus or Dean. The possibility had been going through her mind all summer as she weighed the pros and cons of why Dumbledore might pick Harry over Ron or Ron over Harry. She only threw Neville’s name in there because of how he’d tried to stop them from sneaking out after curfew first year.

  But it’s fine. It’s all fine because Ron had been named Prefect—exactly what she’d been hoping for. Not that she would have minded the extra time spent with Harry, but after nearly the entire summer with Ron…she can’t explain it. She doesn’t think she prefers Ron’s company over Harry’s, but maybe she does. Because even though she was so worried and desperate for Harry to finally join them, an odd sensation settled in the pit of her stomach when he finally did arrive. Maybe it’s because of his moodiness. Yes, that has to be it.

  Even still, she misses the time she and Ron got to spend alone together in the evenings. Come to think of it, they haven’t been alone since the morning of Harry’s trial, and even that was brief. Ginny joined them shortly after breakfast, pondering what might happen if Fudge found a way to expel Harry from Hogwarts.

None of that matters right now though!

  Right now, she has to find a way to talk to Ron, to clear up the misunderstanding. Judging by the look on his face, he clearly thought she was disappointed. And she’s not.

  She’s so lost in her own thoughts she doesn’t hear the door open and close, then open again a few moments later.“Hermione, what—”

  The sound of his voice causes her to whip around so suddenly that she loses her balance and has to use Ginny’s bed to catch herself so she doesn’t tumble to the ground.

  “Where’s Harry?” she asks instinctively.

  Once again, it’s the wrong thing to say. Ron’s face darkens. “Sorry, I’ll just—Ginny thought you wanted—”

  “No!” she lunges forward, clutching his arm as he tries to back toward the door.

  Ron raises his eyebrows at her and cocks his head to the side. “Are you alright?”

  “No—I mean, yes. I just—ugh! Harry’s not about to come in here, is he?”

  “Er, no…why?”

  “Because,” she hisses, “I wanted to talk to you but not in front of him and I feel like we haven’t gotten a moment alone since he got here and—”

  Ron shrugs his arm out of her grasp. “Look,  Hermione, if this is about the Prefect thing, it’s fine. I thought it’d be Harry too—”

  “No, it’s not—I mean, yes, it probably could have been but I’m glad it’s not,” she says quickly.

  Her admission garners Ron’s attention. His eyes meet hers, searching for sincerity. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better. It’s alright. No one expected it to be me.”

  “I—well, I can’t say I was expecting it—” Hermione shoves her foot in her mouth again.

  “See?”

  “No! Let me finish. Please?” She takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm her frenzied mind before continuing. “I wasn’t expecting it because I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but…I wanted it to be you.”

  Ron shakes his head. “Hermione, please don’t make it worse by lying—”

  “—I’m not!”

  “Really? I saw how excited you were when you saw Harry holding the badge.”

  “That wasn’t why! I mean, yes, I wanted it to be you or Harry but it was my excitement projecting when I went up there. It wasn’t—it was more relief than anything.”

  “Then why were you so awkward when you found out it was me?” Ron counters, causing Hermione to finally snap out of her flustered state.

  “Well, I couldn’t exactly be more excited about that, could I? Harry was standing right there! What was I supposed to say? ‘Ooh, even better?! I like spending time with you more than Harry anyway so look how perfectly this works out?’”

  As soon as the words slip out, she claps her hand over her mouth. She did not just say that out loud.

  “You—what?”

  “I—”

  Ron’s face flushes scarlet. His ears turn pink and he stares at her. She can’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so she stares at a worn old knot in the wood floor. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she wills her brain to come up with something—anything—that can shift the conversation away from that slip. And while she’s never been great at giving compliments, she thinks she finally knows how to stay on the subject while steering around her embarrassing admission.

  “You really do deserve the badge, Ron. Don’t listen to your brothers.” She digs her toe into the wood, not brave enough to meet his eye. Skirting around him, she makes her way to the door. “We should, um, get back to Harry. Or see if your Mum needs help cleaning or something.”

  “Oh, uh, right. For the party.” 

  Despite the prevalent awkwardness, neither of them moves, and Hermione wishes she knew what to do in a situation like this. And to think she’d just been wishing for a moment alone with him! Why are things so weird right now? Merlin, she hopes she hasn’t made things even worse.

  She wonders if maybe she should apologize too when he speaks again. “Er, Hermione?”

  “Yes?” she squeaks.

  “Thanks. That, er, means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.” A grin splits onto her face, matching his own lopsided one. She’s caught up in the moment until his eyes flicker to the door, reminding her they should go. “Now, shall we head back upstairs?”

  “Yeah, probably should. Make sure Harry isn’t brooding over something else, right?” 

  “Right.”

  While she’s relieved they’re okay, a new problem needles its way into her mind as she opens the door and heads into the hall. She should probably be more concerned over the way her heart is fluttering, but she pushes it aside. After all, it’s probably nothing, right?

[suzdin]

Mad Max Phillips

(Vampire!Max Phillips x f!reader)

Summary: When trying to deliver a message to Max Phillips doesn’t go according to plan.

Warnings: no use of y/n but use of a nickname/pet name, violence/gore, blood kink, fingering, unprotected p in v (he’s dead it doesn’t matter), squirting, biting (obviously), kind of soft Max at one point

Notes: Basically wanted an excuse to write something about vampires to exercise my knowledge of vampire lore, that’s all really. Enjoy!

18+ MDNI

——

You aren’t sure what compels you to knock on the door to Max’s office. It’s after hours and you should be sitting in traffic by now, chugging down your third or fourth iced coffee of the day, mentally preparing yourself to go to the bar for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations with Alice and Tristan later. Not standing on the fifth floor, where you definitely don’t belong, with some name and phone number scrawled on a post-it note because asshole Max Phillips wouldn’t answer his goddamn phone.

You got the call right as you were about to clock out—a client called ManeGain that sells hair growth products for men. Needed to talk Max Phillips about their account. Fine, you thought. Last one of the day.

Let me direct your call, you’d told the voice on the phone. One moment.

You thought you were home free after that. That is until another call rolled through right as you were slinking into your purse and jacket, fingers hovering over the keyboard to log your hours for the day.

He isn’t answering and I need to talk to him immediately. Please see to it he gets my message, the voice said.

You’re under no obligation to hand deliver messages. Your job is to man the front desk, answer and route phone calls to the appropriate recipients. Direct visitors to the bathroom down the hall. Be a smiling face—or not—as people you barely recognize wash past you and into the building for a long and exhausting 9 to 5 in corporate America.

You had a vague idea of what Max looked like. By and large, he ignored you. As if you weren’t really there. Which was fine by you; the less interaction you had to endure throughout the day, the better.

So you aren’t sure why you’re here, on this empty floor crammed full of cubicles by yourself, hand delivering a message to a man you couldn’t care less about right now. Especially after hearing what sounded like screams as you stepped off the elevator into the hall; and especially after said screams had fallen stagnant and the only other noise audible to you is the crescendo of your own breath as it warbles out of your chest.

You rap your knuckles softly against the door, a lingering sense of dread snaking its way up your spine. “Mr. Phillips? I’m from downstairs. From the lobby? I have a message for you from a Jim Hicks with ManeGain?“

You wait patiently and you’re met with silence so heavy your ears ring. Not even the creak of an office chair or the tapping of fingers on a keyboard can be heard. Perhaps Max has already gone home for the day? You don’t recall seeing him, but it’s possible you missed him in the rush to complete your end of day tasks.

Now that you think about it, you don’t remember seeing him much at all lately.

You could just stick the note to his door and be done with it. After all, it isn’t your job to play delivery person. You’ve done more than is necessary already.

But there’s a persistent intuition rising in your throat that something is off. That something is wrong—you’re sure you’d heard screams. What if Max is hurt? What if you could help him?

The smart thing to do would be to call 911 and vacate yourself back to the safety of the lobby while you wait for emergency services to arrive. But if Max or someone else is injured, they may only have precious few seconds to live, so if you could just check that everything is alright first for your own peace of mind…

As you raise your hand to knock a second time, the door abruptly whooshes open in front of you, an arm shooting forward to hook around your neck and snatch you into the confines of the office, a second hand clapping over your mouth to dampen the horrified yelp that works its way up from your lungs. Your back collides harshly into the door as someone you can’t see spins you, pinning you between themselves and the wood. This all happens within fractions of a second.

At first you think you’ve lost your vision; the room is black as pitch and you can’t even make out the edges of the space around you, much less whoever is inches from your face. Once your vision adjusts, you pick up on the faint blinking glow of a modem against the wall; aside from that, you’re completely blind, your other senses going into overtime.

The first thing you notice is the smell. A thick coppery tang, it almost seems to cake the inside of your nasal passage, overburdening your senses. You think you know what it is—it can’t be though, right? Why would it be?—but you can’t be sure without your sight.

And then you hear something…dripping. Whatever it is, it isn’t far. Few feet, maybe. It seems to be low, which means the source of the sound isn’t coming from the ceiling, where you would suspect. Possibly a desk. Perhaps someone spilled a drink?

Everything happens quickly, within split seconds of one another, and it’s only then you’re acutely aware you’re still being pinned by a faceless assailant, and that whoever it is is breathing against your neck, their breath rife with the same copper stench of the surrounding room. You make a pathetic, mewling sound, your muscles pulled tighter than a snare drum over your trembling frame.

“I can hear the blood coursing through your veins,” murmurs the phantom voice. Then, a dark chuckle. “Fear makes it taste better. Lucky for you, I just fed.”

You feel a shift in your bodies as he manipulates you into a position more advantageous for him, lining his pelvis up with yours. You feel the hard pressure of his erection prodding at your center, dragging your seam through your thin leggings. You relinquish a small sound, one that sounds more gratuitous than you intend it to be, your core throbbing at the sensation in spite of—or perhaps as a consequence of—the spikes of fear and adrenaline currently threading their way through you.

“Did someone like that?” the voice chuckles. You feel the sharp hook of his nose press against the flesh of your neck, skimming along your pulse point. He groans salaciously and rolls his hips against yours, your own utterance of pleasure reverberating your lungs and dying in the meat of the palm still clamped over your mouth. Fuck, this shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t, it shouldn’t, but it does—

—it’s the fear, you think. Your mind is trying to help you cope by flooding your body with endorphins. That has to be it. It must be…

“I can smell your blood, sweetheart. Smells so fucking sweet and intoxicating,” he asserts, his tone heady and full of longing. “Never smelled any like yours before. What is your blood type?”

His hand moves away from your mouth, sliding down to circle the underside of your jaw. “Make a sound and I’ll snap your neck like a toothpick,” he warns. Max knows he isn’t above fucking a corpse. Hell, he is a corpse.

You could scream now if you wanted, and you most definitely should. But in spite of yourself, you don’t. You know as well as anyone there’s no one in the building who can save you. And even if there were, they’d never make it in time; the firm press of his hand against your jawbone confirms your suspicion that his threat is anything but idle. You vaguely remember your crisis training and know that compliance is key to survival in hostage situations, if that’s what this is.

“AB negative,” you answer, your voice quavering. Hot tears collecting along the rims of your eyes. “R-rarest… rarest blood type,” you finish.

Max grins and pulls back to study your face. Unlike you, he doesn’t need light to see, his supernatural senses honed now that he’s grown accustomed to using them. He recognizes you as the pretty face from downstairs, the first and last he used to see every work day. Although not so much lately; not since the shift and that pesky allergy to sunlight that would render him to a pile of ash if he tempted it.

“Excellent,” he croons, licking a slow stripe along your neck, simultaneously drunk on the blood in his belly that is making his head swim, and the way he can feel your artery pulsing under his tongue.

“Maybe I’ll have a taste anyway. Always room for dessert, right?” His hand travels from your jaw to the curve of your waist, then to your thigh, where he grabs your leg to hitch it up against him, slinking you around himself so he can deepen the angle of his erection against your core. He needs to be inside you sooner than later, the high of his recent kill making him insatiable.

You let out a sob. It isn’t exactly loud and you hope it isn’t enough to get you killed, but you can’t help it, panic now taking the wheel. A taste of what? Your blood? Does he think he’s a fucking vampire?

You’re definitely the kind of weird girl to believe such things—vampires, aliens, ghosts and the lot. But now that it actually appears to be happening, you’re paralyzed with disbelief, your heart telling you there’s no other logical explanation, but your brain not wanting to accept.

“Shhhh, shhh. Quiet now. I’m going to turn on the light so you can see. And again, you will not make a sound. Right?” he implores.

“R-right,” you mumble, your tongue feeling like a dead lump of flesh in your mouth. “W-won’t make a sound,” you promise.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, flicking on the switch that you discover is only inches from where your head meets the door, reminding you that you could have turned it on at any point yourself.

You bring a hand up to shield your eyes from the onslaught of luminescence and Max does the same, his eyes far more sensitive than your own. You adjust faster than he does, your gaze already pointed at his chest as your hand lowers, and the first thing you notice is the smattering of blood adorning his suit, staining his white dress shirt. He’s wearing a green tie for Saint Patrick’s Day and you can’t help but think grimly that it looks like some sort of macabre version of Christmas.

Only after you gather your bearings do you allow yourself to look around fully and what you’re met with is nothing short of a horror show. A lifeless man is draped across Max’s desk, both arms displaced from his body, tendrils of sinew dangling gracelessly from the sockets where his arms should be. A gaping chasm decorates his chest which is devoid of a heart as far as you can tell. A smaller but similar impression is found in the stem of the man’s neck, which you deduce is the source of the dripping you heard, the shape and jagged edges of the wound indicative that Max took more than a generous bite out of him.

Rivulets of blood stream down the sides of the desk, collecting in a puddle which is still slowly spreading dark vermillion across the tiled floor. You inhale sharply, your tears flowing freely, thinking to yourself how you’ve never seen this much blood in your entire life. How you may be next.

You will yourself to look at the man’s face. You recognize him from earlier when he’d come up to you in the lobby to ask for directions to Max’s office. His eyes are glazed open in a perpetual loop of his final moments, his jaw slack, mouth ajar in a silent scream. Your stomach turns and you release another sob that you’ve been holding in your chest, but you don’t dare make any other sounds lest Max rips you asunder.

You find one arm on the floor next to the desk, your gaze pulling directly to it. Your eyes search with urgency for the second one, as there are very few places it could possibly be, but you don’t find it on visual inspection alone.

Max forces your visage back to his, black and endless as they scrutinize you. His face is streaked in blood, a goatee of red flowing down from his curved lips, which is splayed into a tilted smirk. You sniffle, your chest shuddering with effort as you attempt to collect your breath and your faculties.

“He wanted to pull his account from our company,” Max explains with a shrug, waving a hand dismissively. “There were some…choice words exchanged. Things escalated. I was hungry. It worked out.”

Max drags you backwards, twirling you toward the wall opposite the door as he releases you, turning the lock behind him. You swallow, dread hammering hard in your chest, doing all you can to regulate your pulse rate but easily failing, pinpricks of sweat breaking out on your skin.

You’ll make it through this. You’ll make it out alive. You won’t end up another meal for this… vampire, incubus, deranged cannibal. Whatever he is.

He steps forward, slipping out of his jacket and waistcoat, discarding them in the bin in the corner. They’re ruined, anyway.

“Fear makes…everything better,” Max intones, giving you a cursory once over as he licks his lips. “On both sides.”

He begins rolling up his sleeves on each arm, pinning them at the elbow, revealing a twin set of thick, toned forearms. His tie is last, which he removes deftly, stepping closer to you to loop it around your neck. You shrink away, or try to, your backside bumping against a cabinet. Max laughs when he effectively corners you again, your mingled scents driving him to madness, threatening to turn him into some sort of savage beast; he can smell the fear being excreted from your adrenal gland, the heady arousal pooling amid your thighs, the invigorating scent of blood pulsing in your veins. It’s enough to make any vampire crazy.

He cinches the tie around your neck, wrapping the other end around his fist. He knows he could use his mind control powers to will you into submission, but there’s no sport in that. No challenge. He prefers when it feels more like a game of cat and mouse and so far, you were being plenty acquiescent, stunned into submission like a timid little dormouse. He can’t help but wonder what you’d let him do to you. How far you would go.

He pulls you against him using the necktie for leverage, causing you to stumble into his chest. He can feel how hard your nipples are underneath your green blouse. You hate how much your body is betraying you right now.

“Taste,” Max quietly commands, lifting his fingers to your lips, the digits still slick with the drying blood of his victim. You whimper and shake your head, tilting away from him.

“N-no, please,” you beg. “Anything but that.”

“Anything? That’s a dangerous proposition, dollface,” Max tuts, smirking crookedly.

“I don’t think I c-can,” you reiterate, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. And it tastes fucking amazing.” He places his fingers against your soft lips. “Open. Now.”

You ultimately resign yourself, knowing you shouldn’t fight him. You’ve seen what he can do—did do—the last thing you need is to antagonize him further. Your lips part softly for him and his fingers delve into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue.

You note the distinct coppery tang of blood right away and it makes you gag, sending you into an inadvertent coughing fit, your own hands pushing Max’s away before you’re aware you’re even doing so, more tears crowding your eyes. If it was your own blood or Max’s, you’re sure you could handle it. But knowing where it came from is enough to make you want to wretch. And you almost do.

Max chuckles, shaking his head at how easily you succumb to your pathetic human morals. “Not good?” he asks.

“Tastes like…rusty pennies,” you spit, swiping at your tongue in anguish to get the taste out of your mouth. In your peripheral, you can almost see the dead man’s eyes watching you. Rightfully judging you.

Max grins, musing over how easily he can make you fall apart, but satisfied that he got you to try, which is good enough for him. For now, at least. “Suit yourself. More for me,” he says with a flourish of his shoulders, licking the remnants of blood from his fingers. “Tastes like the best fucking drink I’ve ever had. I bet you taste even better, though.”

He’s pushing into you again, tightening the tie a few more inches until it’s just barely flush against your throat. His words go straight to your core, his nostrils flaring when he smells more arousal creeping into your panties.

His hand coils tighter around the other end of the necktie, a wry grin playing on his features. He studies you, memorizing all the different shades of your eyes; the curvature of your lips, of your soft cheeks. “I should make you my pet. Would you like that? Being a pet for a vampire?” he asks, his free hand cupping your cheek. “I would like that.”

You attempt a nod. You don’t dare say no. Part of you thinks you would like it, though. But the killing? The constant slew of bodies? You aren’t sure you could get used to that.

“That’s what I thought,” Max muses with a small puff of air from his lips, his opposite hand traversing the curves of your body at a agonizingly leisurely pace.

His hand finds your sex, fingers stroking along your folds through the cloth of your leggings. He can feel you’re soaked through already. His mouth dips to your neck, tongue trailing your pulse point, eager to taste you, but allotting you ample time to get used to the feeling of him there. His teeth tease across your pebbled skin, but he doesn’t clamp down yet, his vampire canines still tucked away for now.

He notices the way your muscles tense and your heart flutters each time his teeth graze, anticipating being bitten, being fed on. He wishes he hadn’t already gorged himself on some jerkoff right before you showed yourself at his door—you would have made a far more delicious meal than this guy. Not that he would have given you the same treatment. Unlike the corpse still cooling on his desk, he’d rather keep you around for future feedings and other forays.

“My pet likes this, doesn’t she?” he coos, nipping at the delicate intersection of your neck and shoulder with his human teeth, causing you to jump. He chuckles. “Relax, baby.”

There’s a sudden tight pull in your lungs, an inexplicable rush of air, and you start to panic when it feels like you can’t breathe, the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Everything goes static and you almost black out, the edges of the room slowly blotting away but then quickly coming back into focus, and you feel an inexplicable chill roll up your spine as a blast of cold air stings your skin.

There are two fingers tapping at your entrance and you look down in time to see Max’s thick digits sinking deep into you, all the way down to the meat of his hand. It occurs to you that you’re completely naked, your clothes discarded into a hasty pile on the floor. You look at Max with a quizzical expression, but before he can answer, your head is rolling back to brush the wall as he furls said fingers inside of you, slowly pumping, a moan departing your lips.

“Super speed. Comes in handy sometimes,” Max explains with a low chortle. “You get used to it.”

If there were any doubts before that Max could be a vampire, you definitely have none now. Unless you’re going insane, which is a very real possibility at this point, there is no other logical explanation for how expeditiously he was able to get you undressed.

He continues to fuck you slowly with his fingers, watching the way your expression transitions from horror to pleasure, your mouth dropping open in a small “O”.

He can tell by your scent that you haven’t been with any other men recently, indicating that you most likely don’t have a regular suitor in your life. He would be right, your last boyfriend out of the picture for several months now. That’s a good thing, because Max doesn’t do competition.

“Would you like to know the other ways it’s useful? My super speed?” Max questions, curving his fingers into a spot that makes your body roll into an arch against him.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “Please.”

It’s fucked that you’re enjoying this. Max is a killer who’s cloaked in another man’s blood. Said man wasn’t particularly kind to you—was in fact, curt and rude—but that doesn’t mean he deserved such a fate.

Whatever conflict you’re currently having over the whole ordeal hastily disperses when it’s almost like Max switches on a vibrator between your legs, the edges of his arm blurring away, an exquisite tingle pooling amid your thighs, spreading through your abdomen.

Max doesn’t use his advanced speed often as it takes a lot out of him to do so. Vampires were not as invulnerable as everyone perceived them to be, so he only used it when it was its most advantageous, such as now.

Your head droops forward to rest on his shoulder, blood and all, biting back a moan between your teeth. You think he’s probably even better than your vibrator back home, as you can’t recall something ever making you feel this good.

He lifts your eyes back to him and bites down against the side of your neck—once again only human teeth, which still hurt by all accounts—your muscles clamping down around him with a whimper. You feel the familiar stirring growing low in your core, and you know your orgasm is not far off.

“Max—“

“That’s it, sweetheart. Quiet now. Cum for me. Cum for me, but don’t make a sound.”

His eyes are dark, brow pushed down into a stern line. They bore holes straight through your soul, unmoving from your face as he watches you. You close your eyes to concentrate on the impending orgasm and he snaps the tie against your neck, making you gasp, bringing you back to the present.

“Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

His thumb finds your clit, anchoring itself there and that does it, the coil inside of you unfurling, euphoria peaking as you struggle to keep your sounds to a lower pitch.

And then a not-so-recognizable sensation overtakes you and you’re suddenly gushing around his fingers, your eyes going wide with shock as you realize what is happening, knowing you’ve never done that before, you never knew it was something you could do.

“Messy little thing,” Max muses, fingers slipping free with another rush of fluids that trickle down your inner thigh.

Mind somewhat foggy now with over exertion, he can’t help but think how much it was worth it as he tastes you on his fingers.

He hikes your leg up once more, wrapping it around his waist like a belt as he undoes his pants, pulling himself free. His cock springs forward, rock hard and twitching eagerly, flaring red at the tip, more than ready to bury himself in your depths.

You can’t stop your eyes from wandering and you marvel at his size, swallowing in anticipation of it, but your gaze quickly whips back to his when he tugs harshly on the tie.

“Eyes stay up here, dollface.”

He swipes the head of his shaft through your folds, gathering your slick. He admires the cluster of stars you have tattooed on your inner thigh, dragging a thumb over it. An impulsive thing you did as soon as you turned eighteen simply because you could.

You notice as you watch him that Max also has a tattoo—a small bullseye no bigger than a dime on the side of his left hand.

“My pet needs a new name,” he hums as he aligns himself with your entrance. “How about Star? Would you like that?”

You nod in affirmation. “S-star, yes. I like it.”

Max grins. That wide, self-important grin retained from his former self, blood still staining his lips and chin. “Good. Because if you’re a good little pet, that is what you will be. My Star.”

He starts to push into you, slow at first so you get used to the stretch of him, and then snapping forward the last inch or so, sinking until his hips slot against yours. He lets out a groan that sounds almost demonic in its ardor, causing your heart to skip a beat or several.

“I can…hear your blood…moving. Fucking hot,” he growls.

The first thing you notice about Max as he begins thrusting inside of you is how cold he feels. Not ice cold, but for sure not the warm bodies you’re used to sharing yourself with. Oddly enough, you kind of like it.

You wrap one hand around his neck to steady yourself as he ruts into you. He isn’t going any faster than you’re used to, but that’s probably for the best. If he went even half as fast as he did with his arm, he might actually rip you in half.

You’re the first human Max has been with since the change. He missed it, the warmth of it. Sex with other vampires was too cold, both physically and psychologically, too cunning and dispassionate. He much prefers this, the warmth of your skin sinking into his, making him feel almost like his mortal self again; your little moans and mewls of passion bringing out the monster in him.

You have to hide your face in his chest to muffle all the various sounds of being fucked you’re making, which he surprisingly lets you do without retribution this time, each thrust of his hips jerking you halfway up the wall, the cloth of his nice dress shirt damp from blood, not sweat. Strangely enough, there is no sweat aside from your own, his skin smooth as porcelain.

He slants his hips to deepen the angle inside of you, causing you to whimper louder than intended, his hand tightening around your hip, bruising. If not for the previous expenditure of his energy and the fact he was going easier on you than usual, he could do this all night and then some. You’re making him absolutely ravenous and his self-control not to taste you is waning by the minute.

He pins you in place with the span of his body, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts, and within seconds your walls start to clamp around him, another orgasm building low in your belly.

“That’s it, Star. Cum for me. Cum on my cock,” he beckons.

His face tilts to your neck, aquiline nose nuzzling in the small hollow at the back of your jaw, the soft area that bridges your neck and throat. Grazing his teeth over the warmth of your skin, the heat of your pulsating artery.

The feel of his teeth dragging your skin, teasing, testing, making you clench, and then you’re cumming again with a muted whimper lost in the wide breadth of his chest. You feel his mouth part against your skin as you come undone, a sharp pain suddenly blooming hot in the muscle of your neck.

You feel liquid pooling in the dip of your collarbone, and you realize that Max is feeding on you, sharp canines sinking deep into your neck, tongue laving across your skin with a deep, guttural groan as he feasts upon you. The sounds he’s making are lascivious and lewd, sending a fresh new wave of arousal through you despite your panic, amplifying your orgasm.

Lips still locked to your neck as he feeds, Max’s hips stutter and then draw to a halt when he begins to spill himself inside of you, unable to fully contain himself now that he’s gotten a taste, an unholy, inhuman roar erupting from him so terrifying in its potency that you nearly scream.

Max pulls his face away, lips dark and shiny with a fresh coat of blood as he looks down at you, half-cocked grin playing there. There’s something unsettlingly alluring about it.

You begin to sob softly, you can’t help it, your adrenaline and endorphins dwindling now that all is said and done.

“Shhhh, my Star. It’s okay. You’re okay. You did so well for me,” he consoles, tracing your cheek with the back of his hand.

You see his fangs now, which you’re positive weren’t there before, sharp and pointed and slicked in red. He pricks a finger on one of them and squeezes it, blood beading at the end of his fingertip. He smears it over the punctures in your neck, and you feel a small tickle as they close up almost instantaneously.

And then you see his teeth retract, not dissimilar to a cat’s claws. There one second and gone the next.

He leans forward to clean up any remaining traces of blood, gently pulling you off of him. “See? Good as new,” he says with a wink.

“W-what do I do now?” you ask with a tremble in your voice. You start fidgeting with the tie to see if he’ll let you take it off. He cocks his head curiously.

“You stay with me,” he explains. “You’ll live with me. I’ll take fabulous care of you, my pet, don’t worry.”

“C-can I take this off?”

He shrugs. “Sure.”

You take it off and hand it to him, although it’s stained beyond usefulness, so he tosses it to the floor. He bends to gather your clothes, meticulously redressing you, placing a small kiss to your neck where he fed.

“You taste so fucking good, Star,” he pines with a stretch, sucking air through his teeth. “Best I’ve ever tasted. Now that I’ve had you, I’ll never be sated.”

He wraps his arms around your torso in an uncharacteristically tender embrace, skimming his lips along the shell of your ear. “Sleep, now,” he whispers, and you slip away just like that, Max lowering your now-limp body to the floor as he tucks his discarded jacket under your neck.

——

When you wake up—you don’t know how many minutes or hours later—Max is standing over you. Your eyes dart about the room and the man’s body and every trace of him is gone, as if he never existed. Max offers you a hand to help you up and you take it.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Just before sunrise. It’s too late to leave. You can call in today and I’ll keep you hidden in my office.”

You frown. Calling in after St. Paddy’s Day isn’t a good look, but what other choice do you have? You just hope you don’t lose your job.

“Okay,” you reply, nodding your head in confirmation. “And at the end of the day?”

“We wait until sun down,” Max begins with a grin, “and then we go home.”

[jesterwriting]

pairings: mad scientist!law x assistant!reader

word count: 2k words

contents: DARK CONTENT AHOY!!! animal death (cat), animal harm (cat), animal gore (cat), reanimator au, medical student law, medical student reader, unhinged!law, creepy!law, horror, manipulation,

note: this was originally supposed to be apart of an earlier request, but i split it up because i felt like this one had far more horror elements and animal harm that were a lot heavier and darker. you can read them together or separate or not at all! its up to you <33 im kind of obsessed with this au so i may do more with it if people are into it??

playlist: reanimator prologue & main title - richard brand

prequel to this fic

At first, you thought this was a dream come true. It wasn’t often that you got lucky enough to be paired with your crush for a project, but here you were, meeting him at your apartment for the sixth time in one month. It was more than you could ever dare to hope for. For the longest time, you had thought that you were condemned to a life of daydreams and fantasies.

Trafalgar Law was an odd man, one who was not particularly liked by his peers— aside from you, of course. He was cold, and the sort to stare if you managed to garner his, usually unwanted, attention. When he did speak, it was a snarky remark at the recipient's expense, both classmate and professor, Law had no patience for perceived stupidity you realized after weeks of study. His tattoos were off putting to most. What kind of medical student had ‘death’ written across his knuckles? You, on the other hand, found them fascinating. The story behind such morbid body art was sure to be captivating.

If only you could get him to share it.

You shouldn’t be surprised. Law was quiet, only ever speaking to prove someone wrong, or to insist that he was right. When he did talk to you, it was about the project and his own personal plans for it. You could hardly get a word in edgewise. Instead of fighting Law on it, you allowed him to do whatever he pleased with the project, following his orders dutifully, which seemed to earn you the smallest margin of his rarely given respect. Last meeting, he had even acknowledged your interjection with a nod, rather than a scoff, though he didn’t incorporate your idea at all. Progress was progress, you supposed.

Your keys jingled as you pulled them from your pocket. Before you could stick them in the knob, the door creaked open, revealing your empty living room. It was dark, no signs of life. Not even your cat came to greet you. You swallowed hard, anxiety making your saliva thicken until it was stuck in your throat as a hard glob.

You told Law where your spare key was hidden, had he forgotten to close the door after he arrived?

“Law?” There was no response. With your heart pounding, you pushed the door open further and stepped into your apartment. Floorboards creaked under your weight, making you wince. There was something that told you to be quiet, that there was someone waiting for you in the shadows, ready to strike. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

A dim light in the kitchen caught your attention, and you slowly tip-toed over to it, careful to keep your footsteps light. Carpet squelched under your shoes. Maybe Law spilled a glass of water and went looking for a rag. Surely, your organizational skills weren’t so bad he was still looking for one. You choked on an uncomfortable laugh.

Like your front door, your fridge was open. Not gaping, but a small crack to let the barest sliver of light out. A sense of dread settled on your shoulders, though you tried to remind yourself that Law was supposed to be here. Everything could be explained if he would come out. All he needed to do was make his presence known and you would know you were safe. You swallowed hard, staring at the refrigerator door. It was your only source of light in the apartment, if you closed it now, you’d be surrounded on all sides by darkness.

You blinked, cocking your head to the side to get a better view. There was something large and furry on the top shelf. Nausea roiled in your gut, threatening to spill your dinner onto the floor, as dim recognition flickered in your brain.

With your knuckle, you pushed the door open fully to get a better look. There, inside of your fridge, was your cat. He wasn’t breathing, eyes glassy and body stiff under the pale yellow light.

Your cat was dead and its corpse was in your fridge.

You couldn’t help it. You screamed.

“You’re home.”

Scrambling backwards until your lower back hit the counter, you could barely make out Law’s figure through your blurry vision. You choked on a sob and hastily wiped your eyes. He seemed bored as he leaned against the wall, almost unimpressed, though there was a glimpse of something softer in his gaze. Not concern, not yet, but close enough to it that you could pretend.

You pointed a shaky finger at the fridge. “M-My cat.”

“I know, I put it in there.” Law strode into the kitchen and closed the door with his foot. You felt better not having to look at the corpse anymore, even if tears continued to leak from your eyes. “I didn’t want it to decompose and start to stink before you were able to bury it. I know you were fond of it.”

“What happened? How did he die?”

Law shrugged, noncommittal. “I’m not sure. It was dead when I got here. I figured you would rather me not perform an autopsy in your living room considering I have no veterinary experience.”

“An-And you put it in my fridge? You couldn’t have left a note on the door or—“

Law scoffed, “And what would the note say? Cat dead, details later? Think for a second.”

The longer the conversation continued, the harder you sobbed. You loved that cat. He’d been with you for years now, through thick and thin. You’d never feel his warm body on your chest again as he slept, you’d never feel his purr rumble against your skin, you’d never be able to pet him under his chin the way he liked it ever again. It was too much to think about, grief rolling over you like a wave, threatening to drown you.

Law’s gaze softened, even if his sigh was exasperated. “We can postpone working on the project until you’re able to gather yourself.”

He turned to leave, but your hand shot out to grab his wrist. “Please don’t leave me here with him.”

The body. You couldn’t bury him. Not alone. Law thought for a moment, his golden eyes glazed over for a second before a smirk inched across his face. He only ever got that look when he thought of a plan, and this looked to be a good one. With a condescending pat on your head, Law wrenched himself from your grasp, grin still in place.

“That’s alright, Y/N-ya, I’m not going anywhere. I can sleep on your couch and help you with its body tomorrow.” His pupils shot over to the fridge. “It’s best if you leave it in there for the night, corpses are best kept cold.”

Sniffling, you gave a shaky nod. “I’ll set up the couch.”

—

It was three am when a knock at your door woke you.

The weight of mourning felt heavy in your chest and your bed felt too cold without the familiar warmth of your cat. Your heart ached at the reminder of his demise. All you wanted to do was curl up and go back to sleep. Forget about what waited for you in the fridge.

So tired, both emotionally and physically, you were ready to chalk the knock up to a dream. That was, until you heard it again, louder and more forceful this time.

An unwanted feeling of anxiety crawled up your spine. Something felt off, a sense of wrongness filled the air until it was so thick, you could hardly breathe. A horrible yowl resounded through your apartment, blood curdling and unnatural. There was a familiarity to the scream. You took no comfort in it. Your eyes shot open, and you leapt from your bed onto your feet, wired from the sudden surge of adrenaline. Hyperventilating breaths ripped from your chest.

The knock sounded again. “Y/N-ya, I have something to show you.”

Law’s deep voice sent goosebumps erupting down your arms. If you were being honest, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, but this time, there was something different about it. Dread curled in your gut, sleeping inside you like the cat in your fridge. With a cry, you covered your ears and curled in on yourself when whatever was in your living room screamed again.

“Law, do you hear that?”

You didn’t have to see him to know he rolled his eyes. “Come out, there’s something I need you to see.”

Your feet moved on their own accord, drawn by the sound of Law’s voice. Even as the thing in your living room wailed, your fingers found your knob and curled around it. The brass was cold against your palm. It grounded you. The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was that Law had blood smeared across the front of his shirt. It didn’t seem to be from any wounds, and you found yourself relieved, even if you couldn’t begin to explain where it came from.

Law was grinning, all teeth, a manic gash across his face. “I did it. A success, right here in your apartment. You must be my lucky charm.” He patted your head.

“Did what?” You peered around him.

“I’ll show you.” He paused before stepping to the side. “I did it for you, you know? I know how fond you were of it.”

There was something on your coffee table. It twitched and convulsed, mouth open in a soundless scream as its eyes bulged out of its sockets. Blood pooled around it, dripping onto the carpet. It took a second for you to recognize it through the pulsing viscera. He hadn’t been so cut up before. Instead, he had been so whole, you could have mistaken him for being asleep if it wasn’t for the glassiness in his eyes. Beside him was an empty syringe and a container of glowing green fluid.

“My cat,” You choked out. “What did you do to him?”

Law wrapped an arm around you and held you to his chest. “I brought it back for you.” He glanced at the bloody mass, a frown tugging at his lips. “There are still some kinks to work out, but this was a good test of my reagent.” Expectant, Law glanced at you. “But, I need more trials.”

“He was dead,” Your tone was flat, and your body was numb. When you looked away, Law grabbed your chin and forced you to look at the thing pulsating on your coffee table.

“Look at it. I defeated death tonight. I did what every doctor has dreamed of doing for millenia, and the first steps to realizing this were done in your apartment. You should be honored.”

“Why did you do this?”

“Because I wanted to share something extraordinary with you.” He must have seen you were unconvinced because he sighed, the motion rattling your body, still pressed against him. “I need an assistant, and you are my best option. You're respected and well-liked by your professors, they would let you get away with murder as long as you turned that sweet smile in their direction.” Law leaned down until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “You can get me into the morgue, Y/N-ya.”

This was wrong, you knew it deep down in your heart, but with Law so close to you, the smell of antiseptic and blood clogging your senses, you could hardly think. Once the project was over, Law would never give you the time of day again. He wasn’t the type of man who had friends. Colleagues, maybe, but not friends. If you agreed to be a part of his sick experiments, you wouldn’t have to leave him. Law would be stuck with you, bonded together by this secret. If you were his assistant, you could have him forever.

“Okay,” You said, still somewhat hollow. A tear slipped down your cheek when you pointed to your cat. “Just kill him. Put him out of his misery, I can’t stand to see him like this.”

“If that’s what you want.”

Without hesitation, Law stepped around you, scalpel in hand, and plunged it into your cat's skull. The twitching stopped. His body went slack, limp against the coffee table.

Law stood back and gave you a reassuring smile. “There. All better now.”

For a second, you let yourself believe him.

[scribblelark]

The Sparrow

Every day the Sparrow comes to the old man, perches on his window ledge, and eats the small pieces of food which the old man has saved for it.

It listens attentively as the man talks in a rough, shaky voice, explaining that he doesn't deserve the kindness of the Sparrow, doesn't deserve to hear the cheerful song of a creature with few cares in the world.

The old man talks of the many horrors he perpetuated as the Tyrant King: the people he killed in order to reach a throne that wasn't his by birth, and the people who were  killed on his orders to ensure that he remained on the throne he had usurped.

Often the Sparrow's feathers are wetted by tears as the old man expresses his remorse and shame, sitting locked away in a prison cell at the top of the highest tower, known as the Tower of Infamy, in the jail complex.

“You're my only friend,” the old man tells the Sparrow one morning, “and an undeserved friend at that.”

No one deserves their friends, a voice in his mind informs him.

He wonders what the voice means. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder where it came from as he often hears voices in his head. At least this one isn’t screaming in agony or begging for mercy.

Before he can ask, the voice continues, Friendship is the gift of the giver, it isn’t deserved by the recipient. Friendships happen regardless of whether we deserve them or not.

“I’m not very good at friendship,” the old man says. “I used people, rather than befriending them.”

So long as you’re not in the grave it’s never too late to learn something new, the voice tells him. There’s a cheerful insouciance to it that makes him smile despite the fresh tears on his cheeks.

The next moment he stiffens when he hears the scrape of the iron key in the old wooden door behind him. A door three inches thick and banded with iron. A door meant to impose dread on any prisoner who sees it. Of course, he hadn’t seen it when he arrived here: he’d been blinded in the last battle before he was deposed, but he knew what the door looked like because he’d visited prisoners in this cell back when he’d been the Tyrant King.

Feathers brush against his fingers and the dread that had slithered down his spine at the door’s opening eases. His jailers only rarely enter his cell: three times a day food on a tray is pushed through a hatch in the bottom of the door, and once a week a priestess comes to hear his confession and say prayers with him, but today is not a day for the priestess to come. The remainder of the time he’s left alone with his thoughts and that suits him, for all that they’re rarely happy thoughts. Then again, he no longer deserves happiness.

You’re wrong, says that voice in his mind. It’s warm and friendly and gives him hope in spite of himself.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to deserve it,” begins the jailer as he steps into the cell, “but you’re to be taken to speak with the Queen.”

Immediately the old man’s thoughts are in turmoil. Why would the Queen send for him? Has she finally decided that it would be better to execute him instead of keeping him in solitary confinement all these long years?

Rest easy, friend, says that warm, friendly voice in his mind. You will not be executed.

He doesn’t ask how the owner of the voice knows that, but he does take some deep breaths to calm himself back down, staving off the incipient panic attack. He knows, of course, that he deserves to die for what he did, but even though he’s old and his joints creak, he’s not quite ready for death yet.

He feels a feathery, fluttering movement by his face, then tiny claws grip onto the thin fabric of his robes covering his shoulder and he knows, even without seeing, that the Sparrow is riding on his shoulder. He can’t see it when his jailer looks at him askance, of course, but he can sense something simmering in the young man, something that is transmitted through his jailer’s grip on his arm.

“I don’t know how that thing can bear to be near you,” the jailer says in a low voice that’s seething with hatred.

“Neither do I,” the old man says.

That causes a grunt of surprise, but no further commentary, and the old man is glad.

They reach the bottom of the Tower of Infamy, and two more jailers join the old man, leading him into a horse-drawn vehicle of some sort, a carriage he suspects from how closed off the sounds of the surrounding streets become.

“What’s with the bird?” asks one of the other jailers.

“Damned if I know,” says the young one who’d fetched the old man from his cell. “It was eating crumbs on his window ledge when I entered the cell, then flew onto his shoulder before we left.”

“Huh.”

The old man knows no one will try to dislodge it, of course. Sparrows are considered sacred in the religion of the Triskans, and no one would dream of harming one lest the wrath of the Goddess Tisa is visited upon them.

After a bumpy ride over the cobblestoned roads leading from the jail, they arrive at  the Palace of Queen Adhar, the true Queen of Triskan. She had survived the old man’s purges of the Royal bloodline as a consequence of being out of the country and also a small child at the time he had usurped the Triskan throne. He hadn’t considered her enough of a threat to send anyone after her, so she had survived and thrived, and grown up to become the Triskan Queen. In the decade and a half since the Tyrant King had been overthrown she’s settled very well into her role and is a beloved leader of the Triskans. It isn’t just the contrast between herself and the old man, it’s also the fact that she is wise, generous, courageous, and capable.

At the bottom of the long flight of steps leading up to the Palace’s entrance the old man’s jailers hand him off to a squad of the Palace Guard.

“Come on, old man, there’s no time to waste.”

The old man wonders what the hurry is and if the guardsman knows why he’s been brought to the Palace, but he doesn’t waste his breath in asking, he simply climbs the steps at a steady pace, doing his best to ignore the creaking of his knees and ankles.

He is led down long hallways that no longer echo to their footsteps: the Queen’s had the hallways carpeted he can tell, not just from the softer thuds of the Guards’ footsteps, but also from the sensation of carpet fibres brushing against his toes and heels. He wears simple sandals now, a far cry from the expensive, highly polished leather boots he’d worn as the Tyrant King.

He knows when they approach the doors to the antechamber behind the throne room because of the way the guardsmen’s demeanour changes: he can sense them stiffening every sinew, almost as if they expect a sightless old man to attack the Queen.

Of course, he knows better than to try to reassure them; he doubts they’d accept such reassurances from a man who was a Tyrant King for fifteen years.

“You’d better not try anything, old man,” murmurs one guardsman in his ear as they pause before the doors that led from the antechamber into the throne room.

The old man simply shakes his head, suddenly too overwhelmed by the thought of being face to face with the Queen shortly, not to mention the experience of being out of his cell after fifteen years of incarceration, to say anything.

After a moment, the brush of feathers against his left cheek steadies him and he manages, “I intend nothing,” he says.

“Good.”

Soon the old man hears the doors in front of them open, hears the scrape of wood over the thick carpet fibres, then senses the vaster space of the throne room opening in front of him.

He takes a deep breath before they lead him over the threshold and down the length of the throne room to stand before the Queen, the guardsmen’s boots clattering over the wooden floor.

“Bow before your Queen,” says the guardsman who’d told him not to try anything.

The old man bows low, then moves to kneel down instead, his forehead touching the floor.

“Zulama.” The Queen’s voice is warm and velvety.

“My honoured Queen,” the old man murmurs, almost overwhelmed by the sound of his name. None of his jailers use it, they simply call him ‘old man’, a good way to depersonalise a prisoner, as he should know.

“You may stand, Zulama.”

The old man gets to his feet carefully, his joints creaking so loudly he’s sure they must be audible to everyone present. As soon as he’s fully upright again the Sparrow lands back on his shoulder.

“You have a friend,” Queen Adhar observes.

“Yes, your Majesty. I am unworthy of such friendship, but I am grateful for the Sparrow’s loyalty and companionship.”

“I have had a visitation,” the Queen says, and the old man feels the guardsmen around him startle, as well they might. A visitation means that the Goddess Tisa has appeared in person to the Queen. A rare occurrence for anyone, even a Queen.

“Your Majesty?”

“The Goddess has impressed upon me that your contrition over your actions while you were the Tyrant King is genuine and has continued unabated since your incarceration in the Tower of Infamy. The Priestess Maar had already informed me of this. She is, of course, the most likely person to be able to speak to your spiritual disposition.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“The Goddess has a mind to take you into her service in consequence of your contrition,” the Queen tells him.

“Me, your Majesty?” he asks, thoroughly startled. How can a mere man, and a former Tyrant King, serve such as the Goddess Tisa, he wonders. There are no priests, only priestesses, in service to the Goddess.

“Yes, Zulama, you.”

The old man straightens up as much as he can, doing his best to stiffen his spine. “I’d be honoured to serve the Goddess in whatever capacity she chooses,” he tells her.

“Good. In that case, Zulama, I commute your sentence of lifelong incarceration to one of lifelong service to the Goddess Tisa. You are free to go.”

Zulama feels dazed and bewildered by this astonishing turn of events, but he doesn’t miss the murmurs of outrage that run around the throne room at Queen Adhar’s words.

“Your Majesty is this wise?” asks a voice.

“Do you presume to know better than a Goddess, Captain Vafādārī?” asks the Queen, a steely tone in her voice.

Zulama hears the Captain swallow, the room is so silent. “N-no, your Majesty,” he says with only a slight stutter. “But he is the former Tyrant King.”

“Formerly, he was,” the Queen agrees. “Latterly, he is not. If the Goddess Tisa wants him for her servant, neither you nor indeed I can have any objection. She chooses whom she wills, as everyone knows.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Zulama can hear the reluctance in Captain Vafādārī’s voice. He doesn’t blame the man, of course.

He shuffles a little on the spot, wanting to speak, but not wanting to speak out of turn.

“Yes, Zulama?” The Queen’s tone is kindly, he notices.

“I just wanted to assure you, your Majesty, that I will do whatever work is required of me by Goddess Tisa. I will not threaten your own Majesty, nor your reign, nor the people of Triskan, in any fashion.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

Zulama hears footsteps approaching, then a hand touches his elbow. “Come, son,” says the warm, familiar voice of the Priestess Maar. “Enter into the service of the Goddess.”

Zulama nods, then bows towards the Queen. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“Don’t thank me, Zulama,” answers the Queen with a smile in her voice. “Thank the Goddess Tisa.”

“I fully intend to, your Majesty. But thank you, anyway.”

Priestess Maar’s hand tightens a little on his arm and he starts to turn, only to stop again as a sudden, blindingly bright light envelops the space about him, a light so bright that even he can see it. He hardly hears the gasp of astonishment that fills the throne room, but he does catch the rhythmic prayers of thanksgiving which Maar is suddenly murmuring almost in his ear.

“Open your eyes, Zulama,” says a voice on his other side. It’s the voice he’d heard in his cell, but spoken into the air, not merely in his mind, he realises with a start.

He opens his eyes, which water fiercely against the brightness of the light surrounding him and Maar and a tall, incandescently beautiful woman at whom he casts one surprised glance, before falling to his knees in gratitude, repeating Maar’s prayers of thanksgiving.

Because he can see again. And that glance had been enough to tell him that woman who had stood beside him was none other than the Goddess Tisa.

“You may stand, Zulama,” the Goddess says.

He obeys, but keeps his head bowed, feeling that it is not his place to look in the face of the Goddess Tisa.

“Look at me, Zulama.”

Well, if she orders it, how can he disobey? He looks at her, grateful that her incandescence has eased somewhat in the interval. He swallows, then asks, “How best may I serve your Holiness?”

She smiles at him in obvious delight. “You shall be a gardener at my chief Temple,” she tells him. “Your care of my Sparrow has shown me that you will be good at this task.”

Zulama nods, then opens his mouth, before closing it again.

“You have a question?”

“It’s just that there is something of a difference between feeding a Sparrow and growing plants. The former is easy and does not require any special knowledge, while the latter is the opposite.”

She smiles at him again. “You can learn,” she says simply. “It will be a highly instructive experience for you.”

“Yes, your Holiness.”

She beckons and he swallows nervously, but steps forward as close as he dares, which is about an arm’s length away. “Have faith in your teachers, if not in yourself, Zulama.” Then she brushes the pad of her thumb against the centre of his forehead. He shudders at the touch, feeling as if she has applied a burning brand, though it is a touch as light as the Sparrow’s feathers.

“Go, my child, and show the world how changed a man you are.”

“Thank you, your Holiness,” he whispers. He steps back and as he does so the Goddess vanishes in a swirl of brilliant pale blue, pink, and white light that leaves stars sparkling in his restored vision.

When the light’s faded, he hears a gasp and looks over at Queen Adhar. She beckons him forward and he obeys.

“Priestess Maar,” she says. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

The priestess touches his arm, and he turns towards her. She doesn’t gasp, but she does look surprised. “No, your Majesty, I have not.”

Zulama looks from Priestess Maar to Queen Adhar, feeling equal parts bemused and curious. “What is it?” he asks the priestess.

“There is a perfectly etched feather on your forehead on the spot where the Goddess touched you,” she says simply. “You are clearly marked as hers now.”

He fights down his instant reaction: to disclaim such an honour, to say that he is unworthy. He cannot argue with the Goddess Tisa, after all.

“I will serve her to the very best of my ability,” he tells the priestess, glancing to the Queen.

“I am sure that you will,” Queen Adhar tells him. She waves at Captain Vafādārī, and he and his men escort Zulama and the priestess out of the throne room, then into the antechamber.

“You are free to go,” Vafādārī says. To do him credit, he sounds only the tiniest bit reluctant at this admission and Zulama can’t help giving the man a smile.

“I can promise you, Captain Vafādārī, that I will do nothing to cause anyone any alarm, except perhaps as a gardener, but I hope my mishaps there will be only minor ones.”

The Captain gives a curt nod. “You’re the Goddess Tisa’s now,” he says. “I have no doubt that she would punish you for any serious wrongdoing.”

“No doubt,” agrees Zulama. He gives the Captain a nod of farewell, then follows Priestess Maar out of the palace and back across the city to where the chief temple lies.

As they cross the city, people stop and stare, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of the former Tyrant King walking openly through the streets, but no one approaches, and though Zulama can hear whispers and murmurs following them, no one explicitly  heckles him.

“I thought at least one person would throw things,” he observes to the priestess in a low voice.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Priestess Maar replies. “You have been marked by the Goddess Tisa, which means you are hers and just as you answer to her, so must they if they attempt to hurt you.”

“Oh.” He isn’t sure what to make of this revelation, but he continues at her side as they make their way through the main thoroughfares until they reach the temple.

“Let us go to the refectory and have lunch,” the priestess says after they enter the gate. “Then I can tell the others why I have brought you with me. After that, we will find you a corner to lodge in, and you will meet Mālī, who is in charge of the gardens.”

Before Zulama can answer his stomach growls, startling them both. They smile at each other before he follows her through the temple to the refectory where a group of perhaps thirty priestesses and another twenty or so lay women are seated.

They all stand as Priestess Maar enters and Zulama feels a trifle nervous at his presence, the only man among them.

“Be seated, Sisters,” the priestess says. “This is Zulama, who has been freed from his incarceration by Queen Adhar and the Goddess Tisa to serve in the gardens.”

“But he’s a man,” objects a priestess who is around the same age as Maar.

"I am well aware of that, Ḍipaṭī,” answers Maar, “but Zulama has been touched by the Goddess and sent here. Are you about to argue that you know better than she?”

“No,” says Ḍipaṭī immediately.

“Good. Now, let us eat lunch, then Mālī will show Zulama the gardens.” She nods towards a grey-haired woman, who looks as if she’s at least a couple of decades older than Maar. The woman, whom Zulama guesses is Mālī, his new teacher, nods back, then Maar leads him to a table at the head of the room and insists that he sit beside her to eat.

*

At the end of his first week at the Temple of Tisa Zulama is summoned to see Maar. He has learned to find his way about the Temple buildings and grounds, only twice getting halfway lost before the Sparrow, who remains his constant companion, guides him into the right path again, and he finds his way to Maar’s quarters without difficulty.

“Sit down, Zulama,” she says and once he’s taken the stool on the other side of her desk, she smiles at him. “Are you feeling settled here?”

“Yes, thank you. Despite everyone’s initial surprise and occasional doubts, I’ve been made to feel welcome. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that this is the first time in my life where I’ve been made to feel welcome and a part of a community.” He sighs softly.

“You regret that such belonging hadn’t happened before,” Maar says.

He nods. “I could not help thinking that I would have become a different man if I’d had this as a child or even a youth.”

“You are probably right,” Maar says. “But what’s done is done. You have served the sentence for your crimes and have been chosen to pass into a new, different life. Try not to dwell too much on the past, not now.”

Zulama gives her a smile. “I do not dwell often,” he tells her. “I don’t have time.”

She laughs warmly at that. “Mālī is keeping you busy, is she not?”

“Very busy,” he agrees. “Between studying and working alongside her in the gardens, I don’t have much time to think about anything except ‘Can I dig this out or should it remain here?’ and ‘Is it time to sleep, yet?’ She doesn’t overwork me,” he adds hastily. “But old bones do tire easily some days.”

“I’m glad that you and she are working well together.” Maar gives him a thoughtful look. “What’s your favourite part of the garden?”

“Oh, the herb beds,” Zulama says easily. “All those plants with the power to ease people’s sicknesses. And many with the power to make food taste so much less bland.”

Maar smiles again. “Mālī did say that you seemed particularly taken with the herb garden. I’m sure that she would be delighted if you wanted to concentrate your attentions there as she finds herbs ‘finicky’.”

“I – I would like that very much,” Zulama says. “I was not sure if I should ask permission to do so.”

“Zulama, you can ask anything. We may not always say yes, but I’m sure that, for the most part, the answer to any reasonable request would be yes.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have any other requests? Any worries or concerns?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you Mother Priestess.”

“Then I shall see you again this time next week, unless anything arises beforehand.”

“Thank you, Mother Priestess.”

*

Days passed into weeks, and they passed into months and years, and as that time passed Zulama’s fame as an herb grower spread throughout the city. Maar and Mālī give Zulama permission to sell some of the herbs which he grows, and the money is then used to help the poor and needy. While Queen Adhar’s kingdom thrives, there are always a few people who fall on hard times, and they come to the Temple of Tisa for assistance. Zulama feels proud, in a modest and humble way, that he is able to do his part to assist them: it makes up, a little, for all his previous misdeeds.

When the Goddess Tisa eventually gathers Zulama to herself the legacy he leaves behind is quite a different one from the one he would have left had Queen Adhar executed him rather than sending him to the Temple to work; he is responsible, directly and indirectly, for saving many lives, particularly when a nasty and virulent sickness falls on the city: the medicines he compounds serve to abate the worst of the agues and subsequent weakness that the sickness causes in its victims and many more people are saved than anyone had imagined possible when the sickness first broke out.

A bronze relief of his head is cast and sits in pride of place in the Temple herb garden, with a small plaque explaining its significance. Sparrows often perch on the bronze head, and a family nests in a nearby bush year after year, reminding all who visit Zulama’s Herb Garden that a Sparrow always accompanied him wherever he went.

No one forgets the Tyrant King. But nor does anyone forget the man he became in old age all thanks to the friendship of one of the Goddess Tisa’s precious Sparrows.

[mllemaenad]

The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Okay, well, it sounds very much as though "Freddy" is tattling on Sam. Might not be, of course: once you've assigned a personality to something you head straight down the path of attributing meaning and motive to all its actions. And in the case of Freddy, there might be no intelligence behind it, one intelligence with many voices behind it, or many intelligences with potentially competing motives behind it. Depending on which of those it is, you get a different picture of why it does what it does.

It alerts Alice that Sam has been poking around "The Magnus Protocol". It shouldn't have alerted Alice; it sounds as though Colin was the intended recipient, although it would make sense for it to go to Lena as well. It suggests that it did not want official action taken against him for looking – whatever that might mean – but that it did want someone to know what he was doing.

It's fairly easy to predict that Alice, upon receiving such an alert, will tell Sam to knock it off but not actually take any action against him. The recording Gwen hears at the end of the episode suggests (although does not confirm) that things can in fact go very, very wrong in this job – so this may constitute a protective gesture. On the other hand, if the greatest risk were to just be getting fired, well then that might be for the best.

It's a weird alert, though.

Alice I just received a security notification. Sam About me? Alice Someone was trying to access restricted files. And my money is on you. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

What do you mean, "someone" is trying to access restricted files? No user ID? Or username? Or even a device ID? What the hell sort of security alert is that? If you were a manager, and you received that, you'd have to go on a witch hunt. Depending on how you look at it, it's either a terrible alert tailored to produce a stressful working experience ... or a whisper that might be meaningful to Alice, and no one else.

The arrival of the third voice, "Augustus" is interesting because he is a complete unknown. To be clear, I'm aware that the prevailing theory is that this is Jonah Magnus. I'm not especially here to dispute that; not at the moment. The man's first name starts with a "J", which fits nicely with ".jmj error" and, well, the name Magnus is right there in the title, which suggests it's at least to some degree relevant. It's as good a theory as any, and while you can absolutely throw out other possible names there's not enough detail yet to prove anything.

But what is interesting is the implication if that is Jonah Magnus. If the voices originated in this world then they might be anybody, of course. No way to tell. But if they came from another world, it suggests that something more than just voices came through. Because, to my knowledge, that voice was never recorded.

It makes sense that you'd hear John's voice leaking between worlds – he's on virtually all the tapes. It makes reasonable sense that you'd hear Martin's: he was on quite a lot. You might also expect "Elias Bouchard", or Basira or Tim or even Gertrude – because if it's just voices then whether they're alive or dead or even confirmed still hanging about in another dimension shouldn't matter. But if it is Magnus, then something came through that wasn't recorded: the voice of an earlier body, or even his original one. Some internal sense of "this is how I sound" that differs from anything recorded on the tapes.

And if it isn't him? Well, all of the above still applies, with the added question of "Who is it, then?"

If it is him – and I will speak as such for now because there's not yet enough thread to follow if it isn't – then his story choice is interesting.

Alice Dear grandpa Augustus does always tell such lovely stories. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Alice implies that Augustus's stories are somehow worse than Norris's and Chester's – she didn't remark on any of theirs in quite the same way, except to call Norris's first one "tame". I don't know what metric she's using: they all seem pretty ghoulish. But this story does address a different perspective.

It's a tale of resentment and entitlement. Of someone who was special, but not quite special enough for his own liking – and who fed his soul to something monstrous to increase his own standing. His father seems to have a seat in the House of Lords, and all the wealth and standing that would accompany that position. The letter writer, however, is a bastard: an acknowledged bastard, apparently, whose father has provided for him, but nevertheless a bastard set apart from the legitimate children of the household.

He's also very concerned that people aren't appreciating his talents.

Augustus/Violinist My violin tutor, one Oliver Bardwell by name, nursed a conviction that this honor was purely the fruit of his own skills as an instructor, rather than a product of my talent and endeavor. ... My course was set for Mannheim, a destination where I felt a youthful certainty that my brilliance would at last be acknowledged. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

This fits very well with Jonah Magnus, who very much played second fiddle, so to speak, in the story that had his name on it. On a meta level: he was the villain of the piece, the one who pretty well had to fall and fail in order for the narrative to reach its conclusion. But even in-universe it's highlighted that he's just ... not that special:

Archivist Right. When I said that I would ‘replace’ Jonah in there, that’s not– That place, the centre of The Eye, i-it’s… It wasn’t made for him. That’s why he’s like that, it’s too much, it’s overwhelmed him, his whole being, just destroyed. Martin Oh yeah? But let me guess, it was made for you? Archivist Yes. – The Magnus Archives: Parting

It's got to be galling: Magnus built an institute and served his god for literal centuries, and eventually remade the world under its power. But does the Eye want him? No, no it does not. It wants the grumpy archivist who does not want to be here at all, and who is in fact actively plotting to kill it. Jonah Magnus is the Eye's acknowledged, but displaced, bastard son.

It's also implied that a sense of ... hm ... aristocratic entitlement, let's say, played a part in the selection of his hosts:

Archivist Elias’ stomach tightened at the memory, the fierce judgement in his father’s eyes. Even laid out in a casket, it was as if he had looked at Elias with disdain. What should he say? That he had no idea why he wanted this job? That he was all alone in the world, no friends, no family, nothing but the deep certainty that he deserved better. That he was destined to be important. That it was in his blood. – The Magnus Archives: A Stern Look

And it is hard not to notice, at this point, that Augustus picked Gwen to hear this tale.

The violinist is "gifted" an instrument by a dubious merchant type reminiscent of Mikaele Salesa (the man was right – the peddler of magical artefacts is indeed a folktale staple), and it did make him a bit more special ... but never, ever quite special enough:

Augustus/Violinist And yet, while admiration rained down upon me, never was I elevated beyond the confines of my origins. The rarefied world of my noble patrons was closed to me. Modest riches adorned me, some small fame clung to my name, but never was I truly allowed to escape the position of my birth. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

It is also very much the story of a man who learned how to hurt other people for his own gain:

Augustus/Violinist It was not simple philanthropy that led to my taking on positions of tutelage in those bustling cities where I plied my trade, providing a musical education to the poor and the easily forgotten, asking nothing in return. Nothing except the occasional student who would not be missed. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

That's almost exactly how Magnus operated: employing people who would not be missed and then using them up to serve his own ends. Like Magnus, the violinist feeds people to his malevolent god.

And, not least, there are the sinister implications of the letter itself. The recipient is a "nephew", meaning he is almost certainly the child of one of the violinist's legitimate half-siblings: people he dismisses as "useless". He was not close with the nephew, so his inheritance may be something of a surprise.

Which leads to this:

Augustus/Violinist There has been a great deal of rain here this last fortnight, which has been strangely pleasing to my maudlin mood, and has brought with it some nostalgia for that dreary summer you took residence with me. I flatter myself to think that I might have imprinted upon you some part of myself in that time together, and perhaps in this way I seek to keep hold of my prized violin still. – The Magnus Protocol: Taking Notes

Right. So, yeah, the kid is definitely screwed. For all we know, the violinist lives still.

If Norris's stories are of loss and regret, and Chester's could be called a warning, Augustus's is both an enticement and a trap.

Go on. Play the cursed violin. Feed it blood. What could possibly go wrong?

But you have to wonder, then: why would Magnus tell a story that so neatly reflects what an awful person he was?

We also establish, outside the main story, that Gwen is definitely the kind of person to open weird attachments in her work email. When the OIAR gets hit with a ransomware attack, we'll all know who to blame.

It's hard to state anything definitive about what she heard. I mean – yes, it sounds bad, but, well, Gertrude Robinson once dismembered a man and threw him down a cursed pit. I'm not going to sit here and try to claim Gertrude was nice, but she was very much on the side of the world not ending. What any of this means all hinges on who the guy Lena was talking to was.

And, of course, this one is littered with world-building notes to put aside for later: "Starkwall", "The San Pedro Square Massacre", "The Protocol". Little you can do with any of them immediately.

But ... just for a thought exercise, say it is Jonah Magnus talking.

A protocol can be a lot of things. It may be rules to be followed in a formal occasion. It may be instructions in the event of an emergency. And there are also network protocols, which are about the transfer of information. I suspect in this case it has a double meaning, as Archives did. So it is something practical ... and also something else.

The word is then uttered for the first time in the episode where Magnus first speaks. It is immediately followed by a tale in which a man transfers an instrument – and I think more importantly the music that instrument produced – to someone new, and in doing so hopes to transfer some or all of himself.

The thing is. I'm not going to call Magnus's master plan "bloody stupid" but ... well, let's just say it had some obvious holes. I mean, really. He spent literal years specifically torturing this one guy, then used him very much against his will to end the world, and then just ... let him wander around, being annoyed about that. Obviously John had some moral qualms about the whole apocalypse situation, but even had he not – pretty well anybody would probably put "ruin Jonah's day" quite near the top of their to do list, under the circumstances.

It would hardly take a genius to foresee some retaliation. And self preservation is Magnus's whole deal. It's the reason he gives for destroying the world:

Archivist/Jonah Magnus I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world. At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race. Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror? – The Magnus Archives: The Eye Opens

The apocalypse is just him getting everyone else before they could get him. And I have wondered, a bit, about Magnus's attitude in Last Words:

Archivist It’s over. Jonah/Elias Is it? [sigh] Yes. Yes, I suppose it must be. [TIRED EXHALATION] Where’s Martin? I rather thought he’d be the one to do the deed. … [METALLIC CLINK] Ah, I see. Going it alone, are we? Probably for the best. Empathy only holds you back in the end. Archivist You’ve failed. Jonah/Elias Have I? Archivist Immortality. It’s impossible. Even without me, nothing escapes entropy. Not forever. Not even fear. Jonah/Elias Yes… Pity. I suppose I always knew that, deep down. But it was wonderful while it lasted. I’ve seen more than I could have lived in a thousand lifetimes, and every moment was so – – The Magnus Archives: Last Words

That's all very odd, really. He thought Martin would kill him? In fact, he once bet quite heavily that Martin would not kill him. Of course, he hadn't ruined the whole world at that point, which is a thing that might well adjust a man's attitude to murder. So he thought Martin would come here, and kill him?

He was not especially surprised to see John standing over him with a knife. He seemed mostly bemused at the idea that he had failed, although he did agree that this thing, in which he bathed in the misery of others, was indeed over. There was some begging and screaming, of course, but he put up very little resistance – even though this was a straightforward physical assault. None of John's overwhelming psychic powers here, just a man who never showed much inclination toward violence taking his very first stab, so to speak, at knifing someone to death.

It seems peculiar, that a man who would do literally anything to stay alive – who betrayed his friends, who stole the lives of others, who doomed the whole world – would not have a plan in place to escape the very obvious enemy who was almost certainly going to come after him.

Unless, of course, he did have a plan. And we're listening to it.

[nandangel]

 Chapter 4 - Warnings From an Enemy

1633 words | mainlist

The dry click of the keyboard echoes in the silent office as Yoongi reads the email. His brows knit into a hard line as his eyes meticulously scan each word. John, the man handling Lexington's dirty operations, is apparently involved with the Yakuza. The betrayal cuts deep, but the fury burning within him is even more intense.

Yoongi wastes no time. He doesn't inform Lauren or ask for clarifications. After all, she probably doesn't know shit. But that doesn't matter right now. He's too pissed to deal with her at the moment.

[...]

Back at the hotel where he and his allies are staying, Yoongi calls for an urgent meeting. The atmosphere in the room is heavy, and everyone is tense, sensing the seriousness of the situation.

— John is involved. — Yoongi states, his voice low and controlled. But his eyes? Burning. — He diverted money and shipments to the Yakuza. This is more than betrayal. It's a fucking declaration of war.

Namjoon, the calm strategist, asks:

— And Lauren? Is she involved?

— Doesn't seem like it. — Yoongi replies with a curt nod. — But until we're sure, no one is above suspicion.

The group murmurs in agreement. He finishes with a warning:

— Be careful. Anyone could be the next traitor.

At the end of the meeting, Yoongi issues another order.

— I want Lauren Lexington's number. We need to talk.

[...]

Lauren, on the other hand, is restless in her office. She noticed Yoongi's absence upon her return and can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. The memory of the email she asked him to check makes her shiver. Although it seemed like a routine notice, Lauren knows mafia messages are often cryptic, with codes only the right recipients can decipher.

She tries to focus on work, but her thoughts keep returning to Yoongi. He's an intense presence, someone she shouldn't want near, but somehow stirs deep and conflicting feelings within her.

Later, Lauren tries to call Mark again. As always, the call goes to voicemail. She huffs, frustrated. They've known each other forever; Mark was her first boyfriend and, in a way, she thought he'd be her last. But he's always been complicated, toxic, and his promises to change never materialized. His cocaine addiction and constant absences weigh heavily on her.

When she finally decides to return to work, the phone rings. She answers quickly, expecting to hear Mark.

— Mark? — her voice is almost hopeful.

— Not exactly. — Yoongi responds, his voice laced with sarcasm.

Lauren straightens her posture, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment.

— What do you want?

Yoongi chuckles. She can hear it, the low and rough sound making her shiver.

— We need to talk about John.

She explains John's history with her father and how he took over the company's "dirty tasks" after her father's death. Yoongi, for a moment, hesitates to reveal the betrayal, something that even surprises himself. In the end, he merely says he needs to investigate something related to John's operations.

— And Mark? Who is he?

Lauren takes a deep breath and answers:

— He's John's only son. And before you ask, yes, he works here too.

— Doing what?

— John had him handle deals because he's always been good at convincing people.

— Do you and he have a relationship?

Lauren hesitated to respond because, honestly, she didn't know if she and Mark were anything at this point.

— Yes, but it's complicated.

Yoongi takes his time to respond, but before hanging up, he warns:

— Save my number. And stay alert, Lauren. Enemies are awake and hungry.

She tries to ignore the weight of his words, but she feels the gravity of his warning.

[...]

Later, when Lauren arrives at her apartment, it's already past seven in the evening. The night air carries a light breeze, but the sense that something is wrong lingers even before she reaches the door. As she inserts the key into the lock, she notices no resistance—the door is unlocked.

Her heart races. Yoongi's words echo in her mind like an alarm: "Stay alert, Lauren. Enemies are awake and hungry."

She takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the panic threatening to overwhelm her. With trembling hands, she reaches into her bag and grabs her pepper spray. An impulse makes her peek through the small gap as she opens the door slowly, but she sees nothing beyond the darkness of the hallway.

As she pushes the door open, a metallic smell invades her nostrils. Her stomach churns, and the sight before her momentarily halts her world. The floor is stained red. Blood.

Lauren holds her breath and follows the trail with her eyes, each step echoing in the funeral silence. The trail leads her to the corner of the living room, where she sees Snow, her angora cat, lying on the floor, her white fur tinged with red. The small creature is injured, emitting a faint, irregular sound.

— Oh, my God! No... no... — Lauren's voice falters, and she collapses to her knees beside Snow, tears streaming down her face. With trembling hands, she touches the cat's fur, feeling the fragile warmth still lingering in her body.

Lauren quickly runs to her bedroom for something to help. Upon opening the door, another shock hits her: Autumn, her other cat, is hiding in the wardrobe, his eyes wide with fear. He's unharmed, but his behavior reveals the terror he witnessed.

— It's okay, baby. Mommy's here. — Lauren whispers, picking up Autumn in her arms.

Back in the living room, Lauren improvises with a cloth to stop Snow's bleeding. Her body trembles as she tries to stay calm. Every second feels like an eternity, but she knows she can't waste time.

Carrying both cats carefully, Lauren rushes to the car, her heart pounding erratically. The silence of the night now feels oppressive, and she can't help but look back at every step, fearing someone might be watching her.

Inside the car, as she drives toward the nearest vet, Lauren can't shake the question hammering in her mind: Who did this? And why?

[...]

While waiting in the reception area, the seconds drag on, each tick of the clock on the wall a cruel reminder of her helplessness. Autumn, nestled in her arms, meows softly, as if sensing the anguish consuming Lauren. She runs her fingers through his soft fur, seeking comfort in the animal's warmth, but the tension in her chest is suffocating.

The scene of Snow, bloodied on the floor, replays in her mind with brutal clarity. The question echoes repeatedly: Who could do something so cruel? Guilt and fear intertwine, forming a knot in her throat. Lauren squeezes her eyes shut to hold back tears, but they insist on falling.

It's then that she notices something on Autumn's collar. A protrusion that shouldn't be there. With trembling fingers, she pulls out the object attached. A piece of paper, folded with disturbing precision. She unfolds it slowly, as if afraid the words might jump out and attack her.

"Traitor. What's coming will be much worse."

The words scream from the paper, raw and threatening. The air seems sucked out of the room, and her heart races so fast it makes her feel nauseous. Who wrote this? How did they know where to find her? The feeling of being watched makes her look around quickly, but the reception area is empty except for a distracted attendant.

Without thinking, Lauren grabs her phone. Her fingers hesitate for just a moment before dialing Yoongi's number. The call is answered on the third ring, his deep, gravelly voice an anchor amidst the chaos.

— What happened? — he asks, direct, as if already sensing the weight in her breathing.

— I... need protection. — Lauren says, surprising even herself. The words escape before she can pull them back. The pride she had so carefully built over the years feels irrelevant now. She feels like she's being dragged into something bigger and more dangerous than she ever imagined.

Yoongi remains silent for a moment, but when he speaks, his voice carries a cutting firmness:

— What happened, Lauren?

Lauren tries to respond, but the words catch in her throat. The knot she felt earlier now seems impossible to untangle, and before she realizes it, tears begin to fall uncontrollably.

— They hurt my cat... — she says between sobs, the words coming out broken. — And... and left a note.

— What note? — Yoongi presses, but his tone remains calm, as if knowing that pushing her would only make things worse.

She takes a deep breath, trying to contain the crying, but her voice still trembles.

— They called me a traitor and said what's coming will be worse.

On the other end of the line, Yoongi remains silent for a few seconds, but she knows he's processing every detail with ruthless precision. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, laden with an authority that sends a shiver down her spine.

— Listen, Lauren. Send me your location now. I'll send some of my men immediately.

— What? You don't have to... — she starts to say, but he cuts her off firmly. 

— It's not optional, damn it! Do it now!

The command in his voice makes her stop. For a moment, Lauren feels a mix of relief and panic. She hesitates but quickly realizes he's right. Trembling, she opens the app on her phone and sends her location.

— Done... sent it.

She hangs up, her hands still trembling, holding Autumn against her chest as if he were her only anchor in this sea of chaos. Even with Yoongi's promise, Lauren knows she's far from safe. The fear and adrenaline don't subside, but amidst it all, she feels something unexpected: a strange sense of trust.

As dangerous as Yoongi might be, at this moment, he seemed like the only person capable of keeping her alive.

[seb-ussy]

I have a Sebaciel Pen pal au, Sebastian accidentally receives Ciel's pen pal letter, and pretends to be his pen pal.

Sebastian looked at the letter that had arrived in the post. Jeremy Ratheburn. Clearly whoever had written the address had messed up. He really should go and send it back, but he was curious. And bored, definitely more bored than curious. Sebastian looked at it for a moment later before deciding he was going to open it, and walked over to grab his letter opener. Inside was a letter written in the most atrocious handwriting he had ever seen.It looked like it had been written by a blind chicken. Scratch that, the chicken had neater handwriting. No matter, Sebastian was skilled at reading horrible handwriting. The letter read:

“Dear Jeremy,

My name is Ciel. I am six and a half years old. My favorite colour is blue. I love chocolate cake. Do you like cake? I hope we can be friends.

Sincerely,

Ciel"

It had been hard to read with the spelling mistakes. At the bottom was a drawing of what he assumed was a flower. If he liked children he might have found it cute. Unfortunately Sebastian hated children as much as he hated everyone else. It probably leaned more towards indifference and general annoyance than hatred. People were meant to be used, everyone used everyone else. Sebastian was no different, he just considered himself honest about it.

He looked at the letter again. How sad, it would never reach its intended recipient. He supposed he could send it back...or he could respond. He could do something nice and not let a little boy be without a pen pal. How wrong it would be to pretend to be a child. How wrong it would be to trick a small child. Ah, but at the same time it might be fun. Something to curb his boredom. And ultimately once he was bored once more he'd enjoy breaking a child's heart. He'd sleep on it before he committed.

Sebastian stared at the letter as he ate his breakfast. What to do, what to do? Should he manipulate a child by becoming his "friend", or be a halfway decent person and throw the letter in the trash?

He truly was bored if he was actually considering it. Whatever, it wouldn't hurt to go along for a little bit. And if he really got bored he could say he died, and forget about the six year old. Besides, he was fresh out of university and already bored with his job. He really needed a hobby and this sounded like something easy to fill his time with.

He opened his phone to search up the boys young pen pal. Jeremy, won the spelling bee last year, and plays the violin. Sebastian continued his search. On a public Facebook page was a Emily Rathburn. On her page was a picture of young Jeremy with a frown on his face and a party hat on his head. A cake with the number seven on it sat in front of him. So he was a year older than young Ciel. More mature, smarter, bigger, and wiser. A mentor of sorts. Sebastian could do that, and could pretend to be a mentor.

He truly was bored if he was actually considering it. Whatever, it wouldn't hurt to go along for a little bit. And if he really got bored he could say he died, and forget about the six year old. He was fresh out of uni and already bored with his job. This would be nothing more than something to pass the time until he found something more entertaining.

[ask-the-royal-absol]

And so Kader rushed off to gather the materials needed for his gift. His sister smiled. Seeing Kader be this excited about something made her happy. Considering all that had happened recently, she knew Kader needed something like this to keep him distracted. Clover headed back towards her room, humming the soft tune her mother used to sing to the both of them.

All the staff in the Whimsain Castle could see was the young prince moving with pace around the grounds. Nobody wished to question what he was doing but could see that whatever it was, it brought him joy. It was a nice sight to see. He'd been incredibly distraught after what had happened so this was the first they had seen him smile in a while.

First, Kader gathered some oak wood, taken from one of the trees in the nearby forest. He frequented the forest when he was young, going with his father on long walks. Next, he collected some of the metal scraps the Terrestrians traded to his kingdom. This trade involved an exchange of rare candies for metal parts. His kingdom was well known for baking the levelling up treats.

He asked two of his staff members, Ted the carpenter and Josey the blacksmith, to assist him in making the parts. There was some parts where he was unsure where to start but he knew he would be given help. Ted, the oranguru, laughed when the young prince decided to use the wrong type of saw for what he wanted to do and decided to take over for a bit. Embarrassed, Kader sat patiently and watched the oranguru work, marvelling at his skill. Ted had been in his family's service for years, crafting gorgeous furniture which were spread throughout the castle. The box had such a brilliant finish to it and Kader was given the opportunity to create some engravings on it. Working with care and precision, he finished after a good few hours. He pulled inspiration from the designs scattered around his kingdom. The tiny stars and swirls were a common pattern found engraved on many of the stone worked buildings. He was impressed. It wasn't as good as his sewing work but he was satisfied with the outcome.

Next came the metal pieces to be placed inside. Josey, an armarouge who had recently come over from Terrestria, had a knack for making delicate and intricate metallic structures and was able to shape the parts needed easily. It was lucky she also had some expertise in music and this definitely helped with getting the pieces to make the right notes. Kader wasn't a big fan of the heat needed for this work but appreciated the time it took her to make what he needed. She smiled at him as she pulled out the cooled tiny metallic tube and comb-like piece from the moulds. They looked perfect and had such a lovely shine to them.

Finally, with some assistance, he was able to piece everything together. It looked fantastic. He was so proud of what had been created. Testing it out by rotating the tiny handle, it sounded amazing. Each note reminded him of both of his parents. He practice singing with it a couple of times, though he soon realised he wasn't the greatest at singing. Regardless, he kept at it until he was able to get the song almost perfect. After carefully selecting some wrapping paper and ribbon to go around it, he wrapped the small box up, quite excited to see the reaction of the Pokémon he was giving it to. He sent a message to the star sending Pokémon, informing them of where to bring the recipient of his gift and what time. Everything was sorted. Now time to get himself ready.

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

This Pokémon really was something. A Pokémon that could create portals to different places. Kader wondered if he would be able to learn of this power someday. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind and stepped through the golden ring. He arrived in the Golden Oak Forest, the same location where he got the wood for his gift from. He just hoped the other Pokémon was able to make it in time.

Sitting on the bench was a Pokémon he has never seen before. She looked a bit like a gardevoir and so figured that she may be a regional variant of one. He had heard about regional variants from the stories told by the guardian. He approached the Pokémon, a slight nervous tremble in his step.

"Excuse me," began Kader, looking down at the Pokémon, "Are you by any chance the one known as Magpie?" She indicated that she indeed was, which allowed Kader to breathe a small sigh of relief. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Prince Kader of the Kingdom of Whimsain, located in Arkaedia. I am glad you were transported to this place without getting lost. Seems the star sending spirit did its job well. I must admit, I don't believe we have your species of Pokémon in our or any of the other kingdoms. I would love to ask you some questions but that's not the reason why I'm hear."

Kader carefully handed the box to Magpie. He waited in anticipation, hoping the gift would suffice. When the wrapping had been removed, Magpie held up a small music box, with small engraved patterns on. Looking inside, the carvings continued and tiny, intricate metal part stood still, eagerly awaiting the twist of the handle to sing its simple song.

"So, I saw that on your list, you wanted something related to music. I am going to be honest, I'm not the most musical Pokémon. However, my mother was. She was a wonderful, kind Pokémon who used to sing many beautiful tunes to my sister and I. I figured that I could share one of those songs as my gift to you. The music box was made with the wood from one of the trees in this forest. I helped with the engravings but my carpenter shaped the box. The metal parts inside were made by one of my blacksmiths. I'm not the best when it comes to work like that so I decided to leave it for her to do. I, with the instruction and guidance of my carpenter and blacksmith, constructed the box together. I hope you like it."

Kader sat down on the bench next to Magpie, shuffling to get himself comfortable."

"Before you take the music box away, I wish to share one of my mother's songs with you. It is a tune she used to sing whenever my sister and I were feeling blue. It used to cheer us up and I hope it will bring you cheer too in dark times."

He was incredibly nervous about this. His mother always made this tune sound wonderful and he knew he wasn't as good as her. However, he knew he needed to try. He cleared his throat and levitated the music box with his psychic abilities.

His voice was soft as he sung. He tried to copy how his mother would have approached the song. The music box sang its melody and Kader felt a sense of joy from it. Finishing the tune, Kader took a deep breath in. He was worried he may have been slightly out of tune but he enjoyed singing it.

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

Mod note:

So, this is my star sending for @idolmelodies ! I was so excited to get you! As soon as I saw your character wanted something related to music, I knew I needed to make a song. Gonna be honest, I have no musical knowledge so it was a challenge creating a tune but I enjoy figuring out the notes anyway! It was fun considering what Kader would do. Of course, having a mother who loved music certainly helped and when you're royalty you have access to a lot of resources. I hope you have a happy holidays!