#but GOD this post ended up so much longer than i anticipated.............. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmaywemeetagain · 4 months ago

Text

Broken Glass Chapter 11.1 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Thank you so much for your patience as I got this up on different platforms due to unforeseen life crap! 💗 Okay, so Chapter 11 got a bit away from me length wise, so for sanity's sake (and so I can make some more revisions to some much-anticipated sexy times 🤭), I am posting part one of the chapter instead of making y'all wait any longer.

Some major, life-altering things went down in Chapter 10 and this chapter from Lori's perspective deals with a bit of the reality and consequences of that. (You can refresh your memory here if you need to!) We jump back in the next morning. She's got A LOT of feels going on in this chapter leading into some more twists and turns in 11.2, so the ending of this might feel a bit abrupt since it will all be part of the same chapter. Sorry!

Also, please excuse my alterations of some of the recording dates a bit to serve the story!

Anyway, as always. I can't wait to hear what you think! 💋

Loves and kisses, Madi xoxoxoxo 💗

TW: So many angsty feels, the Colonel, pregnancy and related symptoms, fear of miscarriage, Elvis and his endless PDA...smut to come in part 2 🤭

Broken Glass Chapter 11.1

“You’re what?!”

You wince at the way Tom Parker spits the words out, his shock and ire so palpable it feels like a slap to the face. The anxiousness skyrocketing through you, paired with the rapid beat of your heart knocking against your ribs, leaves you unable to look at the man, but you know he’s furious.

“We’re getting married. As soon as possible,” Elvis repeats firmly, grabbing your hand and squeezing. It seems unconscious the way he steps slightly in front of you, as if shielding you from the older man’s anger. You appreciate the gesture. No one, save for your mother, has ever protected you.

Elvis sounds so steadfast and sure about all of it. He’s a better actor than people give him credit for, but this performance is going above and beyond anything you’d assumed he was capable of.

Or maybe he means it.

Your heart flips, just the way it did last night when he asked you to marry him.

The last 24 hours have gone and changed everything so quickly that your head is still spinning. The moment when Elvis kneeled on the bathroom floor with you, wiped away your sick, and offered to fix everything, it felt so very real. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his eyes.

And despite it being an arrangement born out of necessity and not love, it was nothing like Gianni’s horrific proposal.

Your stomach turns at the memory of that nightmare before Parker’s voice cuts through, bringing you back to the task at hand.

“What in God’s name has gotten into you, boy?” The beady-eyed man glares around Elvis’ broad shoulders at you. You resist the urge to shiver under his accusatory gaze. “Did you threaten to go to the press, young lady? Is this about money?”

“Hey, now, Colonel,” Elvis says, deceptively calm, but his voice is low with warning. “It’s not like that at all. And you best mind your tone.”

Parker’s eyes flicker to Elvis with an edge of surprise, taking in Elvis’ protective stance and words in silence. You get the impression Elvis hasn’t stood up to the man before, not like this, anyhow. The crackle of tension in the air has you all on edge.

The older man’s eyes narrow shrewdly, and you worry you won’t be able to pull this off. You’ve observed enough in the last month to understand the influence he has over Elvis, the slight manipulations he wields, pushing Elvis right where he wants him.

Parker looks at you with scrutiny. He takes you in from head to toe. Your breath catches in your throat and you want nothing more than to disappear and pretend the last day was a dream. But you cannot. Forcing yourself to hold his stare, you remind yourself of everything at stake here.

There is no doubt in your mind he will throw you to the wolves the moment he senses anything amiss, the moment you threaten the image of his star client. So it has to be crystal clear you are here to stay, even though it makes you sick to lie.

But there are much worse things than white lies waiting for you out in the world. And as heartbroken and shocked as you are about this baby, you already know you’ll do anything to protect it.

You aren’t even conscious of the way your hand splays over your stomach, not until Parker’s eyes freeze there. His eyes snap up to yours and then to Elvis.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Parker groans. “Christ, I picked this one specifically because I thought she was smart enough not to fall into bed with you the minute you two were alone. Turns out she’s smarter than I gave her credit for—she managed to ensnare you and ensure she’d always be tied to Elvis Presley,” he spits.

Your cheeks flame hot with the accusation, and you can’t hold back your gasp at his insinuation, even though it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Elvis squeezes your hand tight and points at Parker, his eyes stormy and livid. “Don’t you dare blame her for this! On the train, you made it clear how she needed to improve her ‘attitude’ towards me and I told ya not to worry. Well, I took care of it,” he shrugs flippantly.

You try not to gape at his blasé attitude, wanting to trust Elvis to do what he needs to make this convincing.

“You damn well know I didn’t mean ‘get her pregnant’!” Parker hisses. “And we had this talk when you were just starting out! I know you know better than to—”

“I’m in love with her,” Elvis interrupts with such conviction your stomach swoops and you need to school your face to look like you aren’t amazed by how truthful his statement sounds. The earnestness on his handsome face takes your breath away.

Tom looks sorry for him. “Oh, son, we both know how easily you fall in love. But I don’t think you understand the gravity or responsibility of starting a family. What it’ll do to your image. Girls want you unattached and available, and they’re the ones buying the records."

From anyone else, it might be imbued with caring and concern, but coming from Parker, it is backhanded and insulting with the way he talks down to Elvis, as though he were still a 19-year-old kid instead of a 25-year-old man. But he does it with the finesse of a snake charmer.

You watch Elvis carefully as he recoils a bit, an innocence flashing over his features you’ve only seen in his most vulnerable moments making a quick appearance. For a second, you are terrified he’ll cave and you’ll have to pack your bags and head West after all. Thankfully, he blinks it away, steeling himself with the stubbornness which usually drives you crazy but just might work in your favor today.

“We’re in love. We’re gettin’ married, and that’s all there is to it.” It comes out as a growl and the sound reaches down to your toes.

Parker shakes his head, grasping at anything to control his client. There’s a carefully veiled desperation in his voice which barely conceals the threat he now lobs at Elvis: “This’ll ruin you, boy! What will your father do when the money is gone, hmm? Your cousins? Your friends? That big house you bought your mother? It’ll all be gone.”

Elvis looks as though he’s been slapped. But not you. Life has made you good at reading people, at seeing through men like this. Perhaps it is the fact you are running on adrenaline or because you have so much to lose, but you find yourself furious at Parker for speaking this way to Elvis.

“And after everything I’ve done to ensure your success, you’d throw it all away for—”

“How?” You barely register you’ve spoken until Parker’s glare lands on you.

Elvis looks down at you with surprise. It wasn’t part of the plan for you to interject; Elvis thought he could handle Parker on his own.

“How exactly will getting married and having a family ‘ruin’ him? Last I checked, you weren’t a young woman. How do you know it won’t help him? His audience is growing up and getting married, so why can’t he?” you say, a fierceness you usually rely on at work slicing through your nervousness.

“Young lady, you best shut your mouth before you get yourself in more trouble than you’re already in,” Parker seethes.

“You don’t talk to her that way!” Elvis yells, stepping in front of her, pointing in the older man’s face.

Parker looks taken aback, and you wonder if Elvis has ever stood up for himself the way he’s standing up for you now.

Your heart beats in double time, but you gently put your hand on Elvis’ arm to bring it down. His eyes are blazing but they catch yours and you breathe in slowly, hoping he follows your lead. Once he doesn’t look like he’s going to launch himself at Parker, you speak.

“I was going to be around for the foreseeable future anyhow, isn’t that right? Perhaps much longer based on what the doctor said,” you say, miraculously keeping the tremble out of your voice. “It is easier—and more proper—to explain a wife being by his side than a long-term girlfriend living in his house, yes?”

Parker scoffs but doesn’t speak.

“And there’s nothing more young ladies like me want more than weddings and babies, even more so when the groom is the most handsome and charismatic man on the planet, one they want the best for. They will look at pictures of us and imagine themselves as me, I’d bet. And the men will be much less threatened by the family man who served his country and might come around, too,” you continue with fervor, surprised at how easy it is to be assertive when it’s Elvis you are fighting for.

“It doesn’t matter if he is married or has a thousand babies, Mr. Parker. As long as Elvis is alive and keeps doing what he was born to do, they will flock to him because he is an incredibly talented, gorgeous, and kind man. My being by his side won’t change that one little bit. In fact, a wedding will be free publicity for his comeback album, I’d imagine.”

A breath wooshes out of you now your speech is finished. Your fists squeeze to hide the tremor in your hands. Silence hangs heavy and you shift uncomfortably on your feet, but you force yourself to hold Parker’s eyes.

At first, he looks at you with something akin to shock, which quickly morphs into a smirk as he throws a cigar in his mouth, considering your words, perhaps. He holds the silence and your gaze much longer than he should, and you know it’s a show of dominance. You’ve seen a similar look on the men in la famiglia when they seek to intimidate.

It equally makes you want to stand your ground and shirk back into the woodwork. You don’t want him to win, but you also know you must play a role here, and a man like him will want any good idea to seem like his own. You lower your eyes in faux deference.

“Well, Elvis, we may be able to salvage this yet,” Parker purrs, gumming the end of the cigar.

Elvis’ eyes haven’t left you since your speech—you know because you feel them boring into you—but it’s not until you look back up at those depthless blues that you see the unabashed way he’s staring.

He looks at you like he’s smitten. Like you are everything he could ever need. And he’s blushing as if bashful about what you said. His movie star gaze pins you to the spot, with his bedroom eyes at half-mast and his full lips falling open like he’s going to say something.

You would love to be able to say it didn’t make your heart flip over and your knees a little weak to be looked at like this by him; in fact, you are going to chalk it up to your hormones because this is all part of the act, you are sure.

It’s almost painful, the way you tear your eyes away from him to look at your shoes. Suddenly you are winded and exhausted.

He’s just a patient. Maybe even a friend after everything you’ve been through together this past month. A better actor than anyone gives him credit for.

Madone, I will not swoon over a man just because he’s good at pretending he loves me.

Elvis may have acted like a spoiled, sullen child the days prior to arriving back at Graceland, but you’d never in your life seen had a man so entirely consumed with your wellbeing once he knew something was wrong with you. No man had ever treated you with such care.

A swell of emotion sits like a lump in your throat when you think about his proposal. What he’s giving up to save you. To save your baby.

And he’s been so earnest it makes it hard to compartmentalize the fact this arrangement is a quid pro quo and not some romantic folly. Your mind knows this, but your heart is having trouble keeping up. It doesn’t help when he is looking at you like you hung the moon. Like you are precious and beautiful. Like you matter.

You clear your throat and look away, feeling the blush spread across your cheeks. Then, a wave of overwhelm threatens to consume you. Everything in your world has been upended in the last 24 hours, and on top of that, you still have a job to do, yet your body is fighting you every step of the way.

Pregnant.

Your stomach lurches, but you swallow the toast you’d managed to eat earlier back down. Now is not a moment to appear weak by losing your breakfast all over the floor.

Parker is sizing up the both of you, chewing on the end of his cigar like a cow chewing on cud. It makes you want to squirm, yet you force yourself to remain still.

Elvis grips your hand reassuringly, sensing your discomfort. “It’s early, so that means we should do this as soon as possible, yeah?” He says it as if asking, as if the two of you hadn’t already decided it. You can’t quite tell if he’s asking for approval or if he’s smart enough to know it will go over better if the old man thinks it’s his decision. Either way, it seems to work.

“Mmm, yes. Though some are already going to assume the reason based on your impatience,” Parker counters, pointing at your belly.

“Let ‘em think what they want. But I want it public. I want everyone to know who I’m spendin’ the rest of my life with,” Elvis says definitively.

Parker looks at him and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure, my boy? It’s quite the gamble.”

“Didn’t get where we are by always playin’ safe, did we, Colonel?” Elvis counters.

“Hmm, I suppose not,” he replies after another long moment of scrutiny, “and I know you like to charge ahead without looking, but if we give them too much at once, they might be too ravenous. And we must control the narrative.”

Parker looks at your hand. “Get her a pretty ring, then go out and about and be seen. Tell your boys, your family, but no one else. Let them start talking.” His mind starts whirring, you can tell by the gleam in his eye. “We’ll sell an exclusive to the highest bidder, with terms to run the story along with the release of the album. We’ll push the release up, but that means you need to get up to Nashville in the next few days and finish cutting the record. With singles, RCA is going to need…” He pauses to do the math. “At least 11 or 12 more songs to have enough. You think you can do that, son? With everything going on?” The challenge is clear, but you are surprised to hear concern in his voice, too. Elvis is an ill man, after all, despite how gallant he is.

Elvis nods. “Yessir, I’ll get it done.” There isn’t a lick of doubt in his words.

You, however, are worried it’ll be too much for him. It’s a lot of pressure for anyone on a good day, but for Elvis, this could be dangerous. He’s already been pushing himself to the limit with his childish behavior in Florida. You want to say as much, but Elvis must know what you are thinking because he shoots you a stern look before you can get the words out of your mouth.

“Well, then, when you get back, we’ll have a small ceremony at Graceland. A church wedding is out of the question. Safety, timing, you understand,” Parker adds, shooting you a look like he’s sorry when you both know he is anything but.

You swallow and nod, but a snake of disappointment runs through you, nevertheless. You’d been raised to expect a Catholic ceremony but realize it wouldn’t be possible anyway. Elvis isn’t Catholic. In fact, you aren’t sure what religion Elvis is. The fact you don’t know sinks in your gut.

There is so much you don’t know about the man you’re about to marry.

But he’s not Gianni, you think. And he’s willing and able to give my baby the life it deserves.

And that is enough. It has got to be. Arranged marriages still happen every day—this is no different. A love match was never in the cards for you anyway. Not with your father and Gianni in the picture.

He may drive you crazy at times, but at least with Elvis, you and the baby will be safe and cared for.

You’ll just have to quell any expectations he will see you as more than his nurse. Or more than one of the many girls just passing through.

I shouldn’t have kissed him last night.

You blush at the memory. It was a moment of weakness, but you’d been so overcome with gratitude, shock and relief, you’d let your emotions get the best of you. It was too revealing, too vulnerable, considering your roller coaster of emotions recently regarding him.

It hadn’t helped he’d kissed you back with such commitment. Like he truly wanted you.

It scared you. But you’d backed away instantly after accepting his proposal, convincing yourself the look in his eyes was nothing more than friendly and then busied yourself with putting your clothes back into his—your—closet. Then you’d used your very real exhaustion as an excuse to go right to bed after that, ignoring the gnawing feeling of want in your heart.

Elvis would never love a woman like you. A woman who’s been chewed up and spit out by horrible men, a far cry from the actress and model beauties he is used to. He is a good man, helping a woman in need out of the kindness of his heart, out of a need of his own self-preservation, but you best keep reminding yourself that pity and helpfulness is not love.

Lest you get too caught up in the fairytale you are spinning for the world, you remind yourself that once things settle down, arrangements will need to be made for him to get his other needs met.

It wouldn’t be the first or last time a powerful, famous man had dalliances, after all. They would just need to be discreet.

The thought makes your heart ache and tears prick at the back of your eyes, though you instantly try to push away the uncomfortable feeling. You don’t have time or energy to waste on such nonsense.

It takes a moment to realize the men have stopped talking and are looking at you as though waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, what?” you say, shaking off your thoughts.

“I asked if you had any family or girlfriends that could assist you in preparations? You’ll need to get a dress and have any family travel in to be here after you get back from Nashville,” Parker says with a raised brow.

Your heart sinks. “Oh, no. There’s no one,” you say, trying not to sound as full of regret as you feel. The few friends from nursing school you had weren’t close enough to stand with you, and while you’d love to have your brothers come, there is no way to do so without alerting your father. And you feel absolutely sick at the idea of him being anywhere near you or Elvis.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. You hadn’t told him directly about the issues with Pop, but you assume he at least expected you to have friends. It’s pathetic, to be sure, but this was the reason you’d agreed to work for him in the first place. You are alone in the world.

Swallowing thickly, you hold your head high, even so.

Elvis, thankfully, takes your cue. “I’m sure Patsy would love to help,” he says with a gentle smile, pulling you into his side, his hand resting high on your waist. His double first cousin had been kind to you in the interactions you’ve had, so you suppose she will do.

You nod in response, hyperaware of the warmth of his hand radiating through your dress. It steadies you, tingling the skin beneath, and his closeness is a welcome anchor in this uncharted territory.

“Well, then, by this time next week, you’ll be newlyweds. I trust you’ll be able to continue to take care of Elvis despite your condition, Miss Cannava?” Parker asks under a veil of concern, but the accusation is palpable.

“I have no intention of shirking my duties, Mr. Parker. I want Elvis to be as healthy as possible.”

“Please, call me Colonel,” he says, an edge in his tone that lets you know your refusal to call him Colonel annoys him. But as much as you want to rub it in, you know you need him on your side.

“Of course, Colonel,” you respond, forcing a smile on your face. “And know I’ll continue to do whatever it takes to help Elvis keep doing what he wants to do.”

“I hope that’s true, young lady,” Parker says, “for everyone’s sake.”

You swallow down the threat, adding to your already churning stomach.

April 3rd, 1960

Nashville, TN

“Ready, Elvis?” the engineer up in the booth buzzes in over the com.

“Yeah,” he replies, shooting you a cheeky smile and a waggle of his eyebrows as he steps up to the mic.

You roll your eyes back at him, trying not to show just how much you are appreciating his presence. The secrets you two now share have matured him. You can’t help but worry about the dark circles rimming his eyes, though it is a bit unfair how it somehow only enhances his handsomeness.

Even so, he has been remarkably steadied and attentive these past few days, considering everything going on.

It is a godsend for you. Your nerves are fraying at the edges and more than ever, you want a cigarette, but you know Elvis won’t have it. Considering what he’s doing for you and this baby, you are happy to oblige him on this, despite your cravings.

With everything you’ve gone through in your life, you pride yourself on moving through adversity—for surviving as best you can—without falling apart. But since you returned from Florida, all bets have been off.

Along with putting on the performance of a lifetime in hiding your pregnancy, you’ve also needed to play the gleeful fiancée—a role that hardly feels natural for you, even if your relationship wasn’t a farce. A thousand other girls would be beside themselves to take your place, but for you it’s different. It’s like the ground is constantly moving underneath your feet and you are holding on for dear life, trying to stay upright.

It doesn’t help that your feelings for Elvis are rapidly slipping out of your control. While his poor behavior in Florida tempered them by the time you arrived back in Tennessee, his gallant actions since then, coupled with your exhaustion, have blurred the lines completely. Every touch, every knowing glance, every concerned look sends a cascade of tingles through your body.

You want to blame the pregnancy, you really do, but you aren’t sure you can at this point. Each sliver of attention and affection from him is peeling away the armor you’ve got around your heart, and you don’t have the mental or physical energy to keep rebuilding it.

It’s a recipe for getting your heart broken.

Your fingers twist nervously, still unused to the engagement ring now on your left hand. After telling him about Gianni’s gaudy monstrosity, you’d begged Elvis to keep it simple; he’d reminded you he has a standard to uphold. The compromise was a stunning ring with three large, round stones—a diamond in the middle, with blue sapphires on either side, surrounded by smaller baguette and single cut diamonds in a white gold setting.

You wanted to hate it, solely for its extravagance, but when he had shown you the piece ahead of the “surprise” proposal you both had planned for after dinner last night, you couldn’t drudge up an ounce of dislike. He’d looked so concerned about pleasing you, telling you over and over he could take it back if you didn’t like it, but frankly, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you’d ever laid eyes on. It was elegant and sparkling, and the uniqueness of the sapphires set it apart. It didn’t take much acting to “ooh” and “ahh” when he’d gently placed it on your finger in front of his friends and family, cementing the reality of this strange situation. A flock of butterflies had erupted in your stomach as though he really had proposed, like the proud but blushing smile on his face was really because of his love for you and not an act.

Your ring catches your eye for the millionth time today and the sapphires suddenly remind you of Elvis’ eyes. How deep and endless they seem. There is no stopping the flipping of your heart.

Oh, Madone, it’s just a ring, you chide yourself. But it doesn’t stop you from twisting it around your finger again and again like a touchstone.

After a bit of back and forth, a heavy bass line and rhythmic snapping starts, jerking your attention to Elvis. The stripped-down jazzy sound is immediately recognizable—a Peggy Lee hit from a few years ago. Your brow quirks in surprise.

The slow grin spreading across Elvis’ face is sinful as he sinks into the music.

He wanted you in the studio from the start this time around, citing you as his “good luck charm.” Part of you balked at that. The other part was flattered. After the last two times you’d watched him come alive while performing, something deep inside you awakens right alongside the beat, scaring you in its intensity.

Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care…

He starts singing. It’s quiet and deceptively relaxed, but you know him well enough now to understand he’s a live wire under it all. And that makes it even more enticing when he locks his eyes on yours, singing the words directly to you.

You give me fever…

His voice skitters across your skin, lighting fires as it goes. After the beat drops, his limbs shiver with the drums and the movement feels directly connected to the shiver running down your spine.

And he’s just warming up.

Every line, coupled with the sultry timbre of his voice, drowns you further into the depths of his eyes. They don’t let you go for the entirety of the first take. Your face is flaming, your hands gripping the edge of your seat because it feels like he’s about to eat you alive.

Madre di Dio…you’d let him. Willingly.

He wakes out of the spell he’s seemingly cast partway through the second take. You watch him whistle and blink a few times, coming back to himself. He’s slightly more unsure through the third, but regains his original focus by the fourth, sliding into the take like he’s been singing the song his whole life.

You can’t help but feel this is an intimate moment you shouldn’t be privy to, when he homes in on you once again. You are barely breathing the entire last take, a throbbing pulse consuming your heart along with your belly, something liquid and warm heating the core of you.

When he grits out: When her daddy tried to kill him, she said ‘Daddy, oh don’t you dare’, you hold back a gasp, wanting desperately to squirm in your seat to relieve some of the pressure in your body you don’t have any idea what to do with.

Perhaps it is because the line hits so close to your own experience, but it is as if he’s channeling you. Or channeling into you. You aren’t sure anymore, other that you are combusting from the inside out by the end of the song.

What a lovely way to burn… he repeats again and again, and trails off, finally.

Indeed.

He comes out of his near-trancelike state, bringing you with him and you are suddenly not at all sure you’ll make it through the next few days of recording.

How did you forget what happened last time you were in this room with him? With everything that had happened since, you suppose it’s not that outlandish, but those feelings of want, of need, seep back into your bloodstream just like the last time he sang to you in Miami, and here in this very room just a few weeks ago.

Seems like a lifetime ago…

Forcing yourself to breathe, you think maybe you’ll have a reprieve with the next song, but the bluesy Like a Baby is so sultry it does absolutely nothing to quell the fire in your veins. It doesn’t help he looks positively proud of himself every time he drinks you in, gauging your reaction, with every word he sings to you.

The seductive quality of it all is so overwhelming you need to excuse yourself to the restroom the moment the final take is cut. You clutch your trembling hands, splashing cool water across your rosy cheeks.

Get it together, Lori. He’s just doing his job.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you feel an unusual slickness between your thighs that sends your heartrate skyrocketing.

Oh, God—the baby.

Frantically, you hoist your skirt, pull down your stockings, and examine your underwear for any sign of blood. Panic slices through you until you discover you aren’t bleeding or miscarrying—it’s only a clear, slick discharge you’ve not had before. Something hormonal, no doubt, due to the changes in your body.

Then you realize you are relieved.

Your heart stutters.

You’re not sure you should be relieved. If this pregnancy ended naturally, it would save all of you a heap of trouble. It would mean you might be able to put the memory of Gianni’s cruelty behind you. It would mean Elvis wouldn’t have to settle for you. You could break off the engagement easily enough at this point.

But the thought of losing the baby, of losing Elvis, makes your heart ache so much tears spring to your eyes.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

You can’t want to actually marry Elvis. You barely know him. God knows you don’t feel ready to start a family, especially out of such horrid circumstances.

Then why does the idea of losing it all break your heart?

Sniffling, you look in the mirror and hold back the tears starting to well in your eyes.

It’s just hormones. Your body is just protecting itself and the baby, nothing more, you say in your calm and collected nurse voice. Nothing more.

Because anything more means perhaps your feelings for Elvis have truly gone beyond what you can handle right now.

Scrunching your eyes shut, you pray to understand the purpose of any of this. Why Elvis feels more like home than anywhere else, despite his sometimes infuriating nature. Why he has to be so alluring and charismatic.

Why the thought of being without him is untenable at this point, and not just because of Gianni or the baby.

It’s just a crush—a silly little crush.

No.

He’s all I have, you realize.

Of course, you feel connected to him. Right now, he is consuming your life and drawing out a safe future for the both of you. He is the only one truly in your corner. You may not know him completely, but he has not deserted you or thrown you back to your father. He is deep in this with you.

He could’ve easily fired and discarded you and been right to do so.

But for some reason, he did not.

A shuttering breath makes your chest heave. You can’t bring yourself to examine why that might be and you push away the thing you are most loathe to admit. The thing that makes pretending with him so very difficult, yet so sweet at the same time.

Shaking your head, you wipe your eyes, and straighten your spine. You powder your nose and reapply your lipstick. You put yourself back together, locking up the feelings you are trying so hard to fight.

Looking in the mirror, you see a young woman ready to do what she needs to do to survive.

Ignoring the headache brewing behind your eyes, you paste on a cordial smile and venture back to the studio. The light is on because they are recording, so you sit outside until it flashes off. You stand, brush off your skirt, and reach for the doorknob but it whips open before you can grasp it.

Gasping, your heart leaps in surprise as Elvis fills the doorway, looking a tad frantic.

“Little Bird, are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowed. He grasps your shoulders gently, taking you in as though you might be hurt. He thumbs your chin and looks into your eyes. “You disappeared on me.”

You bite your lip, concealing the smile wanting to appear at the fact he noticed you were gone.

“I was feeling a bit queasy,” you murmur. It’s not a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

The pad of his thumb brushes over your cheek. Your heart thumps and you look down to avoid the intensity of his gaze, lest he see more than you want him to.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel then, darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you brush him off, “And I won’t leave you. You look tired. How are you feeling?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re tryin’ to change the subject, little one,” he muses. His hands find your waist, burning through your dress. “I am tired. Let’s call it quits for the night.”

Your mouth pops open and your eyes narrow with suspicion. “Has hell frozen over? Elvis, you’ve hardly cut three songs, and the Colonel said—”

“I heard the Colonel, but I’m tellin’ ya it’s time to go.” There’s an edge to his voice, warning you his mood is shifting. “And I’m doin’ what I promised by knowin’ my limits.”

“Okay, I’m just surprised is all. I’m used to you fighting me like a stubborn goat,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. You can’t discern if he’s doing this for your sake or his, however. Perhaps it doesn’t matter if it gets the job done.

His cheeks are flushed, so you feel his forehead with the back of your hand. “I suppose you do feel a bit warm,” you concede. “Alright, let’s go get some rest, then.”

He nips at your hand playfully as you bring it down, pulling you closer. The flirtation has you blushing and you resist the urge to giggle, rolling your eyes instead. You can’t help but notice there is no one to perform for but remind yourself he’s just an overly affectionate guy. It means nothing.

“Hey, EP, you comin’?” Charlie yells from inside the room.

“Naw, we’re heading out. I’m tired,” Elvis says, giving you a wink.

Charlie sputters but recovers quickly, gathering the group as Elvis entwines his fingers with yours and heads out to the car.

He doesn’t let you go until you arrive back at the hotel, safe in the room you share.

Something is building between you two. You can feel it in the care of his touch, in the warmth filling your chest and your belly with each beat of your heart. It’s in his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed, releasing the mask he wears for the rest of the world as you check his vitals.

He is tired and a little feverish. You are proud of him for following through on taking better care of himself, even if you think it is because he is looking out for you and not himself. You give him a quick little smile before turning to put away the blood pressure cuff.

“I wish you’d do that more.”

“Do what?” you ask.

“Smile. I don’t think you realize how beautiful you are when you do it,” he says, low and quiet.

It rumbles through you like thunder, your heart skipping a beat. You pay special attention to clasping your bag closed, unable to look at him but feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Elvis—” you whisper.

“I want you to be happy,” he interrupts.

You sigh with the weight of your circumstances pressing on your shoulders, still unable to meet his eyes.

“But I understand why that’s hard right now. I jus’…I-I w-want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier on ya. Because you deserve to have more of those pretty smiles.”

The clasp of your bag becomes blurry and your throat tight. You clench the leather and force a deep breath. Tilting your head up to blink back the tears, you clear your throat before you can attempt to look at him.

Why does he have to say things like that? It makes it harder to resist the pull you feel towards him. You are teetering on the very edge of being professional and he seems keen to push you over, whether he knows it or not.

“Thank you,” you finally manage out, though so many words linger unsaid on the tip of your tongue. You meet his eyes and fireworks erupt over your skin at the way he looks up at you so openly. The air is sucked out of the room, deathly still, like before a summer thunderstorm. It leaves you buzzing and dizzy.

He stands, slowly, as if not to startle you, and steps forward. With each inch closer he gets, the air shifts, beginning to crackle with electricity. Your heart gallops faster. If he touches you, you are done for, you just know it. The lightning burning bright inside of him has the power to wreak irrevocable havoc on you. And you cannot afford to let your feelings get in the way of your survival because when he breaks your heart, which you know he will, you will have nowhere to go.

You have the baby to think of now. It is easier to sit in the discomfort of your complicated feelings than in the pain of the inevitable heartbreak that will come when he realizes you’re just like any of his other women—you’re replaceable, at least romantically. And God knows you’ve had too much pain in your life related to the whims of men to add more.

The air sizzles as he reaches for you, tempting you to burn with his touch. Part of you wants to burn—the deep heat swirling unbidden low in your belly dares you to let him—but you jump back out of instinct.

“I-I should get ready for bed,” you stutter, racing to your suitcase to grab your nightgown before hightailing it to the bathroom and slamming the door harder than you intended. You think you hear him chuckle as you lean back on the door to catch your breath.

Your body shakes but not out of fear of him. No, it’s like you’ve refused it something vital and it quakes with the need of release. Like the crack of lightning in him would bring the relief of rain, cutting the heat between you.

It doesn’t make sense. You’ve never felt this before, but you know it is dangerous. Lightning is beautiful but deadly, after all.

As you stumble your way through your bedtime routine, you realize in a few short days, the storm of a man out there will be your husband. And one more boundary between you you’ve relied on to keep you on solid ground will be gone.

And one look in the mirror at the exhaustion lining your features, you wonder if it is too late; perhaps the coming storm is inevitable and will tear you to pieces no matter what you do.

There are worse ways to perish than in the arms of Elvis Presley.

The swell of electricity doesn’t go away. It abates some, at times, but your body is hellbent and hyperaware of Elvis’ every move, of every breath he takes.

You desperately want to blame your job—you’re supposed to be observant of him, after all—or the changes in your body because of the baby, but the waves of rolling thunder build under your skin despite the physical space he is trying to give you.

The marathon of a session on Monday does not make things better. You’d hoped it would be a distraction. He needs to be completely focused to bang out at least nine more songs to finish the album. There will be no time for anything but music.

Except you somehow forget music fuels him and makes him glow from the inside out. Instead of dissipating, the storm just builds and builds, like wild thunderheads in the sky. He lives each song so completely, expertly maneuvering through mournful ballads and bouncing pop and raunchy blues like he was born to do. It’s mind-bending and alluring, and every time he draws you in, it feels like he’s singing directly to you, about you.

He's enjoying himself, despite the long hours. Completely in his element. And electricity zings though your body during the playful moans at the end of Such a Night. By the Thrill of Your Love, you think you might combust.

And he knows it, by the sparkle in his eyes and the pull of his defiant but tempting upper lip. He wasn’t offended by the boundary you set last night in the slightest, giving you the physical space you desperately needed unless needed to keep up the ruse of your engagement. But everything he does, every lyric he sings, every twitch of his body, makes you feel as though you are swirling out of control. The more he respects your need for physical space, the more you want him to box you in.

He's doing just that, just not with his body.

You are completely on edge when not absorbed in his performance and technique. God, what an idiot you were to think he wasn’t talented. His stint in Germany only served to strengthen his craft. The world isn’t ready for this new and improved Elvis. Girls will be beside themselves.

You just never thought you’d be one of them.

By the time he gets to the last song, he can’t stave off how tired he’s getting. The marathon session has taken all night and into the dawn. He lets everyone know he’s not entirely convinced he should even sing this Are You Lonesome Tonight? but the Colonel, along with Steve, the RCA rep, press him.

Worry for Elvis’ wellbeing has you voicing your concern, but the men look at you as if you are a silly little girl and not a professional. It takes a moment to remember the only one who really knows your role here is Parker, and despite nearly being asleep on your feet, you are ready to go toe to toe with him. Elvis concedes to his manager, however, before shooting you a look and running his hands down your arms to placate you. The long touch of him distracts you enough to lessen your annoyance for the moment.

This last song is the only time he kicks you out of the room, along with everyone except the musicians, but you manage to sneak into the booth to listen. You can’t see anything through the window because he’s ordered all the lights be turned off, but the result has goosebumps rising all over your body with the emotionally eerie but gentle lilt of his performance.

By the end, tears are streaming unbidden down your cheeks, though you aren’t entirely sure why. You race to wipe your cheeks before the lights pop back on, but he catches your eye through the window and swell of emotion rises again.

You know you are careening quickly towards something beyond your control. The pregnancy is one thing pushing you towards the edge, but this new arrangement with Elvis, the intimacy involved, has your heart racing with both curiosity and fear. It is all so far out of your experience but there is no real choice. It is whatever this new normal is or running for your life.

Being off kilter and filled with feelings you don’t understand is uncomfortable, but you’ll take it versus the alternative, though you can’t help the fear you’ve put Elvis in terrible danger crawling at the edges of your mind.

It’s this that keeps you alert as you all board the bus to head back to Memphis after a quick diner breakfast. Elvis is dying on the vine, the energy of performing all night taking its toll. The darkness around his eyes and the pallor of his skin tells you everything you need to know, but his limbs twitch restlessly all the way home, even when he doses, curled up into you with his head on your shoulder. It’s as if he can’t shut it off even when he is completely drained.

It’s too much for him. Your anxiety builds and builds in the hours it takes to return to Graceland. You are worrying your lips raw between your concern for him and the position you’ve put him in. Guilt swirls in your stomach, making your carsickness worse.

On top of it, your body is desperate to be close to him, as though his presence is a balm to your burdens, but those feelings just bring more confusion. You relish the tickle of his long, soft hair against your jaw and the way his fingers interweave with yours, even in sleep. Despite how ready you were to leave mere days ago, you aren’t quite sure you could do so now without damaging a part of yourself you didn’t know existed.

It frightens you, but the tingle that zings down your arms and into your palm lets you know it is exhilarating, too.

The bus is quiet of its usual boisterousness when it pulls through the gates of Graceland in the early afternoon. It is hard to believe how much everything has changed in a few short days, since the last time you arrived like this.

“Elvis,” you whisper, but he barely stirs. His eyes are closed, and his full lips are open slightly, giving him an air of innocence that tugs at your heart. “Elvis, sweetheart, we’re home.”

Sweetheart? Madone, where did that come from? You blush at your use of the endearment, not having used it since your brothers were little boys and certainly never with a man.

Elvis sputters and his long eyelashes flutter open as he stretches his long arms. “Mmm, ‘sweetheart,’ huh?” he murmurs, his lips turning up in a small, sleepy smile.

“I—you must have dreamed that,” you reply, flustered, but you know your pink cheeks and the way you twist your ring give you away.

He just grins. “You can call me sweetheart all day, Little Bird.” Then, he pulls you down for a sweet, chaste kiss, which surprises you. He tastes of sleep and coffee and chewing gum. The kiss is quick but sends a tremble through you all the same, especially since the bus is nearly empty.

When he pulls back and takes a look at you, his eyes fill with concern. He runs his thumb under your eye, as though he could wipe away the darkness you know is there. “Did you sleep at all, baby?”

You shake your head no, trying to brush him off by getting up to walk away, but he stands and grabs your arm. Pulling you back gently, he wraps his arms around your middle. You give up trying to wiggle away—he’s stronger than you. You’re surprised to find you don’t mind it. If it were any other man, you’d be panicking at the closeness, but it seems you’ve grown used to Elvis’ near constant displays of physical affection.

“I’m fine, Elvis. Let’s go inside.”

“Little one, the doc said you need sleep…”

His vacillation through pet names and endearments should annoy you, but they don’t. Not anymore. You sigh.

“…and you’re gettin’ married tomorrow. You need ta look your best for your husband,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Rolling your eyes at his silliness, you try and mask the surprising buzz of excitement running through your limbs at the reality that in a day you will be married to this exasperatingly handsome and talented mess of a man. It’s overwhelming and a little exhilarating, but you can feel exhaustion pulling at you, knowing you’ll be knee deep in preparations in a few short hours.

You resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder, but he senses your resignation in the way your body deflates. It’s hard, you realize, to let anyone else take care of you.

“How ‘bout I rest with you? Will you at least try to take a nap then?” If he’s conceding to more rest, you know you must look worse for the wear. But it does the trick.

“Alright, fine. I will rest if you do, too,” you concede.

Being back at Graceland—back home—helps you relax more. No one can get to you or Elvis here. You fear you won’t be able to sleep, but once your head hits the pillow, Elvis safe and resting inches away, you slide into the dreamless dark.

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

48 notes · View notes

queerwithapen · 18 days ago

Text

Translucent- Katsuki Bakugo X Izuku Midoriya

CW: 18+, animalistic tendencies, transparency kink, subtle degradation and humiliation, mark-making, slight sadism/masochism. The characters in this story are depicted as a ghost and a werewolf, and they are of legal age.

A/N: Happy belated Halloween! I actually wrote this based on a Patreon artwork that @hanodefanart did for Halloween! If you'd like to see the art that inspired this, please go check them out! Anyways, posting this late because time is an illusion and we can still enjoy some October smut even if the month ended 😋

Izuku had wished he could remember every second of how Kacchan had been treating him that night. He wanted to have that kind of pleasure engraved into his brain so vividly he could relive it when his eyes fluttered shut. He could see glimpses of how the wolf boy tongued his neck and had pushed his cloak up above his chest.

"Always so damn flushed," Kacchan teased. His index and thumb found one of Izuku's nipples, rolling it between his fingers, making it stand even more at attention than it already was.

A small noise left Izuku's lips, barely audible, but it only contributed to the heat already filling the room.

"C'mon Izuku, you can do better than that." Despite the already pleasure-driven haze in Izuku's head just at the anticipation of what was to come, he was cognizant enough to look up and see Kacchan smirking down at him, noticing just how enticing it made his canines look. "Or," Kacchan leaned down, his tongue finding the shell of Izuku's ear, "you gonna make me earn it?"

A shiver rushed down Izuku's back, making his hips involuntarily arch up just enough for Katsuki's eyes to flit down. "Kacchan—" he couldn't have stopped the name from tumbling past his lips even if he'd tried.

Katsuki pushed Izuku's hips down to the mattress with one hand, purposely putting it where he could graze his nails over the skin just above the waistband of Izuku's pants. The movement drew an involuntary breath, albeit a shaky one from Izuku. "C'mon 'Zuku, you gonna let me make you feel good?" He didn't even allow the nerd to speak in response, nails lightly scratching over what was exposed of Izuku's hip and biting the spot just beneath Izuku's ear in tandem.

Izuku couldn't keep his eyes open if he tried. The slight sting of both made his cock twitch in his pants and he only said Kacchan's name again, like a mantra, a plea for Katsuki to give him more without saying the words directly.

"You know how this works," Kacchan mumbled, breath fanning on the spot he just bit. "You gotta use your words." His tongue dragged over the slight indentations his canines left.

God, Izuku couldn't stop from whining. "Kacchan, please— need it," he breathed.

"Need what?" he tsked. "Gotta tell me exactly what you want. You got a big brain, use those pretty little words."

Izuku was sure he looked like a mess; like a whore on the verge of begging for it. He knew he was flushed to his ears, down his neck. His nipples were hard, equally flushed. He was throbbing in his pants and nothing more he wanted Kacchan to— "fuck me, please, Kacchan," he panted, his voice shaking with need and slight embarrassment. He wasn't one to curse much, but Kacchan's pupils always got a little more dilated when he heard Izuku's filter slip and ask for what he really wanted.

He knew that Kacchan said something then, but truthfully he couldn't recall because the wolf boy ruthlessly yanked Izuku's pants and underwear off, no longer willing to accept the pleasantries of the situation and eager to get to the main attraction. Izuku moaned at the force of it and with one she squeezed shut, he looked down at himself. His cock was flushed, the tip smeared with precum, and it twitched at the shift in temperature from his suffocatingly hot pants to the atmosphere of the room.

"Good fuckin' boy," Katsuki mumbled, eyes set on Izuku's cock for a good moment, taking him in. Some nights Kacchan preferred taking his time with Izuku, staking claim on every inch he could, leaving bites on his neck, his wrists, thighs, ass, anywhere soft enough to bite that would last a few days, but for now he just wanted to quickly take the nerd before taking the main event. "How much stretching will a whore like you need before I can fuck you, huh?"

The answer was not much.

His eyes were closed, panting by the time he felt Kacchan's fingers withdraw, and the empty feeling was enough to make him whine. "So fuckin' needy," Katsuki grumbled. However, Izuku didn't feel an absence for long. He felt the head of Kacchan's cock press against his hole and the noise of relief that left Izuku was an adrenaline spike for Katsuki.

"You gonna take it, 'Zuku? Gonna let me fill up that pretty little hole?"

"Kacchan—" he moaned again, embarrassed at the way Katsuki was talking about him, but the blonde knew he liked it, feeling Izuku's body try to pull him in.

"Greedy," he nipped at Izuku's neck and took in a deep breath of him before licking at the bite again. "You so cock-hungry you forget how to say anything other than Kacchan?" God, he fucking loved Izuku's scent, especially when he was like this- good and needy and just wanting more. Even though he was mocking the boy beneath him, his mouth was watering.

Izuku wasn't saying words at this point, too lost in gripping the pillow behind him and taking whatever Kacchan was willing to give him. His head was starting to feel fuzzier than before, realizing he was only moments away from being filled up so good by Kacchan. His body, in this haze and lack of focus, began to sort of fade out in a sense; parts of him started to appear not quite so solid, though he was too eager to even think about that fact.

Instead, he nearly blacked out for a second when Kacchan pushed in because his body was just screaming good, so good, so full! Katsuki grabbed Izuku's hips, not caring to be overly gentle, and yanked them so he was buried even deeper and Izuku's legs were around his waist, shaking.

"So fuckin' pretty when you arch like that," Katsuki growled. Though his eyes traveled down, ending on a sight that made a groan slip past his lips as his tongue dragged across one of his canines. "Well fuck, wouldn't ya look at that? I can see myself fucking you."

Izuku, blissed out, had to replay the words in his head. "Huh...?" He lifted his head up just enough to look down at where his body was somewhat translucent and some sense of alertness washed over him because he was embarrassed. "Kacchan— don't look—!"

"Embarrassed I can see how tight you're squeezin' me?" Katsuki leered closer, looking as though he were considering taking a bite, his breath fanning over Izuku's face.

Izuku began to mewl, but it was turned into a blatant cry of pleasure as Kacchan rutted into him. "Ngh— not f-fair!" He gasped.

"Tellin' me you don't like seeing how good I fill you up?" He nipped Izuku's jaw a little harder than earlier, his nails only the smallest bit of pressure from breaking skin.

Izuku's eyes fluttered shut as he took it. "J-just need you Kacchan—"

"You're gonna get it, don't you fuckin' worry—" Katsuki growled, his pace growing a little more vicious as skin against skin and Izuku's noises filled the room.

Izuku's mind climbed to that floaty place it always did when Kacchan did this and he didn't come back down until he was empty, leaking semen, and panting, whining at the loss of being filled.

Katsuki was littering Izuku's body with hickeys and actual bites, every little gesture saying mine without having to say a word.

Yeah, he was glad he was his. He couldn't imagine belonging to anyone else in the same way he belonged to Kacchan.

#bnha smut #katsuki bakugo smut #izuku midoriya smut #bakudeku #bakudeku smut #happy halloween #halloween smut #18+ mdni #bnha fanfiction #halloween au

27 notes · View notes

biffhofosho · 3 months ago

Text

What's Wrong with Director Ortega? | Part One

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch

Word Count: uh, 18k this part

Pairing: OT7 x OC

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

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

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

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

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

Cvr | 01 |

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

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

“You won’t be joining?”

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

“You always join.”

“I know, sir, but not this time.”

“Chairman Matsuda expects it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room erupted in polite applause as smiles abounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which department is hers?” Intern Wong wondered.

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

“She’s American?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious?” blurted the female purchaser.

“I am.”

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

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

“I thought you were leaving,” he said.

“In a moment,” she replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know?”

“Know what!”

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

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

“Director Ortega handed in her resignation yesterday.”

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

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

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

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

“You know that isn’t true, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like you,” retorted the accountant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone leaned toward him like plants straining for sunlight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is not.”

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

“If you’re sure, sir.”

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

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

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

“I’m sorry, but not today, sir.”

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

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

The older employees broke into quiet laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What don’t you understand?”

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

“Director Ortega?”

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

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

“You can’t be trusted.”

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

“You know exactly what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jooheon scowled and shook his head.

“Some say she’s pregnant.”

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

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

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

Jackson just glowered at his friend.

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

“Are you sure? Did you ever ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t know. Didn’t read it yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, unless she sparing your feelings.”

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

“Is that what you really think?”

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

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

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

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

“You pissed me off is what you did.”

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

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

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

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

“Good. That’s good then.”

“Why?” Jooheon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrific…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seven vice chairmen traded appraisals, but none spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…is it that you just don’t want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch it,” Kihyun warned.

Jackson shrugged. “You asked what I thought—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Remind me to fire him,” huffed Minhyuk.

“Not before I clobber him,” growled Jooheon.

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

“What are we going to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

More silence, this one infinitely darker and deeper.

“So it is us…” conceded Minhyuk.

“Looks that way,” said Hyunwoo.

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

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

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

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

“You both are,” Changkyun groaned.

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

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

"Am not."

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

“Enough,” Hyunwoo said brusquely.

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

“Obviously,” Jooheon snapped.

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

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

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

“We should apologize,” Hyungwon volunteered.

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

“Well, they can’t fucking hurt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not much of a strategy,” Minhyuk observed.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Jooheon agreed.

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

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

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

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

“Eating,” answered Hyunwoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! I was here first!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s got it,” Hyunwoo assured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunwoo narrowed his already thin eyes.

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

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

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

The blonde started, “You never waste—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should ask you the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t think about that…”

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

“Okay, but if something does go wrong—”

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy. Shit."

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

“They actually showed up,” Secretary Ahn gasped.

“Who?” said Secretary Kim.

“Who do you think?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t believe it...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We said we would,” he replied.

"Yes. Yes, you did…”

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

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

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

“Ah…”

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

Secretary Guk simply stood there with her mouth open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she wasn’t alone.

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

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

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

The COO’s eye twitched.

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

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

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

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

The vice chairman glowered, and the secretary crumbled.

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

“Immediately,” he insisted.

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

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

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

“Now, Secretary Guk!” Jooheon called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a party, so I was.”

“Was a party?” questioned Hoseok.

“Until seven wet blankets dampened the mood.”

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

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

“How the hell did they find me!”

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

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

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

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

They didn’t have to wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We just got here,” insisted Hyungwon.

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

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

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

“Brats?” said Hyungwon.

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

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

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

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

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

“Because we care about you,” Hyungwon added.

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

A beat passed. Then another.

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

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

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

“Your Excellencies?” Hyungwon said flatly.

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

“Internships run their course,” agreed Hyungwon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, we own 51 percent of this—”

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

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

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

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

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

They did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunwoo cleared his throat and started, “Director—”

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

“Okay,” said Minhyuk with a lopsided smile.

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

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

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

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

“Why are you so loud?”

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

“Not loud enough!” she shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?” asked Minhyuk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is until everyone got the surprise of their lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s more?” said one guest.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Haeun!”

“Probably,” Secretary Kwon whimpered, entranced.

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

“I told you,” Hyeongseo sing-songed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I asked you a question!”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” Maria warned her friend.

Hyeongseo grinned as cartoonishly as an emoji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?” asked Kihyun.

“We did it for you,” added Hoseok.

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

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

“No,” said Hyunwoo.

“Yes,” said Minhyuk.

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

“Maria!” Kihyun said. “Wait.”

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

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

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

“Yes, sir!” came the universal cheer.

“Great, and did you have fun?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of you,” Kihyun promised.

“Except you,” Hyungwon said solemnly.

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

“You walk home,” Jooheon agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! You’re none of those things.”

“I resent that,” said Kihyun.

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

“That was Hyungwon!”

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

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

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

“Aw, come on, man. You owe me for—”

“Out!” the CMO snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

The director remained silent.

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

More silence.

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

“You can’t,” Hoseok insisted.

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

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

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

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

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

“Ouch,” mumbled Hoseok.

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

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

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

“You can’t fix them even if you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So it’s true…” murmured Hyungwon.

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

“That's not true,” Kihyun reassured.

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

“Horseshit,” Hyunwoo bit with uncharacteristic ferocity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Impossible,” asserted Kihyun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean…” she asked warily.

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

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

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

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

It didn’t seem to faze him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It feels weird not to,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” wondered Minhyuk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And how do you propose to do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

32 notes · View notes

dedeinthewild · 22 days ago

Text

paul aron x reader, more than friends

~ "where's the throphy? he just comes running straight over to me"

The Losail Circuit, with its almost hallucinatory lights in the heart of the desert, where the sand blurs the horizon and makes every sunset unique, was the setting for one of the final rounds of the Formula 2 Championship.

After a long break—one that had seen the drivers travel far and wide, enjoying time off with their families—the cars had once again called the drivers back, no less competitive than before. Paul Aron, the standout Estonian rookie, had dominated the early rounds of the championship, showing an unparalleled strength before an absurd string of bad luck dashed his hopes of winning the title, along with the funding and sponsorships he needed to continue his career. Yet, there was something that made the woman sitting on a makeshift stool in the Hitech GP pit box feel that he would conquer Losail.

“The number seventeen is turning his car into a rocket, overtaking Maloney with a majestic move.”

Karl, Paul’s athletic trainer, kept his hands on her shoulders as she clutched her camera, her lips pressed tight while she watched him climb up through the field.

“He’ll win this,” he said.

Every lap seemed to stretch longer, and even the mechanics grew restless, shifting as if their chairs were made of pins and needles. Everyone wanted Paul to win that race, to prove his strength. And he deserved it, beneath that distinctive blue helmet.

“He’s slipping a bit coming out of the last turns.”

It was something anyone could understand—he was giving everything to win, even though all that effort probably wouldn’t be enough to get him back into the running for the world champion title.

“How many laps are left?” she asked, standing up and watching the cars go by in front of the pit lane, feeling as if she’d been waiting an eternity for the race to end and the checkered flag to wave.

“Two,” Karl sighed, adjusting the headband over his long hair.

“God, this is nerve-wracking.”

“And you’re supposed to be the fan.” This definitely wasn’t the first race she’d watched, and yes, she was usually used to the adrenaline that coursed through her veins when her favorite driver approached the finish line. But nothing was like watching Paul so close to victory after all the bad luck he’d had.

Two laps.

Thirty-two corners.

And that Estonian kid would raise the golden cup.

The anticipation was unbearable, with many only waiting for the pit lane to be closed by the stewards so they could rush under the podium, behind the barriers. And when Paul covered those last few meters before the finish line, she left everything in the pit box, running with the mechanics to see him climb out of the car, victorious.

“Woah, I really needed this,” he said, opening a radio channel with his engineer.

When the Hitech GP car parked at the pole position post, she couldn’t help but let a smile spread across her whole face. Her eyes sparkled with happiness, and the slight dimples in her cheeks showed her joy.

The pit lane erupted in a cheer, with her fellow photographers capturing every detail of the moment as the second and third-place finishers climbed out of their cars. The last to remove his steering wheel and climb out of the halo was Paul himself, with his brilliant blue helmet and his visor raised to reveal his blue eyes—fixed directly on her.

Karl liked to say that the two of them were idiots, so in love that they didn’t even realize it. And these moments showed how, in any situation, they always ended up looking for each other. The trainer, in fact, was standing behind her, having arrived with calm, weaving through the crowd with a smile and a few words of excuse. And when Paul finally set his gloves on the ground and ran toward them, he understood. He understood that no words could ever fully express how much they meant to each other.

No raised fist or cheerful words over the radio could convey the light that had taken over the Estonian’s blue eyes. Not even the pats on the back from the mechanics could warm his heart as much as the genuine, unbridled smile of the girl standing before him.

“I did it,” the driver whispered, still in his helmet as he hugged her. She gently, almost timidly, placed her hands on the sides of his helmet, looking into his eyes as his large hands rested on her wrists.

“Did you have any doubts?” she teased.

That was all they needed—a simple glance as the engines roared, the electrified look in the photographer’s eyes as she watched the drivers climb out of their cars, even though she’d seen many races live. What bound them together was enough.

Something simple.

“Go and claim your trophy, man.” Karl gave him a fist bump, his other hand resting on her shoulder.

Paul looked once more into her eyes, as if trying to imprint the moment on his memory, before the other drivers joined him with congratulations, followed by the invasive camera lenses.

Meanwhile, Karl and the photographer moved back to a better spot in the pit lane, near the pit walls, for a better view of the podium.

“He wanted to be a little selfish just for today.”

“What?” She furrowed her brows.

“Didn’t you see? He just wanted a moment with you before celebrating with everyone else.”

She smiled, a bit embarrassed, her cheeks slightly pink from the sun, and a bit from her nature.

“He knows you’d jump these barriers to get to him, and that’s what he needs to keep going.”

It was probably one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her, and it came from the same man she’d accidentally boarded the wrong flight with a few months earlier, who’d wandered with her into a questionable shop in Amsterdam.

“Got it, cat got your tongue?” he grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they waited for the drivers to finally ascend the podium.

Paul didn’t even look tired as he stepped onto the top step, the marks of the balaclava on his fair skin and his hair tousled under the first-place cap. His smile lit up his whole face, contagious enough to spread across the entire racetrack as he listened to his country’s anthem. There was something about watching him win that always felt fresh.

As he looked down, he scanned the crowd, groups of people pulling out their phones to snap photos, unconsciously searching for her, in that lucky blue shirt and the glasses she’d put on whenever her eyes got tired. Then, behind the red wall of the team he’d driven for in previous years, there she was. With the wind brushing her hair from her face, the same smile she’d had since he’d climbed out of the car, her gaze lifted toward him. All Paul could see was how happy, carefree, and proud she seemed.

He took the trophy, golden, large, and gleaming, and raised it high, as if to remind himself that even if he didn’t become champion and no sponsor came calling, this was a victory worth celebrating. A small victory in the championship. A great personal victory.

“And now, let the celebrations begin!”

The circuit announcer cued him to pop open the champagne, which he sprayed alongside the other drivers who’d finished in the top three. Beneath the Losail sunset, in the heart of the desert.

“Let’s go,” Karl said, leading her up the stairs of the media building, checking his phone for messages from Ralf, Paul’s older brother.

“You’re hopeless, girl.”

She laughed, shaking her head, taking a few steps backward to throw him a playful huff as they walked toward the room where a few seasoned fans waited for the drivers to come out. She slipped into a nearly invisible spot, leaning against a glass window, tying her hair into a messy bun.

“That was such a high,” she smiled, glancing at Karl.

“The purest thing about you is that every time feels like the first,” he said, patting her shoulder. From afar, he saw the blonde driver walking toward them, his face triumphant, his hand clutching the trophy. He wouldn’t let it go for anything.

Paul greeted fans and gave a few high-fives before quickly making his way over, his eyes giving him away.

“Hey, man of the day,” she smiled at him.

“Hey,” he replied softly.

Karl hung back, watching them walk down the corridor side by side, laughing and joking together. “Aron” in bold letters across the back of the young man, who was training harder and harder, and the lightness and simplicity she brought to the paddock. The peace she brought to Paul.

They were so alike, yet so different. But, in a way, she was a part of that golden trophy, too

~ please do not steal or claim my work as yours, be kind and enjoy :)

manifesting for a PA17 win on the next f2 race weekend🍀

~ not proofread and also english is not my first language so there might be a few errors :)

#hitech #f1 #f2 #motorsports #paul aron #prema racing #writing #formula racing #oneshot #driver #taylor swift

25 notes · View notes

bardraelyn · 1 year ago

Text

On Disaster Puppies, Anxious Angels, and Applesauce

*This post has been revised and expanded from a previous post.

So the key to understanding the end of S2 boils down to this:

Angel!Crowley = disaster puppy (all enthusiasm, not much sense)

Aziraphale = anxious kid who grew up in a house with plastic covers on all the furniture (this bit is important)

Let’s break it down:

When they first encounter each other, in the time Before the Beginning, Aziraphale shows signs of unease when he hears Angel!Crowley questioning God’s Ineffable Plan. I’ve seen it suggested that Aziraphale reacts this way because has doubts—that he doesn’t trust Heaven. Yet it’s well established in S1 that the loss of faith comes later, after the events surrounding Armageddon prove to him irrevocably that Heaven sees humans as no more than tokens in an elaborate game against Hell. No, Before the Beginning, Aziraphale trusts Heaven implicitly, and that trust is the root of his fear. Aziraphale trusts Heaven, Heaven has rules, and rules must be enforced.

Aziraphale doesn’t warn Angel!Crowley off questions because he thinks there’s something wrong with Heaven. He warns Angel!Crowley off questions because he lives in a restrictive environment with rigid rules and is terrified of (vague, unspecified) consequences. Anxious children don’t need to have erred or been punished previously in order to be afraid of punishment. They need only have an expectation (implicit from the mere existence of rules) that punishment of some sort is possible. In fact, having not been punished (because their anxiety mostly keeps them in line without need for actual adult intervention) makes the fear—not threat, but fear—of punishment that much more powerful because they don’t know what the punishment will be, and the unknown is terrifying. (What’s more, they are desperate for praise and reassurance that they won’t be punished and are doing the right thing, hence Aziraphale’s love language being words of affirmation.) Aziraphale is trying to protect the innocent, joyful angel he just met, even though he doesn’t yet know what he is protecting him from. He just knows you’re not supposed to muss the furniture, and what Angel!Crowley is suggesting feels dangerous.

Fear of the unknown explains why Aziraphale’s demeanor shows more of an edge in certain present-day scenes of S2. Thanks to his and Crowley’s post-Armaged-didn’t appearance swap, Aziraphale has now been to Hell and has a much better sense of what punishment might actually look like—not to mention a very up-close and personal understanding of exactly the kind of punishments that were intended for his beloved. Punishment is no longer a vague concept but rather a well-defined set of parameters, and Aziraphale knows how to deal with things that have edges. (Yes, that’s a flaming sword allusion, but it’s also a pointed reference to the notion that things that can be defined can be countered.) Because he can anticipate, he can plan. And planning is something Aziraphale excels at, because anxious children out of necessity grow into meticulous planners.

Having this knowledge of what punishment looks like leads our shades-of-gray angel to become less fearful for himself while simultaneously making him even more protective of Crowley. His thought process has gone from, “Punishment is big and terrifying, and I don’t know how I would cope” to “Punishment looks like this, and it sucks as much as or more than I expected, and I want my beloved to never have to endure it again.” It has also made him more protective of the innocents who are bound to get caught in the middle of Heaven and Hell’s unending conflict. Indeed, he goes truly fierce during the battle at the bookshop in a way that we have not seen before, even at the climax of S1. (While he did pull that tone with Furfur in 1941, that moment arose from disdain rather than aggression, so it’s not particularly relevant to this part.)

This also accounts for why, after his Fall, Crowley has become a demon who only “goes along with Hell as far as he can.” Angel!Crowley had no concept nor fear of punishment. Crowley now has both, but he’s already been punished in the worst way possible (loss of his angelic status and the opportunity to work on more projects like his beautiful nebulas), so he knows what punishment feels like. He knows where to toe the line and knows what to expect if/when he doesn’t. He’s not that bright and enthusiastic puppy anymore; he’s a wary old dog with a long memory, who is willing to take a stand to protect those he’s loyal to, even while he still cowers at certain types of threats (“We can run away together!”).

Angel!Crowley was punished and cast out of the restrictive home with all the plastic on the furniture, and the new house he’s been stuck in for the past 6000 years is run by the sort of abusive f*cks who beat puppies and raise them for dog fights. (I have a theory that Crowley was punished less severely than some of the other Fallen. He is, after all, one of the most beautiful demons we see, and that suggests that the person in charge of doling out punishments was more annoyed at him than angry, and so didn’t curse him with the truly nasty afflictions we see on the more repugnant of demons—like Hastur, who delights in pain, or Beelzebub, who had some leadership role in the Rebellion—but that doesn’t matter because his new home was terrible, possibly in part because of that lesser punishment. I bet that prior to the Rebellion, “Lucifer and the boys” delighted in the cliquish equivalent of “throwing sticks for the Disaster Puppy to chase,” and poor Angel!Crowley didn’t realize they weren’t really his friends so much as a different set of abusers who used attention instead of neglect. But after the Fall, they became his keepers, and his eyes were opened to a whole new level of loss and betrayal. Anyway.)

As a member of the Fallen, Crowley doesn’t remember the names of some angels/demons (Furfur, Saraqael, and yes, Aziraphale at first) but clearly remembers others (like the Metatron and Gabriel), even though they all remember him. I’ve seen suggestions that this is a trauma response or the results of a partial memory wipe, but I think it has a much simpler explanation: He only remembers the names and faces of entities who stood out to him. That enthusiastic angel who bubbled with joy and absolutely annoyed some of the other angels with his exuberance? Of course, he sticks in their memory! But they barely registered to him because they were each just one in a billion random strangers he played with in the park. The Disaster Puppy enthusiastically plays with everyone. He remembers the ones who had the power to slap him on the nose—and the one angel whose daring and kindness impressed him enough for his name to finally stick after it didn’t during their previous encounters.

At their very first meeting, Aziraphale introduces himself; Angel!Crowley doesn’t reciprocate. Names are irrelevant. He’s too caught up in his nebula to even take note of the introduction. So later, when they meet on the wall of Eden, introductions are needed again: Aziraphale because Crowley didn’t recall his name, and Crowley because he never gave his name at their first meeting (and probably never during any of their chance encounters in Heaven, because remember, Disaster Puppy just isn’t all that concerned with names), but also because even if Aziraphale did pick up Angel!Crowley’s name in passing sometime after their first meeting, he absolutely would not assume that the fallen angel still uses it. Rather than risk dead-naming him, he waits for Crowley (or Crawly, at the time) to tell him what he prefers to be called.

So, it’s obvious why Crowley didn’t remember Aziraphale’s name, but did he recognize Aziraphale at all before approaching him on the wall? I would bet on absolutely, yes, but with the vague sort of recollection of a conversation he probably should have taken a bit more to heart. He sees a being who tried at some point in the past to warn him, whose name he doesn’t recall because it didn’t seem important enough at the time, but who makes him feel comfortable enough to approach: “You tried to help me before, which means you are kinder than those other angels who didn’t, and so you probably won’t hurt me now, even though I’m Fallen. I’m feeling conflicted about this notion that knowledge of Good and Evil is a Bad Thing, and as someone who tried to advise me earlier, I feel like I can talk to you about it.” (What neither of them has yet realized is that knowledge of Good and Evil is the key to recognizing that Heaven and Hell are two ends of the same poison pill, and it’s not only humans who have been kept in the dark; a lot of the Angelic Host are also in need of some applesauce.)

All of this is why the memory-wipe theory simply doesn’t make sense. Think about it: Gabriel is the Supreme Archangel, and their intent with him was to perform the equivalent of a full hard drive wipe and reinstall of the base angelic software. They think of him as corrupted beyond repair. If even the highest of high archangels isn’t worth the massive effort of selective file deletion, why would they waste that same amount of effort on Crowley to wipe (and possibly replace) a few select memories from before the Fall? Yes, it’s clear that Crowley was an angel with a reasonably high level of access, given his ability to open the archives, but there’s absolutely no indication that he outranked Gabriel. In fact, his scorn for the Supreme Archangel is exactly the sort of scorn you’d have for someone who used to have authority over you and abused it extremely casually but was mostly the kind of negligent adult who ignored you until you were useful and/or pissed them off.

(As an aside, this also ties back to the question of why angels don’t eat while demons do. Aziraphale eats—with enthusiasm!—so clearly angels can eat, and Crowley mentions “food not that good anymore” in Heaven as part of why he started palling around with the other discontents, so angels certainly did eat at some point, but now they don’t. While Hell plainly has some sort of meal situation—not to mention a fiery beverage dispenser—we don’t see so much as a watercooler in Heaven. And well, yeah. Obviously. Because somebody in Heaven wants to keep everything pristine, so they won’t allow food anywhere near all that Heavenly furniture. It won’t kill the angels to go without meals, because they are immortal beings, so all the ban achieves is a) starvation, b) loss of pleasure, and c) control. After all, food control—control over the basic function of consuming sustenance—is a great way to exert and reinforce control over a group of beings that you want to ensure won’t rebel. And that’s really all it comes down to: Keeping everything pristine and spotless and perfect, and keeping everyone in line. Withholding the literal and metaphorical applesauce. And the Rebellion gave whoever is in charge of those decisions [my bet would be on the Metatron; God seems too self-involved to care about the furniture] the perfect excuse to change the house rules to ban food. And since it’s definitely a cult, all the ones who are deeply indoctrinated just sort of…go along with it. Anyway….)

If Aziraphale feels any guilt over Crowley’s Fall, it’s a mild twinge over the fact that he wasn’t able to convince the Disaster Puppy to stop jumping on the furniture. That’s not the primary motivating factor for why he’s so adamant about protecting Crowley at the end of S2 or at any other time in their long association. Aziraphale and Crowley are both, in their ways, protectors. That is established over and over again, throughout all of their actions and conversations. Protecting is a primary drive for each of them, something that is at the core of their beings, and it often puts them at odds over the exact same objective: Protecting the one(s) they care most about. They withhold information and behave in sometimes appalling ways to protect each other when what they really need to be doing—as they should have learned from the first Armageddon attempt—is working together to protect what they have with each other along with everything else that they love.

Because the reality is that if either one of them sacrificed themself to save the other, that very sacrifice would destroy the other. They are of one heart, and it cannot, will not live if it is not whole. But neither one fully trusts the other to coordinate a defense because of that same history and past trauma. Aziraphale thinks Crowley won’t listen to him because Angel!Crowley shrugged him off, and Crowley is still afraid of being kicked if he lets his guard down because he can see how much his beloved is still a victim of the cult programming (and Aziraphale is not above kicking if he feels panicked). Crowley doesn’t think Aziraphale will hurt him on purpose, but rather because Aziraphale doesn’t see all the angles and manipulations and therefore can’t see all of the threats—and in their conversation at the end of S2E6, the angel seemingly proves him right.

Now, here I want to pause for just a moment to address a certain type of anxiety response, because it’s vitally important to what comes next, and that is diving in without a plan. It is entirely too common for individuals with anxiety to go into a tailspin when confronted with something that feels overwhelming. This is followed by a prolonged period of recovery, which may then lead to meticulous planning to deal with the situation (if it can’t just be avoided entirely). Unfortunately, this process takes time—often too much time. This is why we sometimes see Aziraphale throw himself into situations with very little forethought or preparation (like, say, following the clues to surrounding the appearance of a certain ex-Supreme Archangel at his bookshop), because he’s tapping into a slightly more self-aware (if rather unhealthy) approach to handling things that trigger his anxiety: “I know if I get up in my head about this, it will paralyze me, and shit needs to get done, so fuck it.” He is short-circuiting the possibility of a tailspin by refusing to think before he acts. The kind of energy that accompanies this approach could easily be categorized as frantic.

When Aziraphale is telling Crowley the “good” news, he appears excited, but given one significant fact we do know—that Aziraphale is driven by anxiety—I would argue that his demeanor in this moment could more accurately be read as agitated. Now, we could debate all day what might have happened during his conversation with the Metatron to cause that agitation. It is plausible—indeed likely, given Neil’s intricate plots—that there was something more to it than we’ve been shown thus far. But we don’t need to know the details to understand Aziraphale’s response, because Aziraphale’s anxiety provides all of the necessary context. After spending several minutes enduring the direct attention of the Metatron, Aziraphale is acutely aware of one very important thing: that he and his beloved demon are, at the very least, still under intense scrutiny by his own former side, and that means they still are not, and have never been, entirely safe from Heaven or Hell’s interference. So he does what our darling Anxiety Angel always does when he is terrified and needs to act: He throws himself in before he can think too hard about what he’s throwing himself into.

So this brings us to Aziraphale’s return to Heaven.

I don’t think that Metatron’s intent is to kill Aziraphale. He will almost certainly resort to that if looks like Aziraphale won’t give him what he wants, but right now, he just sees a tool that can help him achieve his goal (provided Crowley is out of the way). Because here’s the thing: the archangels are clueless about some very important things. That has already been established (see: Job and conversations about human birth). Metatron is probably a bit less so than most, but there are things the Angels in Charge fundamentally do not understand, and they don’t know it yet, but Aziraphale is one of those things.

Metatron sees an angel who has not only lived on Earth long enough to truly understand humans, but also (and this is key) has collaborated with a demon—a tempter—and then effectively lived in the company of that tempter for the past four years. Metatron sees Aziraphale as someone who can be tempted and manipulated. That’s why he brings him coffee. He’s trying to use that. He wants a tool he can control. But he, like all of the highest of the Host, is guilty of neglect. He has never paid close enough attention to Aziraphale to see the Bastard Angel: the one who pushes back against Crowley, and even against God, who offers his own temptations, who is stubborn and implacable (much to Crowley’s frequent annoyance even while he loves it), and who isn’t afraid to stand firm in the face of Heaven, Hell, and Armageddon to protect the world and the keeper of his heart. Metatron thinks Aziraphale's resistance to Armageddon was the result of Crowley's manipulation, so he figures he'll just get Crowley out of the way or keep him too busy to interfere, and use Aziraphale for himself. Metatron is so very wrong.

As to why Aziraphale hasn’t fallen yet (and isn’t going to fall, even in S3) in spite of all of his misdeeds and mini-rebellions: it all comes down to the fallout. The Rebel Host—including the poor Disaster Puppy angel running around with them—started a war. In Heaven. They didn’t just individually act up on occasion in ways that could be ignored. They engaged in a violent and bloody act of rebellion. The Fall wasn’t about the small sins; it was about the big one. They messed up the furniture. They had to go. Aziraphale’s not messing up the furniture—yet. By the time he starts, it will be far too late for Heaven to do anything to stop him.

See, that smile at the end of S2E6? It’s not pleasure at taking charge, and it’s not determination to fix Heaven. It’s a mask. Aziraphale spent that elevator ride bottling up his pain and hiding it down deep. Anxiety children become adults who are masters of repression, and he just went through his whole panic attack and packed away his grief in the elevator, while holding a straight face (a very tense, grief-stricken face—it’s all there in the micro-expressions, or rather, the desperate attempt at suppression of all macro- and micro-expressions, about which I could write a whole separate post—but essentially a straight face nonetheless). I would bet my immortal soul that he put on that smile right when the elevator stopped, just before the doors started to open. Heaven is about to learn the hard way why choosing Aziraphale was their fatal mistake. Because the Bastard Angel is broken and angry, and he’s done with their bullshit rules and their plastic-covered furniture. Maybe he pushed Crowley away to protect him. Maybe he really wanted Crowley to come with him to try to change things from the inside. None of that matters. All of the maybes that happened before Metatron came back to collect Aziraphale are irrelevant. Because Metatron doesn’t understand Aziraphale, and he just tipped his hand when he spoke the words “Second Coming.” Aziraphale has long since realized that Heaven is toxic—that’s what he wants to fix—but until that moment he didn’t have the context Crowley had to know why Gabriel left. But he has just learned that his love, his heart, and his world are in mortal danger, and he will stop at nothing to save them. Heaven hath no fury like an angel with a broken heart.

Aziraphale has never worried that Crowley was ever made to forget him. He’s intelligent and observant. He noted that initial un-introduction (and was even a bit disappointed by it), so he knows why Crowley doesn’t remember his name when they meet on the wall of Eden. Their coded-language dance around the depth of their association has never been about fear of rejection over imagined faults but rather the very real threats from their respective Home Offices, which they are too wary to immediately forget even after thwarting Armageddon and their own executions. (They are right not to trust that sense of peace!) It has taken them four years to let down their guards even the tiniest bit, and they are still speaking in code—hence the ball: It's Aziraphale's confession of love without saying the words out loud, because it still doesn't feel entirely safe. And he’s not going to Heaven to throw himself on some sacrificial alter to fix a mistake he thinks he made 6000 years ago by failing to keep an angel who barely acknowledged him from falling in with the rest of the Rebel Host. He’s just doing what he’s always done: trying his best to protect the innocent from Heaven’s caprice.

Only this time, he knows his own heart is innocent too.

#good omens #good omens theory #rebuttal #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #aziraphale #crowley #the metatron #angry angel #anxious angel #bastard angel #disaster puppy #no nightingales #this started as a rebuttal post and got out of hand #this post is a six-headed hydra #anxiety and hyperfocus really do explain everything #yes by HIS OWN HEART I mean the HEART THEY SHARE #this is a revised version of an earlier post

108 notes · View notes

gretavanbrie · 1 year ago

Text

Dreadful Reminders (J.T.K)

Summary: The brewing tension in your relationship seems to be pulling your love at the seams. What will happen when what is supposed to be happy news, only tears you apart further. Is one mindless phone call the end of it all?

Pairings: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Warnings: ANGST, angst, andddd more angst, established relationship, asshole jake :(, Jake being mean, I can’t say much without spoiling but talks of pregnancy, swearing, doors slamming, feelings of being unwanted, hurt feelings, alcohol consumption… if I missed anything lmk!!

A/N: This idea has been circling my brain for weeks and I’ve finally decided to act on it, so here it is!! If you guys like this enough ill upload part 2, I’ve already got that one going and smut will be included ;))

It started off as hums of yes’s and no’s, dismissing waves out the door instead of proper goodbyes. The kisses no longer cherished, instead rushed. Love with Jake was once full of passion and eagerness, stolen glances from across the room much alike youthful school crushes. The lingering touches, the spontaneous arrival of perfectly bloomed floral arrangements just to say “thought of you”.

Handwritten notes every morning you awoke together almost as though they were incantations, spiraling more and more in love with each letter scribbled across dingy post-it notes. 5 and 1/2 years of irrevocable love, now slowly tearing at the seams like over-worn clothing. The innocence of it all was what preserved the love. What you failed to realize was growing up stripped that completely.

The day you found out was bittersweet. Jake left for a meeting with the boys shortly after your heated argument over god knows what, it seems as though any minor inconvenience is means for harshness and disagreements at this point. Your shaky hands hastily pick up the test after waiting for what seemed like hours.

Pregnant.

You covered your mouth not only in awe but in fear. You frantically searched for a second test in the box to solidify this outcome before sharing the news with anyone. You picked at your fingernails as you waited, a nervous habit you couldn’t seem to shake.

Is Jake even ready for this?

Did I just ruin his life?

How could we be so stupid, we’re so young.

The seemingly deafening sound of the timer shook you out of your now swarming thoughts. You hurriedly picked up the second test only to be met with the same prognosis as before. It’s not that you didn’t want the baby. Of course you both have talked about kids in the future but with how things have been between the two of you, you were sure an end to your most cherished love was nearing.

You’ve wanted a family with Jake, just not now. He is doing so well in his career, the band is skyrocketing. You almost feel selfish for wanting this. Would this set him back? You’ve both been so wrapped up in your own lives these past few weeks, him with the band and you overloading yourself with work. Things have been rocky. You feel as though you’ve become a burden to the person you love and cherish most.

No more late night whispers and giggles shared under the covers, the longing gentle touches underneath the twilight seemed to cease. Coffee together in the morning, a once cherished act of quality time.. now a mere chore. What was once intimate and passionate sex, now rushed solely to let his frustrations out. Only to be met with the saddening view of his back turned away as though you’ve become an eyesore, not worthy of being touched for longer than need be. The love that once flowed through your shared house, now stagnant. The tension almost suffocating. This is a whole new level you’re ready to take on, but is he?

You paced the bedroom wracking your brain on how to tell him for the next half hour before you hear the sound of the door slamming shut and the heavy patter of boots walking along the hardwood floors. Your heart thumps in anticipation like the mockery of a drum. The bedroom door swings open and a frustrated Jake appears throwing his keys off to the armchair.

Without making eye contact he walks past merely whispering “hey babe, bad day.” before shutting the door to the bathroom. Before you can be upset about his short greeting, your eyes widen in shock as you realize you never took the tests off the sink. Just as you were about to interfere your met with a puzzled Jake standing before you, the two tests clutched in his grasp. You two lock eyes and you swear he can hear your heartbeat from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Anything you wanna tell me?”

He looks at you sternly. You almost feel like a child being scolded.

“I found out just before you got here I was trying to figure out how to tell you” You reply shakily, nervous to hear his response. You look down in shame and continue.

“I know things have been tough between us and we haven’t talked about it and that’s okay, if you’re stressed out about work stuff with the band I completely understand but I’m just as scared as you might be. We can work through this, I know we can. We’ve talked about kids before i think the plans are just a bit rushed, that’s all” you say hopefully with a shy smile.

Jake doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and then slowly brings his gaze to the two white sticks in his hands. He feels his heart thumping, a man usually well spoken now not finding the right words to say.

He opens his mouth to say something then swiftly shuts it again before clenching his jaw. The suspense killing you, you speak up.

“My Jake… please say something” your voice almost failing you as tears well in your eyes.

Oh god, he’s gonna leave you. You think to yourself. Just as your thoughts are about to spiral out of control he breaks the silence.

“I know I’ve been distant and i want to apologize it’s not right. There’s just been… things…weighing on me, I didn’t know how to navigate them and I shut you out. I’m sorry my love. And I’m sorry again for being so unsupportive right now it’s been a stressful day” he calmly says.

“C’mere” he whispers as he pulls you in his embrace “everything is gonna be okay” he says, stroking your hair almost as though he’s trying to convince himself.

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

The next few days seemed a little better Jake seemed to be genuinely trying and you were nothing short of appreciative. This was all you wanted, your Jake to be back.

The two of you are still planning on how to reveal the news to everybody. Today in particular seemed off. You arose to the sun seeping into the windows, curtains blowing as you mistakenly left the window open the night before. You’re expecting to be met with the warmth of Jake’s sleeping body lying next to yours. Instead nothing but a cold pillow and his barely-there scent.

No goodbye kiss? That’s weird.

Fully awake now, you peer over to your side to check your phone for any texts from him and see a note lying there.

“Got called into a last minute group meeting, see you soon.”

All my love,

Jake.”

Prying the covers off you, you feel an overwhelming sense of nausea. Not able to suppress it you run into the bathroom and alleviate the brewing sickness. You pick yourself up from in front of the now tainted porcelain, you start the shower and begin brushing your teeth. You fix up for the day, changing into a baggy crew neck sweatshirt of Jakes and some leggings. You head downstairs and finish up some mundane tasks that need to be tackled around the house.

Feeling proud of what you’ve accomplished so far with this first trimester nausea, you decide to surprise Jake with one of his favorite recipes of yours. Although it may not have the same comfort as Karen’s cooking, you hope this alleviates him of some stress anyway.

Sliding on some shoes , grabbing your purse and keys you make your way out to round up some last minute ingredients. You make your laps around the store collecting your items for supper. On your way home you hear a buzzing sounding from inside your bag. You pick up the device and see Joshua in big letters across the screen. Bringing the phone to your ear you greet the curly headed boy.

“Hello?” You call into the phone.

“Hey y/n! Jake with you? Daniel and I just got an idea we wanna try out and he hasn’t gotten back to me” he says cheerfully

“Um no…he said he was with you guys this morning” you reply

“Oh wait! Hold on he’s calling me. Call you later! Love you!” He shouts excitedly, dismissing your previous response and hanging up.

Your stomach churns at the thought of Jake lying about where he was. He’s never done it before, why start now? You thought everything was okay now, that he was just as excited to welcome another life into your home as you are. Before the overthinking floods your mind you pull into yours and Jake’s driveway seeing his car already parked out front, a wave of relief washes over you. Maybe he wasn’t lying, maybe he just left early.

You gather the groceries and make your way inside excited to tell him what your plans for the night are. You close the door behind you making your way into the kitchen setting the bags down before heading to your shared bedroom to grab a hair tie.

As you pass his music room you hear him talking on the phone. Assuming it’s still josh you think nothing of it until you hear your name in the conversation. Stopping in your tracks you listen closely to the words being spoken. Any other day you would have respected his privacy but your gut was telling you to tune in on whatever this convo may be about. Pressing your ear against the door frame you hear

“…It’s been so shit josh, I’m torn. Theres been this weird tension that i know I’m probably the cause of because she’s been nothing but patient and understanding with me but the arguments have been multiplying and I don’t even know if i can continue on, i feel so guilty” you feel a sinking feeling in your gut as tears well in your eyes. It’s silent for a moment, assuming josh is speaking on the other end. Your interest is piqued again as Jake continues on.

“It was fun because we were young. She’s so incredibly special to me, you have no idea but we’re not even married and we weren’t planning on it anytime soon we wanted to continue traveling and experimenting with each other. I’ve loved her for so long it feels like i need to experience more, something different. I didn’t think I’d have to settle down so soon. I don’t know man. Is this even right for me anymore? Am i even cut out to be a dad? I thought i wanted this with her and only her but we’re gone for so long out of the year Josh. It’s becoming overbearing almost. I need space from her to think things through but she’s always there, a dreadful reminder of the mistake we made.” He exclaims.

“It feels like I’m only with her for the baby.” He finishes.

You hear a heavy sigh before prying your ears away, not bearing another second as it feels as though you’ve been sucker punched in the gut.

A mistake? After all the time you two have spent together and now the only thing seemingly holding you two together, is the baby? Why couldn’t he have voiced these thoughts earlier? If he wanted space to think about things you would’ve worked something out.

Now letting the tears fall freely, you start blaming yourself for not noticing the signs earlier and thinking how you could’ve prevented this. Was this a mistake? 5 almost 6 years and not once did you think your Jake would tear your heart in two like this. Especially now that you’re carrying the undeniable manifestation of your guy’s love.

The tears now flowing ten fold, you’re broken from your thoughts as the door swings open. Jakes eyes go from frightened to apologetic. His facial expression now long and sorrowful seeing your tear stained cheeks. He just stares at you for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“How long have you been here?” He says weakly

“Long enough.” You quipped. “Have all the space you desire, Jacob.” You say as you angrily wipe the tears from your face.

Turning on your heel you head into your bedroom to frantically pack your bags as what once were the walls of your home, comforting and inviting… now suffocating. Jake is hot on your heels spewing out apologies a mile a minute. Your head is everywhere but here, a million thoughts circling your brain as you focus on grounding yourself.

Choked sobs escape your mouth as you realize this sick twisted nightmare is real and the only person you longed to share a family with is rejecting that reality. How foolish of you to believe your rockstar boyfriend would want to settle down so early with you. Sure it was poor timing but you thought your love was stronger than that. Maybe he didn’t love you as much as you thought he did, at least not anymore.

“Baby please say something i didnt mean it, I don’t know what i was saying.” He tries reaching for your hand. As you pry away from his grasp, his own eyes well up.

‘You know full well what you were saying, Jacob Thomas.” You reply your voice laced with venom as you slam the bedroom door in his face, locking it. You sit on the edge of his side of the bed just letting the sobs wrack through your body, hands smoothing over the barely there bump forming. Jake sits just opposite of the door listening in hoping he could find the right words to fix this.

He knows he was being melodramatic, he loves you how every fish in the sea loves water. You were his air, consuming his lungs like an aching necessity. He loves you like dry ground loves rain, just waiting to be basked in the showers of your outpouring affection. He loves you like all the stars and the moon love the night sky, as though you were home to him… as if it was natural to love you. Like there was no other being on this earth that was made to love him how you do. You were molded for him and he was mindless to not realize the immense amount of luck he had in being able to call you his. He struck gold and paid it no mind.

Dread now filling his every muscle, his throat closing as he realizes the severity of his actions. He hears ur pained cries muffled through the door and desperately wishes he could take it all back.

“Baby please, come on.. i know there’s no excuse just let me fix this…. Please” he chokes out meekly. He steps back surprised as the door swings open, a duffel bag of your necessities slung over your shoulder. You see the hurt flash across his eyes as he makes eye contact, a silent plea to hear him out once he realizes what’s happening.

“Enough Jake. Don’t sit here and feel sorry for yourself. Enlighten me, if i hadn’t heard that conversation would you have come back out as though everything was normal. A blatant lie to my face. Were you gonna voice this to me at all? Instead I’m being labeled to ur brother as a “dreadful reminder”. If you’re only with me for the baby Jake…” you look down taking a deep breath trying to tame the aching lump in your throat before you continue on.

“I’ve made the decision for you. I need space.” you finish, swiftly pushing past him.

“No no no no no..” he starts hot on your trail

“Im not just with you for the baby, y/n. You mean so much more to me than that i- i was being stupid and selfish and i got caught up in my own personal fears it blinded me to the gift right of front of me. I swear y/n i was speaking out of my ass the arguments have been getting to me and I felt the lack of emotional intimacy i thought we were done for. When i came home the day we found out, I had been planning on talking to you about it. We lost our spark and i lost my motivation to try. And then seeing those tests i just freaked, i mean… can you blame me? This is fucking scary y/n!” You stared at him in silence taking in what he had to say, carefully calculating your response.

“I understand its scary, you forget I’m the one carrying it as well. You don’t think i feel guilty for essentially putting a pause on your career? And with these newfound hormones this is incredibly nerve-wracking especially with the lack of your emotional support! we’re supposed to be in this together! And you’ve done nothing but treat me as if we haven’t spent the last 5 long years of our life in unison Jacob! Do you know how frustrating it is to fall asleep every night next to a man who barely acknowledges your presence?! The person you fucking love completely dismissing your existence like I’m some fucking burden! You have no idea the fear that ran through my body seeing those tests in the midst of….. whatever the fuck this is!!” You exclaim waving your arms around gesturing to the now broken home. Tears now cascading endlessly down your face. You take a deep breath to collect yourself seeing how you’ve let your emotions overpower the logic needed right now.

“….that was just another level of low Jacob. You’re not you. I think we need time” you continue on teary-eyed. Voice weak from the amount of crying you’ve done tonight.

You hear him calling out for you but its all muffled by the heart-shattering sound of your world seemingly crashing down around you. Tears well in your eyes as you turn to see a heartbroken, disheveled jake standing before you pleading you not to go.

‘I love you, always will.” is the last thing you say before Jakes walls come tumbling down by the sound of the door slamming shut, tears clouding his vision.

“How selfish can you be?” he thinks to himself, rubbing his face in distress.

Cracking open a bottle of whiskey he pads into the kitchen seeing all the ingredients laid out for what would’ve been his favorite dinner. Untouched.. just lying there, a dreadful reminder of the detrimental effect of his actions. He falls asleep drunkenly on the kitchen floor that night, longing for your love and warmth to consume him again.

Fin.

144 notes · View notes

dolcinos · 24 days ago

Note

okaaay but arthur fattening alfred up so he won’t leave/is dependent on him again and it ending up going way further than arthur anticipated as alfred becomes a huuuuge addicted glutton —-

oh my god. yes this is def the vibes of my first usuk wg fic that i wrote and posted, like this is the ultimate codependent outcome i envision. this is gonna get long, buckle up.

arthur just wants alfred to be in his care again. i think he can be regretful of the ~revolution~ times, not because he wants to fix how he acted but because he wants alfred to revert to his thirteen colonies again lol, at least to how he acted when he was the british-american colonies.

and then alfred is always a slut for arthur’s attention anyway but it’s doubly so now. he’s a hero and independent and so cool, yadda yadda, but he loves arthur pampering him. he can’t get enough. he pretends he doesn’t but he absolutely indulges arthur’s little wants and kinks by indulging himself. it’s a win-win.

this is how i can see this scenario working out in nationverse anyway since drips of this are in canon. it wouldn’t be too far of a jump.

of course, alfred doesn’t always visit arthur, and arthur is too tsundere for his own good. but he realizes as alfred fattens up that he has a propensity to visit him more and stay longer, until in general he gets much more domesticated than his wilder days. he is a glutton already and giving in to his urges just feels so good. especially after like 60-ish odd years of always dieting.

it wouldn’t take very long for alfred to end up so obese he can hardly move, lmao.

he’d already kinda thought that alfred getting up past 500 was a lot. too much, maybe. has he gone too far with indulging him? alfred has the thickest lovehandles, a bulging ass, moobs that hang… and his belly is the crown jewel, rounded and jiggling always, hanging far down, caked in blubber and stretchmarks at the very flabby bottom. the rolls at his waist squished together whenever he sits look like a stack of plump pancakes.

alfred is exceptionally lazy and complains a lot, which is a major source of their bickering during this period: “i’m starving”, “you didn’t get me enough ice cream today”, “my feet hurt”, “i look huge.” any kind of whiny complaints about his weight, really.

which segues into, a big thing i think canonically would pose issues for him (and make for good kink content) is wanting to be fit and muscular, and of course trying to diet over and over. arthur finds the attempts very cute! the man doesn’t lose a pound and at a certain point he stops with that completely— he is a hopeless food addict.

arthur is good about bringing him freshly-baked treats from the bakeries in london, plenty of chocolate boxes, teatime snacks… and mcdonald’s when he’s feeling nice. maybe sometimes brings home munchkins or a whole box of a dozen donuts from dunkin’ with sugary iced coffee. it’s not like alfred can really leave the house and get things for himself… he trods from room to room and nothing more, struggles with the stairs and resigns himself to resting on the first floor only, exhausted whenever he has to slowly teeter to the fridge or restroom. he lives off food deliveries being the only semblance of independence he has left, but eventually, he can’t even make it to the door without collapsing, so that also has to stop.

when it gets too hard for alfred to waddle his weight on his fat ankles for more than a few steps, arthur takes the reins and does everything for him, makes sure he’s comfortable at all times. alfred is impossibly massive in every way, with a gut that dips down low and H-cup breasts, back rolls stacking upon his already fat ass cheeks, the most pillowy arm flab, a triple chin… he gets fat in places arthur didn’t even know could get fat.

taking care and waiting on alfred hand and foot does definitely remind him of the simpler times when he was dependent on the great british empire. it’s funny how wistful he can get when he sits next to a 750-pound immobile alfred in his huge recliner, feeding him hamburgers and chocolate cake while he plays video games.

GOING TO GET A BIT GROSS AT THE END HERE SO WARNING ⚠️

arthur doesn’t at all mind having to roll alfred over to wash him, to wipe his ass, to scrub between his sweaty folds, or that he has to clean his bedpan and jerk him off when he gets antsy… he quite enjoys it, actually. he’ll miss it when this huge body gives out and alfred will be reformed again as normal, and will go back to his usual antics.

(the two of them probably get into a horribly codependent relationship with each other every handful of decades or so)

#📧://emails #📁://original #anonymous #/weight gain #/obesity #/gross #thank you for the ask… i hope my humble rambling is enough…#i think abt this scenario a lot as you can tell lol

11 notes · View notes

em-harlsnow · 7 months ago

Text

last chapter of 'motherhood and what comes of it posted'! This took me a while and was much longer than I anticipated, but I hope people enjoy.

this is post-season 10, in which Mickey's mother comes back to see him again.

here's a snippet:

Green button, call on speaker.

Ring, ring, ring.

Click.

“Hello? Who is this?” Warbles down his phone.

He breathes, running a hand down his face.

“Mickey.”

“Mickey?” She sounds so elated that it makes his chest hurt a bit. “My son Mickey?” Like she just has to check. Like tonnes of people called Mickey have been calling her and getting her hopes up just to let them down. He doesn’t really know how he feels about being her son.

“Yeah. Ian’s here, too.” Ian’s arm holds him tighter.

A harsh breath from the other end. Maybe she’s crying. “You called.” She’s reverent again, awed by his presence.

“Clearly.” He swipes at his nose.

“Yeah - clearly.” She laughs like she’s insane. “I know - I know you called. That sounded stupid. I just… I wasn’t expecting you to. I get it. I’m coming into your life unannounced after so long it must feel - weird. And strange. I get it. I’m just- I’m so glad you called.” God, she’s definitely crying.

And here's the link:

I hope you enjoy, I really appreciate any support <33

#shameless #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction

21 notes · View notes

pinkcrocss · 8 months ago

Text

Limoreau #2: No Two Sides

A/n: Yay! Another One-Shot while I continue to procrastinate on my multi-chapter fics lol

This one ended up being waaayyyy longer than I wanted and I'm not really that happy with it, but if I don't post it now, I literally never will. Anyway, here's my second fanfiction ever.

The initial premise was "Villain!Marie", but it turned into something else

Think, Jordan and Marie on opposing sides

4,400 words

Dodging the path of the laser beam headed towards them, Jordan felt sweat drip down their face as they sent another pulse blast towards their would-be attacker. Knocking her off-balance, Jordan slid across the ground, swapping back into their male form just as an ice-shard was hurled towards them. Checking the perimeter of the room, Jordan could see the bodies of Vought’s security forces strung around as well as one or two incapacitated rebel Supes.

Initially, the fight had begun at the entryway of Vought tower, when they had been ambushed by members of a supe rebel group.

Well, an “ambush” was far from what it truly was, as Vought actually received intel of the imminent attack a few days prior. That’s why they had seen it fit to ensure that Luke, Andre, Jordan and the other remaining members of the Seven would be in Vought tower that day, as well as beefing up their security forces around the perimeter.

The group, Bloodbath, had been slowly growing in popularity and notoriety over the past several years. At first, Vought had tried to obscure any knowledge of the group’s existence. A group of rogue supes, turning on the very company that created them wasn't exactly a good look. But after several high profile attacks on both public and secret Vought facilities, it had become an impossible task. With a campaign of freeing all the imprisoned supes from Vought facilities like Elmira, Shady grove and even the recently exposed “woods”; their aim to “expose Vought’s true corruption”; as well as a charismatic leader, Jordan could almost understand why so many dangerous/unmarketable Supes had begun gravitating to the group.

In all honesty, Vought had probably viewed the upcoming attack as a PR win. An attack from a small group of dissatisfied, defective supes that they could paint as supervillains, defeated by the Seven on their home turf. This was much needed in the wake of homelander’s recent “retirement”. After having subdued him using the strength of the re-awakened Soldier boy in order to stop Homelander's plans for supe domination at the White House, what remained of the seven seemed a weak imitation of what it had once been. Led by Starlight as the new team captain, the remaining ranks consisted of A-train, Silver Kincaid from the UK, and 5 new grads essentially plucked from the top rankings of God U; which just so happened to include Jordan, Luke and Andre. This was the exact PR event Vought needed to highlight the strength of the new Seven. Unfortunately, what they hadn’t counted on, was her.

Jordan was sure that the other members of the Seven were still preoccupied fighting off the small, borderline army of rogue supes infesting every corner of Vought tower. It was becoming more clear that that was the plan all along.

Initially the attack had started at the entrance of HQ. A barrage of rogue supes going after every human in the vicinity. But as reports started coming in of similar attacks at every major entry and exit of Vought tower, two things were made clear: (1) Vought had severely underestimated exactly how many supes this group had at their disposal and (2) This was a much more coordinated attack than anybody had anticipated.

The chaotic coordination of the whole thing was what raised Jordan’s suspicions. There didn’t seem to be a goal. They weren’t targeting anyone in particular, nor did they seem to be moving towards any place in particular. It almost felt like a distraction. And that was what led Jordan to branch off on their own and head to the basement, where they knew the archives were held. It would be the most difficult area to infiltrate, seeing as there was no direct entry from the outside.

And that is where Jordan found themselves now, facing off against a more elite delegation of the attacking supes, that had been dutifully attempting to take down the barriers that sealed the Vought archives, for whatever reason, Jordan couldn't fathom.

The security personnel for the archives had already been defeated, and Jordan had managed to take down two of the rogue supes, leaving them to face off with the remaining three: the girl with laser eyes, the guy with ice powers, and a third one that hadn’t done much of anything yet.

Laser girl was once again rising and Jordan had switched back to their female form so they could dodge the projectiles being sent by the Ice guy. Quickly switching to their Male form as they sensed another laser blast coming from the girl, they didn‘t have enough time to avoid the ice sheet that the other supe had created on the ground behind them, before they fell on their back. Slightly disoriented, Jordan attempted to get up, only to feel the ground around them begin to warp. They felt a sudden sharp heat as if they were being surrounded by hot magma.

Thankfully, being in their male form kept them from taking any physical damage, but the pain could still be felt. Jordan looked up to see the third supe, who until that moment hadn’t been doing much, carefully maneuvering their arms. At the same time, the metallic ground around them started to change shape and wrap around their torso, arms and legs, essentially sealing them to the ground.

Jordan hastily tried to maneuver their body up in an attempt to free themselves, but as they had assumed, they were well and truly stuck. For now they would stay in their male form to hopefully withstand the barrage of attacks soon to come their way, as they could only pray that one of their team members would have the foresight to also check down in the archives.

As expected both laser girl and ice guy immediately started laying into them with a flurry of attacks. Jordan’s male form could withstand it for now, but they knew eventually the damage would start to bleed through.

Quickly they closed their eyes to block out any errant ice shards from the bombardment of ice projectiles hitting their torso. They tried to ignore the mounting pressure of the Laser beams at their chest.

“What the hell?? Nothing's working!” Jordan could hear a raspy voice complain. Probably the ice guy, they thought.

A more feminine voice chimed in, “Just keep going. He can't hold out forever.” Laser girl.

Just as Jordan was beginning to lose hope in any actual help arriving in time, they felt both the ice attacks and Laser attacks suddenly come to a stop. They had just enough time to briefly open their eyes before their ears were assaulted with a piercing screech.

They could blearily make out the shapes of various Vought security forces rushing into the room, having finally picked up on the security breach in the archives. The idiots were blasting the high frequency supe repelling alarm, that while having incapacitated Jordan’s three attackers, was also giving them the sensation that their head was going to literally explode.

Unable to maneuver their arms or body in general, Jordan was quickly reaching their breaking point when they saw a sudden flash of red. Turning their head as far as they could, they could see that the Vought security officer that had been holding the alarm device was screaming while bleeding out of a severed arm, the other half laying on the ground, still holding the awful device.

He could see fear and panic on the faces of the security guards that didn’t have their masks lowered as a figure stepped into the room, followed by two other rebel supes. She strode in confidently, arm outstretched towards the currently bleeding guard. Her long, dark red trench coat swished by her calves, she was wearing her locs in a complicated braid going down her back, and of course the red lipstick Jordan always associated with her on her lips.

The leader of the rebel group bloodbath calmly strode further into the room until she was right next to the guard that was still clutching what was left of their severed arm. She then cooly stepped onto the alarm device, destroying it. As she slowly pulled out her ear plugs, even Jordan gave a relieved sigh at the blissful silence, though they knew the danger was anything but lessened.

There was an eerie stillness in the room as the Vought security personnel began full on panicking, terrified to make a single move. Jordan could hear anxious whispers and mutters around the room.

“That's her isn’t it?”

“...Bloody Marie? That’s what they call her!”

“Shit! I heard she can turn a person inside out and strangle them with their intestines…”

Glancing up at her face, Jordan caught Marie rolling her eyes. “Are they still calling me that dumb-ass name?” She sounded almost exasperated. “Honestly, at this point I’m fully blaming Andre.”

The other formerly incapacitated, rogue, supes began to slowly rise as they recovered from the auditory attack of the anti-supe alarm. Seeing this, the Vought guards, having broken out of their stupor, were quick to point their weapons towards the immediate threat in the room, Marie.

Seeing a flash of rage on Marie’s face Jordan tried to prevent the inevitable, “MARIE! NO!”

It was already too late as the room descended into a cacophony of head explosions. The guards were running and ducking in panic, some attempting to shoot her with their weapons.

Marie would simply cause the arms of the guards pointing their guns to explode before turning her sights to more of her victims. Jordan could do nothing but close their eyes as they tried to dissociate from the screams of agony and fear.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, there was quiet. They could hear heavy breathing and the sound of liquid dripping. As they opened their eyes and took a look around, they could see how Marie’s little group truly lived up to their name, Bloodbath.

The entire area was awash in red blood. Dripping down the walls and pooling around the bodies on the ground. Glancing at Marie's face, she looked completely out of it. Staring ahead as if she was in another place at a different time. Just as suddenly she seemed to snap back into herself, glancing around the room with obviously feigned disinterest before turning her eyes back to the other occupants.

“Mel! Jacob! Great job clearing the scene.” She was smiling and speaking to Laser girl and ice boy.

“Why don’t you head out and stay as lookout while we finish up here. Make sure the corridor stays clear for at least another fifteen minutes.”

The two supes nodded in deference, before quickly stumbling out. Still reeling from the after effects of the noise attack.

Seemingly satisfied that she had the appropriate lookouts, Marie walked over to join the other two supes she had brought along with her.

The first was a thin, small mousy looking young girl with Dark skin and big round eyeglasses. The other was a rather stocky, heavy set white guy with limp, brown hair and freckles all over his face.

Marie was looking at the girl, a gentle hand laid on her shoulder. “Hey, Aisha. You got this okay? Just like we practiced.”

The girl who had been staring at the ground nervously, looked up at Marie with pure adoration. You would think Marie had hung the moon in the sky.

“Okay…” she answered in a quiet, shy voice, before bounding over to the keypad that granted access to the security doors of the archives. Jordan watched as she gently placed her fingers on the keypad before her eyes started to emit a bright green glow and she almost seemed to fall into a trance, muttering an array of fast moving words and equations that Jordan could barely make out.

Turning around to the other Supe, Marie angled her head to gesture towards the locked opening of the main archives. “Marco, you know what to do.”

Giving an affirmative nod, Marco, the bigger supe, calmly headed off to stand where Marie had indicated.

Jordan immediately felt when Marie’s eyes landed on them. The weight of Marie’s gaze had become a familiar sensation now. Of the various encounters they had had when dispatched to handle yet another Bloodbath attack on a Vought center, it was a sensation they always seemed to seek out. Sometimes they felt it, sometimes they didn’t.

In the time that they had been lost in their own head, Marie had managed to saunter over to where they were still melded into the ground. Now she crouched down and gently looked over them.

“Jordan…So sorry, you had to get caught up in this.” Her face slipped into a gentle smile.

“Although, I shouldn’t be surprised you were the only one who saw through our little distraction play.” She let out a humorless chuckle.

“Marie.” Jordan plead. “You have to stop this. Look at all these casualties.”

Here they tried to angle their head towards the dead bodies scattered all around the room. “This can’t be worth it.”

Marie’s face looked blank. Jordan thought back to all the glimpses of her they’d caught over the years as Bloodbath had been growing into a bigger threat. Ever elusive, Jordan and the rest of the seven were never able to pin her down as she and her fiercely loyal cohorts would destroy more and more of Vought's detainment centers, leaving behind mass human casualties and adding more unstable supes to their ranks. Those same supes pledging themselves to Marie with a devotion that bordered on spiritual.

Just as quickly, a different glimpse of Marie flashed through their mind. A young, fresh-faced, doe-eyed Marie. Freshly enrolled in God U, fawning over Jordan as if they’d hung the stars up in the sky, desperately excited to join Brink’s crime fighting course and make her way into the seven.

Jordan hadn’t even thought twice about rejecting her. No social media presence, unmarketable powers, she was probably just some overly entitled freshman, Mommy and daddy’s perfect little hero, Jordan had thought. Probably never heard no before in her life. If only they had known…

If they had known, would it have changed anything? If they had known about Red river.. If they had known brink was gonna frame her for the accident at the Vought tower party… if they had known about Elmira, about the woods, about Brink… would they have intervened? Could they have prevented what happened?

Jordan was brought out of their thoughts by a scoff from Marie. Looking up, they caught sight of glaring at them sideways.

“Jordan… Vought has to be brought down. Whatever sacrifices have to be made will be worth it.”

“Really?!” Jordan was frustrated now.

“Is this what it’s about? Some kind of vengeance kick by just aimlessly slaughtering humans? You think that’s gonna help anybody??!”

Marie actually looked dumbfounded for a minute. “Aimlessly… Ugh, Jordan! Oh my god, I’m not Homelander! This isn’t some fucking supe-supremacy shit. This is about bringing down Vought! I’m not just going after innocent humans.”

Jordan thinks back to that fateful Night at Godolkin. The blood and bodies all over the front entrance to the freshman dorms. As Vought had reported, one of the new freshmen had gone crazy. Lost her mind they said. There were reports that she had been causing a disturbance threatening other students, and when Godolkin had sent security to check it out, she had murdered them in cold blood. 12 innocent humans. Their bodies eviscerated so badly, it was borderline impossible to distinguish them from one another. Then she had supposedly run off, not to be heard from again until a month later when there was a violent break-in at the Elmira Adult facility.

Jordan could remember the somber faces of the family members of the victims at the Vigil that was held at Godolkin. That was a sight they would never forget.

They looked Marie coldly in the eye. “Is that why you senselessly murdered those 12 people back at Godolkin? In cold Blood??!”

“Senseless… In cold bl-” her mouth gave a sardonic twist.

“Wow, Jordan. And here I thought you were one of the smarter ones. You truly drank the Vought koolaid, huh? Was it worth it? Kissing ass? Ignoring what was right in front of you so you could get that cushy little spot in the Seven? I can’t believe I actually..”

Here she seemed to stop herself. Jordan almost questioned her before she suddenly turned to look them square in the eye. Jordan could see nothing but rage in her eyes.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE I’D BE IF I HADN’T FOUGHT BACK THAT NIGHT?!” The other two occupants in the room flinched, and seeing this, Marie tried to compose herself.

“Innocent people? Please.” Here she gave another eye roll.

“Vought sent those thugs to kidnap me. To take me to Elmira since your precious Brink kicked me out. You never questioned why they sent Vought security to handle an “out of control student” instead of campus security? You never questioned why they were wearing tactical gear? You never noticed the fucking van at the crime scene?”

Jordan tried to ignore the growing anxiety they could feel at the back of their mind. Because yes. The story had always seemed a bit convenient. But what else did they have to go off of?

“They would have kept me there indefinitely. I would have never been free again. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, huh? I mean, you let the woods happen right under your nose.” At this Marie sent them a sadistic smirk.

Jordan felt their face go hot. They recalled when the woods had finally been exposed. Marie and her cohorts had broken into the school. Freeing the trapped kids and revealing all the sick and twisted experimentation that had been happening. The newly freed inhabitants had immediately set upon the school, desperate to enact their vengeance.

At the end of the day it had been an aptly named bloodbath. The students at the school and Marie’s group had lost people on both sides. Including Luke’s brother. Luke had been inconsolable.

At the end of the day, Brink, Shetty and a Dr. Cardosa had all been implicated when everything came to light. Jordan had been heartbroken. Contending with the fact that his only father figure as well as moral compass had been mixed up in all of that.

Marie was still speaking. “I mean, when I got there do you know what they were doing to poor Aisha?” At this, she sent a gentle look to the young girl who seemed to be communing with the unseen computer codes within the archive’s security system.

“They had her hooked up to all these devices, trying to see if they could overload her with all the information on the world wide web! She was catatonic for WEEKS after we rescued her!”

Jordan tried to imagine it, and their heart broke a little.

“Jordan.” Marie went on. “This all begins and ends with Vought. Homelander, Soldier boy, Shetty, Brink, me… there’s one common denominator. All the lies, all the corruption, all the bloodshed. If the rest of the world knew what Vought truly was, maybe everyone else could have a chance. Maybe all this misery could actually count for something.”

Now her eyes were looking into theirs imploringly. Jordan tried to think of what to say but was quickly interrupted before they could.

“Marie! I’m in!” Squeaked an excitable little voice.

Marie turned around, a proud smile on her face. “Aisha, that’s amazing! I told you could do it! Now stand back a bit. Marco, you know what to do.”

The girl, Aisha, did as she was told just as there was a muted BOOM sound.

Jordan flinched, but Marie gently reassured them. “Don’t worry about it. Marco’s gotten really good at controlling the range of his explosive output.” You could almost think Marie was just an older sister cheering on her younger siblings at some kind of school competition.

Glancing up, Jordan could see acrid smoke around a hole in the center of the archive doors. Just as quickly Marie got up and began making her way over. Pulling some kind of device out of her pockets, she handed it to Aisha, gently murmuring some instructions to her and sending her off.

Jordan was starting to feel panicked.

“Marie!” They called. “Marie! You can’t do this!”

Marie gave a pause but kept walking.

“I’m sorry!”

That made her stop.

“I’m sorry! Okay?” Jordan continued. “I’m sorry I rejected you from Intro. I was shallow and I made some dumbass assumptions about you. I’m sorry we left you behind at the Vought tower party. I’m sorry I bought into Brink’s bullshit; that I didn’t realize he’d make you take the fall. I’m sorry I let Vought almost take you. I’m sorry I was so fucking blind okay? But please, Marie. I’m begging you. There has to be another way.”

Marie, who had been frozen up until that moment, sighed, looking almost defeated. Slowly, she made her way to Jordan and crouched down again.

“Jordan… you don’t have anything to be sorry for. My fight was never with you or the other supes, or even the Seven. This isn’t about humans vs. supes, this isn’t some personal vendetta, this is about Vought. All of us are just pawns in the system, and the only way to end this, for our kind to be free, is to bring down Vought.”

She made sure to look Jordan straight in the eye. “You're not a person to them Jordan, you’re a product. I’m trying to save you. Us. All of us.”

They were both looking into each other's eyes. Neither willing to break their stalemate, before Laser girl suddenly came bursting into the room.

“Marie! We tried to hold them off but they’ve figured out we’re down here. I think they’re bringing reinforcements.”

Marie turned to face the door to the archive room. “Aisha?”

The timid girl gave a nod. “I’ve downloaded everything we need.”

Marie gave a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

Turning back to Jordan, she gently stroked the side of their face. “Jordan, at some point you’re going to see Vought for what they truly are. And when you do, I’ll come and find you. Believe it or not, I always had a spot saved for you, right by my side.”

And with that she bent down, softly brushing her lips on Jordans cheek before getting up to join the rest of her crew.”

Jordan could only watch her lean figure strut confidently out of the room, feeling something like a pang in their chest. They’d have to address that some other time.

As they lay in their grounded prison, waiting for reinforcements to come and finally release them, they could hear shouting and commotion out in the corridor. The reinforcements must have run into Marie’s group. For some reason, this time as they listened to sounds of screaming and agony and fear, all they felt was a cool numbness.

The Next Day

“Tonight breaking news! As new leaks expose decades of violence and corruption from the highest levels of Vought international. Reports detailing the debauched and downright violent behavior of some of Vought’s most beloved heroes, including years of cover ups. Furthermore, the FBI will be investigating accounts of Vought institutionalizing and holding supes against their will in various-”

Ashley quickly paused the news report as she turned to the members of the seven seated around the table in the meeting room of Vought Tower. All of them were in various states of repair as they healed from battles they had fought the day prior.

Jordan for their part had their arm in a sling, from where it had been bent at an uncomfortable angle for too long and had caused a strain. Other than that, most of their superficial wounds had already healed up. On their cheek, they still felt the ghost of Marie’s touch.

Ashley was in full panic Mode.

“We’re so fucked! Okay, we gotta figure out how to spin this. Homelander’s not around anymore, so we can definitely try to pin the woods and Elmira as his doing. I mean they can’t prove otherwise, he was the face of the company for years!”

Jordan watched as she absentmindedly pulled out a thin chunk of hair.

“Shit! But what can we do about the insider trading and the russian arms deal? Jordan!”

Jordan looked up, the other team members also looking in their direction.

“Jordan this is perfect!” Ashley barreled on. “We need to make sure the younger generations aren’t spreading the mainstream narrative on social media, so that’s where you come in! We’ve been thinking up a new pride campaign for you, you know since pride month’s coming up. This will be a great distraction. You talk about your gender identity, how accepting your parents were, how Vought gave you the confidence to-”

Jordan tuned her out as they watched her ramble with an almost manic smile on her face.

“You’re not a person. You’re a product to them.”

Those words still rattled around in their head.

All Jordan had ever wanted to do was be a hero. But more and more, they were realizing that they no longer knew what that meant. They’d accomplished their biggest dream. They were in the seven, and yet they realized they hadn’t felt heroic even once the whole time they’d been here.

The feeling of this revelation reminded them of how they had felt when they had learned the truth about Brink.

“...at some point you’re going to see Vought for what they truly are. And when you do, I’ll come and find you.”

Jordan recalled those words, as they stared out the large windows of Vought tower, dissociating from the meeting still happening around them.

Perhaps they could take a walk tonight, they thought. To clear their head. No thoughts, just simply see where their feet would take them.

#It's embarrassing how long it took me to write this #You can see the writing quality dip like halfway through lmao #I just wanted it done but it kinda kept dragging out #gen v fics #gen v #jordan li #marie moreau #limoreau

21 notes · View notes