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crookedteethed · 1 day ago

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ᡣ𐭩 the good girl . • ° 　 .　 *　:.　the introduction (1)

synopsis -- Rafe is infatuated with you, his new secretary; something about a trip to Morocco. Rafe is in debt and wants you to pick up a bag of cocaine from Barry for him.

warnings: 18+ mdni mostly through Rafe's (perverted) pov, cursing, ward is still alive, smut but through fantasies, angst, Slight Dark! Rafe, drug/alcohol usage

a/n: I don't know anything about real estate so please don't take the buisness portions in this series seriously.

Series Masterlist | word count: 3.2k

You and Rafe had four scheduled meetings together before noon, each one dragging on with the monotonous drone of old men discussing business.

Rafe, easily bored, found his attention drifting away from the discussions and towards you. He couldn't help but notice the delicate beauty marks scattered across your smooth crossed legs, a detail he had committed to memory by the third meeting.

He longed for your soft voice as he listened to the sound of flapping cheeks and tedious numbers being tossed back and forth. Every now and then, just to hear it, he would interrupt with a simple question in your ear: "You got that down?"

And in response, you would always give a respectful "Yes sir" or a subtle hum on quieter days.

Rafe would watch you intently as you quickly scribbled down notes about whatever mundane topic was being discussed by the mortgage broker--so you can recite to him later.

Despite the dullness of the meetings, he found himself amused by your presence and secretly looked forward to these moments shared between just the two of you.

And then, like clockwork, that smart ass Pope Hayward would lean in and whisper something in your ear, too, ruining everything for Rafe.

Hayward had worked for R&P, the mortgage brokers for Cameron Development, and would often attend their meetings. He always sat beside you, on the opposite side of Rafe, where he was conveniently hidden behind your body and out of Rafe's line of sight.

Rafe thinks this is a sneaky move on Hayward's part since Rafe had suspicions that Hayward may have a crush on you, which only fueled his anger towards Hayward and the meetings.

If Rafe ever discovered Heyward's true feelings for you, he wouldn't hesitate to resurrect the violence of their teenage years. He'd make you watch as he reminded Heyward exactly who you belonged to, letting Heyward's blood stain his thousand-dollar leather shoes. After all, what better way to prove his love than marking his expensive Italian leather with the consequences of wanting what's his? Some men send flowers – Rafe Cameron sends messages written in bruises and blood.

The boardroom felt thick with tension as Rafe's attention ping-ponged between the financial reports and the way Heyward kept leaning toward you. His knuckles turned white around his Mont Blanc pen every time Heyward whispered something in your ear, every time you smiled politely in response.

The irony wasn't lost on him – Heyward's own secretary sat barely three feet away, yet here he was, hovering over what belonged to Rafe. His secretary. His territory.

By the fourth meeting, Rafe found himself on the brink of madness, his father, Ward Cameron, drawling tone grating on his nerves.

Mentally detached, he fantasized about indulging in a line of cocaine to awaken his senses, only to have his mind wander to envisioning himself ravishing you right atop the conference table in full view of everyone.

His imagination spiraled further, picturing the new maintenance girl he saw a couple nights ago, pleasuring you while you, upside down like a flipped turtle, sucking his cock.

A sudden pang of guilt hit Rafe as he remembered that he needed to order another batch of his "special" supplies from Barry.

He wondered if you, his new secretary, would be willing to make the call for him. His former assistant would have handled it without question, but she was long gone now.

Rafe resumed thinking about you, him, and the maintenance girl having a very sexy threesome on the conference table; he's jolted back to the present as his father's voice rings out, drawing his attention to the press room, where every man's gaze is fixed on him.

The gentle touch of your hand on the padded sleeve of his suit stirs him, and he feels like popping a boner from your warm touch.

He asks Ward to repeat himself.

Ward's voice was agitated, his tone indicating his impatience with his son. "Rafe, I want you to deal with the Morocco situation," he repeated firmly.

Later on, Rafe fumed over his father's request in his newly personalized office. Rafe's response was harsh and tense as he spat at his father, "How fair is it to dump all of this on me?!"

He had initially been planning for a sleek, earthy-toned with a black and brown look for his office. But when you mentioned your preference for dark blue and white, Rafe couldn't resist. After all, he always looked delectable in those colors, you told him (and yes, delectable was the exact word you used). So Rafe dropped his original design and went with a nautical theme instead.

"Well, son," Ward's voice cut through the air like ice, "if you could tear your eyes away from your secretary for five minutes, you might understand why the Morocco deal is crucial for this company's future."

Rafe's jaw clenched. "I wasn't--"

"Save it," Ward interrupted, his calm facade cracking. "I've seen this before, Rafe. The way you look at her, how you've redecorated your entire office to her taste. Just like all the others." He leaned forward, voice dropping. "How many secretaries have we lost because of you? How many NDAs have I had to sign?"

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Rafe's hands curled into fists, his cerulean eyes darkening with something dangerous. "This one's different," he growled.

"That's what you said about the last one." Ward's laugh was bitter. "And the one before that. Face it, son - you're becoming predictable. By this time next month, I'll be interviewing replacements. Again."

"Look," Ward's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, but Rafe wasn't about to let him finish that thought.

"No, you look," he spits at his father. "You're always pulling this crap on me - sending me off to do your dirty work like some kind of expendable pawn. 'Send Rafe to northwest Africa for two months, with our worst fucking clients' " Rafe said, fake laughing and clapping all the while." Well the joke's on me, isn't it?" Rafe's eyes blaze with anger and bitterness as years of resentment bubble to the surface.

The words flew out of Rafe's mouth like venomous arrows, each one stinging with a sharp and bitter rage. "You wouldn't dare do this to Sarah, dad--your perfect little princess. But me? I'm just the expendable son, right? Send me on a ten hour flight, unpaid, to fix someone else's mistakes!" His voice dripped with disdain as he imitated his father's words in a mocking tone.

But Ward was not cowed by his son's outburst. "Rafe, please just calm down and listen--"

Rafe's words were sharp as he cut Ward off. "Don't play dumb with me, Dad. I know exactly why you're sending me to South Africa - it's a punishment, a way to get rid of me." The tension in the office was thick and palpable as Ward yelled back, their argument echoing off the walls for all to hear.

But amidst the chaos, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity and nosiness. You had been waiting outside Rafe's office, ready to deliver an urgent message about his 3 o'clock lunch meeting with another Mortgage Broker, Dennis Rutherford.

As time ticked by and Rafe's chauffeured car waited impatiently outside, you knew you had to intervene before it was too late.

Bursting into the office uninvited, you were greeted with the sight of father and son locked in a heated battle, their words laced with anger and resentment. This was not just another work disagreement - this was a deep-rooted family conflict that threatened to tear them apart.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you awkwardly say, getting both men's attention.

Had it been anyone else, Rafe would have immediately fired them for barging in like that. However, since it was you—and he hadn’t yet had the chance to sleep with you—Rafe merely shouted a sharp "What?!" that made you recoil in fear. He felt awful about your reaction but thought he could make it up to you later when his tongue is knee-deep into your pussy.

"Your 3'oclock, sir--with Mr.Rutherford." You say, trying to mask their intimidation.

"Shit." Rafe cursed, swiping a hand across his growing buzzed head. "Did you call the chauffeur?" he asked you.

You acknowledge with a bow of your head, responding, Of course, sir, as you pass his briefcase into his hands. Rafe longed to refer to you as his good girl, yet with his father present in the room—and after already being seen openly "oogling" you earlier by his father and possibly others—he hesitated.

While escorting Rafe from the office, he looks at you and remarks:

"Join me and Rutherford for lunch."

Your heart races as you scramble to find an excuse. "I-I have a mountain of work to catch up on--"

"I don't recall asking you," he sneers, cutting you off. "I was telling you."

Twenty minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and Rafe had already downed three vodka shots, each one burning away at his paper-thin patience. The bar at Roots, despite its upscale pretense, felt suffocating.

You'd been to countless lunch meetings with him before, but something about today felt different. More dangerous. Maybe it was the way his leg kept brushing against yours under the bar, or how his cerulean eyes seemed to devour you between drinks.

Rafe Cameron, with his old money and expensive tastes, ordered another round. You watched, entranced despite yourself, as the alcohol stripped away his careful facade, revealing something raw and hungry underneath.

"Have a drink with me," he murmured, his voice honey-thick with liquor. His glazed eyes fixed on yours, holding secrets you weren't sure you wanted to understand.

"I believe one of us should stay sober, sir," you replied, fighting to keep your voice steady. The 'sir' slipped out automatically, and you watched his pupils dilate at the word.

A dark smile played at his lips as he closed his eyes, savoring your voice like another shot of vodka. Something about your presence seemed to intoxicate him more than the alcohol – a power that thrilled and terrified you in equal measure.

His hand found your knee under the bar, and you clutched your purse tighter, using it like a shield. Rafe noticed – he noticed everything about you – and his smile turned predatory.

"Just one drink," he pressed, sliding a virgin cocktail toward you. "Let go for me." The 'for me' sounded more like a claim than a request.

Forty-seven minutes in, Rutherford finally arrived to find Rafe thoroughly drunk and dangerously unraveled. The moment shattered as Rutherford launched into a tirade about debts – \$250,000 worth of them, spread across every loan shark in the city.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortably aware of Rafe's heat beside you, the way his expensive cologne mixed with top-shelf vodka.

"The money's coming," Rafe slurred, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "Big deals in the pipeline. Major commissions."

Rutherford's lip curled in disgust. "Better hope so, Cameron. Or things get ugly."

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Rafe's fist clenched on the bar, his other hand still burning against your knee, his whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.

His thoughts scattered between the mounting pressure, the need for chemical escape, and the way your pulse jumped in your throat every time he leaned too close.

Without realizing it, Rafe grabbed your shoulder roughly and whispered in your ear, nearly dislocating your shoulder blade in the process.

Rafe's desperation was palpable as he leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur. "I need you to do something for me," he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "There's a guy named Barry. He's got something I need. I need you to pick it up for me."

Your heart raced as you realized what he was asking. "What is it?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe hesitated, his gaze shifting away. "It's a bag of cocaine," he admitted finally. "I need it to clear my head, to think straight. And I need it now."

You knew the risks, but Rafe's desperation was undeniable. He was in deep trouble, and he needed your help, as you looked in those glossy cerulean eyes of his. "Alright," you sighed, "I'll do it. But this is the last time, Mr. Cameron, what will your father think?"

"What he thinks of me already—that I'm just a Rafe, his screw-up of a son," Rafe replied. Despite this, a look of relief spread across his face, although the predatory gleam in his eyes remained. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card, pressing it into your palm with trembling fingers. His touch lingered longer than necessary, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

"Barry works out of the Bellamy Building on 5th," he whispered, his hot breath reeking of vodka against your ear. "Suite 401. Tell him Rafe sent you. And for God's sake, don't let anyone follow you."

Rutherford watched this exchange with cold calculation, his jaw clenched tight. He knew exactly what was happening – he'd seen plenty of rich boys like Rafe drag their employees into their mess before.

You gathered your things, trying to ignore how Rafe's eyes followed your every movement. Just as you stood to leave, he grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise.

"One hour," he hissed. "I need it in one hour. Don't disappoint me."

The weight of what you'd agreed to settled heavy in your stomach as you walked toward the exit. Behind you, you could hear Rutherford's gravelly voice resume his threats, but Rafe's attention remained fixed on your retreating form until you disappeared through the door.

The Bellamy Building loomed like a tombstone against the afternoon sky, its worn brick facade a testament to forgotten glory. Inside, the elevator's slow climb gave you too much time to think – about Rafe's hungry cerulean eyes, his lingering touches that burned like brands, how every "yes, sir" seemed to draw you deeper into his web.

Suite 401 lurked at the end of a dimly lit hallway, distinguished only by tarnished brass numbers. Your knuckles rapped against the door – twice, then three times, just as Rafe had instructed. The sound seemed to echo down the empty corridor.

The door creaked open just enough to reveal a sliver of face: tired eyes beneath greasy long black hair, calculating and cold. "Barry?" Your voice emerged steadier than your racing heart. "Rafe Cameron sent me."

The door groaned wider. Barry matched his surroundings perfectly – disheveled but alert, like a crow picking through society's remains. His office was a study in decay: nicotine-stained walls, flickering fluorescent lights that made everything look diseased, and an ancient desk that had witnessed too many secrets.

"Well, well," Barry's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Another one of Rafe's girls." He studied you like a specimen under glass. "You know, you're all starting to blur together. Pretty. Proper. Corruptible." The last word dripped with dark amusement.

He slid a small package across the desk, but when you reached for it, his fingers trapped yours. You jerked the package away.

Inescapably, Barry's raspy laugh followed you as you ascended down the hallway, bouncing off the grimy walls like a bad omen. "Tell Rafe his debt's getting steep," he called after you, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "And honey? Better watch yourself! Pretty secretaries like you have a way of… disappearing around Rafe Cameron."

Barry's laughter echoed through the grimy hallway, following you like a shadow as you rushed toward the elevator. Each click of your heels against the worn floor seemed to mock you: Pretty. Proper. Corruptible. The words burrowed into your mind, mixing with memories of Rafe's heated stares and possessive touches.

Your mind kept circling back to Barry's words – "disappearing around Rafe Cameron" – like a moth drawn to a deadly flame. The phrase echoed in your head, mixing with memories of Rafe's possessive touches and hungry stares. Each floor the elevator descended seemed to bring a new question: How many secretaries came before you? Where did they really go?

The package felt heavier in your hands as you realized maybe it wasn't just cocaine Rafe was addicted to – maybe it was the thrill of watching people fall into his web, one pretty secretary at a time.

The elevator doors couldn't close fast enough. In its mirrored walls, your reflection looked different somehow – as if Barry's words had marked you, changed you. Your phone buzzed in your purse, Rafe's name lighting up the screen, and you realized with a shiver that maybe Barry was right. Maybe you were already corrupted – after all, here you were, picking up cocaine for your boss in a building that reeked of broken dreams and dirty money.

But that didn't mean you were corrupted by Rafe specifically… right? This was just part of the job. Just another task, like scheduling meetings or taking notes while he stared at you across the conference table. Just another "yes, sir" in a long line of things you told yourself were purely professional. Even if your heart raced every time he got too close. Even if you kept saying yes to things that crossed every line you'd ever drawn.

You were just doing your job. At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.

Back at Roots, you found Rafe alone, Rutherford's absence heavy in the air. His hands trembled as you passed him the package under the bar, his relief palpable. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and led you to the private bathroom in the back.

The fluorescent light buzzed overhead as Rafe arranged neat lines on the marble countertop. You turned to leave, but he caught your reflection in the mirror.

"Stay," he commanded softly. Then, more vulnerable: "Please."

You watched as he inhaled sharply, his body relaxing as the cocaine hit his system. When he straightened up, his eyes met yours in the mirror – pupils blown wide, but somehow clearer than before.

"Barry mentioned the money you owe him," you say carefully, your voice echoing off the pristine walls of the family restroom. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across Rafe's sharp features as he straightens up from the sink, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"You know what scares me?" Rafe suddenly said, his eyes never leaving you in his backward reflection. "Not the money I owe. Not my father. Not even my fucking addiction." His voice cracked perfectly, a rehearsed break he'd perfected over years of practice.

"I'm nothing but Dad's fuck-up son. A disappointment. A monster." He laughed bitterly, running a trembling hand through his hair. "And you… you're too good. Too pure. The way you look at me like I could be better…" His fingers traced your reflection in the mirror. "It kills me knowing I'll destroy you too. Just like I destroy everything else."

Your heart ached at his words. Without thinking, you turned to face him, reaching up to touch his cheek. "You're not a monster, Mr. Cameron. You're just—"

"Rafe," he interrupted, leaning into your touch. "Please… just call me Rafe."

You saw the vulnerability in his eyes, the pain, the self-loathing. It made you want to save him, to prove him wrong about himself. And that's exactly what he was counting on.

Because what you missed, in that moment of compassion, was the calculating gleam behind his tears. The slight upturn of his lips as you fell perfectly into place. The way his hand tightened possessively on your waist, marking you as his next conquest.

"I need you," he whispered against your palm, knowing exactly how those words would seal your fate. "You're the only one who sees me. Really sees me."

And as you whispered back words of comfort, of understanding, Rafe Cameron smiled into your hand – the same smile he'd worn when the last girl who tried to save him learned exactly what kind of monster he really was.

The bathroom's fluorescent light flickered once, casting strange shadows across his face. In that brief moment of darkness, his mask slipped, revealing something hungry and triumphant in his expression. But by the time the light steadied again, all you could see was the broken man you desperately wanted to fix.

After all, the best predators know exactly how to play wounded.

a/n: thanks for making it to the end of this chapter!! as always all likes comments, and reblog keeps me motivated! 💕🫶🏾

Taglist -

@trapistani @alexxavicry @rafestoothbrush @ttrinity @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4rafey @Itristessedureratoujours @hittmeandtellmeyouremine @yoongling @lilithblackkk

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mattluvr · 1 month ago

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CEO!matt, a concept.

💸 what if. . . matt sturniolo was CEO of a company?

at the grand old age of 21, matt sturniolo is the world’s youngest CEO, having inherited his father’s finance company in light of his untimely retirement.

he doesn’t complain; matt has a team of seniors to make his decisions for him, the only thing he insists on chipping in on every year being the annual christmas party. which, naturally, is infamous. it’s what most of the company’s budget gets blown on after all.

in his third year as the owner of sturniolo finances, income in the billions as the company thrived, matt threw the biggest, loudest, craziest christmas party of what he was sure was history, the entire floor of a fancy hotel packed with employees.

and some stragglers. including you.

your brother had dragged you along, overly excited about the first sturniolo finances christmas party of his employment, and had swiftly got drunk and left you to stand like a lemon by the drinks table. which is where matt found you, words slurring from one too many tequila shots, appointing you his newest secretary. one of the only decisions he’s made for the company.

and today is the day you start your new role, which matt obviously can’t remember offering you, but lets you sit at the desk outside his office, head still pounding from the party over a week ago.

“are you sure i gave you this job?” he mutters, running a hand over his face. you nod, tucking a loose strand of your bun behind your ear, hoping you’re still retaining the sophisticated look you tried to construct this morning when getting ready.

“mhm. at that party.”

“yeah, but i did a lot of things at that party.” matt says with a grimace. “like swing from a chandelier…”

you laugh, reminded of the last image you saw before you left the hotel, supporting a tipsy brother on your hip, matt dangling from the structure above you with one arm, hair messy and shirt loose. “that was pretty funny. and impressive.”

“thank you. but not the point.” he frowns, folding his arms, trying to act serious. “i don’t even think i’ve given you any paperwork to fill out. shit, i’ve not even interviewed you.”

“well, you’re the CEO, aren’t you? you can just interview me now.”

matt furrows his brows again, eyes darting to his office behind him and eventually gives in, opening the door for you with a shrug. he often doesn’t interact with any of the people he employs, the whole process too mindnumbingly boring for him, but is now starting to realise why drunk him even offered you a job position in the first place.

you’re fucking unreal, mini skirt a tad too short, shirt just slightly too low cut, and matt is drinking it all in. professionally. of course. he clears his throat, dragging his eyes back to your face with a soft blush as he gestures to the empty room. “take a seat.”

you smirk at him over your shoulder, sitting down heavily in the armchair facing matt’s desk, your skirt riding up as you cross your legs, thighs on display. matt rolls his neck; you’re trying to kill him, he swears. he follows you over nevertheless, sitting opposite and offering you a polite smile.

when your dimple shows in reply, matt doesn’t even think about the interview. “yeah, i don’t know why i did all that. you’re hired.”

“but…?”

matt holds out a hand. he knows this is a bad decision, hiring based off of physical attraction only, but that’s the last thing on his mind. he just wants you out before he blows a load in his underwear, semi poking him each time he shifts.

“you can start tomorrow morning, 8am. i’ll email the paperwork down to reception.”

shocked, you slowly stand up, and matt leans forwards, concealing a groan into his hand. “uh, well, thanks. i’ll… see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” matt nods, grinning weakly. “yep, tomorrow.”

and then you’re gone, leaving matt alone with his thoughts. fuck. hiring you? he’s screwed.

taglist. . . ( @mattslolita, @aelinslegend, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot, @conspiracy-ash, @emely9274 ) is open!

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #wait i need him bad #matt sturniolo x reader #secretary!reader #CEO!matt by mattluvr

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tocinoandkamatis · 3 months ago

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can you really blame me?

your sat in your office chair, hunched over the same paperwork again and again until someone had offered you a box of chocolates.

it was your boss- your oh so incredibly hot boss. you dont know why but youve always had a thing for him.

so you thank him- taking the chocolate in your hands and popping it in your mouth.

only for a few minutes later, your left feeling uneasy, hot and bothered.. uncomfortably shifting in your seat and biting your lip. sighing, you pick up your mirror and- well your flushed. pink cheeks and lips with neediness written all over your face. your mind wanders- why? what did i do? i was only ever focused on the paperwork- and then it snapped the chocolate.

you stare at the trashcan and dig out the cover plastic of the small treat, you read it and- 'aphrodisiac'...there imprinted with heart dots for the i right on the back of the wrapper.

and to make sure.. you ask your boss.

and thats when it happens. your lying on his desk with your top buttons undone and your trousers slung over your heels. his big fat cock bullying into your cervix in an excruciating pace. you dont really know whats gotten to this- really, you dont. you just knocked on his office to ask about something and the next second you sat on his desk, his greedy hands trying to tug off your clothes as fast as he can.

your crying and moaning clenching down on him, milking him completely dry. his hand cover your face as an attempt to shush you up- not that he doesnt want you to scream his name. its just that his grandfather is outside right now, talking business with other important men.

but my god he cant stop. hes completely drunk in pleasure- maybe due to the aphrodisiac? but you may find he never ate that chocolate and this event is only because of his need for you.

so your clawing at his back, arching yours as he thrust into you as deep as he could. youve came- what, two times? your sure this would be your fourth. your shaking and moaning but he doesnt stop.

"you like that sweetheart? hm? you like the way im fucking ya hard?"

he grunts as he burries his nose into your neck. you cant do anything but let out a string of whines and whimpers. nodding frantically as his movements get sloppy and uncoordinated, a shrill sign of his impending release. a few things had fallen off the desk but at this point, none of you cared.

"fuck- so tight and warm, just 'f me"

he groans, his small noises laced with a small whine and high pitched whimper as he comes. his hot sead spilling inside of you while your eyes roll to the back of your head.

and finally, he manages to catch his breath and pull out.

"such a pretty little pussy..."

he sighs and presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

but your left wondering 'what the fuck just happened and what the fuck is happening?' because hes now in a meeting- pointing out the proposal of his company and back to his serious and cold character.

seriously? did he not just wreck me? you wonder how strong this guy is because- well your still sensitive and shaking slightly and he just looked like he just had cake and coffee at his favourite restaurant.

my thoughts are occupied on the past events though... but then again can you really blame me?

kuroo, geto, osamu, aizawa, kyoya ootori, kenma, nanami

#ceo #smut #office #kyoya ootori #kuroo tetsurou #geto suguru #aizawa shouta #hq atsumu #new blog #haikyuu #ouran high school host club #mha #secretary #x you smut #kozume kenma #nanami kento

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cinnabon-sweetroll-tiramisu · 4 months ago

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"Comfortable sweetheart?"

"Ah, you bastard, don't—"

"Hm? You want me to go faster?"

"No you prat—ah, oh gods! Oh! I hate you—"

"Lying already? We both know you love me." – CEO Arthur and Personal Secretary Merlin

[Arthur finds it cute that Merlin denies how much he loves having Arthur inside him, how easily he gives in to Arthur's fantasies. Arthur chuckles as he stares into Merlin's blissful face, a look that suits his personal secretary.]

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metiredlr · 4 months ago

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he loves him sm im gonna be sick

#cries.....#and then they became CEO and secretary #tears in my eyes im gonna miss the tomato head x lettuce head duo #ALSO FUBUKI NOOOO #midorikawa ryuuji #kiyama hiroto #hiromido #inazuma eleven #inazuma 11 #ina11

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sleeplessdreamer123 · 2 years ago

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Fanfic Idea! (Lucemond, modern, why Lucerys is the savior of the office)

Aemond, CEO of his company, must never be without Lucerys, his dear nephew, his only surviving secretary of seven years, at any costs. The entirety of the office knows this. The moment you are in the direct line of sight of the monster of a man, and you don't see Lucerys anywhere near him, you would need to accept that you're doomed.

It was something that the employees noticed in the beginning after watching them for almost a week. They know Aemond to be a strict demonic entity with the constant need for perfection, which is understandable once you realize that the company was only handed to him because the former CEO, his brother Aegon, decided to create a huge scandal of himself in a charity ball, destroying his (nonexistent) credibility and ruining the company's good name. Aemond was damage control, named CEO in order to fix the mess of his older brother, and he will do whatever it takes to prove himself better than his brother.

So of course the company was put to hell in the very first month he arrived. Constant tears, people getting fired left and right, the fear of one mistake getting so strong it haunts some of the veterans in their sleeps.

He has mellowed a bit, now that the company is back to the way it was before, hells, it got even better, but he was still a demon. If even the slightest mistake was noticed (and it was often noticed), everyone would hung their heads as they hear the cold words of Aemond Targaryen. The worst to have it would be his secretaries, almost thirty hired in the past year, yet the longest one to survive only stayed for two whole weeks.

And then came Lucerys Velaryon, a young man, fresh out of college, eager to work for the most powerful CEO in the realms. The employees bet he would be crying and resigning in three days.

Except he didn't. In fact, the first thing he did was admonish Aemond for how he talked to one of the newly hired. They all watched in awe when all the demon did was tell them to get back to work, and ordered Lucerys to bring him his coffee. If anyone else had even breathed loud enough while he was in his angry tirade, they would've been fired, black listed, never to work in a large company ever again!

Then they noticed the differences.

No one is able to go to Aemond when certain problems arise, hells, going to him in a normal day for a normal report was terrifying enough, his glare was enough to make even the most confident man stutter.

One of them complained without knowing Lucerys was behind them, and when Lucerys asked her to report the problem to Aemond, putting her on the spot in the end of the meeting, she had no choice but to report the problem, bracing herself for the verbal abuse she will no doubt receive. She was greatly surprised when she heard nothing but Lucerys' gently voice, talking to Aemond as if they were *le gasp* normal employees.

And Aemond, the devil himself, actually sat there and listened. No glares, no pointed anger, he just sat there, nodded his head, and told her to send for the one who might have made the mistake.

They took their complaints to Lucerys after that. Then they noticed how much calmer he was when Lucerys was around. No decrease of salary, no increase of workloads, hells, someone actually reported that his lips twitched upwards. Upwards!

But the real kicker, what really showed them just how much they needed Lucerys, was when he took a day off because he had a cold.

The office returned to the hell it was before, except it was even worse. Withing the span of five hours, two people resigned, three were fired, and seven were in a verge of a mental breakdown.

They worshipped his feet when they saw the familiar curly haired boy, begging him to take his vitamins, to wear warmer clothes, to drink healthy, anything, anything at all, just please don't leave them there with the devil ever again!

And Lucerys, their sweet angel, their Maiden reborn, told them he would do his best. (He was touched that they care for his well-being, though he didn't really know just how much he saves them from the he-devil that was, is and always will be, Aemond Targaryen).

#aemond x lucerys #lucemond #lucerys velaryon #aemond targaryen #lucerys x aemond #aemond one eye #CEO Aemond #Secretary Lucerys

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jjungkookislife · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh, Mr. Kim"

pairing: ceo!jungkook x secretary!reader

genre: ceo au, established relationship, fluff and implied smut [18+]

summary: Jungkook is tired of hiding his relationship.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, alcohol use/mention, mention of anxiety, elopement, implied smut, i've had this sitting in my drafts for years, oops!

date: November 12, 2023

“I can’t believe we’re doing this!” you squeal, clutching Jungkook’s hand tightly in yours as you go up the steps in your heels.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Jungkook asks nervously when you reach the roof of one of his hotels. The garden on the rooftop is fantastic, and the gazebo in the center has a perfect view of the skyline. Inside awaits the officiant waiting to marry you.

“Of course not! I’m beyond excited!” You assure him, kissing his lips before you lead him toward the gazebo. Jungkook has a goofy smile on his lips, his cheeks dusted pink. He doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone as much as he loves you, and for you to become his wife in a few brief minutes thrills him.

It had been a whirlwind of a proposal. The two of you were too in love and too eager to wait months to plan an extravagant wedding, so you chose to elope—just the two of you and your officiant. You held your marriage license in your hand, greeting the officiant and handing it over to him.

Your smile was radiant, almost blinding, as you looked at Jungkook. You held his hands in yours, his thumb stroking your soft skin. His heart raced in his chest, and his blood pounded in his ears, but he was ecstatic. He’d been dreaming of this day for years, and although an elopement wasn’t precisely what he had in mind, he wouldn’t change it for the world. There would always be time for parties later on. He just wanted you to be his wife.

He sat in bed and watched you sleep when he awoke this morning. His hand caressed your back, tracing the curve of your waist. So beautiful, so delicate, and all his. He spent a moment just admiring you, thinking of all the mishaps and arguments that eventually led you here. Of course, he’d been a strict boss, but he found you attractive from the moment he laid eyes on you, and all he could do to keep from drooling over you was to keep you at arm’s length. But that could only do so much.

You were resilient, confident, and not afraid to put him in his place if he crossed the line. He liked that you treated him like he deserved, despite being your boss. Few people were willing to step on his toes and put him in his place when he was an asshole. It made it easy to sort through people pleasers and people who were only after his money, fame, or company. But not you. You always knew how to rein him in when he was too much of a dick. It was a front he had to put up at work, something he didn’t quite care to do so much, but with you, he could tear down that persona and let you see who he really was.

Most people would be terrified they’d lose their job, and few lasted as his secretary. He usually had a queue at a staffing company ready to send in the next after the first one quit. He didn’t blame them; he was hard to put up with, expected perfection 100% of the time and would settle for nothing less. His being an ass was only icing on the cake for them to quit. Until you arrived, fresh-faced and eager to please… until he was a dick to you and you decided you didn’t care if you got fired or not. It was then that Jungkook got to see the fiery side of you, the one with the quick tongue and witty remarks. He found you interesting, and you did your job exceptionally well.

It wasn’t hard for him to get a crush on you almost immediately. He usually found himself staring at you from his office, unable to get much work done. He couldn’t help it. He often wondered what you liked, what you did outside of work, and what childhood stories you were too embarrassed to tell but would share just to get a laugh. He thought about you more often than not, which led to him avoiding you whenever he could. He’d never worked from home for so long until he was forced to come back into the office and see you sitting prettily at your desk. You’d asked if he was okay, even brought him homemade soup, and listened to him talk like a friend. He was in deep.

Lucky for him, you were falling for him as well. You tried to deny it at first, of course. You wanted to write it off as admiration for him being so successful, but it wasn’t long before your heart fluttered in your chest at the mere sight of him.

That wasn’t normal.

And your co-worker and nosy friend in marketing, Jung Hoseok, let you know. He’d often come to your floor to drop off reports or under the guise of needing to relay a message to you so that he could tease you about your crush. He was very observant, quickly picking up on the way you and Jungkook acted around each other. On days you wore an outfit he liked, he’d come in whistling a cheerful tune. You tried to deny it but put the theory to the test one day, and it irritated you to inform Hoseok he’d been correct after a few more testing dates.

Jungkook was your boss, the CEO, and you were just his secretary. His past love life had included models, idols, fashion designers, and movie stars. He wouldn’t date his secretary. So you put on a bright wide grin and stifled your feelings for him… except they only got worse as you got to know him.

He wasn’t this domineering giant you thought of him to be. He was lovely, soft, and had a boyish charm that made him fun to be around. That side of him was solely for you. He confessed one night while you were working late in his office.

It had been a long, spine-breaking day. The two of you were stuck in his office long after everyone had gone home. That included the cleaning staff. The only other people in the building were security; they only came to your floor once an hour. Jungkook’s bodyguards lingered around the floor, alert but not crowding his office. So it was just the two of you sitting across from each other on his couch, the desk long forgotten when you’d both grown uncomfortable sitting on stiff chairs. He’d have you order new ones in the morning.

Can your heart skyrocket out of your chest? It sure felt like it would when your fingers brushed upon reaching for the same report. You both froze, your eyes meeting his painfully slow.

Was his heart thundering in his chest like yours was? Had he felt that too? Or was this all in your head, and you were projecting?

“Y/n,” he said your name so softly, you wondered if you imagined it. He had never called you by your first name, always your last name, always professional.

You looked at him in bewilderment; had you heard him correctly?

“Yes?” you responded, mind still whirring with thoughts, your fingers still touching. You were both too stunned to make a move.

Jungkook seemed to hesitate, biting his tongue to keep himself professional, but he couldn’t be the only one feeling this. He couldn’t be. Not with how you were gazing at him, eyes glittering with hope.

“Do you feel it too?” he whispers, his fingers lacing with yours gently, not wanting to startle you or make the situation worse if you didn’t.

You swallowed thickly. Surely you were dreaming? You’d fallen asleep at your desk from exhaustion, and now you were in a very lucid dream with your boss.

Jungkook waits patiently for your answer, his palm pressing against yours.

“I feel it,” you finally answer, soothing his worries as a tiny smile pulls at his lips. He holds your hand for a moment, relishing in its softness and the relief that floods through him.

“I don’t-” Jungkook clears his throat, hoping to gather his wits. “I rarely do this. I don’t understand what is happening. All I do know is that I am infatuated with you. I want to know more about you, who you are, and what you like. Would you like to come to my place for dinner?”

Dream or not, you would not let this opportunity pass you by. You eagerly nodded, rising from your seat when he did. He smiled at you, his cheeks tinted pink as he hastily gathered his belongings and led you out of his office. He held the door for you, allowing you to pass by him and catch a whiff of your perfume. It was sweet but not overbearing, perfect for you.

Jungkook couldn’t help but stare as you walked, the sway of your hips so alluring. You looked at him over your shoulder and winked, making his face turn red as he loosened his tie before catching up to you.

You were thoroughly surprised that by dinner, Jungkook meant he’d cook for you. He must have been exhausted from such a long day—you know you were—so watching him cook for the both of you was such a sweet gesture. You offered to help, but he handed you a glass of wine and told you to make yourself comfortable. You did so, leaning against the counter as you watched him prepare your meal.

Talking to Jungkook was easy. He made you feel comfortable, and that’s perhaps why the two of you sat on his couch talking long after dinner and after the wine. Never in a million years would you have imagined yourself sitting in his home, gazing into his eyes dreamily until his hand caressed your cheek, drawing you in for a kiss.

A kiss.

One kiss.

That’s all it took for Jungkook to know you were the one.

It had been a little over forty-eight hours since his proposal, and when you woke this morning, you didn’t think you’d be becoming Mrs. Jeon. And yet, here you were with the love of your life. You gazed lovingly into Jungkook’s eyes, smiling as you clasped his hands in yours.

Jungkook had been excited, maybe even a tad nervous, when you peered open one eye and then the other, moaning at his soft touch on your back.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he’d said with a grin.

“Morning, handsome.” you giggled when he looked away, his ears burning red. You knew he was smiling, even if he had hidden his face beneath his palms.

“When do you want to get married?” he asked off-handedly, his hand moving lower to caress your thigh instead.

“I’d marry you today if I could,” you answered honestly, your hand lacing with his as you sat up to meet his gaze.

He seemed surprised, his cute lips in the shape of an ‘o’. His long hair fell over his eyes, and you brushed it out of the way before cupping his face. Your thumb caressed his cheek, rubbing gentle circles on it as you smiled warmly. The stars in his eyes seemed to shine brighter as he waited for you to continue.

“I’d marry you right now, Jungkook. I love you and want to be with you always and forever.” Jungkook grew bashful, scooting closer to you before nuzzling his face into your neck. His arms wrapped around you, holding you in a warm embrace. You ran your fingers through his inky hair, planting kisses on the top as he held you.

“Let’s do it,” he mumbles against your neck, his lips planting kisses on the flesh.

“Hmm? Do what?” you asked as he moved away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Let’s get married today,” he says. He’s smiling, but his eyes betray him by displaying the anxiety he holds in them. His heart was on his sleeve, and your rejection would sting, but he’d respect it.

You raise a brow at him, searching for any uncertainty in his face, his eyes, but you find none. All you see is the man you’re hopelessly in love with.

“Okay, let’s do it!” you agree, excitement bubbling inside you and spilling out through laughter.

Jungkook’s pretty eyes widened. “You said yes?! Yes?!”

You nod frantically, grunting when he pushes you onto your back to cover your face in kisses, his hands gripping your hips.

“You said yes! You’ll marry me today?” Jungkook asks again to confirm.

You giggle. “Yes, baby. I’ll marry you today.”

Jungkook sprang out of bed, returning to kiss you before he dashed to the bathroom to shower and make phone calls. You sat up in bed, your eyes on your engagement ring. You were going to be his bride.

“Are we ready?” The officiant asks, looking at you and then at Jungkook. You both nod, “Yes.”

“Perfect,” the officiant starts.

Jungkook tries his best to pay attention, but how can he when you’re looking at him so lovingly? Squeezing his hand in reassurance that this is real. You’re going to be his wife in just a few minutes, and he couldn’t be any more over the moon. You giggle softly, a melodic sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. A coy smile tugs at your lips, making him grin widely as the officiant turns to him.

“Hmm?” Jungkook is puzzled; did he miss something?

The officiant smiles, “Do you, Jungkook, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, live in matrimony, love her, comfort her…?”

Jungkook knows he should pay attention the second time around, but his heart leaps into his throat. How wonderful this feeling is! Holding you as you become husband and wife.

“I do,” Jungkook answers with a blush.

The officiant is glad that he’s answered this time as he turns to you and repeats the same, but you blurt out “I do” before he’s finished his sentence.

Jungkook bursts out laughing, making you stick your tongue out at him before the officiant repeats himself, eyeing you cautiously to ensure he says his bit before you answer.

“I do.”

“Now we’re getting it!” The officiant jokes. “I talk, you talk. I talk, you talk.”

You chuckle, shaking your head as Jungkook pulls you closer. You exchange rings, repeating after the officiant as you place his ring on his finger and he places your ring on yours.

You're pronounced husband and wife with a few words and well wishes from the officiant. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, dipping you before pressing a kiss to your lips that has your toes curling. You grip his shoulders tightly, giggling into the kiss as he helps you stand. The officiant grins, taking pictures of both of you before handing you the signed marriage license.

Jungkook thanks him, taking you by the hand before you rush down the gazebo steps and head into the elevator.

“We’re married!” he shouts happily, pulling you to his side to press a kiss to your temple.

“We’re married!” you cheer, kissing his cheek.

“Let’s get this baby to the courthouse and get our certificate,” he states eagerly. You agree quickly, your lips capturing his for a moment. You were married to Jungkook. You were his wife. He’s your husband. It was the most incredible feeling in the world.

“Okay, I probably should have checked the calendar before rushing us off to the courthouse.” Jungkook cards a hand through his hair. You smile wholeheartedly when you see the ring on his finger.

“It’s fine, baby. We can celebrate tomorrow. I can rearrange your schedule, and we can go on a honeymoon if you want. I don’t care, either way, I promise,” you assure him honestly, knowing it’s difficult for him to put his work on pause even if he’d just gotten married.

“I want to take you on a honeymoon. I want to have everything with you, love. You’re my wife, and I-what?”

You look at Jungkook with his head quirked cutely to the side, confused.

“I’m your wife.” you state simply with a smile.

Jungkook chuckles, wrapping his arms around you tightly to pull you into his chest. His lips press a kiss to your cheek. “It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?”

You place your hands on top of his, your finger running over his ring, “It does.”

Jungkook plants featherlight kisses on your neck, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt you’ve put on after consummating your marriage shortly after your trip to the courthouse.

“We’ve got time for another round before we need to get ready for the gala,” Jungkook informs you, kissing your shoulder as his hands grip your thighs.

“Say no more, my dear husband.” That’s all it takes for Jungkook to have you on the bed again, moaning and writhing as he holds your hands in his.

“We’re late,” you hiss to your husband as you plaster on a smile. The dress he’s chosen for you hugs your body, accentuating your curves while exposing your skin with its backless design. You wonder if it will expose your butt when you sit, but you have to agree with Jungkook. You look phenomenal!

“I know, but you just looked so good, I couldn’t help myself,” he whispers huskily into your ear, nipping at your lobe as he wraps his arm low around your waist.

It had been a commotion when you arrived, just like always. You stopped for pictures, shook some hands, and were led hastily by your husband inside due to your delay.

“They’re going to be judging my gown in a few minutes,” you mutter as you follow him through the crowd, smiling pleasantly as you go.

“I know, but you look gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Jungkook stops in his tracks, his hands cupping your face as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Mr. Jeon! It’s nice to see you!” Jungkook groans at the sound of his name. He sends you an apologetic look before plastering a fake smile and walking over to the business partner that’s called him.

Left to your own devices, you scout the area in search of the open bar, spotting it across the room. Unfortunately, before you can take even one step in its direction, a voice has you rooted to your spot. Because of course he would be here tonight. Now, normally, you’d entertain yourself with him, if nothing, just to kill some time, but it was your wedding night, and you were already spending most of it with people you didn’t care to schmooze.

“Breaking dress code at a gala? Bold even for you, Ms. Y/L/N,” Kim Namjoon states with a shake of his head.

You roll your eyes. Was Namjoon really going to try this shit here?

“You seem to have brought your handy dandy notebook with you, Mr. Kim. You’d rather hold that than the hand of your date? Or did you come alone after dress coding them?” you retort with a saccharine smile that could fool anyone around you. Anyone but him, that is.

Jungkook looks over at you after a few minutes, his gaze darkening when he spots Namjoon approaching you. He notices the annoyed look on your face, so he politely excuses himself before walking over to you. His large palm presses to the skin of your back, and you immediately recognize his touch. You step back to get closer to your husband, biting back a smile.

Jungkook is smug, smiling as he speaks to his head of HR. “Oh, Mr. Kim, lovely to see you here. Are you writing up my wife again?”

Oh, the look on Namjoon’s face is priceless. You’ll have to thank Jungkook later in the bedroom. Nothing could beat witnessing the pure panic and shock on Kim Namjoon’s face! He can stuff his little notebook where the sun doesn’t shine!

Namjoon’s eyes widen in shock, stammering as his face burns red.

“Your w-wife?”

“Yes! We eloped this morning. We couldn’t continue to hide our relationship any longer. Seeing her at work every day is hard, knowing I can’t kiss or hold her when I please.”

“Oh.”

“Doesn’t she look beautiful tonight, Mr. Kim? Just as beautiful in a gown as in all the outfits I pick for her to wear at work. Such a radiant beauty, don’t you think so, Mr. Kim?” Jungkook challenges the head of HR with a raised brow.

Namjoon wonders if he wills it hard enough the ground will open up and swallow him whole.

“Stunning, sir.” Namjoon fakes a smile and excuses himself. He’d better look for another job. ASAP.

“Jungkook!” You exclaim, covering your mouth as you giggle softly, hiding your face in his chest.

Jungkook’s eyes glitter with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What did I do?”

“Oh, you’re awful,” you chuckle, shaking your head and taking his hand to make the rounds before he’s called away to make a toast. His shit-eating grin never leaves his face.

Jungkook steps up to the stage, standing at the podium with a smile. He blows you a kiss that has you flustered as he introduces you. You watch him from your seat, grinning as his eyes find you in the crowd.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight, but most of all, I want to thank my gorgeous wife. As of this morning, she is Mrs. Jeon, and I couldn’t be happier. I love you!” He exclaims. The crowd gasps before a loud round of applause fills the room.

Jungkook brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on it before he’s waving at the crowd, encouraging them to enjoy their night. He leads you off the stage, kissing your cheek at the bottom of the steps. Guests quickly approached you, wishing you well and congratulating you both as Jungkook smiled and thanked them. He’s eager to get through the crowds, wanting nothing more than to have you all to himself.

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#bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #ceo!jungkook #ceo!jungkook x secretary!reader

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ikkosu · 7 months ago

Text

blood warning!

got a little stressed writing out requests so relaxed by drawing my ocs aha...

@burnyourvillage1968 the Yuri I promised captain 👀

Mesa Tor. Kan Sou.

"No one is there to believe you."

#Hi hello #👉👈#mesa = detective who goes undercover at a company to investigate mysterious killings #that somehow only occur during that company's region (close and around it)#and also mostly the victims are affiliated to the company itself #kan works as a secretary there #whos also killing the company staff AND is plabning on ruining the lives of the CEO and his family #my oc #oc x oc #sapphic #Yuri #first death

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eldritchpotato · 20 days ago

Note

Requests open? Can you write a fem reader CEO x fem goblin secretary? The dom and sub relationship but the CEO is the sub and she gets completely wrecked by her secretary.

I love this dynamic. let's call this short...

Corporate Kinkery

You are a powerful no-nonsense CEO who runs a tight operation providing vital services to the monsters of your home city. But underneath that veneer, you're a big sub, and your mild-mannered goblin secretary isn't entirely what she seems like either.

Content Warning: Female reader, D/S dynamics, semi-public sex.

The day just seemed to be endlessly dragging on. It was just meeting after meeting, most of them are virtual and don’t even require you to leave your office.

The office lights hurt your head and the painfully thin walls meant you heard every dull conversation in the adjacent meeting rooms.

It was tempting to leave early, but that would hardly be setting a good example for your employees. You ran a tight ship and it was only fair if the same rules apply to you.

Maybe a nap? You could close the blinds.

What time was it?

Fuck, somehow it was barely mid-afternoon. The week had barely gotten started.

There was a knock on your door before your secretary, Phosh, poked her head in.

“You’ve got a meeting with Melissa in 10,” she said cheerily. She was a tiny thing, goblins generally were, with big ears and green skin.

“Thank you, Phosh,” you sighed in response. It was already in your calendar.

Phosh eyed you up and down. You really hoped you didn't look as dishevelled as you felt. You had an image to uphold.

She stepped into your office and closed the door. Standing on her tiptoes to reach the string that drew the blinds. She turned back to you with a look you recognized.

Phosh had the dazzling secretary ruse down to a t. She was pretty and curvy, perfect at making people drop their guard. But you knew how to see through it.

In the privacy of your office, she unbuttoned the top few buttons of her suit revealing smooth green skin and ample cleavage. “Thank you, what?” She asked.

How did she do that? Despite knowing you should scold her, point out where you were and make it clear this was not remotely appropriate you never quite managed that sort of thing when it came to Phosh.

You swallowed, the words getting caught in your throat for a moment despite the excitement bubbling up within you. “Thank you, mistress,” you muttered, feeling your face heat even though you barely whispered them.

“That’s what I thought,” Phosh grinned, her teeth sharp and pointy. She looked entirely predatory, as she sauntered over, like a cat stalking a mouse. Except despite everything that should say otherwise, you were the mouse.

Outside of the office was one thing but… this was really a bad idea.

“Phosh,” you began but she hopped up on the desk, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you.

“Ah ah ah,” she tisked, “I’m going to fuck you against that wall so hard you forget everything that was bothering you. You should really be more worried about staying quiet so the whole office doesn’t overhear.”

Any further protest died in your throat. You could safe word, you probably really should safe word, this really wasn’t appropriate. Hell, if the board found out you would probably be forced to resign.

But you just nodded obediently. It was a bad idea, but wasn’t that far more fun?

“Up and against the wall, ‘boss,’” Phosh ordered, tearing off her stick on manicured nails.

Your pussy clenched. Despite reminding yourself that you didn’t actually have to obey this goblin woman you still did as you were told.

If you spread your legs a little more and arched your back more than necessary you would never admit it as you leaned against the wall.

Phosh hopped off the desk and stood behind you, simply admiring you. You pressed your forehead against the wall, unable to look at her as she took her sweet time.

The spank made you jolt, but you caught yourself. It only came out as a vague croak.

Phosh chuckled, sliding her hand up your skirt along your tights. Did you press into her touch? Did you shift to present yourself even more? Maybe.

By this point, you were equally nervous and turned on. Your place against the wall allowed you to clearly make out the words next door. Something about spreadsheets and due dates and—

Phosh tore your tights open. The ripping of fabric filled the air before her fingers were touching you through your underwear.

“Oh fuck,” you breathed. Phosh’s other hand kept you in place against the wall as she slowly teased your clit.

You held your breath, the only surefire way of you staying quiet.

“Wow, ‘boss,’ you are soaked already,” Phosh said cheerily. “Do you have any idea how hard it is watching you be bossy all day long while I know how truly slutty you are deep down? How much does it go against everything you want?”

The next spank you were ready for, but it still forced a breath from your lungs.

Skilled fingers slipped under your underwear. That elicited a low groan from you, instinctively pressing back against her with need.

“What is it you need?” Phosh asked, spanking you again.

“More,” you whimpered.

“More what?” Phosh repeated.

“Fuck me, mistress, please fuck me,” you begged, haunting aware of your own volume.

“That’s my good slut, see how easy that was,” Phosh praised, slipping her fingers inside you. “Now I’m gonna fuck you like you begged for, and you better cum quick because Melissa is going to be here any minute.”

Oh fuck. Maybe this really was a bad idea, maybe you— Phosh’s fingers inside you did an excellent job of changing your mind.

You groaned into the wall, your breath ragged as she fucked you. Every ticking moment only

Made you more aware of how little time you had left. Every ounce of control you maintained to stay quiet only made it that much harder to cum.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Tick tock, ‘boss,’” Phosh sing songed though she did mercifully pick up the pace. Your hips were unabashedly pressed back, fucking yourself on her fingers in desperation. You weren’t sure what would be worse, losing this orgasm due to being interrupted or the being interrupted part.

You didn’t even notice the knock on your door. It was Phosh who pulled you back up, shoved you into your seat and slipped under the desk before your foggy brain even processed Melissa’s voice.

Quickly you took a moment to compose yourself. I’d only you had a fucking mirror. “C-Come in,” you called, stealing yourself. That had been so fucking close.

Melissa shuffled into your office with a friendly but tired expression.

If she noticed the smell of sex or the disturbed carpet she didn’t say anything. She sat across from you, letting a massive stack of folders drop onto your desk with a thunk.

Fuck this was going to take an eternity. You could already feel your headache returning.

Somehow you had forgotten about Phosh. But now she was spreading your legs, your underwater being pulled away as she pressed her mouth to your cunt.

You covered your grunt with a cough. Your whole body tensed, her tongue running over your clit. Melissa began to drone on and on about this and that.

You didn’t know what to do. Phosh wasn’t going to leave you alone tucked away under the desk and you couldn’t kick her out with Melissa here. Your only option was to endure this torture.

You sucked in a sharp breath, nodding at whatever Melissa had said.

This was what you got for not cumming fast enough and how you loved being punished.

#answered #monster smut #monster kink #monster fucker #monster fudger #smut #goblin girl #secretary #monster x reader #monster x human #AU where CEOs arent evil corperate overlords #office smut #bd/sm kink #goblin x reader #sapphic #lesbian #wlw #eldritch answers #eldritch tales

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planetkiimchi · 1 year ago

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people watching | b.c

no. 4 of my song collection

featuring: producer!chan x ceo!reader, and the rest of stray kids in varying positions in the music industry

word count: 12352

warnings: pg13, quite a bit of swearing, vomit, alcohol, rooftops (?), crying if you don't like that, angst

summary — you’re a hurricane, and chan knows this all too well. you’re the one who crashed into his life on a regular afternoon, bringing him into the middle of an industry he’s always been at the edges of. he would never like to fall in love with his boss, but you’re a lovable tornado, and for all your chaos, both of you still love to sit down and take a break. those who know, call it “people watching”.

playlist. people watching by conan gray ; 18 by one direction ; wolfgang by stray kids ; omg by newjeans ; coping by rosie darling ; dna by lany

a/n: there’s a little bit of … smau hints here. i guess. i’m not really sure what to call it. also, 12.5K words ? that’s so crazy. i wanna thank my beloved @blue-jisungs for beta reading this. i know you had a headache n everything but thank you so so much for your comments n feedback, it def feels so much more polished w your help <3 and as always i hope y'all enjoy!

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

prologue.

Y/N’S MOTHER WAS A MUSICIAN. A few years back, she started up her own business producing records, but after a while the company still wasn't doing that great. As her child, Y/n took an interest in the company and began to start promoting it better.

You found several producers that you enjoyed listening to music from, and with some promotion (and help from your brother Jisung), everything went swimmingly.

By some miracle or other, the company, SFX labels, accidentally went viral on TikTok. You had Jisung to thank for that, because he was the one who had found Seungmin to manage the online presence of the company. People started taking an interest in your company, and you built up your brand on finding indie music makers and making them big.

Jisung also helped to find amateur musicians or producers with potential, and trained them, teaching them how to become better at their craft.

However, over time and as the company grew, you found your position growing more and more mundane. Your work was boring at best, soul-sucking at times, and you found yourself wondering how you went from passionately enjoying your work to the place you were at.

Your mother suggested you take a break, and you decided to wander around "Lonely St.". It was a little alleyway near your old residence, and was so fondly called because it was a narrow street where many beginner indie musicians frequented. Shops that sold music albums and instruments lined the street. Often shaded, the street was safe from crowds and human traffic was low.

When you were younger, you had often gone there with your mum on visits to see the producers and musicians there. While she tried to strike a deal with them, you would busy yourself with the gadgets and music paraphernalia. Some were expensive, but that was just how music was.

Everyone there was friendly and as you grew into your early twenties, you used to go there for inspiration, bringing home your ideas and channeling them into music. Sometimes your mother would help you develop it, leading to the songs stored on your laptop for nostalgia.

Seeking to rekindle your passion for music, you headed over to Lonely St. and went into the second shop, one with posters tacked up on the wall.

The store was silent, but not eerily so. Instead of cobwebs and dust covering the room, it was all colourful band posters and stickers, all the records neatly stacked up in piles. You barely had enough space to walk, but it only felt cozy, and not too crowded at all.

The decor reminded you of a gothy teenager's room, instruments hidden in the corners and the soft humming of a song playing through the speakers, lyrics indiscernible. Among the magazines and albums you found a man hidden deep inside his work, frowning in concentration.

You cleared your throat and he looked up; you recognised him vaguely but didn't dare to ask. It had been years since you had come to the store, surely he wouldn't remember you from his time working there.

He didn't recognise you, nor did he know that you were now the CEO of a music producing company.

He greeted you in a friendly manner, but looked clearly agitated as he wanted to get back to his work. You dismissed him with a wave, telling him to concentrate on his music while you browsed through old records of musicians you had grown up listening to.

Time passed differently in places like that. Secluded, detached from the outer world, it was so easy to get lost in the dusty archives of history. Songs told tales people didn't understand, like a language with familiar sounds, yet indiscernible the more one tried to listen to it.

In liberal spaces like that, with light filtering through the cluttered windows, you barely realised that two hours had passed. The labyrinth of songs had you hooked, and you would have stayed there all day if you could. You picked up an old CD of an album you vividly remembered playing at your eighteenth birthday party, and picked it up to ask if the man could put it on for a bit.

However, he looked engrossed in his work and you didn't want to disturb him. He worried his lip and tilted his head, groaning softly in frustration. Clearly what he was doing wasn't working for him. You didn't want to disturb him; you knew he would be annoyed, but you needed to go home soon.

You carefully placed the CD case in your hand back down; startled by the sound he glanced up suddenly, realising how silent the store was without the rustling sound of you browsing through the endless albums.

"How may I help you?"

You were tempted to ask him to play you his song, but that might be like intruding on a private part of his soul. You would know how it felt.

You fumbled in your purse for a business card. Would that be too odd? To go, "Hey, I run a company, I think your music would be great even if I haven't heard it yet"? Because you somehow had the gut feeling that he would be perfect, and you knew your instincts never failed you.

You shook your head and dismissed those thoughts. You didn’t want to make him feel awkward. Instead, you decided to buy the record, and the man proudly showed you that it had been signed by the singer.

“It’s a little more expensive, though, because of that. That’s why it hasn’t been bought yet,” he told you sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s fine. I don’t mind spending a bit more.”

He clearly expected you to change your mind when he showed you the price, although you knew from experience that signed records tended to sell for much more, so you were already prepared.

It was, after all, a small price to pay for the discovery of the man himself.

HE FREQUENTED YOUR THOUGHTS for the next week. Even buried in work, with papers piling up for you to sign, projects waiting to be approved, people looking to sign with your label, and managers looking to clear the policies on dating for the singers under them, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The mysterious song producer who made music on the side while he ran a music store along Lonely St. had caught your eye, and was not likely to leave your mind anytime soon.

You really wanted to get to know him better, but you had no time. Besides, people didn’t often go to stores with strangers to buy expensive items. Usually, they would go once they’d established a rapport with the people there. Lonely St. was there for the community, not just the things they sold and the treasure trove of advice and ideas the people harboured.

You tapped your fingers against the table impatiently as someone knocked on your door. You glanced at the clock and sighed. If you could, you would have liked to get off work early, but it was still two hours before your official working hours ended.

“Come in,” you called.

Your assistant, Seungmin, entered the room. Looking around at the mess of papers that lay on your table, he sighed loudly and obviously.

“What?” you asked defensively.

“I sent the papers in neatly, organising them by manager and then group or singer in order of importance and urgency. I even had different stacks of folders for projects, people looking to sign with us, and policy issues. And you just leave them strewn around? You really don’t appreciate my effort, do you?”

You scrunched up your nose. “Sorry, Seungmin. Promise I'll get to filing them away later. I'm just not in the mood right now.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is this because you have too much work? I heard you went to Lonely St. last week. Was the break too short?”

You nod unhappily. “I really want to go back, I think I stumbled across a real gem there. I saw someone making music and I'd love to hear it, he sounds like he’d be great for our label and I want to know what kind of concept he would fit.”

“But?”

“But he’s a stranger! I daren’t ask, you know how I get about these sorts of things.”

“Hm.” Seungmin looked through his phone, then smiled at you. “Well, I think you’re in luck. Jisung just texted me about going to Lonely St. to ‘run some errands’. He said he’d go with Minho-hyung, but he’s busy with work too. I could fit it in your schedule if you get all of this organised for me to return to everyone who’s waiting for it.”

You nod. “That sounds good. So, is tomorrow too soon?”

“No,” Seungmin said, taking it down. “Enjoy yourself, Y/n-ssi.”

“Thanks, Seungminie.”

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED where Jisung got his upbeat personality from. Personally, you were a very chill person, and both you and Jisung were introverts, like your mother. Your father was more outgoing, but none of you were particularly high in energy besides Jisung.

It was quite intriguing, you mused to yourself, humming quietly as you waited for Jisung to arrive. You were early, but you couldn’t disguise your excitement. You’d finally get to meet the man again! Hopefully, he would be there and not somewhere else. Many of the shop owners took turns hiring different part-timers looking for a side job to make a bit of money while they sought an agent or company willing to take them.

Fortunately for you, Jisung was a lucky charm. You went with him to pick up a few magazines for him to decorate his room. Ever since he was a teenager, he’d been a collector of photos, and whenever a magazine cover featured his favourite artists, he couldn’t help but to buy it to add it to his collection.

His room was filled with posters and magazines, but somehow it hadn’t turned away any of his friends or lovers.

Once you’d picked up what Jisung wanted, you dragged him by his wrist to the store named ‘St(r)ay Away’. You loved the play on words, and that was what had drawn your mother in as well when you first went there.

Behind the counter was the man you’d been looking for. He was tapping away at his computer, mouth pursed in concentration. He glanced up when the ringing bell sound signalled your entrance, and smiled at both of you, eyes lighting up when he caught sight of Jisung.

“Ah, Jisung, hello! Good to see you again. I see you’ve got new magazine covers?”

Jisung grinned proudly. “Yep! Look, Twice-sunbaenim even did an interview inside! I can’t wait to read it when I get back.”

The man nodded. “And this is…?”

“My sibling, Y/n! they brought me here, actually. Y/n, are you looking for something?”

“You,” you blurted out, staring incredulously at the man. Seriously, what was it with Jisung and his charm? You could never have made friends with someone the way Jisung did.

“Chan?” Jisung asked you, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, nothing. I was just surprised to see him again. I came here last week, and spoke with him when getting my album. I was particularly interested in what song he was arranging.”

“Oh, that. I was just working on a few songs for myself. I'm looking to release them, but I haven’t found anyone to help me with that yet,” Chan explained.

“You know you can always sign with us, hyung.”

“I don’t know if I'd fit your concept. And your label is so big! I might be overshadowed and I wouldn’t like that.”

“Jisung’s right,” you interject. “You’re welcome to sign with us, if you’d like. here’s my business card, in case you’d like to speak with me instead of—” you looked Jisung up and down— “this fool.”

Chan stifled a laugh, taking the card from your hands with a slight bow of his head. “I'll consider it.”

“And send me a song or two! I'd love to listen to what concept you have going on so I can match you with someone who understands your creative vision.”

Chan bowed his head again. “Nice meeting you, Y/n. And thanks for dropping by, Jisung. See y’all next time!”

SEUNGMIN RAPPED IMPATIENTLY on the door. He didn’t even wait for you to invite him in, which was odd because on normal days Seungmin did at least have the manners and the dignity to wait for your reply before barging in. He might have had a tongue that was quick to lash out and a well-hidden sailor’s mouth, but he wasn’t often rude in terms of entering.

“It’s Minho-hyung,” he managed breathlessly. “I had to run up because the lift wasn’t working, but that’s the message I got downstairs. Minho-hyung’s back in town.”

You swiveled around in your chair and raised an eyebrow skeptically, gesturing for Seungmin to sit and catch his breath, all the while humming as you thought about what this could mean.

Minho was your and Jisung’s childhood best friend. You grew up together, and your fathers played music together on the weekends, while you kids got together for a marshmallow-roasting by the fire. You knew everything about Minho that there was to know about him, and one thing about him was that he simply could not settle down.

He had spent five or six years as a dance teacher by now, having started out young. He was always restless, and it had been you who had suggested he go to a dance lesson with you. Ballet had left a terrible impression on him but a couple years later he did pick up contemporary in school.

He later expanded his repertoire to street jazz and hip hop, and more specific skills like popping and waacking. Two years back, Jisung had invited him to join SFX labels as a choreographer, and each one of his dances had outdone the previous one.

But the thing was… Minho never grew out of his restlessness. Even as a young adult, he itched to move about – not just in a physical manner like dancing but on a larger scale, like travelling around. It was lucky for him that he was tall enough and looked good, so you could sign a contract with him as a model under SFX labels. He then had the opportunities to fly around the world and sightsee, all the while earning money and enjoying himself.

It was a really good deal, if you could say so yourself. Perhaps not something that would suit your taste, but to each their own.

Since he had signed on as a model and you stayed in Korea to manage SFX labels, you hadn’t been able to meet up with Minho at all. So him coming back to Korea? That was quite the news.

Besides, Minho knew how to make an entrance. He wasn’t one for blitzy and glammed up spectacles, but he knew how to do just enough to make heads turn and subtly draw the attention of everyone in the room to himself. He brought his own spotlight wherever he went, and this instance was no exception.

It was interesting that Minho had chosen now to come back, because in two weeks’ time, your company was having a party to celebrate its 5-year anniversary. Your entire family would be there, of course, and even your father, who liked to keep a low profile, would probably have to clean up and make appearances. Just to keep up the reputation.

You hummed away, lost in your thoughts. Seungmin’s breathing eased and you turned to him. “Is he free?”

Seungmin shook his head regretfully. “I’ve already asked Minho when he arrived. He said he was busy, but he would definitely meet you at the company event. Specifically, Minho wanted to be your plus-one.”

You tilted your head to the side. Minho as your plus-one? That was funny. Usually that would imply that you had some sort of higher rank than him, and although you technically did, he was still older than you by a year and had held that over you throughout your entire life. Besides, Minho had his own invitation. In fact, he should be bringing someone you hadn’t met before as his plus-one.

You and Jisung usually went as each other’s plus-ones, that way you couldn’t get into any dating rumours but you also wouldn’t look like lonely old people with no friends. You were each other’s best friends… or at least that’s what you thought.

If Minho wanted to change things up, you weren’t going to object. It was time Jisung got an official date, anyway. Wasn’t he sick of only ever having lovers for a month? This would be a good change for everyone.

You nodded at Seungmin, right before a notification flashed on your screen. Seungmin excused himself while you clicked on the notification curiously.

You immediately clicked on the files, regretting it only a little. Sure, you had more work to do, but they wouldn’t be as interesting as what Chan had sent you.

As expected, Chan’s demo-style sample got you engaged and hooked right from the start. He was very intentional in his use of unconventional sounds (did you just hear someone growl? You hoped not), and it was something refreshingly new from the constant lull of K-pop producers chasing trends.

It was raw, and clearly written just for him. It wasn’t really polished the way one cleaned up their works when they wanted to send them to someone. It felt like a first draft, something that definitely had potential but was still in the works.

You couldn’t tell if the lyrics were meant to be changed later on but you didn’t want him to tweak it much. You enjoyed the use of both English and Korean (though you had to admit, your English wasn’t very good, so you had to search up some of the words he used) and the style of the rhyming. His vocals were good, but not polished-strong. It sounded a bit husky, but he could definitely carry a tune and hit the notes he wanted to.

And the rapping definitely caught your attention. Of course you had heard good rappers before, but Chan just stood out somehow. Maybe it was the tone of his voice or his flow, but something was just… different. And you liked that.

You didn’t know if you had anyone available who could match his style, though, and you told Chan that.

You immediately dialed Seungmin to let him know how things had turned out, and asked him to send your apologies to Minho, and ask him to go with Jisung instead. It was definitely going to be an eventful party.

YOU NEEDED SEUNGMIN. Or Jisung. Or even Minho. Just someone to keep you grounded. The party was too busy and too noisy and you were finally starting to understand why your father preferred to stay at home and chill, because it was absolutely suffocating.

Conversations were happening everywhere, and polite greetings streamed out of your mouth without a second thought. You had to bow to many people but you could barely remember their names, even though you had seen them plenty of times before.

You breathed heavily in and out and your eyes scanned the crowd for Jisung. Where was he? How was he? Would he be able to take over for you while you found somewhere to rest for a bit?

A hand tapped your shoulder and you whirled around, catching sight of a familiar face. Chan. A wave of relief washed over you, and you grabbed his extended hand for support and shook it.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” he replied. “Are you alright? You look flushed.”

You shook your head. “No, I need to get away from here. But first, I need to find Jisung.”

Good things must come in series, because you finally spotted Jisung in the crowd, chatting happily away. Your social energy was drained but considering Jisung’s wasn’t, you should be okay to leave the scene for a bit.

“Ji,” you told him softly in his ear. “I need some fresh air, I’ll pop out for a bit.” He nodded absently and you caught sight of his jacket on a chair. “And if you’re not using this, can I borrow it? I’ll return it to you later.” He nodded and waved you off, his conversation never pausing for even a second.

You slid your hands in the jacket, grateful that you and Jisung were of about the same size. It fit like a glove, and was warm enough for you to head outside with Chan, onto the balcony.

The balcony was empty save for one person, gazing out across the wide expanse of Seoul onto the streets, brightly lit by streetlights. A whoosh of cool air hit your face, a breeze whistling past your ears. You quickly shut the door behind Chan, and he hovered behind you, unsure what to do.

The person in question turned, and your eyes met Minho’s. He was as tall as you remembered, gaze as clear and sharp as it was in your memories. He held his arms out and you collapsed into his embrace, warm and inviting around you. “I missed you,” you murmured.

“Me too.” He got down from the ledge and pulled out a chair for you to sit, finally seeming to notice Chan’s presence.

“Oh. Minho, meet Chan. Chan, meet Minho.” You stretched your lips in a nervous smile as Minho gave Chan a once over. You had seen Minho do that before, and it was the most nerve-wracking thing ever. He would slowly trail his eyes down your figure, analysing every piece of clothing you owned, your jewellery, your makeup if you had any, your smile, your eyes, your hands, even the shoes you were wearing.

And, if he deemed you worthy, he would nod. You would sigh in relief, of course. That was only polite.

Chan, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. He cocked his head as Minho swept his gaze over him and smiled when Minho nodded, proffering his hand for Minho to shake. Minho took it, and you—of all people—sighed in relief.

You gestured for Chan to sit opposite you, and Minho drew himself a chair next to you, crossing one ankle over his knee and leaning back languidly. It almost looked like a challenge to you, but Chan didn’t take the bait.

“Soo…”

You quickly became engrossed in your discussion with Chan, who, to his credit, ignored Minho for the most part and stayed completely focussed on what you were saying. You managed to discuss a price he was willing to work for, and agreed that he would release a mini album by the end of four months, with the help of one of the agents whom you’d convinced to clear her schedule.

Chan was very agreeable, only offering a different opinion when it came to his work style. He said he preferred to work in “St(r)ay Away” rather than in the studios you had, claiming that the “people watching” was good for inspiration.

You always wanted to give your artists creative freedom and control over their work environment as far as possible, so you promised to make the necessary arrangements.

Tapping on the glass interrupted you, and you turned your head at the same time as Minho to see an eager Jisung waving excitedly at both of you. Minho got up, engulfing you in another hug.

“Don’t drink too much,” he murmured. “Try not to do stupid shit. Yes, you’re a consenting adult, and no, that doesn’t make you immune to the influence of alcohol.” You nodded obediently and patted him on the back before he hurried off, anxious to catch Jisung before he got lost among the crowd again.

You sat back down and watched Chan out of the corner of your eye. As you talked with Minho, he had watched you carefully as well, noting the soft, protective tone that Minho spoke with and the ease with which you agreed. He had pulled his phone out of his pocket and began furiously typing away, humming to himself as he did so.

Curious, you thought. That was what you did when you got inspiration as well.

The lights inside seemed to get brighter as the night sky darkened, the stark contrast drawing your attention to it. You noticed Changbin, your ex, who was dancing with Jeongin, Hyunjin and Felix on the dance floor. They were having the time of their lives, finally having some freedom under your label after transferring.

The freedom in question was demonstrated when the first thing Changbin had done was to ask you to be his significant other. You probably shouldn’t have agreed but you were young, stupid and in love.

He was handsome and a good rapper but most importantly, he was kind and respectful towards women. He was also funny when he wanted to be, and all in all it had really sealed the deal for you. Only after the rumours and scandals started to threaten both of your careers, had you given in to the pressure and broken up. There were no hard feelings, but residual attraction remained.

You bid goodbye to Chan, who was already engrossed in his own thing again. He followed you back into the warmth of the building, only to settle down in one of the comfortable chairs and busy himself with his own things.

Hesitantly, you made your way towards Changbin. Although it was a company event, it wasn’t very uptight and controlled, so there were drinks being served and music being played. It was almost midnight and the mood had clearly shifted towards a more energetic, crazy mood, and Changbin was very much at home.

When he finally saw you, the world fell silent. Your breath hitched in your throat as you waited nervously for his response. Everything else had fallen away, and for a moment it was just the two of you existing in the continuum of time.

“Y/n!” He called, hugging you tightly. “It’s so good to see you again.” You greeted each of the members politely, and Hyunjin stared at you, mouth agape.

“And here I was thinking the Biny/n crumbs twitter account was the only way I could see the two of you interact again.” You rolled your eyes at Hyunjin’s sassy remark, inwardly comforted by his (however backhanded) welcoming words.

“Let’s get some drinks and talk,” Changbin suggested, and you followed mindlessly as he ordered drinks for both of you—a margarita on the rocks for you—and you sat down, amazed that he still remembered what you liked after all that time.

It was so easy to fall back into step with Changbin, it almost felt like no time had passed at all. He was still the same cheerful, positive person who had so much going on in his life. You, on the other hand, were still the one who lent a listening ear, shaking your head exasperatedly when he told you of the shenanigans he had been up to.

Of course, the two of you drank, and drank, and drank. He told you a funny story, and you drank out of a need for your hands to be occupied. You told him of your troubles, and you drank to drown your negative thoughts, he drank out of solidarity. He told you of the injuries he had sustained, you told him to be more careful. He laughed. “Yolo!” Both of you drank.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? It must have been true because you would not have been able to catch up with Changbin for so long if you had been sober. The conversation would have dwindled when it came to a sensitive topic, and the atmosphere would have grown awkward.

But it was easier when you were drunk. Everything seemed to spill out of you like the liquid courage you were consuming, and no barriers remained to hold anything back. It flowed and it flowed, words that you would never had uttered if you still possessed any form of sobriety.

Changbin must not have noticed, because he did not comment. You were both too flushed and too drunk to form any kind of coherent thought, and the only thing you wanted when the world started spinning was to get away from everything. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and Changbin stumbled after you.

However, he was too drunk to walk straight, and was quickly taken away by Hyunjin with an apologetic smile towards you. You didn’t see it, consumed only by the bile in your throat and the swimming of your vision.

You went to the bathroom, only making it as far as the one meant for wheelchair-bound persons when you collapsed over the toilet bowl, unvoluntarily regurgitating your previous meal.

The taste of mushed up food remained in your mouth, the acid burning your throat. You looked at yourself in the mirror and you sighed, rinsing whatever was left out of your mouth and washing your face. You also removed any of the minimal makeup you had applied to make yourself look presentable.

Your eyes looked smaller, and you could now see the imperfections on your face, but at least you were authentic. Right?

You pushed the door open (it had closed by itself) and almost slammed it in Chan’s face.

There he stood, arms hanging awkwardly by his side, watching you with concern. You wobbled, and his arms subconsciously stretched out to catch you. You leaned onto him for support and he tried to help you walk away from the toilet.

“Where do you want to go?” Chan asked you worriedly. “You really don’t look good, Y/n-ssi. I think you should go home.”

“Mm… Can’t. Need to find… Jisung. He’ll know what to do,” was all you managed before you passed out, slumped in Chan’s arms.

Fuck. Chan stared at you, completely flabbergasted. What should he do? He had never had to deal with drunk bosses before. Sure, he had dealt with his fair share of drunk friends, but never someone who was superior to him in rank, much less a stranger whom he had just met a few weeks ago.

He decided to bring you back to Jisung, when Minho spotted him.

Minho’s eyes hardened and his smile disappeared into a thin line when he spotted Chan holding your body, leading you away from the gender-neutral bathroom meant for wheelchair-bound people.

He had been talking to Jisung and catching up with Jeongin and Felix, finally loosening up as the evening progressed, and Chan just happened to be in his line of sight.

And, of course, you. Of course you had ignored what he had told you and gotten drunk and blacked out. Of course you ended up in the arms of a man he didn’t know, whom you had been talking to when the night was still young. And best of all, of course you had to be dragged out, unconscious, from a bathroom. Who knew what could have happened to you inside the bathroom?

“Ji,” he called once, loud enough for Jisung to hear, before he made his way over to you, all but snatching you from Chan’s arms.

He shifted you in his arms so he could comfortably carry you, bridal style, glaring at Chan. “I don’t really know who you are, but if I find out you’ve done anything to Y/n, you’re a dead man.”

Jisung rushed over to his side, his smile falling off his face when he saw what was happening. “Chan-hyung? Minho-hyung? Anyone would like to fill me in?”

“I saw him with Y/n, dragging their unconscious ass out of a toilet. Who knows what he’s done to them,” Minho replied viciously before Chan had a chance to answer.

“Chan-hyung… seriously? I thought you and them were just friends,” Jisung said disappointedly. Chan tried to defend himself, but both Minho and Jisung turned their backs on him, Minho pressing his forehead to yours as he carried you out to Jisung’s car.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke up to natural light streaming in through the windows, and the delicious smell of pancakes wafting in from the kitchen. You hurriedly dressed and got out of the room, spotting Minho and Jisung whispering to each other urgently as they sat at the table, clearly waiting for you to make an appearance.

“Morning.”

“Morning. I tried to tell Minho-hyung you were old enough to deal with a hangover yourself, but he just wouldn’t listen.” You looked carefully at Minho: at his disheveled hair, his bloodshot eyes, and the messy creases in his suit from the night before. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

As if reading your mind, Jisung explained, “He sat by your bed all night, afraid you would wake up and have some horror story to tell about last night. He didn’t sleep at all.”

Poor Minho. He definitely needed his beauty sleep, but it was alright because he was pretty either way. You checked your phone; luckily Jisung had had the presence of mind to help you charge it and you had received several messages. A couple were from your parents, telling you to sleep well and let them know if anything had happened, and from Seungmin, Hyunjin and Changbin, in that order, asking if you were okay. Seungmin also asked if you were coming for work or calling in sick. The last one was from Chan. He asked if you were okay, if Minho was mad at him, and if you were going to reconsider the deal. He’d understand if things had changed, he said.

You told him it was still on and Seungmin would deal with the logistics. You replied to everyone, explaining that you were fine and thanking them for their worry. You told Seungmin you’d be late but not to any meetings. You’d be there in an hour, you said.

You told Jisung that you needed a lift. He told you to take your things and he’d meet you in the car once he took his keys.

Minho watched you blankly, too tired to function. You tilted his chin up to get a good look at him, sighed when you saw the bags under his eyes, pressed a kiss to his forehead and thanked him for bringing you home; for noticing you passed out even when there were so many other people there blocking you from his sight.

He returned your smile tiredly. “I’ll always be there for you. We agreed, remember?”

You did.

WORK WAS SO DRAINING, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep. You would give anything to leave the room and the discussion, and the meeting being about the most mundane things ever was not helping. Obviously you understood the importance of market share and dealing with your competitors, but you were not in the mood to listen to the board’s insistence on rebranding or some other form of expanding your target audience.

Was this what corporate life was like? Because you definitely weren’t cut out for it. Your eyelids were drooping and you were dangerously close to collapsing on the table if it weren’t for the caffeine running through your veins.

Seungmin had greeted you with coffee that morning, “under Minho’s orders” to make sure you weren’t too hungover and also to keep you awake. It helped keep the headache at bay, and you thanked Minho.

He hadn’t replied yet, so you assumed that he had finally gone to get his beauty sleep, glad that you hadn’t asked him to drive you that morning.

One of the board directors was talking your ear off, and you had almost forgotten about Chan. At least, until he clocked in for work, claiming to have “reached his studio”. It was accompanied with a goofy selfie of him at St(r)ay Away.

You were confused by how comfortable he seemed to be with texting you and also his excitement to get to know you, which showed through his messages. But it was cute, and you were starting to warm up to him.

Chan was insane. He sent you a picture of the progress he had made and you were glad you could be there to keep him accountable. You ran a company and you couldn’t do that for everyone. But then again, you didn’t personally recruit everyone, and not everybody helped get you out of a creative slump. So you supposed you could make exceptions when it came to Chan.

He shot you a quick text, saying “going home now! you should too 🥱” and the corners of your lips lifted in the smallest of smiles. It was only something small, but the gentle reminder to take a break and not to overwork yourself made your day.

Still grinning like a fool, you dialed Seungmin’s desk and told him to go home as well, a skip in your step as you made your way to Minho’s car. Since the company event, he said he wanted to drop you off at work and pick you up to keep you safe. (How crazy that he cared for you more than Jisung did; Jisung didn’t give enough fucks to give you a lift to and from work.) In return, you offered for him to stay at your and Jisung’s place, and he took up residence in the guest room.

He opened the door for you, asking you about your day. You told him of all the boring administrative things, keeping to yourself the texts that Chan had sent you. They were just a one-time thing, you thought to yourself. Sooner or later, the novelty of texting you would be lost, and Chan would not check in with you anymore.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

Chan continued to text you about your day every day for the time period leading up to the release date for his album, for which a name was pending. He didn’t seem to send you any more songs after that, which you sorely missed.

He probably didn’t dare to overstep his boundaries, which you understood. But you didn’t want him walking on eggshells every time he interacted with you. So one day, you impulsively told Chan that you could be a beta listener for his songs if he wanted to send them to you. You didn’t do that for everyone, because you’d be a very busy person, but Chan’s music style appealed to you. Plus, you were constantly intrigued by what was going on in that head of his.

When Chan sent you four songs that he was planning to put in his album, you were pleasantly shocked by how he seemed to be outdoing himself. Having a purpose and a cohesive theme across several songs allowed him to express himself better, and when giving him feedback, you found that you were genuinely excited for his release.

You checked your email for any updates from his agent or his manager, and entered the release date on your calendar. You wanted to be free on that day so you could congratulate him in person.

You were thinking about this as you exited your car from the passenger side, Minho coming out from the driver’s side. For the month that he had been in town so far, he had consistently driven you to work every single day. You joked that not only was that the longest amount of time he’d ever spent in one place, it was also the commitment that he’d stuck to for the longest time.

Sleepily, you laid your head on Minho’s shoulder and sighed tiredly. You really wanted to go home. The real reason that you were hanging on through all those boring meetings was that you were looking forward to Chan’s release, and you had to keep the company going for that to happen.

It was funny. Ever since you had visited “St(r)ay Away”, you felt like something was missing. It had been a brief but much-needed reprieve and without that feeling of “wow, this is what music is supposed to sound like”, you felt a sense of emptiness.

The sense of emptiness continued throughout the entire day, only intensifying when you were in the presence of Jisung’s “partners” (whom you greatly disagreed with). Their creative vision of the company was going to absolutely destroy all your morals and everything you stood for as a CEO. You wanted to promote small groups, give artists freedom in their music and emphasise on uniqueness, not follow the same concepts that were “trending”.

You didn’t care if it wasn’t as financially beneficial as the marketing gimmicks the partners had thought up, you wanted to stay true to your family and your own ideas. Besides, in the long run, were they really going to priorities their monetary gains over the mental health and the passion of the artists?

Clearly, they had no qualms about squashing the creative ideas that their artists had. “They’re i-doll-s for a reason,” one of them even joked. Jisung looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t speak out.

Annoyed with your brother and everyone in the room, you looked down at your watch and found that it was time to go home. Telling Jisung to deal with it but not make any decisions yet, you took your leave.

The door swung open and somebody stumbled back. You quickly stepped out and shut the door, coming face to face with Minho and Chan.

“Oh. Hi,” you said, forcing a smile onto your face as you looked at Chan. You hadn’t gotten your daily selfie that day, and you’d texted Chan about it, but he hadn’t read your text for the whole day.

When you turned to Minho, you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch ever so slightly. His tell. “Minho? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, trying to casually brush it off. But you knew him better than that, and you weren’t just going to let it slide. Recalling the way he had been looking at Chan when you first turned to him, you deduced that it must have been related to Chan.

Speaking of which, why was Chan in the building? You and he had already agreed to let him work in his store, why had he specially come down to SFX Labels, and why today of all days?

As if reading your mind, Chan rushed to explain, “For some reason, my agent disagrees with your idea for me to release a solo album. He wanted me to produce music for I.O.U. because he and the manager are friends. I had to set up a meeting with the managers and producers, which wasn’t great. The members were friendly, but the producers were terrible. They couldn’t agree on whether they liked the music or not and constantly bickered the whole time I was there. The concept, style, and even the lyrics of their previous songs were completely different from mine, so I really wonder whose idea it was to invite me.”

You shrugged. “Stupid people are everywhere. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t be responsible for the actions of every individual under the label.”

The muscle in Minho’s jaw loosened, and he let out a snort. “You’re pretty stupid sometimes, too.”

“Not as stupid as Jisung, hopefully.”

Minho grinned. “Not as stupid as Jisung.”

CHAN KEPT HIS DISTANCE from you and Minho, close enough to keep you in his sight but far enough not to hear your conversations. Leaning tiredly on a wall, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

He hadn’t told you, but he thought Jisung had driven you to work in the morning when he spotted you getting out of the car. He was just about to go over and say hi to his favourite Han siblings, but got cold feet when he saw you resting your head on Minho’s shoulder. He was half thrown off by Minho’s constant affection towards you, half thrown off by how cold Minho was towards him.

Remembering Minho’s glare and his hug to you and how upset he had been finding Chan carrying your drunk self away from a public restroom, Chan had hesitated, finally deciding to just go in and not greet the two of you.

When he left the studio that evening, he was both exasperated and frustrated. He had wanted a creative, collaborative experience, not an argument he felt the need to mediate. That was why he preferred to work alone in a (mostly) quiet place and he regretted listening to his agent instead of consulting you.

He had been engrossed in his unhappiness, not watching where he was going. He hadn’t texted you that morning because of the Minho incident, and you had asked him about it. Chan had just been about to reply with two selfies (one to make up for it and one for the end of work) when he crashed into Minho. Minho and Chan both immediately apologised, Chan bowing in greeting to his senior, when Minho recognised him.

It was difficult to ignore the daggers Minho was sending his way, especially when Chan got the idea Minho didn’t have the best impression of him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah,” Chan grimaced. “It’s me.” Minho didn’t look too happy. He would probably have given Chan a piece of his mind. Chan was readying himself for a “stay away from Y/n, you don’t deserve her” kind of spiel when, luckily for Chan, you walked out of the door, almost crashing into him. Again.

He kept quiet while you laughed with Minho, pressing his lips together and trying not to think about how it would feel if you were to have that kind of banter with him. Would he even be able to say something funny like that to you or would he turn into a stammering, blushing mess?

It was hard to tell.

But one thing was for sure. You and Minho had a dynamic that was hard to replicate, and he didn’t want to cross any boundaries. Even if they weren’t set in stone or clearly spelt out, he didn’t want to ruin whatever you had going on with Minho. He decided to remain civil with you, continuing to text you but never making a move.

After all, he didn’t stand a chance against Minho.

IT HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS. Three months since Minho’s arrival in Seoul and he was still there. You couldn’t believe it.

Every morning, you awoke from your bed (trying not to wake Jisung up on his side of the room, he had moved in to make space for Minho), and you tiptoed over to Minho’s room, fully expecting it to be empty.

You would have been less surprised to see an empty, cleaned out room with no evidence that Minho had ever been there, with maybe a short note that said “Goodbye. Don’t miss me too much” than what was happening.

It was early in the morning and Minho was still fast asleep, but still very much there. Physically present. It was such a shock to you and it was probably the longest time that Minho had ever been in one place, besides when he was too young to travel.

He must have had a sixth sense, because after about a minute or so of you staring at him to confirm that he wasn’t going to disappear magically, he sleepily blinked his eyes open and caught sight of you.

“Morning,” he mumbled, the corners of his lips lifting up into a smile.

“Good morning. Do you want me to make ramyeon or are you content with just the bread from yesterday?”

“Ramyeon sounds good,” he replied.

As Minho changed his clothes, you headed to the kitchen to make ramyeon. You were still half asleep, barely going through the actions, and when you set the bowl of noodles onto the dining table, you were caught off guard by Minho’s excited smile.

“What is it?” You asked suspiciously. Knowing Minho, he only smiled like that before he was about to play a prank on you, or when he was up to something sneaky.

“I think we should go to an open class,” Minho said, face impassive. He fought to keep his composure as he watched the struggle of emotions flashing across your face.

“What, like learn a dance? Together with a bunch of strangers?”

“Basically, yeah. I found this place and I’ve already booked it a while back. It’s pretty crowded sometimes so I decided to ask you later and just cancel if you didn’t want to go. I’d pay and everything.”

You would probably have said no, but you felt bad after all that Minho had done. Anyway, it wouldn’t be a complete disaster, right? You could only make so much of a fool out of yourself. Surely it would be fine.

It was not fine. Minho was not lying when he said that it would be crowded and if the morning hadn’t made your day, you would never have gone for another open class in your life.

The two of you had left a note for Jisung, telling him that you’d be gone for the day, and headed to a coffee shop to get a cup of coffee. The weather was lovely, a breeze gusting past as you sat outside the shop, precariously balanced on the metal stools, blowing on your coffee to cool it down. As you sipped your drink gingerly, Minho told you all about his adventures.

He told you about Italy and their delicious pizza, how there everyone’s mother was a cook and he was always invited for a meal at a different person’s house after each dance session. He had even bought a piece of art from one of the painters there and proudly kept it in one of his luggages to bring on future trips.

He told you about Taiwan and their night markets, how he’d made new friends with the dancers there and gone to get bubble tea and scallion pancakes together. He told you about the competition he won there, even speaking a few words of their language to convince you.

He told you about America and Turkey and Spain, and how every country’s culture and way of life was different.

He was a time chaser, if you thought about it. He wanted to experience everything that the world could offer him in the shortest time possible. When you were younger, he had come so close to dropping out of school that his parents said they would stop paying for his dance classes and competition fees if he didn’t buckle down and study.

You couldn’t understand him at the time. Why would anyone want to sacrifice the security of an education paid for by your parents to go jump into the great unknown that was the world?

But now, looking back, you understood why he was that way. Hearing his tales of his travels made you wonder if you were living life as vicariously as you could, or if you were living through the other people you saw.

And if you weren’t living, when would you start?

9.54pm

YOU PUT YOUR PHONE DOWN. Minho was spread out on the couch, facing you but not paying attention to you. You looked back down at your screen and the messages Chan had sent you and tapped Minho’s ankle with your knee.

“Yah, Lee Minho.”

“Yes, Han Y/n?”

“Chan asked me out.” This sentence caught Minho’s attention and he stiffened, head lifting up to look at you. His brows furrowed slightly and the muscle in his jaw twitched. He set his phone down, looked at you properly and gestured for you to go on.

“Do you want to go?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, he probably likes me, right? So I shouldn’t break his heart, right?”

Softer, until you almost didn’t catch it, Minho mumbled, “But the real question is, do you like him back?”

Then it was your turn to knit your eyebrows together in confusion. Did you? You had never been very good with feelings. When you were fifteen, Jisung had a crush on a girl and so did you. Naturally, Jisung acted like himself and you just hyped him up as best as he could to get him to ask her out. When she rejected him, you had been sad for Jisung but also slightly relieved. You had never told Jisung about the incident, because even when you were in your twenties, you couldn’t for the life of you think of what to say.

You couldn’t identify feelings very well and were too socially anxious to have the guts to confess. Luckily for you, Chan did. The confession had you thinking that you might have something with him. You probably liked him. And at the very least, you would have liked to start something with him.

You told Minho that, but all he had to say was, “Hmm.” What was that tone supposed to mean?

“Is there something you need to tell me, Lee Minho?”

Minho was quiet, which was not unusual. He wasn’t smiling, which was a bit unusual but not completely weird. His jaw was twitching, which was not unusual but definitely meant that there was something going on.

“I need to tell you something.”

Patiently, you waited in silence as you watched him struggle inwardly with his thoughts. His mouth opened and shut as he fought to find the right words to express himself.

“Han Y/n, I have loved you for all the time I've known you. I really, really like you and that realisation was probably what grounded me and led me to come back to this place I hate. I want to travel the world but only with you by my side and I've been searching for so long and I think I've found what i’m looking for. You.”

You must have been so stupid for not realising because of course you were the reason that Minho had stayed in Korea for so long. You remembered that morning when you had just been thinking of the very same thing. You were such a fool not to have noticed that the common factor in all of Minho’s happy stories was always you.

Didn’t you see the framed picture of you, Jisung and Minho as kids that Minho propped up at his bedside table when he first unpacked?

Didn’t you realise that Minho couldn’t—or shouldn’t—be able to drop you off because he had other commitments, but he did it anyway because his feelings for you ran deeper than just your friendship?

Didn’t you see the way his jaw twitched when he saw you speaking to Chan?

There were so many telltale signs but you were blind. He gave you signal after signal after signal but you chose to drown instead, swerving off the bridge into the deeper waters of denial.

“Then why’d you just sit there and tell me and Jisung to go for our crush when we were fifteen? You never told me you liked me your whole life. I couldn’t possibly have known.”

Minho smiled sadly. “I thought you knew when I told you I loved you that I meant it as more than friends. When I said I’d be there for you, always, I didn’t mean it lightly. You just never read into it and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But I had to get it off my chest before I left you, again. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back after this, Y/n.”

You tripped over yourself trying to hug Minho, but when you did, he held you so tightly that you could barely breathe. It felt as if he was trying to make up for lost time, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Oh, Minho.”

It was just like the first hug you had given him when he was in Korea again, when you saw him at the company event. His embrace was still just as warm, only that he was shaking, and you didn’t think it was from the cold.

You hugged him back just as tightly, squeezing as much comfort into your hug as you could, trying to hold him in your arms like he used to do to you.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whispered hoarsely. “I don’t think- I don’t think I could live without you.”

Minho only responded by hugging you tighter before he finally let you go, laughing as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. For both of us. I hope- I hope you enjoy your date. And I’ll stay a while longer. From there, we’ll see where the wind takes me, yeah? And maybe one day, you’ll come to visit me instead.”

Although Minho was playing it off and acting all nonchalant about it, you knew Minho liked to bottle up his feelings and never talk about it. In fact, he probably had a ton of bottled-up trauma he needed to talk about at some point in time.

However, for that moment, you were content not to speak about it. You would simply keep an eye out for your best friend, whom you still loved regardless.

The tension swells up Are you listening? Paddling and clambering onto your surfboards In anticipation of a wave You’re ready to ride

And all of a sudden there is quiet The peace before a storm

The raging sound of the winds And the moving ocean are lost Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas?

You must not have been a very good listener The rules try to cage a roaring beast The restrictions, limitations are pressing in.

The darkness is imminent All that is on the surface Is inconsequential The water hugs me tightly It drags me down

The silence in my ears is deafening My lungs scream for oxygen And everything goes dark

Has no one told you to never try to tame the seas? You must not have been a very good listener

I won’t be tamed Won’t be broken Won’t fall to your stupidity Try to cage me, hold me back You don’t know what I’m capable of

(Grr wolfgang)

Dark blue overshadows, You think you can stop me? You might be the king of the jungle But here, I am the leader of the pack

(SCREECH-)

YOU COULDN’T TELL IF the last screech was from the song or from the abrupt stop that Jisung had come to. Next time, you weren’t going to let him drive. You didn’t want to lose your life going on a date.

Chan’s album had just been released and though it was unconventional to release it early on in the morning, you had requested that it be so. You wanted to listen to it on the way to the pottery-making class that Chan had booked, but you also knew that it would attract more people to listen to it if they were actually awake when it was released.

The mall wasn’t far from your apartment, but Minho and Jisung had insisted on coming with you, obviously. They just couldn’t leave you alone. Minho had been hyping you up the entire ride over, telling you not to be anxious and that he and Jisung had your back if you decided to bail at any one point in time. Jisung was just there to chaperone, or so he claimed. You personally thought that he just wanted to poke his nose in your business because he didn’t have a love life of his own.

They flanked you like bodyguards, and Minho was dressed in black from head to toe, which really sealed the deal. Jisung pulled Minho away to the other side of the pottery studio, both of them sneaking glances at you every once in a while in between making fun of each other’s creations.

You, on the other hand, were feeling rather jittery. You rushed to congratulate Chan’s release and compliment him on his work. “It was stunning,” you told him. “I’m always impressed by your arrangements of beats.”

He smiled back shyly at you, blushing furiously. He had to look away for a second to compose himself before thanking you for the compliment.

With all the nerves and anxious energy in the air, it took a while for both of you to calm down. Then, you could finally start enjoying each other’s company without being overly conscious of your own breathing and your hair and everything else.

Chan turned out to have a natural affinity for pottery. Even the lady teaching the class asked if he had made anything out of clay before, because he seemed so experienced and talented at it.

You, however, couldn’t say the same. Your cup was looking a little wonky halfway through the process of making it and it was precariously lopsided. Chan reached out to help you straighten it, but not before snapping a photo of your stunned face with the mug.

“Hey!”

“I’m making that my contact picture for you,” he grinned mischievously. Oh, right. He was referring to that one time that you told him to use one of the corporate pictures on the internet for your contact picture. You’d almost forgotten it until he brought it up.

You could hardly believe how long it had been since that day. Your and Chan’s relationship had grown so much since then and you’d grown less uptight and stiff around him, additionally his sense of humour had started to show more.

You were so happy to have Chan in your life.

Especially when he handed you a mini flower bouquet after you had cleaned up and sent your pottery creations off for baking and glazing. You took it, slightly confused, until Chan excitedly asked you to untie the ribbon. The bouquet unfolded into a little coaster and it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen.

Chan even brought you window shopping at the IKEA opposite the mall, nodding with you as you criticised the room decor and agreed when you liked the aesthetic. If you didn’t know any better, it might have felt like shopping for an apartment.

Afterwards you went to get ice cream together, passing by a couple of plushies hanging on a rack. Unable to resist, you grabbed the wolf plushie keychain and waved it at Chan. “Grr, wolfgang.”

You couldn’t help yourself, collapsing into a heap of giggles.

Chan sighed like an old man, looking between the keychain in your hands and your face. The glee on your face must have been enough to convince him, because he took it into his hand, and reaching out with his free hand, he took a quokka off.

“That’s you,” he grinned.

You cocked your head. “Really?” You’d always told Jisung he looked like a quokka, and obviously the two of you looked alike since you were siblings, but you had never had anyone attribute your looks to that of a quokka’s before.

But Chan was looking at you so tenderly and you didn’t want to ruin the moment, so you took it from your hands and smiled at him.

“Let’s go get these, then.”

YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN dreams never lasted before you woke up in cold sweat, clammy palms gripping your blanket. You had had an awful nightmare about Minho leaving, a manifestation of your fears since he had arrived. It wasn’t a recurring nightmare but it still hit you hard.

Still in shock, you got up to go to the bathroom to splash your face and calm yourself down. It was dark outside, but the room that Minho had been sleeping in seemed eerily empty to you.

When you walked past it again, you did a double take. Minho had been packing his bags for a while and you had been anticipating his departure during that time. However, he had never actually told you when he was leaving Korea, and if he really meant it when he said he might never come back.

Full of questions, you went over to Jisung’s bed to wake him up. You were concerned but mostly confused, and you wanted assurance that Minho was safe.

Little did you expect that Minho had already informed Jisung in advance that he was leaving. The two had even booked Minho’s tickets together, strategically arranging it at night so that you wouldn’t have time to cry and make a big fuss of it all.

“The real reason he had to wake up in the middle of the night to get to the airport for a flight at the most inconvenient hours of the day is so that you wouldn’t make a big fuss out of it,” Jisung hissed. “Yet, even after all that planning, it still seems to backfire. All because you’re so fucking emotionally attached to Minho-hyung.”

You sucked in your breath sharply, but Jisung was relentless. “Have you ever considered my feelings? In our little trio, it’s always felt like Miny/n and Jisung who third-wheeled everywhere you two went. You’re always so caring towards Minho-hyung but never to me. You prioritise him at every stage of life. You idolise him. Maybe you’ve never stopped to think that he doesn’t want you next to him all the fucking time and that’s why he left.”

“I don’t prioritise Minho over you, Ji. I pay so much attention to him whenever he’s here because I never know when he might up and leave. I don’t know when I’ll see him again. And maybe you know, so you’re not worried, but sometimes he ghosts me for days on end and I don’t know whether to be anxious or to attribute it to his busy schedule. You don’t know what that’s like, do you?” You scoffed bitterly, biting your lip to hold back your tears.

“No,” he sneered. “You’re right, I don’t. Because I don’t stick to him like glue and he’s okay with telling me things he knows you can’t handle. You’re acting so damn immature right now and that’s probably why he never talks to you about important things.”

You couldn’t help yourself. The tears rolled silently down your cheeks at Jisung’s words. You knew that he was just cranky and upset, and that he said these types of things completely unprovoked when he was tired or mad, but you still hadn’t expected him to say something like that.

It was true, although you were older than Jisung, Minho always treated Jisung like the older one. He was more protective of you, and always delegated work and details to Jisung when you were planning anything together. When you were still in highschool, you remembered Minho had had a project he desperately needed to finish. You had leaped at the opportunity to be useful to him, but he’d rejected you and gone straight to Jisung instead.

Thoughts were spinning in your head as you remembered all the conversations where Minho had dismissed your thoughts because you were not “ready to talk about those sorts of things” or so he claimed.

Even now, when you were already an adult, Minho and Jisung still treated you like a child.

Frustrated, you changed out of your clothes and grabbed a coat to keep you warm as you left the house. Sitting at the doorstep of your apartment, you gave Chan a call, fully aware that Jisung was extremely close to kicking you out of the house if you didn’t leave him alone.

To your surprise, Chan picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey. Can I, um, crash at your place? I kind of got into an argument with my brother.”

There was the slightest of pauses. “Sure. Send me your address, I’ll come pick you up. I don’t want you to catch a cold trying to get to my place.”

You rattled off the address, and you could almost feel Chan’s nod over the phone. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Chan held true to his word, reaching your apartment in exactly fifteen minutes, even coming up to your apartment door and gazing down at you as you sulked at the door, lips pouted and eyebrows scrunched together.

“Chan,” was all you managed out before he was hugging you, and you felt like melting right there and dissolving into a puddle of tears. “Jisung would have kicked me out if I didn’t shut up but I really needed someone to talk to because—hic—I miss him already,” you hiccuped, tears interspersing your words.

“It’s okay,” Chan whispered, stroking your back comfortingly. “It’s okay to let it out.”

You nodded and wiped your tears, hiccuping and leaning on Chan as he led you down to his car, driving you back to his house.

His house wasn’t much but when he brought you up to his roof, you were amazed by the view. You could almost ignore the city lights from up there, the only thing separating you from the stars being the vast expanse of the night sky between you and the constellations.

Chan brought out two bottles of champagne and glasses, while you snuggled under the blankets he had prepared. For a dirty rooftop in the middle of the city, it certainly was awfully comfortable.

It was also terribly romantic.

Chan wasn’t even settled in by the time you burst into tears, outright sobbing as you told him about how much you missed Minho. The softness of the air mattress under you didn’t make your heart ache any less, and the tears flowed from an endless reservoir, never seeming to run dry.

Chan wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly, giving you just enough space to feel sad but not lonely.

He listened to you while you told him of Minho’s tendencies to up and leave, your struggles with your friendship and how vulnerability looked different on Minho with you and Jisung and you didn’t understand why humans were so complicated.

He listened as you told him Minho’s life story and your history with him, why you would miss him so much and how much of your heart he happily occupied, wrenching it away from you each time he left. As your heart slowly grew smaller and scarred, you were sure it was becoming more closed off to others.

You? Emotional? Of course not.

But even your impressive gaslighting skills couldn’t convince you that you weren’t emotional, especially after all you had told Chan.

“Y/n?” was the first thing out of Chan’s mouth after a good minute of silence on your part. The void of noise was punctuated only by your hiccups every once in a while as you fought back a fresh wave of tears.

“I think you need to let some of him go,” he said hesitantly. “It’s okay for him to live his life, and you yours. It’s okay that you’re set on two different paths that only cross once in a blue moon. I promise you, you won’t drift apart just because he likes to wander. You will still be okay and whole without one person and you can still be really good friends.”

Smiling, he pointed to the sky. “Do you see Orion’s belt? Similar to you mourning Minho’s departure, it’s a huge waist of time.”

You laughed involuntarily, eyes shimmering but no longer crying. “Thanks. I think… I needed that.” You gazed at the stars, in awe of their beauty and how vast the universe was. So many things were there for you to be grateful for, you couldn’t afford to squander the gift of time longing for the past. After all, you had the present to be grateful for.

Sensing that you didn’t want to talk anymore, Chan guided your hand out from under the blanket and pointed your finger at the stars. “Do you see that constellation right there? It’s one of my favourites. Sirius.”

“Three guesses why,” you said sarcastically.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little cliché and like the dog constellation because it’s the closest to a wolf. What’re you going to do about it, huh?”

You only responded by pressing a kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“While you’re in a good mood… I also wanted to tell you that it’s okay to be emotionally attached to people and need a while to get over things.”

“And to get into fights with our loved ones?”

“That. Human relations are complicated. You should know that, you people-watcher. I see how your eyes dart in public from one couple to another, scouring the world for any form of humanity to include in your music.”

You felt called out but Chan had a point. “You do it too. Is it my fault that living vicariously through others hurts less than doing it ourselves?”

Chan smiles fondly. “You know everything will work out, right? Hurting out of love is better than not feeling love at all.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you reply, tears blurring your vision. Your hand in Chan’s tightened its grip on him, your rib cage aching as if your heart was really and truly broken.

Chan tilted your chin so you were looking at him, eyes meeting yours as you nodded, just the slightest of motions before his lips were on yours, kissing the pain and the tears away, brushing his thumb over your cheeks to wipe away the traces of your hurt.

“Hey, Y/n. It’s really going to work itself out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then crying is alright. It’s not a sign of weakness and you’ll let it all out. And from there, I’ll hold you through it all while you mend your broken heart.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

FIN.

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