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theballadofharkness · 1 month ago

Text

You did what?… With who?

Mason and the Macabre Masterlist

Pairing: Maya Mason x HorrorExec!reader

Summary: A casting crisis ruins date night, but things really fall apart when you find out Maya once hooked up with your boss Matt. Hurt turns to heat, and in the aftermath of a messy conference room blow-up, Maya takes back control, reminding her bratty horror queen exactly who she belongs to.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Explict smut so as always MDNI xo

A/N: I think I’m not the only one who was jump scared at the Maya Matt hookup scenes, which is where this little fic came from ft. Reader being just as shocked as me xo

The clock reads 9:17pm, and the only thing worse than the flickering fluorescent overheads is the fact that you’re still here. Still at Continental. Still in this goddamn conference room.

What was supposed to be dinner and the Boris Karloff Black Sabbath retrospective, one night only, 35mm print, perfect eerie vibes, has instead become stale trail mix, Maya yelling into her phone, and Quinn lying flat on the floor like she’s emotionally decomposing.

The table is a battlefield: headshots, post-it notes, crumpled printouts with studio-approved names scribbled out in Sharpie. Somewhere near the center lies a half-full bottle of Advil and someone’s forgotten vape pen.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes. Mostly because if you open your mouth, you might scream.

Tyler clicks away on his MacBook with the fervor of a man about to quit the industry and go live in a yurt. Matt’s pacing. Sal’s leaning back in a chair that you’ve threatened to destroy three separate times. And Maya, your girlfriend, your beautiful, high-strung, Prada-wrapped, chaos goblin of a girlfriend, is at the head of the table, barking into her AirPods at an agent who’s clearly lying about availability.

“She’s not booked out through Q3, Gary, she’s at Erewhon every morning and she took a Hulu guest star last week, don’t lie to me—”

You look at the clock again. 9:18.

You shift your gaze to Maya, who catches it for a second. Her expression softens just for a moment. There’s guilt there. The kind that says: I’m sorry, I didn’t forget. I wanted to spoil you rotten.

But then she’s back to shouting. “Then give me someone better. We were about to announce. You want me to put out a press release saying our Cannes-contender lead ‘politely bailed due to exhaustion’? Gary, this is not a fucking Benadryl commercial, this is a prestige thriller with blood and teeth and you owe me for that Variety spread!”

Matt slumps into the seat beside you. “He couldn’t wait till after filming to check into rehab?”

Quinn, from the floor: “Mental health is health, Matt.”

You say nothing.

You’re too busy watching Maya. Watching how fast she moves when something goes wrong. How she thrives in chaos. How much you love her, and how much you resent her for being able to switch gears without missing a beat, even when she promised to hold your hand through that haunting Karloff close-up you’ve been dreaming about all week.

You cross your arms and lean back, nails biting into your sleeves. If she notices your silence, she doesn’t show it.

You’re trying to be a team player. You really are.

You get that this is a crisis. You get that losing your lead actor two weeks before announcement is a full-blown, PR-nightmare, press-cycle-imploding catastrophe. You get it.

But also?

You had these tickets for months.

The Karloff screening was one night only. One night. You’d planned it down to the detail, dinner at that weird little vampire-themed French place on Melrose, then the 10:30pm showing at the New Beverly. You had an outfit. You had lipstick named after a fictional vampire. And Maya had said yes. Maya had promised.

And now she’s playing agent chicken in cargo pants while you rot in a swivel chair next to Matt “crisis is my cardio” Remick.

He slumps closer to you again, chip crumbs on his hoodie. “Hey. You okay? You’re, like… very quiet. And your eyes look like you’re planning a murder.”

“I’m great,” you say, voice thin as piano wire.

He squints. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you say, smiling coolly. “I’m mad at the circumstances.”

Matt nods, sagely. “Yeah. Totally. Unforgiving circumstances. You know, I had dinner plans too.”

You blink slowly. “Did you have tickets to a once in a lifetime horror screening and a girlfriend who swore on her Saint Laurent collection that she’d wear a dress with a slit so high it’d make your nosebleed?”

He pauses. “I… did not.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

Matt sits back.

Maya glances up from her phone at the exact wrong moment, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. She tilts her head like she’s trying to catch your eye, checking in, but you’re already looking away, arms crossed, fingers drumming tight against your elbow.

She sighs. Loudly. Then turns back to the group. “Okay, if we’re tossing out anyone with a criminal record or a secret second family, we’re down to, like, four viable leads. This is a mess.”

Tyler says, “I’m putting the narrowed list in the doc now.”

Quinn mumbles, “Can we manifest Andrew Garfield… oh or Anthony Mackie? We helped him by getting rid of that deliriously boring ending to Alphabet City? Maybe he would want to help us?”

And you sit there, jaw clenched, wondering which will happen first: Maya noticing that you’re barely breathing around her, or you finally snapping and telling everyone in this room to go to hell.

Spoiler: it’s going to be the second one.

The door creaks open and Matt’s assistant, that poor trembling twenty-something with crazy eyes and a name you never remember, steps in balancing four greasy brown takeout bags and a drink tray.

“Okay,” she says, voice chipper and doomed. “Dinner run! Um, I’ve got three poké bowls, one salad with no croutons, and one… bacon cheeseburger?”

Everyone barely glances up. Except you.

You sit up straighter. “I didn’t order a bacon cheeseburger.”

The assistant blinks. “You didn’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I ordered the spicy miso ramen. With soft-boiled egg and scallions. And the kombu broth, not tonkotsu. It was very specific.”

“Oh,” she says. “Okay. Right. Um. Yeah, I think they forgot to include that one and I had to sub something in and I thought this would be—”

“It’s not,” you interrupt.

The entire room stills.

Matt chuckles, that awkward little I want us all to have fun chuckle. “Hey, it’s food though, right? Fuel for the chaos. That burger probably tastes great if you close your eyes.”

You swivel your head toward him so slowly it’s cinematic.

“Matt,” you say, ice in your voice, “if you say one more thing about this situation being ‘fun’ or ‘quirky’ or anything short of catastrophic, I’m going to take this burger, hurl it through the window, and then I’m going to go home and personally leak to Deadline that you’re considering Armie Hammer for the lead.”

Sal blanches. “Okay, wow. Vivid.”

Tyler is silently typing faster. Quinn has frozen mid-sip. Maya, who had just stepped away to take another call, turns back at the sound of your voice and clocks your expression instantly.

The assistant holds out the bag to you, hands trembling.

You don’t take it.

“Put it down,” you mutter. “And tell them next time, if they can’t handle reading a four-item order, they shouldn’t be in delivery.”

The assistant nods like she’s just been saved from the gallows, barely, and vanishes.

Matt tries again, brave little idiot that he is. “Hey, look, I know tonight sucks, but we’re gonna fix this. We always do.”

You stare at the burger. It’s oozing melted cheese you didn’t ask for onto a paper napkin. Your stomach growls in betrayal.

“I don’t need reassurance,” you say, eyes still on the food. “I need someone to give a shit that this night mattered to me.”

Matt, for once, says nothing.

Maya watches you carefully, lips slightly parted like she wants to say something but knows better than to try right now.

Good.

Because if she tries to talk to you with that soft voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to calm you down ‘baby, come on, it’s not that deep’ you’re going to lose it.

You exhale slowly, blinking down at the offending burger like it personally insulted your family line.

Then you push your chair back, the screech loud and final, and stand.

“I’m going to smoke,” you say.

Across the room, Quinn lifts her head from the couch where she’s now fully horizontal, half a Red Bull can balanced on her chest. “Didn’t you quit?”

You meet her gaze, deadpan. “Yes. I did.”

The room is quiet as you grab your coat off the back of your chair. Not a single person tries to stop you, not Matt, not Sal, not Tyler who definitely pretends to type but is secretly tracking the emotional temperature in the room like it’s a goddamn hurricane warning system.

Maya watches you like she’s deciding whether to follow or give you space. You don’t even look at her as you leave.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And then it’s just the hallway, dim, echoing, empty. You fish through your bag for the emergency pack you swore you threw out three months ago. The lighter’s tucked in your inner coat pocket, because you always keep one on you. Just in case. For moments like this.

Moments where your girlfriend forgets the thing you’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Moments where everyone around you thinks you’re just a work machine who doesn’t need a night off, doesn’t deserve softness or spooky vintage horror or god forbid a meal that tastes like something other than cardboard and stress.

You step out onto the rooftop access balcony, light up, and take a long, furious drag.

The city below sparkles like it doesn’t care you’re having the worst night of your life.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

And you know it’s her.

You don’t turn when you hear the door open. Just flick the ash off the end of your cigarette and keep your eyes on the skyline, all glittering buildings and smog-hazed moonlight. The kind of view people would die for.

You’d trade it for a decent bowl of ramen and thirty uninterrupted minutes in a dark cinema with Maya’s hand in yours.

Her footsteps are soft behind you. Rubber soles on concrete. She’s not in heels today, she never is when shit hits the fan. Maya in crisis mode means sneakers, slicked-back hair, oversized streetwear that still somehow screams money.

“Hey,” she says, soft and casual, leaning against the wall beside you. Not too close. Not yet. “I was wondering where you snuck off to.”

You exhale a slow stream of smoke. “I said I was going to smoke.”

“Yeah, but like… dramatically,” she says with a small grin. “You’ve got that whole ‘tragic noir widow who poisoned her husband’ vibe going.”

You don’t laugh.

Maya shifts her weight, biting at the edge of her thumb. “Okay. So. You’re pissed.”

“Nope,” you reply coolly, eyes still forward. “I’m disappointed. Different thing.”

“Baby…”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, tough, because we are doing this right now. I’m not going back in there to listen to Matt talk about how maybe Timothée Chalamet has ‘genre potential’ without fixing this first.”

You roll your eyes.

She steps closer. “I know I ruined tonight.”

“Do you?”

Maya pauses.

You finally turn your head, flicking the last of your cigarette over the railing. “You promised me, Maya. You said dinner and Black Sabbath. You said you cleared your schedule. I wore my stupid little dress and you—”

“I know.” She sounds guilty now. Not soft. Not smug. Just tired.

“I wanted to go,” she says. “I did. But when this shit hit the fan, I had to—”

“No,” you interrupt. “You chose to. And that’s fine, Maya. That’s your job. I get it. I’m not mad you’re good at your job. I’m mad that I didn’t even register to you tonight.”

Silence.

The only sound is the faint hum of traffic below and your own heart, pounding like it’s trying to crack your ribs.

Maya steps in, finally closing the space between you. Her hand hovers at your wrist.

“You always register,” she says, quiet now. “You’re the only thing that registers. Even when I’m on the phone with Gary the lying agent and Quinn’s comparing headshots like she’s swiping Tinder for psychopaths… I’m still thinking about how pissed you are. About how I let you down. I know I did.”

You stare at her.

“And I’ll make it up to you,” she adds, more confidently now. “I’ll find another screening. Or I’ll buy out the fucking New Beverly and force them to show it again. Just us. You can wear your little dress and I’ll wear heels and lipstick and no bra. I’ll make it right.”

Your mouth twitches. “You’re such a manipulative bitch,” you murmur.

She grins. “Takes one to love one.”

And finally you let her reach for you, her hands settling at your hips, her body warm and familiar against yours as the city glows below and the disaster inside fades, for just a second, into something survivable.

Maya’s hands slip around your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips like she’s trying to anchor you. You hate how good it feels. How easy it is to melt into her, even when you’re mad. Especially when you’re mad.

“Still want to be mad at me?” she murmurs, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw.

You huff. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she says, dipping her head lower, mouthing at your neck. “Want to do it while I’m kissing you?”

You don’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, you grab her collar and pull her in hard, kissing her like you mean to punish her for every moment she made you feel invisible tonight. It’s angry, all teeth and open mouths and smudged lipstick. Her rings dig into your back as she pushes you gently against the wall, one leg between yours, her tongue slipping past your lips like she owns you. (She does. You hate it… you love it really.)

Your fingers tangle in the back of her shirt. Her hand cups your jaw, possessive and greedy, like she’d crawl inside you if you let her.

You’re still furious.

But you’re also starving for her, for closeness, for the night that got stolen from you.

She kisses you like she’s trying to give it back.

You’re breathless when you finally pull away, her forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting like you’ve just run a mile.

You blink up at her. Then pout. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I have nothing to eat.”

Maya sighs dramatically, hand still on your waist. “Okay. Do you want me to go downstairs, threaten that assistant into running to Little Dom’s, and bring you back a real meal while I blackball every poké place in LA?”

You pause, considering it. “…Yes.”

She kisses your nose, grinning. “That’s my terrifying little goblin.”

You swat her ass as she turns to leave.

She blows you a kiss over her shoulder. “Stay mad. I’m gonna fix it.”

And for the first time all night, you believe her.

When you walk back into the conference room, it’s like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing.

Quinn raises one eyebrow but wisely says nothing. Matt offers you a sheepish chip. You ignore him. Tyler avoids eye contact like you’re a wild animal that bites.

And Maya? She’s back at the head of the table, arms crossed, glaring at a printout of an actor’s IMDB credits like she can will charisma into his face. The moment she sees you, her expression softens just enough for you to catch it.

Without a word, you cross the room, slide into her chair, and settle into her lap like it’s your rightful throne.

She doesn’t blink. Just wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, her fingers tracing circles at your hip like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re not both high-ranking executives in a Hollywood studio actively clinging to each other in the middle of a very serious emergency meeting.

You grab the stack of casting options Quinn’s compiled and start flipping through them, sharp-eyed and fully engaged for the first time tonight.

Maya’s chin rests on your shoulder. “Do we like him?” she murmurs, nodding at a headshot.

You snort. “He looks like the kind of guy who’d get cast in a remake of something and say in the press tour that he’s ‘not really a horror fan.’”

Maya hums. “Death penalty.”

Matt clears his throat. “Are we just… are we doing this? Like, are you… are you just sitting—”

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” Quinn says without looking up.

Sal mutters something about needing therapy.

You sigh, flipping another page. “Okay. We need someone with heat, with depth, and with a name that won’t make Variety think we’ve lost the plot. Who actually wants to do genre. Not prestige posturing. Not some Marvel rebound gig.”

Maya squeezes your waist proudly. “She’s back, baby.”

You glance at her. “Don’t push it.”

She bites back a grin.

And just like that, the meeting resets. The energy shifts. You’re still hungry. Still annoyed. But you’ve got Maya’s warmth beneath you, your hand sorting through the chaos like you’re building an altar out of headshots and spite. It’s not the night you wanted. But it’s yours.

It’s a full-on war room now.

Papers litter the table like battlefield debris. Someone’s ordered more coffee. Quinn’s abandoned the floor and is pacing in socks, muttering actor names like she’s summoning demons. Matt has one AirPod in and two phones on speaker. Tyler’s got six windows open on his laptop and keeps saying things like, “If we shift the press embargo window to Thursday, we could still meet the media lead-in without violating the NDA.” Sal’s in the corner on the phone with someone, you don’t know who, and frankly, you don’t want to know.

And you?

You’re still on Maya’s lap, her arms looped lazily around your waist as the two of you scroll IMDb Pro like it owes you money.

“We’re running out of options,” she mutters, chin on your shoulder.

“No,” you say, flipping through headshots. “We’re running out of good options. We’ve got plenty of bad ones left.”

You scroll past a mid-tier heartthrob and grimace. “He thinks ‘The Babadook’ is a slur.”

Maya snorts.

You feel the vibration of her phone before you hear the ding. She shifts under you, grabbing it from the table, scrolling a few beats, then—

“Wait,” she says, and her voice changes. It sharpens.

You lean back slightly to see the screen.

A photo. A name.

You blink. “Him?”

“He’s free,” she says. “Just left that three-film deal with Netflix, so he’s loose. And he wants awards again. Said it in his GQ interview last month.”

“He hasn’t done a thriller since that Swedish noir remake thing,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Her eyes are gleaming. “He’s overdue. He wants something gritty, something sexy and smart. We give him this, with you as exec producer, me running the campaign, he eats. He feasts.”

You glance at the name again. A-list. Oscar nominee. Under 40. Still hot enough that the trades would sell it as a comeback. Your gut twists.

“That’s a real star,” you say quietly.

Maya grins. “Then let’s fucking go.”

~ Twenty minutes later ~

The room is silent. Breathless. Tyler’s phone is on speaker.

A female voice says clearly: “He’s in. He loves the script. He’s asking for a quick polish on act three, but he’s in if you’re in.”

Tyler mouths ‘holy shit’.

You and Maya look at each other. She’s grinning like a woman who just closed a million-dollar deal. Because she did.

“Tell him we’ll have a new draft by Monday,” Maya says. “And that we’ll build the whole campaign around him. Fall festivals. Viral drops. Let him play serious again. Full resurrection treatment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice says.

The call ends.

The room explodes.

Quinn is dancing around the table, chanting, “WE DID IT! WE FUCKING DID IT!” while holding her Red Bull like a trophy. Tyler’s fully teared up, muttering something about “professional peak” as he rapid-types a new press release draft. Matt’s hugging people he normally avoids. Sal opens his personal stash of whiskey from the bottom cabinet man’s behind to gulp it down in celebration.

And you, you’re just sitting there, dazed, still on Maya’s lap, the adrenaline hitting you in waves as you both watch your team lose their minds in the best way. You feel her hand stroke your back, grounding you.

You turn and face her, and her smile softens.

You’re both exhausted. You’re both glowing.

You kiss her.

Right there in front of everyone, without thinking, just full-on lips crashing together, the kind of kiss that says we did it, that says I love you, that says we’re a fucking empire, you and me.

She kisses you back with a little groan like she’s been dying for it all night.

When you pull away, she tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Fuck me I’m good.”

You smirk. “Baby you know I’m the bottom here.”

She rolls her eyes, but you feel her squeeze your thigh under the table.

Someone cranks music, something loud and celebratory and wildly inappropriate for a work setting, and suddenly Quinn’s tossing around casting sheets like confetti, Tyler’s laughing, and Matt’s on his second glass of Dom Perignon.

Then…

“I’m just saying,” Sal calls over the chaos, already tipsy, “I’m so glad Maya and Matt aren’t fucking anymore because a fucking win like this would’ve ended in one of those weird celebratory makeouts with, like, tongue and teeth and that whole… thing.”

Record scratch.

Everything stops.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. The music is still playing but it sounds underwater now. Distant. Wrong. Because your body just froze around one word: fucking.

Your brain does the math. And the math is bad.

You were not aware that Maya and Matt had ever…

Your gaze snaps to her before you can stop yourself.

And Maya? She’s pale. Like someone just slapped her across the face. Her arms loosen around you just slightly. Like she wants to speak but can’t figure out which version of the truth to start with.

Maya stiffens beneath you. “Sal.”

“What?” Sal blinks, clearly not reading the room. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing not to end a big win with that weird forehead-touching, neck-biting, sweaty thing you two used to do. Like, get a room—”

“SAL.” Maya snaps.

Matt chuckles, a little too defensively. “Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn says from the couch, voice deadpan but gleeful. “Wait. Wait. You and Matt actually—”

You slide off Maya’s lap slowly. Mechanically.

No one speaks.

Not even Sal, who finally realizes far too late that he just opened a black hole in the center of the room.

You look at Maya, but this time, you don’t see her in her triumph, or her glory, or the way she kissed you like she’d won a million dollars. You see someone who never told you something big. You see a betrayal you didn’t even know you had to look for. And Maya? She looks like she’d give anything to take the moment back.

“No no no no no,” you say, waving your hand like you can physically clear the words from the air. “This isn’t real. Tell me this isn’t real.”

Matt’s hands go up, palms-out. “Hey, okay, it was a long time ago! Pre-pandemic! Practically a different era. We were hot!”

“No you weren’t,” Tyler mutters.

“Thank you,” Sal says.

“I mean, I didn’t think it was important,” Matt tries, shrugging. “We’re adults. It’s ancient history.”

You round on Maya, who looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

“You fucked Matt?” you whisper. “Matt? My boss?”

Maya’s hands go up in surrender. “I swear to god, it was barely a thing. Like three times. Maybe four and some make outs—”

“Four?!”

“And we agreed it was a mistake! That it was weird and a boundary issue and we were never doing it again!”

“Oh my god,” you say, stepping back. Your face is hot. Your ears are ringing. You genuinely think you might pass out.

Maya stands, panic rising in her voice. “It was before you, okay? It didn’t mean anything—”

“It means something now!” you snap. “You’ve been in meetings with him, pitching with him, touching me in front of him, and never thought maybe, just maybe, I should know this?!”

“Babe,” she says, pleading. “It wasn’t—”

But you’re already walking. Past Quinn, who mouths holy shit. Past Tyler, who looks like he’s about to throw up. Past Matt, who mutters, “I mean, it wasn’t bad,” and Maya, who yells, “Matt, shut the fuck up!”

You don’t look back. Not even when Maya calls your name, urgent and anxious behind you. Because if you do, you’ll cry. And you won’t give her that. Not in front of all of them.

You don’t make it to the elevator.

You barely make it past the hall.

You stumble into the nearest quiet corridor off the main floor, press your back to the wall, and slide down until you’re crouched in the shadows beside the fire extinguisher, hidden from the party you used to be part of ten minutes ago.

Your hands are shaking.

Not in a poetic, trembling-lip way, no you’re shaking like your body’s short-circuiting. You can’t get a full breath in, like your lungs are folding in on themselves. Your fingers fumble for your phone, but it slips once before you catch it again, screen lighting up far too bright in the dark.

You open the Uber app.

It takes three tries to type your address.

You don’t even look at the price. You hit Confirm pickup, then curl your arms around your knees like you’re holding yourself together with sheer force of will.

A car in six minutes.

Six minutes, and you can be out of here. Away from the conference room. Away from the memory of Maya’s arms around you while she neglected to mention her little HR-certified hookup history with your literal boss.

Away from Quinn’s face going no fucking way, from Sal being… well, Sal, from Matt trying to laugh it off like you’re all just characters in one of his shitty improv sketches.

You stare at the blinking dot on your phone.

It says your driver is named Eli.

You’re going to climb into Eli’s Honda and pretend you’re not the idiot whose girlfriend used to fuck the head of the studio you work for.

You wipe at your eyes angrily. No tears. Not yet.

You’ve got to get home, take off your makeup, wash this night off your body like it didn’t happen. Get three hours of sleep, if that. And then come back here tomorrow to the same office, the same glass-walled rooms, and the same people who all know exactly how humiliated you were.

You’ll have to walk into that conference room and look Matt in the face. And worse you’ll have to look at her.

You grip your phone tighter. Try not to scream.

Four minutes now.

Just four more minutes.

You close your eyes.

You do not fall apart in the hallway.

Not yet.

Back in the conference room, the mood has absolutely tanked.

The music’s still playing, some obnoxious party track with a synth drop no one asked for, but now it just feels cruel. Tyler quietly lowers the volume without asking.

Maya’s standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. She hasn’t said a word since you left.

Then she lets go. “Okay. What the fuck was that?!”

Everyone freezes.

Sal, still halfway through pouring another whiskey: “That was not on me.”

“Really?” Maya snaps, eyes blazing. “Because you’re the one who decided to resurrect the ancient, cursed Matt-and-Maya-era like it was relevant.”

Sal shrugs. “Didn’t realize it was classified.”

“Oh my god,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Do you just say things to hear yourself speak or was tonight special?”

Quinn’s still staring like she just watched a plane crash. “You two actually had sex?”

Maya paces now, agitated, unspooling in front of them. “I didn’t tell her because it didn’t matter. It was a blip. It was so long ago, and it was awkward and messy and I thought… it just never came up, okay?!”

Matt nods too fast. “Yeah. And I supported that! I supported not bringing it up! Because I thought it would be weird to tell her!”

“We were stupid. It was sloppy!” Maya barks. “It was during the Blue Fox merger, I had bronchitis and a PR embargo hanging over my head!”

“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers. “Was there tongue?”

Maya throws her hands up. “Yes, okay?! There was tongue. There was stress. There was bad lighting. It was a low point for everyone involved.”

Matt winces. “Okay that’s kinda harsh, I think it was kind of beautiful…”

“Matt,” Sal says, “shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Quinn mutters, more to herself than anyone.

Maya turns, sharp. “Why would I?! So she could, what? Laugh? Pity me? Set fire to her retinas with the image of me and him in a West Hollywood bar bathroom while Luther Vandross played in the background?”

Quinn blinks. “…it was to Luther Vandross?”

“Of course it was Luther Vandross! I have taste, Quinn!”

The room falls quiet again.

Maya deflates a little. She’s still furious. Still too raw to know what to do with herself. “I didn’t tell her,” she says, quieter now. “Because it was nothing. It was a blip. It was before. Before her. Before I even knew what it felt like to want to come home to someone.”

“She looked at me like I was someone else,” she says quietly. “Like I’d lied about everything. Like I’d humiliated her.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sal says, uncharacteristically soft.

That’s what makes Maya go still.

Sal shrugs. “I’m just saying. If I found out my girlfriend used to bone the guy who signs her paycheck, and she didn’t tell me? I’d be halfway to my dealers for medical grade coke by now.”

“Well it’s not technically me who signs them.. that would be Lucille from accounting…” Matt interjects

Maya’s jaw clenches. “Not helpful Matt.”

You slam the door behind you.

Hard.

The keys hit the floor. Your bag drops somewhere near the entryway. You don’t even bother turning the lights on, you just march straight into the kitchen like a storm in heels, throw the fridge open, and stare inside like something in there’s going to fix this. Spoiler: there’s nothing but a bottle of white wine, a leftover oat latte, and a Tupperware of pad thai that’s three days past edible.

You grab the wine. Twist the cap off with shaking fingers and drink straight from the bottle.

The second the first gulp hits your throat, you pace back and forth, back and forth, bare feet slapping hardwood like you’re wearing a hole into the foundation.

“Matt,” you hiss, to no one. “Matt fucking Remnick?”

You laugh. It’s ugly. “Of course. Of fucking course.”

You fling yourself down on the couch and dig your nails into the throw pillow like it personally betrayed you.

So let’s just tally it up, right?

The guy who pays you, the guy who nods along during your pitch meetings like he’s just smart enough to track the plot but not smart enough to understand why it works, that guy? That doughy, beige suit wearing, oat milk-drinking, workaholic dipshit?

He fucked your girlfriend.

Your Maya.

The Maya who kisses your throat when you’re reading in bed. The Maya who calls you her “creepy little horror wife” in meetings like a badge of honor. That Maya?

Fucked. Matt. Remnick.

You press your hands into your eyes. Oh, and the best part? Sal knew. Sal. Fucking Sal, who you’ve sat next to in a hundred meetings, who’s texted you bad memes at midnight, who’s thrown shade at every actor you’ve ever cast.

He knew.

How many people knew? How many people sat across from you in conference rooms, watched you and Maya flirt and smolder, and thought, Wow. Hope she told her she used to hook up with the boss?

You drag your hands down your face and make a sound that’s somewhere between a scream and a sob. You feel sick. Like the butt of a joke you didn’t know was being told.

Your phone buzzes from your bag across the room.

You don’t even look.

If it’s Maya, she can wait.

You wake up face-down on the couch, blanket halfway off, one leg tangled in your throw, and a wine bottle dangerously close to rolling off the coffee table.

Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry. It’s 5 a.m. and you feel like someone took your rage, poured it through a filter of grief, and blended it with three hours of half-sleep and one unfinished nightmare about Matt Remnick in a hot tub.

You groan. Sit up. Immediately regret it.

Then you see your phone.

18 texts.

4 voice notes.

1 missed call.

All from Maya.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before thumbing open the thread.

The first one hit around 12:23 a.m.

<Maya: ok so i’ve been lying in bed for two hours staring at the ceiling like the little match girl but instead of cold i’m dying of shame>

<Maya: just fyi tho the matt era was VERY short-lived and powered entirely by alcohol and bad decisions and i got bronchitis right after. draw your own conclusions.>

<Maya: I should’ve told you. I didn’t because i thought it was irrelevant and then i convinced myself it was embarrassing and then it turned into a weird shame snowball and then sal threw a grenade and now we’re here>

<Maya: i’m gonna go to sleep before i drive to your place in a hoodie and crocs and throw pebbles at your window like a fuckin Lana song but specifically for lesbians>

<Maya: unless that would work??>

Your alarm didn’t go off.

Actually, no, your alarm did go off. You just threw your phone across the room sometime around 6:30 a.m. after rereading Maya’s latest text for the fifth time and muttering “fuck off” into your pillow.

So now it’s 9:12 a.m.

And the Continental morning meeting starts at 9.

You bolt out of bed with a groan, mouth dry, head pounding, last night’s wine and rage still thick behind your eyes. You shower in record time, slap on concealer, mascara, a black turtleneck, and sunglasses that scream do not speak to me I will kill you where you stand.

No breakfast. Just coffee in a to-go cup that tastes like cardboard and regret.

Traffic’s hell. You scream once in your car just to get it out. You park like a menace, don’t even check the mirror, and stomp across the lot toward the building with your bag half open and your badge clipped to your sleeve.

When you push through the glass doors and into the marble lobby of Continental Studios, you’re ten minutes late and vibrating with fury.

Matt spots you immediately from the hallway. He’s holding a protein bar and his big dumb reusable water bottle and smiling like it’s casual Friday.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging to keep pace beside you. “You’re late for the morning slate check-in.”

You don’t even look at him. Instead you snarl, voice low and venomous, “bite me, Remnick.”

He freezes mid-step.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s fair. You’re mad. Totally valid. Just… don’t bite me in the meeting, okay? Bite Sal. He can take it.”

You don’t respond.

You just keep walking. Because the only thing worse than seeing Matt today… is knowing she’s already in the conference room.

And you have to sit through the morning meeting like none of this happened. Like your entire sense of stability didn’t just crack open in front of half the fucking team.

The door swings open.

You step inside the conference room with that perfect blend of silence and menace, black silk shirt, razor-sharp tailored blazer, sunglasses pushed up into your hair like a crown. You’ve got your coffee in one hand, your notes in the other, and the kind of expression that says I dare you.

Tyler starts the meeting like he doesn’t smell the emotional blood in the air. “Okay, so first things first—our guy’s officially confirmed, and the trades are prepped. We’re greenlit to announce end of week if we can finalize rollout assets.”

“Cool,” you say crisply, flipping open the folder. “We’re not announcing Friday.”

Everyone looks up.

Matt blinks. “We’re not?”

“No. It’s too crowded. Dune: Part Three has an early stills drop Friday morning and Searchlight’s doing an ‘Anatomy of a Fall’ deep-dive with the New Yorker that afternoon. We’ll get buried. We push to Monday and own the morning cycle.”

Maya opens her mouth to speak, and you don’t even look up. “Unless you’d like to announce our Oscar-bait thriller between a sandworm and a French woman falling down the stairs.”

Silence.

Then Quinn mutters, “God, you’re scary when you’re on.”

You still don’t look at Maya. But you feel her eyes burning into you.

Matt clears his throat. “Okay, Monday. We can make that work. Uh… Maya, what do you need for assets?”

The rest of the meeting trudges forward like it’s wearing lead boots.

You don’t speak unless you have to. Every sentence that comes out of your mouth is clean, clear, and lethal. Maya keeps glancing your way like she’s trying to find an opening, a soft edge, a tell, anything.

But there’s nothing.

You give her nothing.

No warmth. No flicker of forgiveness. Not even a look.

Just silence and strategy.

“If we’re shifting, talent needs their glam appointments moved up. We’ll need rep confirmation before lunch.” No snark. No emotion. Just fact.

Maya nods slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

Still, you don’t look at her.

Even Sal picks up on it now. He’s not cracking jokes. Matt fumbles through the updated calendar notes. Quinn adds a few scheduling tweaks. Tyler asks something about embargo coordination, which you answer with the kind of precision that makes Sal mouth “yikes” into his coffee.

Eventually, the meeting wraps.

Chairs scrape back. Laptops close. No one says much.

And Maya? She stands. Lingers behind her chair, one hand resting on the back of it like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. You don’t look up. You’re reviewing the press deck. You are calm. You are composed. You are the queen of horror at Continental fucking Studios. And right now? She doesn’t get to have you.

You gather your papers in silence. Neat. Controlled. No sign of the volcano beneath the surface. You slide them into your folder, close it with precision, and stand.

You don’t look at Maya. You’re halfway to the door when you hear her.

“C’mon, wait.” Her voice is low. Urgent.

You pause just enough to let the tension snap taut, but not enough to look back. “I have work to do,” you say coolly.

She scoffs. “Oh come on. You can’t get mad at me for having a past, fucking hell.”

Your spine stiffens.

“I’m nearly double your age,” she continues, stepping forward now, voice rising just slightly. “I’ve fucked people. Like, sorry? Grow up.”

That’s when you freeze.

Turn.

Your voice shakes, not with weakness, but fury. “Yeah. I’m fucking aware, Maya.”

She blinks. Like maybe she thought you wouldn’t bite back.

“But this isn’t just anyone,” you hiss, stepping closer now. “This isn’t some ex from New York or a personal assistant you ghosted after Sundance. This is my boss. This is the man who signs my paychecks. Who I have to pitch to, smile at, navigate. And you didn’t think I deserved to know that you two had history?!”

“It was barely history…” she starts

“It doesn’t matter!” you snap. “It matters to me! And you didn’t tell me because what? You thought I’d be jealous? Uncool? That I’d what, throw a tantrum? Guess what, I’m throwing one now!”

Everyone else outside the glass conference room is simultaneously edging closer and pretending not to exist. You can still feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they’re all pretending they aren’t. Sal suddenly finds the far wall very interesting. Quinn’s fake AirPods are basically a theater curtain. Matt’s holding a water bottle like he might use it as a shield.

Maya runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Look, I know I should’ve told you.”

You cut her off. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I was embarrassed, okay?” she blurts. “It was a shitty, messy mistake and I didn’t want to bring that into us. I didn’t want to give it weight. You matter. He never did,” she says, too fast now, words spiraling. “You know how this studio works. Half the people in that room have fucked each other. And yeah, I messed up not tell you, but you can’t just crucify me because I have a past you didn’t pre-approve.”

You laugh, cold and wounded. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

She sighs hard. “Then what the fuck is it about?”

“It’s about respect, Maya!”

Now you’re really in it. Eyes burning. Breath ragged.

“It’s about the fact that I was the last to know. That Sal knew. That Tyler didn’t blink. That you let me sit next to Matt in meetings like it was nothing. Like I was some clueless intern with a clipboard and not your…” You stop. Swallow. “Not someone you say you care about.”

Maya’s face crumbles for real now.

“I do care about you,” she says, stepping forward, eyes desperate. “You think I don’t? You think I haven’t been losing my fucking mind since last night? I’ve sent you like sixty texts, I drafted a notes app apology, I didn’t even put on moisturizer this morning, do you understand how deranged I am right now?”

You blink. “That’s your barometer for grief? Moisturizer?”

“It was Dr. Barbara Sturm, you psychopath!” she snaps. “That shit is eighty-five dollars a pump!”

There’s a beat.

And despite yourself you almost laugh. Instead, you just shake your head, trying to calm your own heart, your own hands, your own instinct to forgive her too fast.

She’s watching you. Chest rising and falling. Waiting for you to say something. Anything.

And the room?

The room is silent.

She’s watching you. Breathing hard. Jaw tight. But her eyes? They’re tracking every inch of you like she’s trying to memorize your silhouette before you vanish.

Then she moves.

She closes the distance with one sharp step, and before you can stop her, her hands are at your waist. Light at first. Testing.

You flinch. “Don’t.”

But she doesn’t back off. Instead, she leans in, mouth grazing your jaw, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear.

“Baby, come on,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands slide lower, fingers curling at your hips like she’s staking a claim. She presses in close, intimate, entirely inappropriate with your coworkers still very much looking through the glass conference walls into the room and brushes her lips just beneath your ear.

“You’re pissed. I get it. Be pissed,” she breathes. “Yell at me later. Call me names. Tell me I’m a stupid, emotionally constipated corporate nightmare.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

She nips lightly at your neck. “But don’t leave me.”

Her fingers tighten, sliding up under the edge of your blazer, thumbs brushing your sides, mouth now trailing lower like she can seduce the forgiveness out of you.

“I love you,” she says again, lower now, desperate. “I was a coward. I fucked up. Let me fix it. Please.”

You should push her away.

You don’t. You don’t because she knows exactly where to touch you and she’s touching you there now, hands firm on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft spot just beneath your ribs like she’s trying to hold you together before you shatter again.

And then she kisses you.

Hard. No warning. No room to think. Just mouth on yours, hot and hungry and completely insane given the fact that you are very much not alone.

Your folder hits the floor.

Maya walks you back a step, her hands tangled in your blazer, mouth moving over yours like she needs it more than breath. There’s no gentle easing into it, it’s immediate, consuming, and deep. She kisses you like she’s trying to rewrite the memory of Matt fucking Remnick out of your bloodstream.

You pull back hard, breath heaving, mouth swollen from her kiss, mascara smudged, and Maya’s staring at you like you just gave her a second chance at life.

She reaches for you again.

You stop her with a single raised eyebrow and one lethal line, “…Matt? Really?”

The room goes dead silent again.

“Matt Remnick?” you repeat, voice dripping with horror. “You were into that?”

Sal audibly snorts and pretends to choke on his drink. Quinn lets out a wheeze and turns fully to the wall like she’s entering witness protection.

Maya groans. Loud. Embarrassed. Absolutely desperate. “Oh my god,” she mutters, eyes wide as she grabs your face and kisses you again.

Hard. This time it’s needy. Almost angry.

“I’m into you,” she growls against your mouth. “I’m into this. Not him.”

You’re still breathless when she pulls back.

You look at Maya.

She’s flushed. Wrecked. Entirely yours. And completely aware she’s still on thin ice.

You smooth your blazer. Pick your folder up off the floor. And say, as calmly as if you’re discussing box office projections: “We’re still having this conversation later. Somewhere private. Somewhere where I’m less inclined to claw your eyes out and let you fuck me against a filing cabinet.”

Maya exhales shakily. “Copy that,” she whispers.

Sal gives you a little golf clap. Quinn doesn’t look up, but says, “I hope we never stop working here.”

And without a word, you turn and walk. Down the hallway. Past the open offices. Through the glass doors.

Maya follows like a shadow. You swipe your badge and push open the door to your office, stepping inside with controlled hurt still radiating off your skin.

Maya barely gets the door shut behind her before you’re on her again.

You grab her jacket lapels and slam your mouth to hers, no buildup, no words, just heat. She groans into it, hands going immediately to your waist, pulling you in like she can’t stand to be apart from you another second.

This kiss is filthier. Sloppier. More desperate. You bite her lower lip and she gasps, nails digging into your hips as you press her back against the door.

“You drive me fucking insane,” you whisper against her mouth.

“Yeah?” she pants, licking her lips. “Well you’re fucking infuriating and I love you.”

Her hands roam over your back, up your spine, under your blazer. She tugs it off your shoulders like it’s offended her.

She laughs into your neck, breath hot as she whispers, “Is this… our version of conflict resolution?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing her down into the couch with one hand on her chest.

You climb into her lap and kiss her again, harder this time, her fingers slipping under your shirt like they know exactly what kind of damage they caused and exactly how to earn forgiveness.

You grind your hips against hers and she groans, low in her throat. “You’re still mad at me.”

You pull back just enough to look her dead in the eye. “Yes I am.”

She smiles. “Liar.”

And then you’re kissing again like you want to ruin her, like she’s the only one who could ever deserve to be ruined by you. You’re breathless in her lap, lips swollen from kissing her too hard, your blazer long forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of her shirt, your eyes hot, your body humming.

You’re still upset. Still bruised with betrayal. But god, her hands feel good on you. You pull back, panting, trying to steel yourself, to glare at her.

But your voice comes out shaky. “I’m still mad,” you whisper.

Her hands slide from your waist to your thighs, spreading you just slightly over her lap. “Good.”

And then she moves.

Suddenly you’re on your back on the couch, gasping as she pins you there, her body over yours, her mouth hovering just above your throat.

She’s looking at you differently now, like she’s done pretending you’re in control.

You shiver. “Maya?”

She kisses you. Slow. Possessive. Deep enough to make your stomach flip. When she pulls back, she speaks low against your mouth. “You’re being a little brat.”

Your thighs twitch.

Her hand slips between your legs, pressing over your panties, hot, firm, and unrelenting.

“Still think you’re mad at me?”

You whimper, arching into her hand.

She grins. “Thought so.”

She pulls your underwear aside, slides her fingers over you, slick, slow, maddening. You gasp, hips twitching. Her mouth is at your neck now, sucking lightly, just enough to make you writhe.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, smug. “Say you need me.”

You shake your head, breath trembling. “No.”

She presses two fingers in, deep and smooth, and you whine.

“Say it.”

You grip her shoulders like you might fall through the floor.

“I need you,” you breathe. “I need you, I need… fuck—”

“Good girl,” she says softly.

And then she fucks you. Harder now, fingers working you open, her body flush against yours, her mouth at your ear whispering things that make you gasp her name like a prayer.

“You gonna be good for me now?” she whispers.

“Yes! Yes, I promise… please don’t stop…”

You’re shaking beneath her, legs spreading wider, body losing every ounce of control you fought to hold. She’s everywhere, her voice, her hands, her breath, her mouth, and she doesn’t let up until you’re begging.

You come with a sharp cry, arching into her, body going taut, her name spilling from your lips like you were made for her.

She holds you through it, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back, whispering, “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

When the shaking slows, you cling to her, flushed and fucked-out, heart pounding. You nuzzle into her neck, voice tiny. “I’m not mad.”

She smiles against your hair. “I know.”

The room is quiet now.

Your body is warm and shaking gently, curled half on top of Maya on the couch. Her shirt is unbuttoned, your blouse’s somewhere on the floor, and your legs are tangled like you never plan on moving again.

She’s holding you. One hand stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades. The other resting lazily on your thigh, grounding you.

You’re breathing against her chest, face buried in the crook of her neck, eyelids fluttering. Safe. Fuzzy. Boneless.

Maya kisses your hair. “You alive down there?” she whispers.

You nod, slow. Muffled. “Mhm.”

She smiles, running her fingers through your hair now, kissing your temple.

You nuzzle closer, arms tightening around her waist.

Then, softly, voice quiet and thick with exhaustion, you apologise. “Sorry I was so dramatic.”

She blinks. Pulls back just enough to look at you. “Babe.”

You shrug against her. “I know I was bratting out. I just…” You sigh. “It’s Matt.”

There’s a beat.

Then Maya snorts.

You lift your head to glare at her, but she’s already laughing quietly, shakily, that signature Maya Mason chuckle that sounds like she can’t believe her life.

“I know it’s Matt,” she wheezes. “Believe me. I have to live with that fact every day.”

You flop your head back onto her chest. “God. Well I guess that’s punishment enough.”

Her arms tighten around you, still laughing as she presses kisses into your hair.

“You’re insane,” you murmur.

“I love you,” she says instantly.

You’re quiet for a moment. Then you whisper, “I love you too.”

She stills. Then lets out a soft little exhale, like the air just came back into her body.

You both lie there like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Outside your office, the day goes on. Inside? It’s just you and her.

#maya mason x fem!reader #maya mason x reader smut #maya mason smut #maya mason x reader #maya mason #kathryn hahn #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #claire debella x reader #claire debella

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yeri-luvr · 1 month ago

Note

HIIIII I LOVE UR WORK CAN U PLZ WRITE ONE WHERE READER IS BEING EDGED AND TOLD WHAT TO DO THRU THE PHONE BY GISELLE!!!

phone sex w/ aeri - drabble

it didn’t take a lot for you to get turned on whenever you were with giselle. for instance, all you could see was her baby pink roots sprawled against her hotel rooms pillow, yet it was enough to make you slip your panties aside.

“let me see your face” you said breathlessly, picking up the pace of your fingers dragging across your slit. she enters the screen confused before you flip the camera towards where your hands are.

“my baby’s missing me?” you whine in response, giving her a look at the slick that spreads between your fingers. “all that for me? you’ve only seen my face.”

“that’s enough for me” you bring your fingers back down to your clit, placing pressure onto where you wish your girlfriends fingers were in that moment.

her teeth sank into her lips, taking in a shallow breath as she felt her whole mood shift.

all she did was cross her legs and set her macbook on them; this was about you, not her.

“don’t you think you could go slower?”, you follow her orders, rubbing your clit in slower circles while relying on the pressure for pleasure.

the rough drag of your fingers on your cunt is sharp and aching, and with every stroke you look up to see your girlfriend losing her train of thought.

“you sound so needy, do you want to cum that badly?”

all you could do was moan in response as a familiar ache settled within you. aeri could already tell by the way your breath hitched.

“you can keep going, but don’t cum”. you whine in protest but you both know you’d follow any order from her.

you were begging for release yet obeying her words. “i don’t care if it hurts. beg if you want to, i don’t really care.” she muttered, indifferent to your whimpers.

and like a good bitch, you did exactly that. for aeri, she didn’t need to touch herself during calls like this—your desperate obedience was enough to get her off.

#girl group smut #aespa x reader #aespa smut #giselle #aespa imagines #aespa giselle #giselle x reader #gxg #kpop smut #aeri uchinaga #giselle smut #giselle x fem reader

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1117feverlessdreams · 6 months ago

Text

W.C.P.P. 🎀 ⛓️‍💥- Episode 1

🐈‍⬛~🎀 SUMMARY: After seven long years, you’ve fired your assistant because of your differences. Your new hire, Wooyoung Jung wants nothing but the same as you do, and a lot more than you’d think.

🐈‍⬛~🎀 TAGS/WARNINGS: Cursing/Name-Calling, Mentions of Sex, Mention of Dom-Sub Play.

🐈‍⬛~🎀 WORD COUNT: 11.4K

🐈‍⬛~🎀 A/N: In the beginning, it’s important to pay attention to detail. You never know who/what may come later on. (ALSO WOOYOUNG CUTTING HIS HAIR THE DAY I RELEASED THIS, IM SICK.)

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾 🐾

The sleek, modern office buzzed with activity as creative teams huddled around the latest MacBooks and smartboards.

Your intensifying aura strides throughout the space with piercing stiletto heels that click authoritatively on the polished marble floor.

Today starts with the sudden approach to Mark Lee’s desk, your assistant of seven years. He sat hunched over his computer, oblivious to your approach. You make yourself known as you obnoxiously clear your throat, springing him to spin around rapidly in his chair.

"Mark, a word in my office. Now." Your tone left no room for argument, demanding that the man should follow for his own good.

Your office decor reflects your fierce femininity- pretty and in pink, your favorite color. You held the door open for both of you to enter. As your back collides with the curtain-covered glass door inside, your eyes dart toward the side of Mark's head. The silence becomes entrapped with a soft click. Then you turn to cower him in once more, ensuring that your expression is stern.

“How do you think the meeting went earlier today?" Your voice was measured, betraying none of the frustration you’d felt during the presentation.

Mark shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding your wandering gaze. "Um, I think it went alright."

A heated breath shrivels even the hairs in your nostrils, your eyes narrow slightly as you continue to press him. "Mark…honestly, as my assistant of seven years, I notice when my decisions may worry you. So, I'll ask you again,” you warn. “How do you think the meeting went earlier today?"

Mark sighed, his shoulders sagging as he finally met your gaze. "Look, Mrs. Hart, I just think...I think you should have signed that deal with GreenTech. The numbers were solid, and it would've given us a leg up on our competitors." Mark's tone bordered on insolence, his body language relaxed as if he thought he was merely offering a differing opinion.

“‘Quality over quantity’…it’s a phrase that is constantly undermined in the business world.” You chuckle lowly with an underlying menacing tone, determining that your footsteps are purposeful as you travel behind your wide office desk. “But for your sake Mr.Lee…let’s say we did sign that deal.” Mark's eyebrows raise with an attentive quirk, hoping to hear your change of heart.

“Skyrocketed to the top with our profits…”, you continue, “We’d probably make shit product too, but hey!- maybe with that money we’ll make GreenTech cover our tracks.” That’s not exactly what he hoped for, and yet he remains seated without choice but to listen. “Where’s the competition in that Mark?”

Mark, with his face flushed, leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Mrs.Hart, you have to think about the offer without playing the moral high ground here. Business is about making profit, not about making friends, or producing some perfect, ethical product." He paused, his expression turning cunning.

Your eyes flashed with annoyance at Mark's presumptuousness. You lean in closer, and for his sake, you turn your voice low with the same level of intensity. "How do you think money is made in business, Mark? By cutting corners, sacrificing quality, leaving a trail of subpar products and obviously disgruntled customers in our wake?"

“That’s not the way I see it madam“, Mark grumbles. “There will always be the next best thing. That’s why there’s competition! Just think about it! With GreenTech in our market, we will always be the best.”

Like a thick block of ice, your face hardened to its core, and your expression remains cold. "It’s a shame that you could be so wrong, Mark. Competition is about offering a superior product, not buying our way to the top,” you say plainly. “I expected more from you…my assistant of seven years."

Mark's jaw tensed as the words he’s always wanted to say battle on his tongue. "Oh please, you've always been short-sighted Mrs.Hart. With the kind of money GreenTech is offering, we could bury our competitors! We'd set the standard, not just try to keep up with it!”

That was it, the last re‘Mark he could make, and then came dangerous consequences.

“Short-sighted?! Mark…” You address coldly, "I'm disappointed. You've bought into the very thing I've always tried to stand against." You walk over toward your high ceiling windows, a view of all surrounding industrial architecture.

“Perhaps you’re short-sighted one. Quite frankly…I couldn’t envision a capitalist in my company's success. I'll be revising your position within the company. Mark Lee…”, you say with a slight head turn, “you are dismissed.”

Mark's face contorted with anger and betrayal as your malicious words began to sink in. "You seriously can’t be considering firing me over this," he spat, his voice trembling with rage. "After everything I've done for this company, you're just going to toss me aside because I have a differing opinion?"

You turn your attention back to the distant outside view, seeing it as pointless to give him the time of day. “Business comes with compromise. Your “opinion” derives from GreenTech beliefs, and based upon this conversation, you’ve tossed yourself onto their side.”

Mark burst up, screeching his sitting chair across the polished flooring. "I'm not some change in GreenTech's pocket. I just believe in seizing opportunities when we see them! You're the one who's being stubborn and stuck in your ways, Mrs.Hart!”

With his challenging words, you had to look him in the eye. To see him cower. For him to fully feel you overpower. “There it is. You, and everyone in this company, that’s your real and raw opinion about me.” You turn slightly so he can see your pleased expression and provide him a round of applause, because speaking up surely had been a feat he’s been wanting to conquer for quite some time.

"You're unyielding, Mrs.Hart, and that's what's going to be your downfall. You can't keep dismissing ideas just because they don't align with your perfect little moral compass," Mark hissed, his face reddened with boiling anger.

“Dismissed.”, you quip with the click of your tongue. You remain unmoved, calmness frighteningly rooting from where you stand. “Allow your replacement to enter please.”

Mark ferocious gaze shuffles between you and what awaits behind the door. He storms to unlock it, his hand flinging dramatically backward as he opens the door to meet his maker.

The new guy's balled fist stalls in the air, his eyes darting between you who is dangerously content, and the infuriated Mark. He hesitates to enter, uncertainty written in bold all over his face. "I, uh, I assume I'm not interrupting anything important?" he asks cautiously.

“He’s been dismissed”, you carelessly announce. “You’ll take his place for the time being.”

You smile graciously, pleased with the divine timing. Wooyoung Jung was the perfect candidate. Charming with a perfect resume, and similar to you, as you do say so fabulously yourself, looks that could kill.

Mr Jung’s eyes widen slightly, but he quickly composes himself. "Oh, is that really it? I must admit, I didn't expect to be stepping into this role so soon," he says, walking further into the room. He casts one last glance at Mark before focusing on the person he came to impress.

Next thing you knew the door slams and Mark disappears, making your eyes squeeze shut, and Mr.Jung to tsk. You blink open your eyes upon hearing the noise of disapproval he made, making you all the more intrigued to turn around and meet such a character.

With finely cut long black hair, a small, yet intimidating face, and a respectful demeanor- you were considering him platonically attractive at the least. Perhaps it wouldn’t piss you off to see his face in office every weekday.

“I admire the decoration in your office madam. Pink adds a new touch to all things business.” He grins to you with glee with a lack of oppression on his nerves.

“Why…thank you.”, you mumble in surprise. “This is short notice,” you cut in, avoiding elongating pleasant greetings. “I apologize for the ongoing…drama. But if you would like to dismiss yourself, you could follow behind Mark there. The work environment is preferably... fast-paced.”

Mr.Jung clears his throat, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "No, no, it's quite alright. I'm flattered you've chosen me to fill this role. I assure you, I can keep pace with whatever this position requires." He extends his hand towards you.

You take his hand gesturing for him to sit across from you where your ex-employee took a stand. "Mark and I have... differing views on how the company should progress." You pause, eyeing Mr.Jung curiously. "I hope this won't be an issue for you.”

Mr.Jung tilts his head as he grins charmingly, his hands slipping into each other comfortably on his lap. “Just steer me in the direction you wanna go. No matter where, I’ll always be your right-hand man.”

You smile for the first time since Mark's presence disappeared from the space. “The expectations are high for you now Mr. Jung. I carry promises like those in the front of my mind.”

His smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I won't let you down, Mrs. Hart. I promise I'll prove myself worthy of your high expectations." He pauses, "And please, call me Wooyoung."

You turn in your chair, and grab a clipboard and pen, sliding it across the desk to him. “Well Wooyoung, I hope you are ready for your first-ever business meeting.”

…

During the meeting, Wooyoung listens intently to the presentations, asking insightful questions and offering thoughtful suggestions that clearly show he's not just knowledgeable, but also cares deeply about the company's success. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, thoroughly impressed by his intuition and outspokenness.

"I understand that we're aiming for a quick turnaround on this project," Wooyoung interjects during a discussion on project timelines. "But I think we should allocate more resources to quality assurance. Rushing might lead to oversights that could cost us more time and money in the long run."

Then there was once a marketing director, presenting a campaign idea that you seemed hesitant about. "I think we should consider a more digital approach," He interjects once again, and confidently. "Millennials and Gen Z are our target audience. They're not flipping through magazines or watching TV ads like they used to."

“He's right,” you chime in, your eyes appreciative as they meet Wooyoung's who’s sat across from you. "Let's allocate our budget to influencer partnerships and social media ads. And let's discuss this further after the meeting, Wooyoung.”

…

“This may be the first time in ages a man has kept true to his word with me,” you say to him after the meeting, “you quite literally took the words from my mouth.”

Wooyoung grins, leaning against the edge of your desk. "Well, I try my best to read the room. And you wear your thoughts rather openly on your face, Mrs. Hart."

You find this amusing, considering reading the room is your unique skill. “I don’t hold back, or rather, I can’t afford to. It was relieving to step back from being the bitchy boss for a change.”

"Well, I'm glad I could help you take a step back," Wooyoung remarks, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "For what it's worth, I find your honesty refreshing. And I assure you, I can handle the 'bitchy boss'. I thrive under challenge."

You genuinely chuckle and extend your hand for him to take. “Welcome to The “Better Business Co.”

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

As the days go by, Wooyoung's presence starts to have a noticeable effect on the office's mood. Colleagues who were once distant or quiet are now opened up and engaged in conversations. The atmosphere is lighter, with more laughter and genuine smiles. You aren’t ignorant of the changes, and it's not lost on Wooyoung either.

One day, as he's is chatting with some colleagues during lunch, you happened to pass by the table. You’re surprised to see him laughing freely with his coworkers, his natural charm and wit shining through. You pause in place, watching him for a moment before continuing on your way, a small smile playing on your lips.

Soon, you start to realize that Wooyoung's positive energy is infectious, and you find yourself feeling more relaxed and approachable. You start to initiate conversations with your team, asking about their weekends and hobbies.

The once-stuffy office is now filled with the sound of laughter and friendly banter. But business is still business of course.

As much as you worry to admit, you look forward to seeing Wooyoung's face in the morning. His warm smile and easy demeanor set the harmonious tone for the work day. You catch yourself humming along to the music playing in the background, something you never ever do. Even the usually grumpy IT guy can't help but crack a smile whenever he walks by.

As you and Wooyoung walk down the hallway together after another entertaining meeting, your colleagues greet you with daily smiles and waves. "Morning, Mrs. Hart! Mr. Jung!" someone calls out. He was so remarkably casual, a few high-five him as they see him pass by.

You can't help but notice how popular he's become. It made you ponder your work relationships at his side. Which made you realize, ��relationships’ weren’t in your vocabulary.

You lean over towards him whispering, “You're like the office mascot. how does it feel to be so well loved?" Your eyes sparkle as you smile teasingly.

Wooyoung grins bashfully, running a hand through his flowing hair. "I guess I'm just a people person..but you know, it's not just me. You've lightened up too. The whole office feels like a different place now," he replies, his gaze warm as he smirks cheerfully at you.

It causes you to huff as you begrudgingly confess. “I suppose I have. But I’m never letting my guard down though when it comes to my business. I’m still tough like a clam.”

Wooyoung chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I wouldn't expect anything less from our 'bitchy boss'." He winks at you, his tone playful. "But even a tough clam needs to come out of its shell once in a while."

…

The office is transformed for the night, strings of fairy lights casting a warm glow over the space. Laughter fills the air as colleagues mingle, enjoy good food, and let loose.

Wooyoung, dressed in a sharp suit, is behind the makeshift bar, mixing drinks with a flourish.

You finish a conversation and look for your new partner in crime. You realize his natural mingling nature may never be cut short from serving drinks all night long, so instead, you walk over to him yourself.

“Hey Jung, have you ever had a drink yourself yet?” You fold your arms onto the counter as you approach it. “I bet you could use it before everyone else here. After me, of course.”

Wooyoung looks up from his bartending duties, flashing you a grateful smile. "You know me too well. I've been so caught up in making sure everyone else is having a good time, I haven't had a chance to enjoy anything myself." He reaches for a clean glass, preparing himself a drink.

You wait until he’s finished and raise your half-empty glass for a cheers. “To our partnership…and the grand endeavors we’ll be rewarded along the way.”

Wooyoung clinks his glass against yours, his eyes meeting yours over the rim. "To partnerships, and proving that business and fun can be compatible." He takes a sip, his gaze never leaving your face. "You did an amazing job with this party by the way."

“Oh dear”, you snicker, “if it weren’t for you, a party would be the last thing on my checklist. We did an amazing job.”

He shakes his head, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Don't sell yourself short, Mrs.Hart. You're the one who decided to reward the team. I just helped you execute your vision." He leans over the counter with a playful wink, going over the remainder of his drink into his mouth.

Your face becomes flushed, flicking your wrist in distraction to swig your glass, only to spot it empty.

What's worse is that in truth, you had become a bit tipsy.

"Besides," Wooyoung continues, misinterpreting your flustered expression to be unphased, "it's not every day I get to work alongside such a... power boss." He winks playfully, grabbing a bottle behind the bar to refill your glass.

“A power boss?” You murmur. That’s a new one, but it’s the best name by far. Looks like I finally found someone to put up with my bitchiness.” You lift up your glass in celebration, slaying your arms over the stool in victory.

Woo laughs heartily, clinking his glass against yours once more. "And I love every minute of it." He takes a sip, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You know…”, he trails off, “some people might say we make a pretty great team, both in and out of the boardroom."

“Yeah?” You murmur, blowing out a harsh breath. Mostly due to the burning alcohol in your stomach. “Who said that?”

A mischievous grin appears on Wooyoung's face as he leans in closer. I might have overheard a couple of our colleagues discussing earlier. They were saying how well we complement each other, and..." He pauses for dramatic effect, “how our dynamic is almost...romantic?” He raises an eyebrow with an unveiling expression, gauging your reaction.

The office has been buzzing with such rumors for weeks. What goes around comes around to you like clockwork. But the folks in the office have been careful not to address either of you directly. "But we'd make a terrible couple, right?"

You freeze in disbelief before drunkenly waving off such a claim. “Damn right. We’re both too stubborn. We’d be unstoppable then.”

Wooyoung chuckles, taking another sip of his drink. A rather large one in comparison to the lasts. "Exactly..besides, I couldn't handle being bossed around 24/7." "Though I must admit, there are some perks to the idea." His gaze flickers to your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again.

“Oh yeah? Well, lemme hear 'em.” You suddenly become confident with the liquid courage, and he is no help, he continues what he initiated with the liquor flowing like blood in his system.

Wooyoung leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Well, for one, your... assertiveness would be quite... stimulating in other situations." He smirks, watching your reaction closely.

The sudden change of mood makes you spit out a little laughter and nearly fall out of your seat- to which Wooyoung catches you, but almost falls over himself.

You lean in and whisper childishly with a hand hovering over the sides of your face. “Do you mean like…

“Sex?”

A brief widening of Wooyoung's eyes occurs, followed by a soft laugh, his face flushed. "Eh, erm, yeah...that's one of many perks that came to mind."

You giggle in amusement, wiggling a teasing finger at how heated he became at his own jest. Just as your moving close to his chisled cheek, with his eyes allured on your dazed face, you lose balance from out of your seat.

Wooyoung helps steady your waving form, his hands are gentle, and firm. "Ah...see? You're drunk sweetheart. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate topic for the office party anyway."

You groan in annoyance and set down your glass. You lean forward again, trying to maintain contact with his deep eyes as your eyes blink out of sync. “What happens to putting the fun in business”, you whine. “Your a little…party pooper. I wanna go home.” Your head wanes back and forth, then tumbling down to smack the countertop.

Wooyoung sighs, rubbing his temples. He looks around the party, which has started to wind down, and he decides then, it's probably for the best. "Alright, alright. Let's get you home." He carefully moves around the bar to pick you up, cradling you in his arms.

You continue on, whining and complaining about wanting to go to bed with your arm thrown around his neck-pulling him down in the slightest. “Hey you…party pooper…tuck me in already”, you burp.”

He trudges you successfully out of the office, ignoring your complaints. Once you're both in his car, he carefully buckles you into the passenger seat before getting in behind the wheel. As he drives, he can't help but glance over from time to time. It was extremely rare to have ever seen you like this.

Wooyoung pulls a quick hand off the wheel and sends a voice text to your HR representative, asking them to wrap things up and make sure everyone gets home safely. He then focuses back on the road, determined to get you home without any more eventful detours. "There, all taken care of," he says, more to himself than to anyone else.

A sudden road bump pangs your head into the door, and you moan painfully, waving a measly finger at your subordinate.“Hey, don’t drink and drive!”

Wooyoung can't help but adore at your drunken concern. "Don't worry, I'm perfectly sober. I only had the drinks we shared. You, on the other hand..." He glances at her, shaking his head fondly. "What am I going to do with you, madam?"

You frown with etched brown, drunkenly trying to think long and hard about what you should do. It makes your headache worsen even more and you simply give up. “Arghhh, I dunno…”

A warmth spread through his chest at your petulant expression. He pulls up to your apartment building and parks the car. "Come on, let's get you inside." He reaches across to unbuckle your seatbelt, sliding his hands around your waist to help you out of the car carefully.

You don’t know what happened in between but you have already made it to the elevator “Eight, room 816,” you whisper. The door closes as you both elevate to the eighth floor. You lean on Wooyoung when you stumble, his hold is automatic, and he finds it so amusing. “You’re so warm.” You drunkenly express, “like my blanket.”

Wooyoung chuckles softly as he supports your weight, his hands resting comfortably on your hips. "I'm glad I can be your human blanket." He guides you out of the elevator when you arrive at the floor with a ding and down the hall to your door. "Now, where are your keys, sleepyhead?"

“I won’t tell you that they’re in my purse.” You whisper, and quite literally waving a finger ‘no’.

He sighs and carefully sets you down on the floor, kneeling in front of you to dig vigorously through your deep designer purse. "You're making this much harder than it needs to be madam," he mutters, finally finding the keys.

“Sorry.” You sheepishly mutter.

“I forgive you.” Wooyoung unlocks the door and pulls you inside, guiding you to the place you've wanted to be all night long, the bedroom.

He sits you down softly on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of you, gently removing your feet from your gruesome hot pink heels.

"There, that's better, Wooyoung proclaims. “Now, let's get you under the covers before you pass out on top of them."

In a way, you make things a small bit easier, smiling and pulling your body in the sheets with him like a lazy rag doll. “Ahhh…home sweet home.”

Wooyoung tucks you into bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin as if you were his child. A strand of hair is brushed out of your face by him in another sign of parental affection. "Sleep well. You’re going to need it.”

He pulls back as you nuzzle in warmth, speculating a small glance of discomfort in your features. At first, he hesitates, but then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the harsh kiss between your eyebrows.

Wooyoung lingers for a moment, his lips still against your forehead, before gently pulling away. To his surprise the crease melts flat, ceasing in appearance.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he watches over your form. "Mrs.Hart," he whispers softly, "We need to talk."

Without speaking any further, he leaves your apartment shortly after. He didn’t expect a response of course, nor for you to remember these moments in the next morning. It was more so of a practice run, a severe need to ease relief from the front of his mind.

The drive home is spent lost in thought, the gold city lights blurred outside his windows. Once he arrived home, he stripped down to his boxers and fekk into bed.

But sleep is harder than most nights, and it’s all your fault.

…

The next morning, Wooyoung strides into the office with a purpose. He's dressed sharp, his mind focused solely on business. At first glance, you would have never thought anything worrying was crushing on his nerves.

He greets his employees with a polite nod, and his face derives from anything non-neutral. As he settles behind his desk, he pulls out a folder containing the day's agenda.

You, on the other hand, are hungover. Someone looked after you this morning-setting out your clothes and saving you lots of time and embarrassment in the process- because you were started to settle on PJs.

All alone in your office, you suffer in silence from your headache, drinking both tea and coffee to wake you up and liven your mood.

Wooyoung walks in happily as he does every working morning, noticing your slow movements and frequent face-palms from his office. He suppresses a smile, instead walking over to your office with two ibuprofen tablets and a bottle of water. "Here," he says, setting them down neatly on your desk. "For your head."

You greatly take them as soon as they’re placed in front of you, swallowing one dry as you down the water to prepare for another. “Wooyoung…thank you for this, and for getting me home safely. From this headache, I can imagine I was a hot mess.” You pull your hands to smooth the sides of your head, moaning as the pain subsides.

He leans against the nearest wall with his arms crossed. "You were," he says bluntly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "But I took care of you, and that’s what I'm here for." His gaze intensifies, holding amusingly onto yours.

You hiss from looking up toward the ceiling lights. “Yeah but last night might’ve been a little extreme, and it won’t happen. Anyway, what’s on today’s agenda?”

He pulls out a folder from under his arm and walks over to set it down on your desk. "Today, we're finalizing the contract for the new club downtown."

“Good”, you scan over the contents inside the folder with a breath of relief. “Nothing that over-exerts the energy that I don’t have. Today should be easy.”

Wooyoung straightens up, his smirk deepening. "Just leave the heavy lifting to me, my hungover delicate flower. I'll make sure everything runs smoothly."

You chuckle at his typical teasing. It was never too much. Just unpredictable, but effective. “I’ll treat you to dinner after work. It’s the least I could do for my non-professional-like behavior.

Wooyoung's eyes glint with excitement. "Deal," he replies. "But tonight, I choose the restaurant. And…," he adds, shifting aimlessly on his heel, "you're not driving. I'll pick you up."

Without a beat, you throw your hands up beside your head without banter. “You don’t hear any complaints from me!”

He grins at you wolfishly, clearly pleased. "Good. Because I have the perfect place in mind”, he says cheekily. “Now, let's get to work, Madam Hart. We've got a contract to finalize." He winks at you and saunters out of your office, whistling an original tune.

…

As the day progresses, Wooyoung does indeed take the lead, handling the more demanding tasks with ease. In admiration you watch him, impressed by his imitation of your assertiveness and confident demeanor.

As the discoursed work day came to its end, the business still stood on all fours thanks to Better Business Company’s Mr. Jung.

True to his word, Wooyoung arrives at your apartment later that evening. He's dressed for a casual outing, his long hair tucked back into a ponytail with two neatly placed front strands. He rings the doorbell, a bouquet tucked under one arm.

Your company comes as expected as you lie idly on your couch. You walk to answer the door, looking more refreshed and rejuvenated than earlier today in a pink slip-dress. "Hey…you look nice."

"You look… well-rested," Wooyoung amends, smiling. "For you Madam. They’re pink!"

The large bouquet of petunias came out in surprise. You would’ve seen them sooner if you weren’t processing your focus in his face before it could make its way down to the rest of his body. “Oh…Wooyoung I- what are these for? I’m already in your debt. I don’t need you to buy me flowers.”

"Nonsense," he replies, pushing the bouquet firmly into your arms. "Consider it a peace offering. For last night, and for being such a trooper today despite your hangover." He grins mischievously.

You turn foot into your apartment as you roll your eyes. “Well let me just set these in my vase, and we can get going to this mystery spot.”

Wooyoung nods, watching as you bustle around and make picky remarks about the secret place he selected. He notices little details - a book on the coffee table, a photograph on the wall, a stack of unopened mail. He files these away in his mental library, eager to learn more about you outside of his paycheck. "Ready?" he asks once you return, his hand waits for yours to hold.

“More than I’ll ever be.” You take his hand as the tips of your fingers brush over his palm. But once you’ve made it outside your door, you pull it out of his subtle grip.

Wooyoung snickers under his breath, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't worry, it's not a surprise skydiving session." He places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out of the building and down to his car.

“That would be such a dick move after a hangover,” you scoff as you approach the door.

"Mmm, note to self: no extreme activities post-Mrs.Hart’s bender." he chuckles, moving around to open the passenger door for you.

On the drive there it’s no different. Wooyoung fills the silence with baited banter, making you fall for it so gullibly, despite your usual self.

The car arrived at a nondescript building. Wooyoung leads you up a flight of stairs to a rooftop patio. String lights twinkle overhead, and the air is filled with the sizzle of cooking and the low murmur of conversation. He guides you to a small table in a quiet corner.

You nod approvingly at your new surroundings, smiling warmly at Wooyoung who has been watching your reaction with glee. “Fresh air, check. Warm high-calorie food, check. Nice company….check. This may be the ideal hangover spot. Well played Mr. Jung.”

Wooyoung grins, taking his seat after pulling out yours. "I have my moments."

He picks up his menu, scanning it for a few seconds before setting it down without a second glance. Rather he looks across the table at your downturned eyes. "Now, let's see... what do you hungover crave? Greasy food? Carbs? Something spicy to clear out those sinuses?"

“Mmm…”, you hum, dazzling over the menu while scooching playfully on your seat. “I’ll have a mix of all the above.”

"Excellent choice," Woo says, approvingly. He flags down a waitress, placing an order for two of their special, ‘Hangover Helpers'.

While waiting for your orders, you decide to pick up on less frivolous conversations. “Did I do anything odd that made you uncomfortable while I was drunk? I swear I can’t remember a darn thing besides going to bed.”

Wooyoung leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, nothing too out of the ordinary," he says, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Just the usual drunken musings and some...affectionate gestures."

You squeeze your eyes shut and clench your teeth in frustration. “Dammit! That is one of the things I didn’t want to hear! Did it make you uncomfortable?”

His smirk widens into a full-blown grin. “You drunkenly telling me I'm ‘so dreamy' and trying to hug me was adorable. It didn’t make me uncomfortable in the least, I just wish I had recorded it."

“Okay…”, you start with a genuine laugh, “I don’t even have to be sober to know I, in fact, did not say-“

"Oh, yes you did," Wooyoung insists, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And you also informed me that my hair is 'like satin'. Your words, not mine." He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“You truly amuse me”, you bitterly scoff.

"Oh, but you did," he continued, leaning forward. "And then you proceeded to pat my cheeks and declare that, ‘I had such a sweet face'. You were quite taken with my face actually."

Your eyes lower in a deadpan expression. You reach forward to grab a menu, fanning it in your face. “I have a feeling that I was more infatuated with my bed than anything.”

"Ah,” he concedes with a chuckle, “but the bed was a close second. "You did have a rather passionate reunion with your pillow when I finally got you into bed." He shakes his head, still grinning. "I swear…your drunk self is a riot."

You huff quietly with a small smile that dissipates in seconds. “I’ve only heard that a couple of times with Mark…he’d just let me lay on top of the bedding- and forget about setting my clothes out for tomorrow. He said I was so impossible to deal with, he couldn’t even take off my shoes.”

Wooyoung's expression softens, his humor fading for a moment. "Well, I managed," he says quietly. "It wasn't so bad. Though I will admit, you were a lot more childish than usual.”

Your eyes snap up from his use of words- your turn the menu down in disbelief. “What! Oh gosh… I don’t think I wanna know what happens next.”

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad," he groans, his grin returning. Before he could further explain the waitress serves your platters.

Wooyoung dives into his food with enthusiasm, occasionally stealing glances at you teasingly as you prepare to eat. He watches as you take a big first bite, your eyes fluttering closed briefly in satisfaction. "Good?"

Your eyes feast on the rest of your meal rather than the man who invited you out to dinner. “Breakfast never tasted so good.”

"I'm glad," Wooyoung mumbles, his mouth full of food. He swallows and takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Though I have to say, you seemed to enjoy your pillow just as much last night. Quite the dramatic reunion with it."

“Okay, let it go!” You chew with a small laugh, and there was more where that came from for the rest of your dinner.

…

Wooyoung mimics your every giggle to your apartment, leaning against the closed door. "Well, at least this time you're sober." His grin is quick and charming. "Mostly."

You hold back a smile and push him away from the door, fumbling while grabbing your keys that fell to the bottom of your purse- giving Wooyoung major deja vu vibes from last night. “Well I promise you won’t have to cuddle me in bed this time- and set out my outfits.”

When you finally found your key, you held it up like a bar of gold, quickly inserting it through the lock and entering the apartment.

You turn to Wooyoung, but the intensity in the air fills with an odd lingering desire to stay in each other's company. The night was still young, and the office was closed for the weekend...

“Would you like to come in?”

His gaze follows into the apartment, his eyes lingering on you as you turn your back to him, walking towards the hall to your bedroom. If he said no, you’d have to awkwardly walk back to the door, and slam it quickly to just blame it on you still being hungover the next day.

The intensity in the air is palpable, the unspoken desire to prolong this moment hangs heavily. Wooyoung steps inside, closing the door behind him. "Just for a minute."

You approach the bedroom door, opening it up just a bit with a small creak. “I’m just going to change back into my PJs. Make yourself comfortable if you’d like.”

Wooyoung watches as you disappear down the hall. He doesn’t understand why his shoulders drop from tension as you leave the room. He lets out a slow breath, trying to rein in his thoughts.

He walks over to the gray velvet sofa with pink pillow decor, sits down, and runs a hand over to the back of his head to remove his hair tie- dislodging a few strands from its careful styling.

Moments after you come back out in your pink (of course) satin pajamas- making yourself comfortable on the couch with glasses of water for the both of you.

Wooyoung's eyes follow you as you re-enter, his gaze lingering in satisfaction in the way the satin clings to your curves. He takes the glass of water you offer, your fingers brushing briefly. "Thanks," he murmurs, taking a sip to distract himself from the sudden dryness in his throat.

His change of demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed by you, part of being a good CEO is reading the bodily behavior of your colleagues. “You sure that’s all that went last night Mr. Jung? I feel like you might be disassociating with some kind of- PTSD.”

His smirk revives at your teasing tone, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Very funny," he drawls, setting his glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "I'm just thinking, that’s all."

You weigh your leg into a cushion, settling your back into a pillow in the corner. “A glass of water for your thoughts?”

Wooyoung's expression suddenly turns serious, his gaze intent as he peers over at you for a few heartbeats. "Just...about how different this is from last night," he says slowly. "And how much...I don't want it to end."

A tapping sound clinks on your glass from your fingernails as silence reigns after his confession. “I respect you for being so open about that, I know that wasn’t the easiest thing. Which is why…I too feel the same way.”

His eyebrows melts and his pout lies flat as relief etches into his features. "Good," he breathes. Leaning forward, he sets his glass down. The movement brings him closer to you, and the space between you both shrinks in distance.

“Oh, come on.” You whine, the sudden moments of silence were becoming exasperated. “When the spotlights on you, you want to shrivel up in the dark and be nonchalant? What’s bothering you Wooyoung?”

His chest tightens at your words, his heart pounding in his ears. He looks into your eyes, seeing the warmth and understanding there, and it's like a dam starts breaking inside him. "I'm scared," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sensing the seriousness that arises, you sigh in guilt, setting your water down as you gesture toward your chest for Wooyoung to lie upon. “I won’t push it.”

He hesitates for just a moment before slowly leaning forward, resting his head on satin-clad chest. Your warmth envelops him, your laundry wash filling his nostrils. He exhales shakily, his arms coming up to wrap around smoothly around your waist. "I'm scared of messing this up."

Your face scrunches up in confusion. If anything, everything he’s done so far is miles away from a fuck up. “You don’t need to worry. The business thrives with you in it. If anything I’ll slip up before you do.”

Wooyoung lets out a huff of laughter at your comforting words, his arms tightening around you as he exhales another snapping breath. "That's not what I meant," he says quietly. His fingers trace irregular patterns on your back through the satin. "I'm scared of scaring you off. Of wanting too much."

You scoff, shaking your head with worry and whispering, “I’m sure whatever you have planned for the company will be in its best interest. You cook up great innovations Wooyoung. I trust you most.”

His breath regulates at your revelation, a warmth spreading through his chest that has nothing to do with body heat. He tilts his head to look up at you, his eyes shining marvelously with emotion. "You trust me?" he asks softly, almost desperately.

“I never thought I’d see the day I say it to any man…but yes!” You chuckled. “I trust you, Wooyoung Jung.”

His face breaks into a wide, heartfelt smile. "Good," he murmurs, before leaning up to lay back on his elbows. When he pulls away, he props his head on the top of the sofa, his voice is barely a whisper. "Because I trust you with me, Mrs.Hart."

A hand you had casually been held up where his head lied poked him on the forehead. “That’s what makes us so compatible, partner.”

‘Partner’, he thinks, the word resonating to the deep thoughts within him.

…

In the following week at the office, you and Wooyoung have fallen into an upbeat rhythm. You spent hours debating over contracts, brainstorming new evolutionary ideas, and sharing laughter over late-night work sessions. One evening, as you’re wrapping up, Wooyoung leans back in his chair, rubbing his drowsy eyes.

You shut off your desktop, holding the power button until you see pitch black. “This week catching up to you too huh?”

Wooyoung nods, a rueful smile on his face. "You could say that. I feel like I've been running on caffeine and adrenaline." He stands up and stretches, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his toned stomach. "What do you say we call it a night?

Your jaw tenses as you take an accidental peak at his abdomen, you grab a pen and scribble on a sticky note- alleviating your focus elsewhere. “I’m up for it. Tomorrow is our day off, and we’re caught up for the next couple of months if things go to plan.”

"Mhm, and things will go to plan," he bursts out confidently, rounding his desk to where you scribble your thoughts on paper. He comes up behind you, and your doodles come to a slow. It wasn’t until you felt massages to your shoulders that the tension melted under his fingers.

You moan softly, tilting your neck for Wooyoung to access those sore spots your massage gun touches every hard work day.

His grin widens at your quiet moan, his thumbs working the knots out of your pointed shoulders. "Mmhmm, just like that," you murmur approvingly. As he works, he leans down, his breath fanning over your ear. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you lately?”, he devilishly whispers.

"Not nearly enough," you jokingly reply, your voice low.

Wooyoung huffs, continuing to massage your shoulders, his touch easing as he feels you relax under his ministrations. “You're the backbone of this company, Mrs.Hart. And not just the company...me too. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Your eyes snap open, you grab onto the hands Wooyoung held over your shoulders in a still. “You know that goes both ways.”

Both of his hands smooth over your back blades as he backs away to turn your chair around, dropping to his knees before you. His hands take claim off you this time, thumping in your lap. "Yes, it does," he agrees softly, his eyes focused on yours in a deep search.

The office is quiet around you, the only sound is the soft hum of the computers on standby. There was something about him at this moment that made it hard to swallow. To move, to just breathe. He just looked so striking under the one ceiling light that illuminated the room.

“Okay…”, you sufferingly clear your throat, “let’s get a move on. If you keep doing that time will be pouring into tomorrow.”

Wooyoung nods as his head casts downward with a wicked grin, reluctantly releasing onto your hands. He arises first, helping you to your feet. "Alright, alright. Let's go," he groans, walking with you towards the elevator. As you both step inside, he hits the button for the ground floor, leaning against the wall behind you.

You mindlessly look at the secured sliding doors, dreaming about the freedom outside of it, wondering what your day off would entail.

The elevator begins to descend, the soft hum filling the silence between them. Wooyoung watches your blurred expression through the reflective steel walls of the elevator. He places his hands tentatively on your shoulders once again. "A massage for your thoughts?" he mimics from last week's hang out.

Your eyes shutter as soon as you feel rhe contact of his warmth. “I’m just waiting for tomorrow. Mentally, I’m already there.”

Wooyoung chuckles, pulling off once again to stand by your side as the floor gets closer for departure, bumping your hip with his own. "Me too. It's going to be a good day," he comments, his tone filled with promise. The elevator dings, as the doors slide open. He places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you out into the lobby.

You both walk out to your cars which are now parked next to each other- because it just makes sense with how often you work together.

As you both approach the cars you push start on your keys, and you both arrive at your drivers' doors simultaneously. "And Mrs.Hart?" You look up to meet Wooyoung, who is already eyeing you. "Drive safe, okay? Text me when you get home?"

You giggle as you chew nibbles on your lips. “You know I’m no good at that. I’ll probably be blowing boogers in my sheets by the time I get home.”

Wooyoung pulls open his door with a chuckle, shaking his head. "Fair point. Just ask your Alexa, she’ll do all the work.” He opens his door, sliding into the driver's seat before leaning over to roll down the passenger window. "Goodnight, Mrs.Hart."

You slide into your car, mimicking his action before waving at him with a small smile. “Goodnight Wooyoung, drive safe.”

He waits until your car pulls out of the parking lot before putting his car in gear. He watches your taillights until they disappear around the corner, a contented smile on his face as he starts the drive home.

…

Wooyoung wakes up to the sound of birds chirping outside his window. He stretches flexibly, the blankets roll away from his bare chest. He stands up to freely pull off his boxers, padding naked to the bathroom.

After completing his morning routine, he wraps a towel around his waist and heads downstairs.

He eats his eggs and rice slowly, his mind drifting to the possibilities of your whereabouts. He thinks about your strength, your confidence, your unyielding feminist nature.

He thinks about kneeling before you, about your hands gripping his hair, about your voice ordering him to... He shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts.

He hears a distant ping from his coffee machine and walks back into the kitchen to pour himself a mug, adding plentiful spoonfuls of sugar before taking a seat at the table. As he sips his coffee, his mind wanders back to you.

He remembers how you handled a difficult client last week. How you stood tall, your eyes blazing with anger as you dressed the man down. He remembers the way your voice dropped to that low, commanding tone when you were displeased. He swallows hard, his body reacting dangerously to the memory.

He takes a shuddering breath, his towel tenting obscenely in his lap. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about his boss this way. It's inappropriate and unprofessional. But he can't help it. The thought of her dominating him, controlling him completely, sets his blood on fire.

Coincidentally, he receives a text later that day as he's lounging on his bed, flipping through the channels on his TV.

You: I know it's our day off but could you come over?

You: I need some brawn over here.

Wooyoung: No worries.

Wooyoung: I haven’t moved from my bed since I ate breakfast this morning. Coming over.”

In no time flat, he quickly gets dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before making his way over giddily to your apartment. When he arrives, he knocks and hears a voice yelling from inside. “Come on in!”

He walks into you trying to carry a box into your room. Your face is flushed with red, and strands of hair fall out piece by piece out of your bun. "I swear, if I break a nail..." you muttered under your breath.

Like a track star he quickly strides over, wrapping his arms around the other side of the box. "You can let go, I’ll take care of it," he says, easily lifting it out of your hands. He carries it into your bedroom, placing it on the floor beside your bare mattress. "What is all this stuff woman?"

You follow him inside, sighing at all the packages you have yet to unbox. “It’s all for my queen-size four-poster bed. I should’ve let those guys charge me to build it.”

Wooyoung's eyes widen as he processes the implications. A queen size bed with four posters...perfect for-

tying someone up?

He swallows hard, stressing to keep his composure. "That's... that's a really nice bed," he manages to say, his voice slightly strained.

“Yeah…I figured it looked nice with a canopy,” you remark, “it’ll make this space less boring I guess.”

Wooyoung nods, his eyes darting to the bedposts. He imagines being bound to them, helpless, at mercy. The thought makes his heart race. He turns away, busying himself with disassembling the box. "What all do you need help with again?"

You turn to him awkwardly with an embarrassed grin. “I think I need you for the whole build… if you have the time?”

He starts to talk but he hesitates, struggling to blindside his racing mind. Being alone with you for an extended period, in your personal space... It's dangerous territory, given his feelings. But he can't say no, not when you’re looking at him with the eyes of a vixen. "Of course," he hears himself say.

“Really!” You gawk in excitement, hugging him only briefly. “Ugh, where have you been since I moved into this place!”

“I don’t know…when did you move in?” He childishly muttered.

You roll your eyes, playfully smacking his chest which he rubs onto delicately after with a pout. “I’ll help you, of course, and you’ll be out of here in no time!”

As you begin to skim over the directions, oblivious to his inner turmoil, Wooyoung takes a deep breath, stilling himself. "Alright, let's do this."

…

The next few hours are spent reading a complex manual the team deciphers with experiments- and oftentimes- chatting breaks that could’ve been replaced with work being done.

As the two of you build, your dynamic of ‘partners’ begins to shift. You laugh together at each other’s frustrations, your shoulders brush as you lean over the instructions. Wooyoung finds himself relaxing, his earlier anxiety replaced by a comfortable camaraderie.

Until...

"Okay, now we need to attach this to the post."

You stand above the mattress to hold each piece in place while Wooyoung reaches around to the front of you to secure it with the provided hardware.

Again, experimentation is the most convenient strategy- well… more to one party than the other. As your bodies press close, his chest connects to your back. His breath catches at the contact. He fumbles with the screwdriver, his hands suddenly become clumsy and the nail unscrews itself from the hole. "Shit… sorry.”, he whispers.

“Don’t fret”, you gleam, “just screw it in a bit more.” You assist him as you tip your head back against his shoulder, giving him better access to properly screw into the hole. "Here, like this," you say. Wooyoung swallows hard, his throat crumbled dry. He can feel your breath, warmth brushing against his neck. He pushes to focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the distraction you unknowingly present.

He's hyper-aware of every inch of your body against his. He finally gets the screw tightened, then pulls back abruptly, as it doesn’t screw in any tighter. "There”, he breathed out in relief.

You squeal in excitement, jumping down from your bed. “Holy shit…we’re finally done, and it looks exactly like the picture on the box!”

Wooyoung nods, climbing down and trying to regain his composure. The bed stands proudly in the center of the room, its canopy draped along the edges so sinfully. "It looks great," he manages to say, his voice a bit hoarse.

An adrenaline rush pulses through your core as you jump to lightly bounce on the mattress, zooming to every corner.

Wooyoung laughs weakly, running a hand through his hair. "Hey get down, don’t erase our hard work!" he says teasingly. You walk down to the foot of the bed where he stood, towering over him in an effortless and poweress stance, poking out your tongue with a silly expression.

He avoids looking at you after you bounce away, afraid his feelings might be written all over his face. "Well, I suppose your zoomies mean that my work is done. I should probably go.”

His discern punches guilt into your chest. His energy couldn’t equate to match yours right now, and it’s all because he took on the weight of putting the pieces together. “Wooyoung wait!”

He turns hesitantly in the door frame, watching as you hop down from the newly built bed. "Thank you…for today. I couldn't have done it without you." You bite your lower lip, dithering to say…"Stay for dinner?"

It's a recipe for disaster. But he can't bring himself to say no.

Wooyoung's heart skips a beat at the invitation. He wants to stay, and he wants to spend more time with you. But he knows it's a bad idea, and that he needs to set boundaries for himself. He opens his mouth to decline, but the words stick in his throat. "Okay," he hears himself say instead.

“Great! And then you’ll be on your way home, I promise!”

Wooyoung forces a smile, nodding in agreement. He follows you to the kitchen, his mind racing. He knows he's playing with fire, but he can't seem to help himself. As you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge, he offers to help, hoping the distraction will keep his feelings at bay.

He watches as you bustle around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, and humming under your breath. Every now and again you’ll point to a spot in the kitchen for an ingredient and he’ll fetch it for you like a puppy.

And boy did his tail wag at every command.

…

“Okay, that’s enough now” you direct in a monotone voice. “Just give it to me Wooyoung.”

He looks up from the cutting board, his eyes meeting yours. You’re leaning against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest. Your gaze is intense, and your expression is unreadable. "What?", he asks voice barely above a whisper.

“The veggies!”, you vigorously point, “you’re gonna cut them too small!”

"Oh," he says, his voice coming out choked. He quickly moves the cutting board out of his reach, his hands shaking slightly.

You push off from the counter and move closer to him, your movements careful and deliberate. "Here, let me," you say in your more homely voice.

He steps aside, his heart pounding in his chest. He watches as you finish chopping the vegetables, your hands sure and steady.

As you work, Wooyoung can't help but stare at you. The way your hair cascades near your back, the curve of your waist, the strength in your arms. He's so caught up in admiring you that he doesn't realize you're finished until you turn back in his direction. "There”, you whisper with a satisfactory smile, "dinner should be ready in another ten minutes.”

"Great," his voice sounding strained even to his ears. He clears his throat from the itchiness, "Is there anything else I can do to help?" He's desperate for a distraction, anything to keep his mind off the way his body is reacting to your proximity.

“No, you’ve done enough. If it makes you feel better I can just give you a bite to go.” You turn to him as you mix around the ingredients from sticking at the bottom of the pot. Slightly worried about his oddly anxious nature.

"I'm sorry, I'm just..." Wooyoung trails off, unsure how to finish. He's just what? In love with you? Desperately attracted to you? Terrified that you might notice the way he's been looking at you?

You sigh, slowly walking up to him and touching his shoulder. “You're overthinking too much, and you’re probably pushing your body beyond what it can bear Wooyoung. Lay on the couch for a bit, I’ll bring dinner to you.”

In coerced agreement, he nods, relief washing over him at your touch. He lets out a shaky breath, feeling like he's teetering on the edge of a precipice. He turns and walks to the couch, sitting down heavily. As he lays back, he closes his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. “Get your shit together man,” he whispers amongst himself.

You enter the living room minutes later, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of your homemade chicken and vegetable stir fry, a side of steamed jasmine rice, and a glass of water. You set it down on the coffee table in front of Wooyoung.

“You wanna sit up so you can properly put some fuel in your body?” Wooyoung sits up, his eyes fixed on you. The way you lean over to put the tray down causes your blouse to gap slightly, offering him a tantalizing hint of cleavage. He swallows hard, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

As Wooyoung starts to lean backward, you plump the throw pillows behind him, your fingers brushing against his shoulder. He stiffens at your touch, and you notice his reaction, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

The contact lingers for a moment, with your faces close. Wooyoung can smell your perfume, something light and floral that makes him want to bury his face in your neck. You blink, breaking the spell, and step back. "Eat up before it gets cold," you mutter in a slightly breathy voice.

He feels both unnerved and invigorated by you’s directness. It’s as if you stripped away some of the layers of polite distance that usually exist between you two, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

You join him in eating and cars rev as they pass by now and again in the silence. You chew softly and grow more annoyed with Wooyoung's continuous acts of behavior. You thought the food would cheer him up but by the way he’s still scooching on the opposite ends of your couch- you know something’s up.

"You're being awfully quiet," you acknowledge, tearing the silence. "And you keep scooching away from me, so, let’s talk." you take a sip of your wine, your eyes narrowing as you study him.

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his hood collar as if it's suddenly too tight. "I, uh, I'm just not used to you being so... nurturing, I guess. It's throwing me off."

You laugh loudly, shaking your head in surprise. "Wow, not even a little bit subtle, huh?", you set your wine glass down and turn to face him fully. “Did I ruin your plans for today? I will grant you a free vacation day from work. I mean we’re already caught up with the progress we’re making.”

Wooyoung's shoulders relax, and he lets out a small laugh. "No, seriously, don’t bother. It's just... different. Unexpected. You're usually so... focused on work. Seeing you like this, taking care of me, it's...nice." He pauses, then adds quietly, "...a little scary." your eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of hurt crossing your face before you disclose your expression.

"Scary? Because I'm being nice to you?" your voice is carefully neutral, but there's an undercurrent of confusion and slight offense.

“I don’t know it feels…motherly?”

You throw your head back and laugh, a rich, throaty sound that fills the room. "Oh my goodness, Wooyoung. I'm 29, not 60. I think I can take care of you without having to be Mrs. Weilderman from next door."

Your laughter eases the tension, and Wooyoung feels his body unwinding. "Alright, alright, not motherly. Just... different. And I like it," he says, giving you a small smile. He takes a deep breath and continues, “Maybe even more than I should." He pauses, looking down at his hands as he wrings them in his lap. "I think I might be um..."

“A mommas' boy?” you joke, tapping the shell of your elbow into his slender shoulders, causing him to rock right.

“I am my momma's boy,” he admits, “and I love her to death, so you can’t shame me.”

“Awwww how cute~ I don’t think I’ve seen you become such a sap. Looks like we’re both seeing different sides of another tonight.”

Wooyoung encircles his small face frame that holds a big package of handsomeness. “No shame.” You giggle, swiveling your wine before tossing back the remaining liquid.“But, there’s this other thing. I can’t find the word for it, but it’s like this feeling of me just… naturally wanting to do anything for you. It never feels forced on the job.”

“Awe, well aren’t you perfect for employee of the month.” You sigh contentedly and ponder his heartfelt confessions. “Okay…” you nod, “let’s try, devoted? Indebted? Grateful?”

Hiss eyes flick over your face, he tilts his head like a lost puppy, shaking his head when the words just didn’t hit a ring in him. “No? Naturally, doing anything…for me? Without feeling forced…

“Submissive?” you whisper, looking down in shock from the slip before you look back up at him.

Wooyoung's head snaps up, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear. "How did you...?"

“Oh…”

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I mean it’s only natural! As your..subordinate."

You grin mischievously, your eyes gleaming with amusement. "I mean it is a bit of a shock, but we can talk about it.” you lean forward, poking him playfully in the chest. He reaches up to rub over the area, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “You were a bit like this the other night. I think you said something about scaring me off?”

Wooyoung chuckles nervously, looking back at you. “I guess I just... I just wanted you to see me as more than just your subordinate. And I guess this is me ruining my chances.”

“I guess that sort of depends on what you want then. You smooth a hand over his shoulders, trying to mimic the calming massages he gives you under stress. “We work pretty closely to where things are just natural between us now, it wouldn’t necessarily be ruined.”

Your words send a thrill through Wooyoung, and he bites his lip, his heart racing. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what you might be thinking.

“Well… whatever it is that you're beating the bush around.”

Wooyoung's words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. He looks up at you, his eyes pleading, and his heart pounds like a bongo in his chest. “I want to serve you outside of the office, provide you relief from a shitty work day, and more beyond than just a back massage.”

“Tell me the about the- ‘and more’ ” You inch closer with dimly lit slender eyes and coax Wooyoung's shaky hands with your hot pink sharp stiletto nails.

He shudders as you's nails trace over his skin, his resolve weakening. "I... I want to worship every inch of you," he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained desire. "To use all of me for your pleasure in ways you've never experienced before. I’d kiss the ground before you.”

You lean in completely and abruptly stop at his trembling dolly pink lips. “How about you shut the hell up, and kiss me now?

The sudden change in your demeanor sparks immediate action from Wooyoung. He leans in, burrowing his fingertips directly onto your scalp, pressing his hot lips to yours. The kiss starts chaste before growing more passionate.

As you pull apart, his eyes dilate at your lips as he whispers, "That's what I've wanted to do to you every time you've snapped at someone in a meeting.”

You chuckle, leaning upward to press your thumb over his wet lips. “That would’ve been a real power move hm? It would’ve given those uppity dipshits more of me to talk about.”

Wooyoung's heart races as he looks at you, taking in your amused expression. "Yeah, it would have gave them more to focus on than their egos." he agrees, his voice still breathless from their kiss. "But I think I'd prefer it if you saved all that fire for me. Just me." He reaches out to gently stroke your cheek.

“You like seeing me upset?”

“I thrive on it every day I come into the office.”

“You’ve never given me a reason to be upset...”

“That’s because all I want to do is please you."

He glances down at your collarbone slipped from your disheveled top, tracing it in memorization. “Your smile is always rewarding to me, especially when it’s directed to only me.”

Your eyes flick up to his while your hands become curious about his body. “So, this word for you…submissive.” You twiddle with the strings of his hood, pulling it as it scrunches around his venous- covered neck. "In what other ways did you want to explore that outside of the workplace again?”

“Well.. just as you would in the office…you make the rules Mrs.Hart.” He grabs onto your hand, conversing almost completely with his own.

Your expression softens briefly at Wooyoung's touch, but then your gaze hardens as you consider his words. You pull back slightly, your hesitation palpable. "That would be... complicated," you murmur, your voice laced with uncertainty. "My reputation, the company... if word got out..."

Wooyoung watches you stand and smooth out your clothes, your movements precise and calculated- disrupting the easy flow. He feels a flicker of confusion, wondering if he's misread the situation entirely. He sits in contemplation, his mind racing with possibilities, trying to understand what's going through your mind.

He swallows hard, his expression serious as he listens to your concerns. "I understand," he says softly, his hand dropping from her cheek to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And I don't want to put either of us in that situation."

Although his words were assuring, his anxiety betrays him, He decides to approach you cautiously, not wanting to ruin the progress you both made. He stands up and walks over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. He reaches out and gently takes your hand, entwining his fingers with yours.

You breathe out softly and look upon your hand with his in-fitting connection. But then you let it go again. “I might’ve initiated things too quickly, and it isn’t your fault. I like you Wooyoung…maybe too much." You walk over toward the door, holding the handle as an indication of the next step that had to be taken. “Let’s dial this back and call it a night. I’ll see you at work?”

Wooyoung’s heart sinks slightly as you release his hand and step back, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He looks at you, searching for your face for any sign of hope, but your expression is resolute. He gets up accordingly, meeting you at the door.

"I'll be heading home now, my boss is counting on me to be well-rested for tomorrow's meeting," He says with a small, forced smile. His eyes, however, betray his true emotions, flickering with a mix of hurt, confusion, and unfulfilled desire.

The door clicks and you breathe out a deep breath your face hardened to obtain.

”Business and pleasure, an easy recipe for disaster.”

🐈‍⬛🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Episode 2

THANK YOU FOR READING.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY MY ORIGINAL WORKS, reblogs are appreciated and accepted. Stealing and modifying my work or publishing out on other platforms is not.

Much love,

xoxo

#ateez au #1117feverlessdreams #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #sub ateez #sub kpop #business #ceo #WCPP #100 notes

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4nyangnyangz · 7 months ago

Text

weverse DMs with yeonjun ♡

tags: fluff and PURE DELUSION. choi yeonjun x fem reader, txt as txt!mentions of the other txt members but this is just mostly yeonjun (i'm having a brainrot, i am so sorry.), conversations with the txt members are in Korean! (reader is studying the language), please take your anti-delulu pills after reading this (i had to).

a/n: this is just a oneshot I made that's highly inspired by Yeonjun being flirty with MOAs through Weverse DM. (no one stop him) and also just a random "what-if?" thought to fuel my delusions - made this during peak delulu hours. (i need to be sedated fr). this is my first post on Tumblr so pls be kind!! 🙏 also if u read this let's be moots, I love moas <3

wordcount: 2.6k!! this isn't proofread mb ;-;

-------------------------

The day of the video call fanmeet has finally come, and you were just as ready as ever to finally meet and talk to your favorite kpop group, TOMORROW X TOGETHER.

You were one of the lucky winners through a raffle draw for an online fansign event during the release of one of their new comebacks, and although it took almost an entire week's worth of pay to get multiple entries for a higher chance of winning, but you eventually got what you wanted and it was worth it. You have been waiting for this moment your entire life, and now you finally have the chance to talk to the people who you only saw from afar during concerts and on the screen of your devices.

You prepared everything you wanted to tell them, translated most of it in Korean hoping they would be able to understand you better and you made sure to write down every line on the notes of your MacBook. You prepared your setup in the corner of your room where you had a shelf that kept your collections of their albums and merchandise. You had also placed your phone that you will be using for the fanmeet on a stand placed on top of a small desk that you arranged just in front of your shelf, putting your MacBook just behind your phone so you could read what you had written on your notes while you do the call with them.

You were making finishing touches to your makeup while you looked at your reflection in the camera of your phone, freshening up and making sure you looked presentable in your outfit when you met your favorite idols. It was only a matter of time left till' the event started, and you were the most nervous you have ever been in your life.

After a few minutes of waiting, you felt your heart almost drop to the ground when you heard the notification sound from your phone, and you immediately check the message that was sent to you by the event organizer. You received a text message telling you that they will call you within 5 minutes, and they also reminded you of the guidelines of the event, along with the order of the members that you will be talking to.

You were given exactly 1 minute to talk with each member, and the order was set from the youngest to oldest,

Huening Kai - Taehyun - Beomgyu - Soobin - Yeonjun.

After a few minutes of waiting, your phone rang and you finally received the call. You took a few deep breaths before answering the call on the fourth ring. You saw a black screen for a few seconds and you heard a staff member in the background telling you to get ready before it officially started.

Once you confirmed with the staff that you were ready, you saw the camera flip over and you were immediately greeted by a smiling Huening Kai, the youngest of the group, waving at you and saying "Hello~" in a cheerful tone. You started off by asking him how his day was before you started with the script you wrote in your notes. Your nervousness started to fade during your interaction with Huening Kai since he was a good listener, and you started to calm down after you both exchanged compliments to each other.

Soon after, it was the second youngest, Taehyun's turn. He started off by complimenting you on how good you looked with your outfit, and you soon got to tell him how much you admired him as a performer, going off with what you prepared in your notes.

The call proceeded with Beomgyu this time, and you were surprised with how sweet and calm he was as he listened to you shower him with appreciation and compliments that you prepared for him, which was very much unlike his usual playful and mischievous image that he has their contents and during concert interactions.

After speaking with Beomgyu, you were greeted by the group's leader, Soobin. He initiated the conversation first by asking how your day was and soon after, he listened to you intently as you read what you had prepared for him. Just like the other members, you made sure to give him all the praise and words of encouragement that he deserves. You emphasized that he was doing amazing as the leader of the group and that he was receiving a lot of love from the fans, and he made sure to thank you for your kind words before he bid you farewell feeling a bit emotional as you noticed his eyes started getting watery before your interaction with him ended.

Everything was going great so far, until you were down to meet the last member Yeonjun, which was the oldest of the group and who you consider your bias/favorite member. After talking to 4/5 members of the group, you were no longer as nervous as you were when you first answered the call.

Everyone listened to you well, and they definitely helped you feel comfortable during your interactions with them. All of that came crashing down when Yeonjun appeared on the screen. He had the charisma that immediately sent your mind going places, and you knew he was the most attractive in your eyes since he was the first member to catch your attention when you were just getting to know the group. You liked everything about him from the visuals to how talented he is, how charismatic he is when he performs, his personality on and offstage, how he would interact and show his love towards the fans, and so many more.

Yeonjun started off the call by greeting you with a smile and complimenting your look, and that sent your heart racing immediately.

You just could not believe what was happening at that moment, the fact that he knows your existence and you had the chance to talk to him directly almost made your brain malfunction. You proceeded to read out what you prepared to tell him during his turn, and you were nervous during the whole interaction with Yeonjun, but he made sure to ease your worries with a smile, giving you nods every now and then to reassure you that he was listening to you.

Yeonjun thanked you for your kind words and told you to take care of yourself and stay healthy until your next meeting with him. He wrapped up the call by telling you that he was hoping to see you and talk to you again sometime given the chance, and you told him that you felt the same. He made a heart pose with his hands quickly before waving at you as said your goodbyes. The experience was short lived but it gave you memories that you will treasure in a lifetime.

------------

A month has passed after the online fanmeet event, and you posted a few clips of the recordings you had during your call with TXT in the social media platforms that you actively used. Some of them went viral, especially the clips of your interaction with your bias, Yeonjun. You received a lot of replies and reblogs, gathering various reactions from fans and non-fans.

(Yeonjun definitely knew he was your bias!)

(Wbk that Yeonjun is always flirting with MOAs, but why was he especially flirty with this one?)

(The smile he had while you were talking, OP had this man WHIPPED for her!)

(Girl, if my bias looked at me and talked to me like that i would ask him what are we)

(Are you sure Yeonjun isn't the fan here?)

(You're so pretty that I would break the rules if I was Yeonjun ngl)

These were just some of the memorable reactions to the clips you uploaded, but you were thankful and glad that they got a lot of attention, to the point where there were people that got into the fandom after seeing the members interact nicely with their fans.

It was also the day that you were getting the albums that you ordered, which you were excited to finally unbox after receiving them in the mail. You grabbed some scissors before picking up the package that you placed on your shelf and placed it on your bed for you to unbox. You slowly cut up the packaging of the albums and removed the plastic seal carefully, making sure you won't damage the album in any way.

You browsed the photos from the photobook that came with the album first, before checking the other inclusions and finally seeing which members you pulled for the photocard. Luck was on your side when you pulled every member, not having any dupes and getting a Yeonjun photocard on the album version that you liked the most. You then read what each member wrote on some pages of the albums during your fanmeet, you found it cute how you can tell their personalities apart just from those short messages. Yeonjun's message in particular, stood out to you the most.

"Let's meet again soon, cutie! <3"

You giggled at the little nickname he gave you and heart he drew at the end. It's just like Yeonjun to write something like that, you thought to yourself.

After the adrenaline from unboxing the albums has run out, you organized the albums on the shelf that contained the rest of your collection, and you stored the new photocards you had just pulled in the photocard binder where you place all of your other photocards. You went back to bed and scrolled through your phone mindlessly while lying down. It was your day off, and you decided to have a lazy day in today. You were scrolling through your favorite page of TXT updates to catch up on what you weren't able to while you were busy with work, and it was when you saw the most recent update, a message from Yeonjun through Weverse DM.

("hi, y/n!")

("have you eaten yet? don't skip your meals today and make sure to eat lots, okay?")

(image attachment)

(I had kimchi fried rice for breakfast, Taehyun cooked for us today!)

A wild thought suddenly came to mind. You immediately opened your Weverse app, and went on the page with the Weverse DM feature for TXT. When they first introduced this feature, you always told yourself that it was nonsense having to get a subscription like this especially when you can just get the updates online without having to spend anything, and with translations too.

That was what you told yourself, but it won't hurt to change your mind now, right? You will technically get what you're paying for, since you will receive their messages in real time and you will experience it firsthand, so it's worth a try, right? You were mostly working to afford paying for your hobbies anyway, so what's so bad about paying for a little subscription to chat with your bias? You thought to yourself as you let out a deep sigh before successfully purchasing the subscription for Yeonjun's Weverse DM.

You wrote your first name as your nickname and wrote a message before clearing them and typing another one. After multiple attempts of trying to figure out what message to send, you finally pressed the 'send' button after much consideration, there is a chance that he could read it, after all.

(Hi, Yeonjun! This is y/n. I hope your day is going well so far. It's my first time sending you a message so I'm not sure what to say but I hope we can talk lots here! I'm excited to read more messages from you.)

(I had toast and bacon for breakfast today. You should eat your meals too and try to have some snacks in between when you can! I hope you can get through your schedule well today. Please take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard. I'm always rooting for you, Yeonjun! Fighting!)

You were reading through your messages nervously after you sent them, trying to see if that was okay.

There's only a small chance that he could read it, knowing there were probably thousands of people messaging him too at the same time you did, but it was still nice to know that there's a possibility of him reading it and that your messages could get through to him. Not too long after, you heard a short ring from your phone, and your eyes widened after seeing that you received messages from Yeonjun.

(Wow, that sounds good.... ㅜㅜ)

(I'll try to get that for breakfast tomorrow too! Thanks for the idea!! lol)

(I'm always grateful for your support, y/n. I'll work hard today too! Fighting~)

You smiled while reading his replies. In a way, it felt like he replied to the messages you sent, but that couldn't be, because anyone could have messaged him something similar to what you sent and he probably would've read that instead, right?

You tried to prove yourself otherwise by sending another message, testing to see if he was able to read your messages or not based on his next replies.

(I want to try kimchi fried rice made by Taehyun too... that sounds really good!)

(Send us a picture of your breakfast tomorrow, please!)

You waited a few minutes before you received another reply from him.

(I wasn't able to take a photo of the kimchi fried rice that Taehyun made us earlier..ㅠㅠ)

(But I'll make sure to send you a photo of what I'll have for breakfast tomorrow~)

You were starting to doubt your eyes. You replied to him once more, testing out your theory. There is no way, right? Anyone could have asked him the same thing too, you convinced yourself.

(I heard you were coming to our city for your next tour, I already saved up so I can buy tickets to see you guys again! I can't wait!)

(I think you look really good wearing glasses... can you wear glasses when you visit here next time?)

You fiddled with your phone for a bit after you hit 'send'. You sat on your bed nervously, waiting for a reply. You were sure you wouldn't get a response to your question, even though you were slightly hoping for it, you just thought it couldn't be possible. More than 15 minutes have passed, and there was still no reply from Yeonjun. Right, there was no way he could be responding to you directly when he can read thousands of messages from MOAs at once, so you figured you were just imagining things earlier.

You were just about to exit the Weverse app when you heard the notification sound from your phone come up, and you see a new text bubble appear on the screen.

(I didn't know you guys liked it whenever I wore glasses, maybe I'll wear them on our tour next time then lol)

(I'm only telling you about this in advance, y/n. So keep this between us, okay?)

(Let's meet again soon, cutie! <3)

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped when you read the messages from Yeonjun pop up one after another on the screen of your phone. The last message he sent was the exact same message he wrote in the album you opened not too long ago. The nickname and the small heart afterwards were just too much of a coincidence for you, but you still didn't think it was possible for something like that to happen. You were just getting over yourself, and you felt that you probably might have read too many AO3 fanfics recently, and that you were starting to lose your sense of reality.

You shook your head and turned off your phone, grabbing a towel and some clothes from your closet before heading to the bathroom to take a shower. You decided to take time off of your phone and head outside to clear your head. That's right, you probably just weren't thinking straight.

"That's enough of being delusional for today." you muttered to yourself.

But little did you know that somewhere out there, Yeonjun was smiling to himself while he reads your conversation, thinking otherwise.

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#txt #tomorrow x together #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt yeonjun #yeonjun x reader #txt x reader #txt thoughts #txt fluff

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