#maybe I should try sleeping instead of posting about the fact I’m not sleeping

[boydykedevo]

When i was a kid i saw the dvd for the movie No Strings Attached in the supermarket and I didn’t know what that phrase meant so to me it was a Pinocchio reference and like.. about being free and independent in a really poetic way and I kinda wish that was what it really meant cuz it was sexier the first way tee bee atch

[lightsoutletsgo]

anxiety gremlin — op.81

pairing: oscar piastri x anxious!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of anxiety and generalised anxiety disorder, description of physical symptoms including; nausea, headaches, sweaty hands, stomach pains, brain fog, mental struggles, mentions of panic attacks but reader doesn’t experience one, mentions of food and making food related decisions. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!  hello loves! this one is very personal to me and it was a pretty selfish write tbh... I wasn't sure if I should post it but I decided to do it in the hopes that it brings people some comfort. Oscar's dialogue at the end is a message that I, as the author, want to remind you all. you've got this, even if it doesn't feel like it! happy reading love mimi

Sometimes, it felt as though the world was out to get you. You faced the world and your flight, fight or freeze instincts kicked in. When you woke up, it seemed like it was going to be one of those days. That unexplainable feeling of nausea turning your stomach and an unexplainable headache pulled at the back of your head. Your jaw tensed as the nausea hit you in another wave and you forced yourself to roll over and close your eyes. Maybe if you could get back to sleep you’d wake up feeling better. Your mind however, had other ideas. Instead, deciding to send you down the spiral of impending doom - a lovely gift first thing in the morning. Thoughts whizzed through your head; Why did you feel so nauseous? Why did your head hurt? Had you forgotten something? What were your plans for the day and was that why this horrible feeling was creeping up? You sat up, accepting that you wouldn’t be falling back asleep and decided to get ready for the day. Perhaps a shower would help? The warm water was soothing as it rushed over you and whether it was the heat or the steam or the fact you were doing something to distract yourself, for a moment you felt a little better. Exiting the shower you decided that while the nausea had subsided, it would be a good time to start hydrating and maybe think about eating something. Your phone rang and dragged you from your internal rambling, “Hi baby!” You smiled, despite the fact that your boyfriend couldn’t see you, “Good morning angel,” You could hear Oscar’s dopey lovesick grin through the phone, “how did you sleep?” You set him down on loudspeaker as you got dressed, “I slept okay! How about you?” “I would have slept better if you didn’t keep stealing the blankets…” You gasped, “I do not!” Oscar laughed, “You absolutely do! One night I’m going to record you for evidence.” You giggled, “You do that baby.” Oscar nodded then realised you couldn’t see him, “I’m just calling to find out what you want for breakfast? I figured I’d stop off at that little cafe that you like on my way home.” You gulped, you had no clue what you wanted or how to decide, “I’d love that, thank you handsome!” You thought frantically for a solution, “Uhh you can choose for me! I trust you!” There was a pause on the other end of the line, “Are you sure angel?” “Yup, mhm, so sure!” “O-okay…” After making Oscar promise to drive safely, you hung up. 

You realised that for a moment while talking to Oscar, you hadn’t even thought about feeling anxious but it was as if that realisation had summoned the feeling back. All of a sudden your hands felt shaky and it was hard to focus on anything but the disconcerting feeling in your chest. Sitting down on the couch you did your best to control your breathing. Sometimes you wished that it would just turn into a panic attack and be done with. Anything would be better than this on-off-on-off situation. It was like feeling a sneeze that wouldn’t leave your body. Unsatisfying and unsettling. 

The front door opening made you snap your head up and you realised that subconsciously you had been rubbing your hands on your sweatpants to try and get rid of the clammy feeling. You shook your head and smiled as Oscar walked through the door, you were just a little bit anxious, it was no big deal. 

Oscar beamed at you as he entered the living room. He noticed that you seemed distracted and almost a little shifty. Your eyes kept darting around the room and your hands were absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the hem of your t-shirt - a habit you usually despised because it had the potential to ruin your clothes. He said nothing, just walked through the room to the kitchen and placed down the paper bags filled with breakfast. “You okay there angel?” You nodded at him but it wasn’t enough to reassure him, “Are you sure?” You nodded once more, why now of all times were you feeling sick again? You sat there grinding your teeth together and clenched your jaw, feeling too sick to open your mouth and reply. You wanted to reply, you really did! But your brain had decided that words were a step too far. “Did you do something while I was out, hmm?” Oscar joked but all it did was make you more anxious, ‘was he angry?’, ‘was he going to shout at you?’, ‘breakup with you?’, “Come on troublemaker, you can tell me!-” “Nothing! Nothing happened! Now will you please stop asking.” You snapped, immediately clapping a hand across your mouth in shock before the tears were welling up in your eyes. “Oscar I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry baby I shouldn’t have snapped… Please don’t be angry!” You rambled a million miles an hour as your hands began rubbing and grabbing the material of your sweatpants again, not even realising your breathing had turned heavy and you were sweating. Oscar stood there in shock, he had never seen you like this before, was this because of him? He slowly approached you, not sure of the issue and not sure how to resolve it. “It’s okay angel, it’s okay” He held his hand out to you but you shook your head, talking through a clenched jaw in the hopes it would help the queasy feeling in your stomach, “Hands sweaty.” Oscar nodded, “Okay then, can I sit next to you?” You nodded, he gently took a seat next to you, careful not to jostle or jolt you, “Is this a medical emergency?” You shook your head, “do I need to call an ambulance?” You shook your head once more, feeling like you wanted to cry.

How embarrassing that you were having an episode like this in front of your boyfriend after hiding it so well for so long. And even more embarrassing that you couldn’t tell him what was going on let alone why you felt the way you did, “Is this a panic attack?” You shook your head no. Oscar made a little ‘oh’ and sat quietly next to you, unsure of what to say or do. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to open your mouth, despite how heavy your tongue felt. “I’m just a bit anxious.” “What about?” You shrugged, “Nothing. Everything. Hard to explain.” Oscar smiled at you through your one word answers and short sentences, “Well I can wait, it’s okay.” You nodded, hands starting to tingle with how long you’d been rubbing them against fabric and you winced as a sudden cramping feeling started in your stomach. Oscar seemed to notice your discomfort, “Please let me hold your hand angel, I promise I don’t care if it’s sweaty and you think it’s gross, I just want to help okay?” You nodded, breathing deeply and letting him take your hand in his. 

As soon as your hand was in his, his thumb was rubbing gentle circles over the back of your hand. A soothing motion that you let your eyes focus on. Watching his hands and how they moved, anything to keep your attention off of the anxious feeling. 

As he sat next to you Oscar wondered how he should approach you to talk about this. Clearly there was something you weren’t telling him. He thought he knew what it was and he understood why you hadn’t told him. He knew that people got anxious, hell he was always anxious before a race, but he also knew that for some people it went beyond unsettling feelings. He guessed that that’s what you were dealing with too. He’d seen Logan feeling like this a few times and so he wracked his brain to try and remember what the American had told him was useful. How about distraction? It was worth a shot! “Want to watch a film?” You nodded, eyes still laser focused on Oscar’s hands. “I knew you had a thing for my hands but you are allowed to blink you know.” He joked, cracking the smallest sound of an exhale of laughter from you, that was a start. “What film should we watch, hmm?” He grabbed the remote to start flicking through options, his hand never leaving yours, but aware that there was enough space between you so you didn’t feel smothered. “I think something cute and funny? Yes that’s a goooood plan Oscar.” You gave a weak smile once more as he talked to himself and he smiled at you, “how about Tangled?” You nodded and he selected the film, settling back into the couch, head looking at you once more, “Do you want to cuddle?” You shook your head and he just shrugged, wanting to keep you as comfortable as possible,  “That’s okay, you just let me know when you do, okay?” You nodded and he squeezed your hand to comfort you, “Do you want to sit back on the couch?” Your body was still tightly wound and feeling like a live wire so you shook your head, physically unable to relax. And still all Oscar did was smile at you.

As the film started, you did your best to focus on it, finding yourself unable to stop smiling and releasing some of the tension in your shoulders at various points when your boyfriend spoke the lines along with the characters, with facial expressions. You watched on screen as Rapunzel and Flynn entered the Ugly Duckling Pub and you realised your body finally felt relaxed enough to sit back against the couch. Oscar silently breathed a sigh of relief, all he wanted to do was fix it for you but he knew that he could only do so much. 

By the time the next song had finished, your body was subconsciously leaning against him. Your head rested on his shoulder and he gently tilted his head to rest on top of yours. You gave a little contented sigh. As you sat there, a wave of tiredness hit you, the physical symptoms and mental strain you’d been feeling since you woke up taking its toll. With Oscar’s warm body next to you and the comforting sounds of one of your favourite movies on screen, it wasn’t long before you felt your eyes beginning to slowly close. Oscar looked down at you and saw that your lashes had fluttered shut. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and let his own eyes slip shut. 

When you woke up a couple of hours later, the TV was off and you were laying on the couch with a soft blanket covering you. You sat up and sleepily rubbed your eyes, “Osc?” You heard low music drifting through the door to the kitchen and you could hear Oscar mumbling to himself and humming along, cursing occasionally when pots and pans clanged together. He poked his head out from the kitchen door, “There’s my pretty girl. Good morning angel.” He cooed at you and the way you blinked back at him sleepily. “What time is it?” “It’s lunchtime! I was just reheating breakfast.” You nodded, sitting up and pulling your knees up to your chest as he padded across the room to take a seat at the end of the couch by your feet, “I’m sorry.” Oscar’s eyes searched your face as you looked down at your hands in your lap. Oscar’s hand rested on your knee, “Angel, you never have to apologise for something like that…” He trailed off, hesitant to ask you his next question, “do you want to talk about it?” You inhaled slowly, nodding, “Yeah I think I would.” He gently nudged you with his elbow and you shifted back to let him sit in front of you, both of you sitting cross legged. He held his hands out to you and you took them with a shaky exhale.  

“Umm… I’m not exactly sure how to explain it?” You admitted, your fingers playing with his own in an effort to keep yourself grounded as that familiar feeling of your shoulders tightening and nausea creeping up began to settle in. He followed your gaze, “That’s okay, we have all the time in the world. Explain it however you feel is easiest.” You nodded once more, “So obviously you noticed that I was feeling anxious,” He tilted his head to one side to show you he was listening as you continued, “That’s because I have generalised anxiety disorder. And the thing is… I feel like that most of the time.” You admitted shakily, desperately willing yourself not to cry. If Oscar was surprised or taken aback he didn’t show it, instead just linking your hand with his and squeezing, encouraged you continued, 

“There are good days and there are bad days but I’m always anxious… There’s this constant feeling of underlying panic or anxiety or this sense of impending doom.” You looked up and noticed how Oscar’s eyes searched yours, willing you to understand that he wasn’t going anywhere, “I feel nauseous, I feel shaky, my hands get clammy, sometimes it’s like I forget how to breathe, my head and stomach hurt for no reason, my head goes fuzzy and it’s hard to focus on anything but the feeling of how anxious I am…” “Baby…” Oscar breathed, you gave him a watery smile, tears filling your lash line, 

“It makes me irritable, it makes me bitchy, it makes me snap at people I love, it makes me sensitive and emotional, I cry a lot, I cancel plans at the last second, I keep to myself and I build my walls up…” You trailed off, meeting his gaze and noticing that his eyes were filling with tears too, “Sometimes it feels like I’m two people. Me and my anxiety.” You couldn’t help the way the tears fell with a choked sob, “Angel, can I please please give you a hug?” Oscar pleaded, itching to pull you into his arms and comfort you. 

You nodded through your sobs, finally feeling the huge emotional release that had been building since you’d woken up. He reached for you, gently grabbing your arms and pulling you forward onto him. Falling back against the arm of the couch with you against his chest as you both stretched your legs out. He held you for what felt like forever, tightly wrapping his arms around you and stroking your hair, gently murmuring to you and kissing your forehead. When your sobs had subsided a little, he wiped your cheeks, “My sweet girl…” He gently pressed kisses across your face, relishing in the way your crying eased and you let out a little sigh after each one, “Thank you so much for telling me angel.” He paused, “Can I ask why you didn’t tell me before?” He asked gently. You sighed, fisting his t-shirt in your hand as you fought the nervous feeling that made your stomach flip. His hand rubbed up and down your back in a soothing motion as he felt you tense up in his arms, “I’m not mad at you baby, I just want to know what I can do differently in the future. I’d hate it if you didn’t feel safe enough to come to me for help.” You nodded, nuzzling into his chest, attempting to block out the world and focus on Oscar. Just Oscar. 

“Everyone I’ve told has left…” You mumbled sadly, “Hmmm?” His voice was soft, like he didn’t want to scare you out of answering, “I told a few people growing up, uni friends and stuff, and they would always answer with the usual ‘oh yeah I feel anxious too’... Until I explained I had diagnosed anxiety disorder and then,” you sighed, “then they would tell me it was too much for them to deal with, or they would get mad at me for ruining plans, or tell me to just get over it when I tried to talk to them about it.” Oscar’s hold on you tightened a little as he felt a spark of anger burn inside him. How dare they? Anyone could see that you were trying your best, he gave you his full attention as you continued, “I guess all of those things mean that I have a hard time opening up and trusting people with the knowledge of my diagnosis because it’s always backfired… Please don’t be mad at me… I do trust you, I just…” “Hey,” Oscar’s voice was low to ensure he didn’t trigger you, “I’m not mad or disappointed at you baby, I’m frustrated with myself for not noticing sooner.” “I’m pretty good at hiding it,” you admitted, the two of you led there in silence for a moment before Oscar spoke again, “Well I’m beyond proud of you. For dealing with it everyday and for opening up to me.” You tilted your head up to look at him and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, “Thank you for listening.” He smiled back down at you, “Of course.” 

You summoned up the courage to ask him the question that had been on your mind for a little while, “H-how did you know how to help?” Oscar breathed deeply for a second, “There’s someone on the grid who uhhh, struggles with the same thing. They’ve opened up to me and explained what helps them so I figured I’d try?” You pushed yourself up to look at him in surprise, “Someone on the grid?” Oscar nodded, “I won’t say who, because it’s their thing to disclose and explain,” You nodded, “Of course!” “But they’re doing their best to work on things and ask for help and they’ve been doing really well.” Oscar made a mental note to ask Logan if he would consider talking to you. “Well, Tangled was a great choice!” You giggled as Oscar nuzzled his nose into your neck, “Yeah? I wanted to pick something that wouldn’t make you feel worse.” You couldn’t help the way you threw your arms around him and cuddled into him, so thankful for him and the thought and care he gave to you. “I love you.” It was muffled against his chest but he knew what you wanted to say and so with a chuckle he kissed the top of your head, “I love you too, angel.”

You stayed there for a moment before he was gently pushing you to sit up so he could look into your eyes, “I want to say something.” He hesitated and you nodded at him to continue. He gently held your chin with one hand, keeping you looking at him as his other hand found yours in your lap, linking his fingers with yours and squeezing, despite the way your hands were starting to get a little clammy again, “You may have anxiety disorder but it’s not who you are, baby.” Your eyes widened, he continued, “You are not your diagnosis. There is so much more to you than that. You are kind and caring, you’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re creative.” Your heart melted at how passionately he was speaking. “You’re loved and valued by me and so many others, angel… I love you, the anxiety gremlin that comes with you and all.” You giggled at how he referred to it, “Anxiety gremlin… I like it!” He smiled, kissing your nose, you scrunched it up and he kept talking, “I know I can’t fix it and make it go away, believe me baby I wish that I could. But I promise that I’ll be here through all the bad days and the good days. I’ll do everything I can to make it easier and more bearable for you.”

You couldn’t help the way you started crying again, happy tears this time, Oscar’s thumb gently wiping them away, “So when you’re feeling up to it, we’re gonna sit down and talk about how I can help. What I can do when you’re having a bad day, the things we can do together, how you like to be distracted, how I can help when we’re out in public, maybe a codeword?-” You giggled as he started speaking faster and faster, you stopped his rambling with a soft kiss, pressing your lips to his, your hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing over his cheek, “That sounds perfect baby, thank you.” Oscar kissed you once more, pulling you into him, “You just let me know when you’re ready.” You nodded, “I will, I promise.” “Good! But for now, we still need to eat our breakfast!”

[lucyandthepen]

love on the floor | njm

exactly when does vice president na turn from the company’s worst nightmare into your favorite daydream?

pairing: chaebol!na jaemin x secretary fem!reader rating: vaguely M, but will very quickly escalate into a hard R in coming chapters genre: romance, fluff, (eventual) smut (in later chapters), chaebol!au warnings: jaemin isn’t really a total asshole but he isn’t great at the beginning either and i think that should be a warning, there’s probably some language use that deserves a bit of caution i GUESS, but tbh nothing much here because we want to pretend that this is a fic of chaste circumstances and not a lead-up to raunchy, depraved smut  word count: 16.4k

author’s note: first of all, the development of this fic is absolute SHIT because i love context too much and refuse to shut up at the beginning only to get antsy for the ending so if the pace is a little stop and go … it’s because i’m a Fewl !! and i totally own up to that !! and second of all, this is actually just a set-up for about two more shorter (?? what’s shorter) works that i’ve already been wanting to write but felt like i would be remiss in doing so without some kind of build-up to the relationship so :^) here we are ! heavily unbeta'd and miss lucy is a bit rusty but we carry on for the sake of enjoying oneself (and practicing writing once again) muah enjoy!

At least this job gets you free medical. 

Actually, all things considered, this is an excellent job with limitless benefits. You never have to worry about the three-level insurance, you have monthly paid-for visits to the dentist, and you sometimes get to use the company car for personal errands for as long as you meticulously check everyone else’s schedules and butter up the head secretary, Son Seungwan, just enough so that she feels mollified enough to let you have this favor (but not too much to the point that she catches on and gives you a ten minute lecture on the rising prices of gas post-the-turn-of-the-decade). Your rent’s well paid-for, and the apartment you’re staying at is comfortable, albeit a little smaller than most, although that’s just because you prefer spending your money on once-in-a-lifetime type things, like front row seats to a Paul Kim concert. You get 50% discounts at the company cafeteria, which boasts a pretty nice salad bar with more than just perilla leaves as the greens. The bathrooms even have luxury soap installed into the automatic hand dispensers, so you always come out clean and fancy smelling. 

All in all, the job’s pretty perfect, to the point that you don’t think leaving will ever truly be in the cards — except for the fact that you barely see your boss, which, as nice as it sounds on paper, is actually the most stressful part of the position. 

You’ve always been of the opinion that if Vice President Na Jaemin put his mind to something, he’d actually do it very well, but the running issue is that he hardly ever puts his mind to anything, especially when it comes to work. In fact, the only thing he ever seems to take seriously is having eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep, which you personally think is an extremely hard thing to achieve, leading you to the firm belief that if he channeled that energy into something less dead-to-the-world and a little more productive, things would be amazing. 

And maybe things would also be a little less distressing if his family would just accept him for who he is instead of expecting too much (or, actually, anything) from him, but Vice President Na is the only son of the family that owns the largest telecom company in the country, so his parents have a ton of huge expectations for him. His father, in particular, is clearly trying to prepare him to take over the entire business, something that the Vice President clearly isn’t keen on doing, based on the many arguments you’ve had to sit through alongside Head Secretary Son. The result is a lot of tension that’s only exacerbated by the Vice President’s desire to avoid more conflict, which he does by suddenly disappearing from the office for hours — sometimes days — at a time. 

So for as much medical, dental, and reasonably priced caesar salad as you’re getting from this job, you’re not entirely sure how worth it those things all are if they come with the task of you having to sit through twenty minutes of lecturing in place of Vice President Na Jaemin himself. 

“This is the last time,” President Na roars — not necessarily at you, but at you, in your general direction, while you stand helplessly in front of his desk, your hands folded across your lap and your head hung low. You don’t really feel terrified or hurt — more than knowing that the President isn’t shouting at you for your incompetence, you’ve also gotten used to being on the receiving end of these weird, indirect lectures and have thus come to know the exact standard of ‘sorry’ that you have to look for it to be over as quickly as possible. Still, you’re kind of annoyed that this particular spiel is taking up precious minutes from your afternoon break. Then again, you don’t know what you’d expected to begin with when you’d come back from the cafeteria after lunch and found the Vice President’s chair abandoned, leather cold, indicating that he’d been gone for quite a while. It’s about four o’clock now, and he still hasn’t come back, and all your messages to him have gone unread, as you’ve also grown used to. “You tell my no-good son if he isn’t back within the hour, he can live the rest of his life without my last name.”

You’re not sure if the implications of that will really sink into the Vice President’s heart enough to trigger the guilt it’s clearly trying to elicit, but you know better than to voice your opinion. You nod once, then bow at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Four years of this, and he hasn’t learned a single thing,” the President continues, completely ignoring your useless and vaguely insincere apology. “Where’d he run off to this time?” 

You don’t know. You never really know. Since he actively tries to avoid all work-related things, he also actively tries to avoid you, something he does by never picking up the phone or telling you the details of his daily schedule anyway. You can only share what you do know, which is very little and, therefore, extremely useless, but you try to say it in a way that appears relatively helpful. “His schedule says he was supposed to have lunch with the foreign investors that are trying to connect Prime Video to the Korean market, but it seems he didn’t show up for that.”

Which essentially translates to: you have no clue. Again, all parties in the room — inclusive of Head Secretary Son, who constantly has to bear witness to the many threats Vice President Na receives via you — know this isn’t your fault, but it doesn’t make the vein that’s about to pop out of the President’s temple any less pronounced, nor does it stop you from bowing and apologizing again when he says “get him back in here before five o’clock or tell him he’ll never be able to step foot in this building again!” even though you know that the threat would probably sound more like a gift than anything else to Vice President Na. 

“And you,” the President points a vaguely accusatory finger at you. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “If he isn’t back here at that time, you can kiss your job goodbye too. You go ahead and tell him that. Let’s see if Jaemin will finally get off his ass if he knows someone else is going to have to suffer for his behavior.” 

The only person who sees your jaw fall open is Head Secretary Son, who’s now leading you away from the President’s desk and towards the door; the President has taken to staring at this huge family picture of himself, his wife, and the Vice President that’s hanging just behind his executive’s chair, all looking considerably happier than anyone in this situation feels. You hear him mutter something that sounds like “where did I go wrong with you, you punk?” before the door shuts close behind you.

“I’d say he doesn’t mean that, but we don’t actually know to what lengths he’ll go to get the Vice President on board.” Head Secretary Son admits, lifting two fingers to gently shut your mouth, still agape. “If I were you, I’d figure out how to keep him on a leash. The fact that he’s never around is probably ninety-percent of our current problems.”

“I can barely get him to respond to schedule reminders,” you groan; your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose like this will somehow stop the oncoming migraine. “Let alone get him to stay still. I was just about to put in a down payment for a car of my own, too.” 

You’ve never really been considerably attached to this job, mostly because there isn’t much to actually attach yourself to, but if you think about it now, it really is better than most, and this economy isn’t really kind to people who get fired from their jobs. You feel like puking at the thought of losing the free unlimited coffee in the pantry and trading it in for a life behind a convenience store counter, which is probably where you’ll end up, pessimistically speaking.

You excuse yourself from Head Secretary Son, who has the heart to look a little pitying as you trudge towards the elevator. You don’t even know where you’d start looking for the Vice President, especially since he spends quite a lot of his efforts trying to avoid having to communicate with you. You don’t even know what his habits are, which means you can’t make educated guesses on where he might have run off to, so the only route to go is to look in the immediately surrounding area and widening your search diameter as time passes.

Until five o’clock, of course — a deadline that, if unmet, will likely mean you also won’t be returning to the office either. 

You start off at the nearby bookstore, extremely skeptical that the Vice President would ever willingly go to a place that requires more effort even after you make a purchase. As expected, he isn’t there, but he isn’t in the nextdoor candle shop (also unlikely) either, nor do you find him in the hand-cut noodles shop next to that as well. You walk down the entire street for a good twenty minutes, pressing your face against the windows of stores shamelessly, to the ire of many startled and disgruntled staff, trying to look for a familiar head shape in the small crowds in them, but to no avail. Then, you think about calling him again, but when you pat the pockets of your jacket, you realize your phone is still on your desk, where you’d left it when you’d been summoned to see the President. With a loud groan and an annoyed clip clop of your heels as you stamp your feet on the pavement, you walk back to the office. 

In your frenzy to find the Vice President, you’d gone quite a distance, and your shoes simply aren’t made for long, aggravated walks; they start hurting your feet halfway back, and you’re pretty sure you have a blister behind the strap of the left one. Pride would tell you to tough it out, but you’d thrown that out at the thought of losing your job at the expense of a single man, so you don’t even hesitate to take them off and run back to the building. The big digital clock above the elevators says you have ten minutes left to find your boss, and you start thinking about using that time for better things — like packing your stuff up neatly in a box for when you get sacked. 

With the situation seemingly hopeless, you trudge to the first floor cafe, where the return counter has a pitcher of water and a stack of tiny paper cups. They’re tiny tiny, like the size of your thumb, so you have to keep refilling it just to start feeling a little more human. 

You’re on your third refill when you hear a giggle come from across the space. The barista’s just finished laughing at what must have been an extremely hilarious joke, or she might be flirting with whoever’s leaning over the counter to talk to her. A whoever that seems to be the exact same height and build as the elusive Vice President of this company. 

You accidentally toss the paper cup in the plastics bin in your desperation to get moving, worried that if you’re not fast enough, he’ll disappear into thin air again. Luckily, his attention’s completely focused on the barista, so he can’t go anywhere when you finally reach his side and huff, loud enough to interrupt what seems like an intimate-ish conversation between them. 

“Sorry, I was just — oh, it’s you.” The Vice President’s smile fades when he sees it’s you, someone he can’t charm out of what they’re supposed to be doing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Vice President smile at you in any capacity, anyway, except for maybe one or two slightly sarcastic smiles that are probably more fit to be classified as grimaces. “What do you want?” 

“I’ve been looking all over for you, sir,” you say, stiffly and a little quietly because you still don’t want to embarrass him in front of the slightly confused barista. “You haven’t answered my texts.”

You don’t have any way to check, but you’re pretty sure this is a safe enough assumption, which is corroborated by the Vice President bringing his phone out and checking the screen lazily before turning it back off. 

“Sorry. I don’t answer unknown numbers.”

You guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to save your number when he hates hearing about work, which is all you really try to communicate with him about, but it still stings considering it’s been two years and you’ve been using the same number since high school. It’s fine, you think. You really can’t expect much from him. 

“Well, your father’s been looking for you, too. He wants to meet you.”

“I’ll take a rain check, but thank you.”

“Sir,” your voice quivers with poorly quelled exasperation. “This isn’t an optional thing. This is very serious.” 

“I can see that, Briar Rose,” his eyes are trained towards your shoes, still dangling from your grasp, with a level of unabashed amusement. “Did he summon me from deep within the woods, or is this a new casual Friday look I should get in on?”

When his words are met with a stony silence, he sighs, pushing himself off the counter. His half-finished Americano is collecting a small pool of condensation under it, and you offer him the little handful of tissues you had gotten from the return counter and had originally been planning to use to wipe your tears in case you cried after getting fired so that he doesn’t waste time looking for something to hold his cup. He takes them without even a word of thanks, opting to instead say ‘lead the way, miss.’ You don’t miss the fact that he meets the barista’s eye with a considerably more genuine grin, raising a hand in goodbye to her before he strides ahead — before you even get a chance to lead the way at all — towards the elevators with you, hobbling on one foot to slip your shoe back on, not far behind. 

The President’s office must be sort of soundproof for instances like this. For the first time, you’ve been asked to wait outside with Head Secretary Son as the Vice President gets chewed. It doesn’t matter; you don’t really want to be in the middle of yet another round of shouting that has nothing to do with you in the same afternoon, plus you also know how the conversation usually goes: the President making very agitated threats and talking about his heart condition (even though the medical reports from their private doctor say he’s in perfect health) that the Vice President, who just spends the time looking boredly at his nails, will inevitably trigger. When you press your ear to the door for a minute, you actually hear something like ‘... strike you out of the will so that when you kill me, you won’t get a single won!’, and you can imagine Vice President Na’s exasperated sigh punctuating the statement. 

Ten minutes later, the room has gone quiet, and you step aside just in time for the Vice President to open the door and step out. You don’t even understand how he can look so unaffected after being ripped apart, but you suppose he’s also heard the lecture as many times as you have and is pretty much immune to all the insults. He doesn’t really have to make a show out of not caring, though, with his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed to allow him to whistle idly as he strolls down the hall to his barely used office. He’s been in it so few times that after long, inexplicable vacations, he sometimes forgets how to get there. You’ve always had to walk behind him just in case he gets lost or, worse, tries to make a run for it. You’ve never had to tackle him to the ground reciting the Miranda warnings, or anything, but he has faked left a few times just to give you a mild heart attack for the fun of it all. 

This time, he just walks, not bothering to joke you into trying to create a human wall he could just as easily push away. When he gets to his office, he lazily plops down onto his couch, extracting the Rubik’s cube he’d been working on for a few weeks now from underneath himself and spinning the top layer idly. He’s only ever finished the blue side. 

You just stand there, kind of perplexed and unsure of how to start the conversation. He’s still whistling, and you’re not sure if talking over him will count as interrupting him, which isn’t something you’re supposed to do. Thankfully, he stops after about two minutes of fiddling with the yellow side of the cube, looking up at you with a slightly surprised expression that somehow makes you want to cry. 

“Can I help you with something, Secretary ___________?” 

“Well, I…” You stutter for a bit, unsure of how to politely point out that he should be asking you for help with his job instead of the whole other way around. “Because… I just thought…”

“You can always leave a message with my secretary if you need time to figure it out.” He grins. “Oh, wait a minute.”

“Sir, don’t you think you should… I don’t know. Figure out your schedule, or something? Prepare for… anything?” 

“What’s that smell?” He lifts his nose to the air, suddenly curious, and because he looks so serious, you also start sniffing, but you can’t really smell anything out of the ordinary. “Smells… fresh. Very clean. A little like green tea.”

“Oh.” You awkwardly shift your weight from leg to leg. “I think that’s my perfume, but I don’t see w—”

“You smell very expensive, Secretary _____________.” He sounds genuinely surprised that you do, like he’s somehow saying he hadn’t expected you to have good taste. You have no idea where this conversation is coming from, so you chalk it up to him wanting to derail you from talking about work. “I like it. Very classy. Not too strong.”

“Sir, I don’t think now’s the time to be talking about perfume scents.”

“You’re actually quite pretty.” He sounds genuinely surprised again, but this time, it stings a little more. “I never noticed that before. How come?” 

You want to say that it’s because he spends most of his time and energy playing long-term hide-and-seek with you, but there’s also no polite way of putting that into words; even if there were, with the way you’re now bristling under his gaze, you’re not really sure you’d go the courteous route, anyway. You just decide to ignore the comment and question entirely, which you almost get to do.

“Wouldn’t you like to take a look at some of our upcoming projects? For instance, we’re just about to start negotiating the terms of this new partnership with Huawei —”

“You’re pretty, but you’re also pretty tense.” He cuts you off again, now looking a little dejected at this newfound information. You can’t understand why this disappointment in you actually hurts your feelings a little. “I think the cafe downstairs serves some tea, if that kind of stuff helps you.”

“Sir,” the one syllable is laced with weariness, and you knot  your fingers together in front of your lap. It probably looks polite, but it’s mostly so that you can feel like you have some semblance of control over anything, even if it’s just your own body fighting off the urge to grab him by the collar. “Please. If you could just take a look at your schedule — even just for tomorrow —”

“What’s the point?” His shrug is nonchalant, and he’s turning the cube over in his palm now, more interested in looking at it than witnessing your tired expression. “It’s almost six o’clock. I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow, you know what I mean? If my dad finally loses his marbles, I’ll deal with it all then. In fact, I might actually be okay with losing this department if it finally actually gets him off my back. I’ll also deal with that when it happens, probably.” 

Another long, uncomfortable silence blooms as his words sink in; not for the first time today, President Na has threatened the existence of your job, now alongside a good twenty other people’s, all for the sake of snapping some sense into the Vice President. However, like everything else, it seems to just be backfiring; Vice President Na doesn’t seem to care about anyone else in this department, most likely because he’s barely interacted with anyone else. You’re surprised he even remembers your last name, considering he once called the department accountant ‘Heejin’ even though her nametag clearly spelled out ‘Jinhee.’ 

It makes sense that the threat of abolishment means absolutely nothing to him, but it doesn’t make the knowledge of that any less distressing. He watches you curiously as you tug back at your ponytail, like it’ll once again stop the crawling migraine. 

“Sure a cup of chamomile tea isn’t in the cards today? I think I have the company card in here somewhere, although I can’t be sure that it hasn’t been cut off, based on my dad’s last threat—” 

“I’m fine; thank you.” You mumble, checking the clock. He’s wasted what’s left of the hour anyway, and the lack of change in his position just means he’s not going to change his mind for the rest of the time. “At least let me give you tomorrow’s agenda.” 

“Boring, but okay. Give it to me, then.” He yawns to make a point, and you offer him the tablet you tote around with you everywhere you go, just in case Vice President Na finally decides he wants to do his job. To clarify: that’s two whole years of you carrying that heavy thing around, with the Vice President only having touched it a handful of times. You’re mildly shocked that he actually opens it to check, because he barely does even that, but that all goes away when he yawns again, his expression glassy as he scrolls down aimlessly. “This is a lot. Can’t you just clear my schedules tomorrow? Actually, if I can make demands for real, I’d like to clear out my schedule for the rest of the year.” 

He stretches when he stands, ignoring your slightly agog expression as he pats you on the back, smacking his lips sleepily. “Good day’s work, Secretary _____________. Want to grab a beer? Have ourselves a little intra-department party? I’m pretty sure ‘intra’ stands for ‘us two,’ or am I wrong?”

You sincerely hope he doesn’t mean a goodbye party, but with his attitude right now, that might very well be. You shake your head, and he shrugs, like he wasn’t really expecting you to agree in the first place. “No thank you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He’s already halfway out the door, waving dismissively with his back turned to you. When you peek out of the space he leaves by opening the door, you can see about half the entire department’s watching, not even bothering to pretend to scurry back to their seats as he saunters out of the office. He calls out to you, his voice ringing clear even though he’s already out of sight. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

You come up with a master plan, but not before you scope potential jobs. 

You actually stayed an hour overtime at your desk looking for positions, but all of them pay lower than average or are about an hour’s commute away from where you live, so none of them seem worth it. The search ends when some people from the department come over to say goodbye and see your computer open to SaramIn, at which point they connect the dots and start to panic about their insurance. You shut your monitor off and spend another useless twenty minutes calming Jinhee, who’d started having a mild panic attack. 

In that time, your resentment builds. Why can’t Vice President Na simply get his act together? You suppose that there’s some indescribable burden to being in his position, but between him, a rich heir who owns two sports cars and lives in a paid-for house, and you, a public-transport-using, pays-by-the-month nine-to-five worker, you can’t really understand why he would be having it worse than everyone else who works under him.  If he worked even just half as hard as everyone else did here, he might scrape by. 

You can’t know if President Na’s anger was only short-lived or if he actually meant to downsize the company by getting rid of your department entirely, but you also know that if he’s serious, then there’s nothing much you can do about it, short of terrorizing the Vice President into stepping into bigger shoes.

So, that becomes your master plan.

It isn’t very refined, mostly because you think about it on the bus home, but the heart and spirit are there, and those are probably the most important things anyway. It’s that heart and spirit that motivate you to get up an hour earlier than you usually do, dressing quickly for the day before taking the company car from your place to downtown Apgujeong. You usually don’t take it on days that Vice President Na doesn’t come into work, which is practically every other day, but this time, you’re determined to see him into the office. The ride with Hyunsung, his official company driver, is quiet, save for the question he asks when you roll up to the Vice President’s driveway. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“No,” you admit. He’d probably seen you chewing down on your thumb, some of your confidence taking a hit when you belatedly realize you could be shot with a huge privacy lawsuit if this doesn’t go the way you plan. But you do know a lot of secretaries that do the morning calls for their superiors, so this should be fine. Not that you’ve ever heard from those secretaries ever again. 

Vice President Na’s laziness seems to extend to all aspects of his life, including the fact that he doesn’t ever change his door’s passcode; it’s still the same numbers as it had been when he first bought the house a year ago and had you install his lock while he was missing in action from work, yakking it up with some farmers up in the Netherlands. He likes to do that — ‘see the world,’ or whatever, even though his wanderlust makes everyone else’s lives very difficult. At least it makes your life easy now, and you step through the door and walk quietly across his unnecessarily large living room. 

You’ve never been in here exactly, and you only realize very belatedly that this house’s design would be very frustrating for a break-and-enter criminal because nothing seems to be where it’s supposed to be. You learn the owner’s suite is actually on the basement floor, so all the climbing of those slippery stairs was for nothing. 

Vice President Na’s bedroom is bigger than your whole apartment, which also means he has a sizable bed and, thus, is completely out of sight under his gigantic covers. The only indication that he’s even still in there is that they’re rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. You stand by the edge of the bed, on the side he’s closest to falling off of, clearing your throat at the tuft of hair peeking out from under the comforter. 

“Vice President Na? It’s time to go to work.” 

Your voice has been tempered down by years of this professional work, and this is easily the loudest and most demanding you’ve ever heard it. You’re not even sure you can do it again, but the muffled groan from under the covers is all the motivation you need to try. 

“Sir, you have a ten o’clock meeting with Samsung’s representatives for Apple. President Na also asked that we contact Amazon right away to reschedule the Prime Video deal.” 

“How,” his voice comes out first before he does, squinting up at you, completely disoriented. “The hell did you get in here?” 

“Sir, I’m your secretary.” You sigh, skimming over the fact that you’d walked into his big kitchen twice through two different entryways before coming into his bedroom. “I’m supposed to be able to get in here.”

“Except this is a first.” You think he’s about to get up, but he just shifts his weight, rolling over so he can cocoon himself tighter into his blankets. “Goodnight. There are eggs in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“I’ve already eaten, like a normal, functioning human being with a very important job that starts precisely at nine o’clock would.” 

“This seems like a very targeted comment, Secretary ____________. I’m not sure I appreciate it.” 

“Since we’re already having this conversation, I’m guessing you’re conscious enough to get dressed.”

To your relief, he actually does throw the covers off of him, leaning up on his elbows. You try not to balk at the fact that he’s shirtless, although you’re also not sure why this should surprise or bother you to begin with. He doesn’t even seem to mind; he just yawns, wide and unashamed, as he looks over at the clock. 

“It’s seven-thirty. This is insanity.”

“No, this is a wake-up call.” You offer him a neatly folded towel that he eyes suspiciously. “We need to get you in the office on time.”

“There’s really no point,” he sighs, scratching his head idly. “It’ll just be another boring day of talking to people I don’t care about. Someone who cares about it should talk to them. You care about it, don’t you?” 

“I won’t talk to them for you, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t get paid enough to be doing that.” 

He once again stares at the towel like he’s trying to will it to evaporate, but in the end, he only sighs louder and takes it from you, kicking his blankets off completely. You look up at the ceiling, not in prayer but to avoid the more embarrassing fact that he’s only in his boxers after all. Well — it’s embarrassing for you. He doesn’t even seem to care. 

“Something’s different.”

“Usually I don’t wake you up,” you offer the painfully obvious. “Or come here. Or talk to you.”

“Yeah, all that stuff,” he says dismissively, halfway through a yawn. “Did you have a life-changing experience recently?”

“Something like that.”

“Couldn’t it have been one where you decided to leave me alone for good instead?” He grumbles, more to himself instead of to you. It doesn’t matter, anyway; you already see he’s up and fishing socks out of his drawer, so you’re marching out of his room to avoid having to hear more of his complaints (and, quite frankly, to avoid looking at his broad back). 

However, the day thereafter doesn’t go as planned. You thought that waking Vice President Na up for an early day of work might shock him into doing something with the knowledge that it was urgent, but you’re not sure why you didn’t anticipate a scenario in which he’d fall asleep in the car on the way to work and you’d have to shake him into waking in the stuffy parking lot. He spends the rest of the morning out of sorts, ignoring you point blank when you try to brief him on the meeting. The meeting in and of itself doesn’t go any better, with him excusing himself fifteen minutes in by saying the pitch doesn’t seem all too exciting and innovative. You didn’t even know he knew the word innovative and, by the shocked faces of the Samsung people, they were of the same mind. 

By lunch time, you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever been, and a part of you is wondering why you wanted Vice President Na in the office in the first place when you’re already used to the much simpler routine of get up, work, eat lunch, get yelled at, work again. Sometimes, on slow days when Vice President Na is completely out of town for the week and President Na is out of things to yell at you about, you even get to just sit back at your desk and play old crossword puzzles. 

Now, you’re basically handholding him, but the weight that keeps him down is so heavy that you’re being dragged down, too. 

“You mean people do this every single day?” He shuts the folder with a contract that requires his signature that you’d given him just now, not even bothering to peruse the first page, much to your rapidly increasing ire. “This is ridiculous. Working makes no sense.”

“All employees come to work to do that, sir. It’s literally what makes up half their lives.”

“Except it shouldn’t,” he sighs, like this is a true global issue and not a problem of his own making. “Everyone needs to be able to do what they want and live life to the fullest.” 

“Not everyone can,” you point out flatly. “Some people don’t have the luxury of time even for that.”

“Then, they should. The more I’m in this situation, the more it feels like it might be better for everyone to have a little work break for — I don’t know. The next year or so.”

Vice President Na has his arm outstretched, handing the folder back to you. You don’t know if it’s what he says that causes your blood pressure to rise, or if its the completely unconcerned look on his face, or if it’s the fact that he’s holding the folder so lazily that the papers are starting to slip out on your end, requiring you to use two hands to keep them all from falling apart and creating a mess you’ll end up having to clean up anyway. Whatever it is, you snatch the folder from him with a little more aggression than necessary (or that you’d even care to admit). Even though it’s out of place, you can’t help but feel a small sense of triumph at the slight surprise in his eyes. 

“Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, sir.” You pause, mostly because you can tell he doesn’t believe you — Vice President Na is nonchalant, not stupid — and you want to give yourself a little bit of time to grapple with your pride before you admit the truth. “Yes, sir. It isn’t fair to your entire department for you to talk that way.”

“I’m saying the entire department doesn’t have to work this hard. It’s senseless. How are you supposed to live a good life if all you’re doing is sitting behind a desk?”

“Like I said, not everyone has the luxury of living your life. If they want even a little bit of that comfort you enjoy, they have to work very hard for it first.” 

“Then they should at least do something they enjoy. If this department goes down the drain —”

“If this department is abolished,” this is your first time interrupting a superior, and it already makes you want to throw up. “Then people will have a very difficult time finding a job in this market. More than that, a lot of people enjoy working for this company — quite genuinely, in fact. I don’t think it’s right to think that they’ll be happy while they’re jobless and floundering in this economy.”

“So you’re happy like this? You really want this job — this whole working under me situation?” 

“Well…” you trail off, your voice taking on a slightly thoughtful tone. It’s been a relatively long time since you’d entered this job, but you do faintly remember the feeling of excitement at getting this position — the desire to want to learn from the best in this industry, the anticipation of being able to meet and network with interesting and important people. Your first few weeks of work had involved wanting to spend as much time in Vice President Na’s shadow, in case you could pick up some important business tidbits from an entrepreneurial master… until, of course, you realized there wasn’t much you could stand in the shadow of to begin with. “These days, it isn’t ideal. But this job is a really good thing for most of the people who work here.”

“Then it sounds like you have more to gain from me working hard than I do.” 

You can’t contain your disapproving frown, and your voice comes out a little sharper than you intend. “Doesn’t it bother you at all, sir? Knowing almost twenty people could lose their jobs in the blink of an eye? Think about all the people who look up to you and rely on you — they’ll have to suffer because of this. They might never find a job that matches their needs, and a lot of them have families to take care of, too. If you can do something to make sure they have these good lives you keep talking about, why not do it? I know you’re capable of that. You’re capable of doing much more than what you’ve been doing thus far.” 

Vice President Na is quiet for a moment before leans over on his desk, lacing his fingers into a loose combined fist and putting his weight on his forearms. One of his forefingers detangles itself from the pile of digits and curls inwards, beckoning you closer. Your grimace is probably obvious, and you lean in a little warily. He lifts himself off his chair slightly so he can whisper in a low voice, as if you two aren’t the only people in this wide office. 

“If you care about it so much, then ask a little more nicely.” 

Your light breakfast almost makes a reappearance, and you draw back in mild shock. He also leans back, significantly more relaxed than you, looking unperturbed as he settles back against his chair. You two engage in a very uneven staring match, until he gestures for you to proceed, looking expectant. 

“You want me to beg for my job?”

“Not what I meant, but I could accept that,” he hums. “I just think you could throw in a please while you’re guilting your boss, at least.”

Gawking probably doesn’t suit you, but you do it anyway, wondering how you managed to find yourself in this position. This morning, you had been strictly guiding him through what to do, and now you’re paralyzed in front of the Vice President, feeling very foolish for saying so much out of turn. You couldn’t even get through a whole work day before seeing your grand master plan slip down the drain.

But there is, at least, some small comfort in what he said — the part about guilting, which, if you squint hard enough, seems to be implying that this conversation has left him with a small amount of guilt. You don’t think it’s that much, but it’s a miracle he feels it at all, so you take the horribly subtle win and inhale deeply.

“Please, sir.” The words are very thick and reluctant, unsticking from your throat. “This department really needs you.” 

He stares, very unnervingly, without saying anything, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you vaguely certain he’s actually thinking about it. In fact, he actually looks a bit serious, which isn’t anything you’d ever think you’d be able to characterize him by. That impression easily falls apart when he claps his hands, once but very loudly, startling you into jumping a little. 

“Ah, how could I turn down such a nice request?” Vice President Na is grinning from ear to ear, something you’ve never seen him do in the context of the office, much less a few feet away from you. His smile is actually kind of nice, if you don’t think about the fact that it seems to be smug at your expense. “Since you asked, I guess I’ll have to try my best, or whatever it is people do in this damn company. I guess that means you owe me now, Secretary ____________. You’re very welcome.” 

The silence that once again blooms as you stand, motionless, in front of Vice President Na is suddenly interrupted by the sound of chairs scraping back all at once. The floor vibrates a little as the entire department troops out to the elevator area so they can go to lunch. You only watch stupidly as he also stands, shrugging off his jacket and flinging it over the back of his chair. “See you, then.”

“Where are you going, sir?” 

He looks a little surprised that you even ask. “To lunch. Do I have to ask for your permission for that, too?” 

“Are you… coming back?”

“You want to come along with me and make sure I don’t run away?” He smiles even wider, which you didn’t even think was possible. It makes you awkwardly uncomfortable to know he’s taking a lot of pleasure in joking around with you, mostly because you were kind of hoping you’d get him to take things seriously in a serious manner, not in a … whatever this is that’s making you feel like you’ve lost a game manner. 

“A little bit.”

“Ask a little more nicely, then.” 

“Never mind,” you mumble. “Have a good lunch, sir.” 

He snaps his fingers a little comically before turning to the door, flinging it open so he can join the now thinning throng of people leaving the floor. “Thought I almost had you there. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me. Or not.” 

In the end, to your utmost relief, Vice President Na does, in fact, stay inside the entire time he has lunch. You’re not sure if this is the product of you sitting two tables away, trying to will an imaginary chain to his wrist so he doesn’t bolt off or because he’s still feeling a little affected by everything you said earlier on, but whatever it is, it works. He just eats his club sandwich in peace, picking off the crust easily and double dipping the fries that come with it in his ketchup. At some point, he looks up and notices you burning holes into his torso, so you quickly have to avert your eyes in shame. You think he laughs at this, but you can only see out of your peripheral vision at this point, so you can’t be sure. 

You’re supposed to have one hour for lunch, but he eats quickly and gets up before the whole hour is over, so you end up throwing your half-eaten wrap and following him. Again, you’re not sure what’s funny, but he’s chuckling to himself as he holds the elevator door open, waiting for you to run in next to him. 

“Relax, miss secretary. I already said I was going to do my best.”

“No offense, sir, but I don’t know what that looks like, so I have to be careful.”

“Fair enough.” He hums, letting the door close on its own. “But you should still take it easy. You’re pretty t—”

“Tense. You said so yesterday, sir.”

“That’s two times you’ve cut me off in a single day.” He doesn’t sound very annoyed about it; in fact, he’s still got that amused, inside joke tone to everything he’s had all morning. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gunning for an insubordination report.”

You don’t think that’s fair for him to say, especially since you haven’t really had much of an authority figure to be subordinate to for most of your career in this company, but you keep your mouth shut since saying so is exactly what would be on the first line of an insubordination report. 

When you arrive back at his office, you take the time to discuss what you should be doing from now on. It’s an extremely messy exchange, with you two grappling between terms you can’t agree on. For instance, Vice President Na thinks that it seems only fair that he should really only be coming in after one o’clock, but you’re insistent on making sure he gets to work on time, since most important meetings happen within that time period (a fact he already seems to know but chooses to ignore anyway). You end up agreeing on bringing him in for the standard nine-to-six for as long as he never has to work overtime. You also find it necessary to iron out the fact that if he has lunch outside, he has to actually come back, a statement he once again finds very amusing for some reason, as if you’re the weird one in this conversation. 

And to his credit, he tries to stick to his word. It isn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially not during the first couple of weeks, but you suppose that habits are very difficult to break when they’ve been so easy to acquire and nurture over many years. More than once, you’ve arrived late to meetings to the disapproving gazes of Head Secretary Son and President Na. However, the latter finds he has less to say these days because Vice President Na’s presence in said meetings had, before this time, been nothing but a pipe dream for everyone. 

You also notice he starts taking the time to ask about things he doesn’t understand, as opposed to his initially brash or sometimes completely unresponsive approach, which has turned out better results when it comes to business lunches with investors and potential partners. Even the Samsung people, who are extremely wary of him during the callback meeting, come out of their next encounter with the Vice President looking vaguely more satisfied than they did the last time (the bar isn’t that high, considering they’d left shell-shocked previously, but you’ll still take the improvement).

Of course, with all the time you end up spending with, chasing after, and vaguely lecturing (only when the need truly arises) Vice President Na, you also learn some things about him that you hadn’t expected, like how he doesn’t really like milk in anything he drinks (but especially coffee) and that every third Sunday of the month, he meets his old high school friend Lee Jeno, the son of the guy that owns half the residential high rise condominiums on this side of the Han. Apparently, they play badminton together — he had told you that when he’d caught you wondering about the super out of place little kid’s karate trophy among other more adult, official ones in his living area. The trophy goes to whoever wins the match of the month, and according to the Vice President, he’s been ‘wiping the floor with that bastard’s handsome face for half a year straight.’ Although you can’t verify this by anything more than the slight blanket of dust on it, you think it takes nothing out of your pride to applaud him like this is an amazing thing. It also does you no harm to see him swell with misplaced pride about a kid’s karate trophy. 

You also notice that despite how healthily he eats at the office, he has a bad habit of craving deep fried food in the afternoon, which is why, over the last few weeks, you’ve been accompanying him to the corndog street stall two blocks away, a few days a week. He’s even had to borrow loose change from you a few times to because he always forgets that no street vendor likes to receive crisp, fresh-out-of-the-bank fifty-thousand won bills, but you just let him have it; his heart’s in the right place when he orders an extra one for you without even asking. You realize that he has a fairly good memory for as long as he’s concentrating, and that he likes to spend late nights watching the shittiest horror movies ever known to man (his words, much to your bemusement), and that when he listens attentively to you telling him about the day’s agenda, his left ear twitches a little when your voice hits it. 

Somewhere along the way, you realize that Vice President Na is a charming, outgoing, and fairly capable person, and in doing so, you also realize that he seems to be, for lack of a better word, your style. 

You can’t really believe it either, and you’re not even sure when it started. In between sitting with him in the company car and handing him forty-page agreements he has to look over carefully (very carefully, as you’ve taken to reminding him, so often that he starts saying it before you do now, which has only somehow endeared him further to you and not annoyed you the way you were sort of hoping it would), the small non-work related part of your consciousness had decided that it needed a more complicated situation now that things were going relatively well.

To be fair to yourself, liking him isn’t a huge distraction; most of the time, you’re both so engrossed in something you desperately have to finish that you don’t even have time to think about it. Instead, it kind of catches you off-guard, like when he’s double dipping his french fries into his ketchup, or when he smiles at you (politely to him, probably, but overwhelmingly charmingly to you) before he leaves the office, or when his brow’s furrowed in (a total shocker) concentration as he reads. 

Then again, everything about Vice President Na seems to be catching you off-guard these days. This much is proven by the fact that instead of the normal silence that you’ve grown accustomed to being greeted by when you enter his house, there’s a lot of noise coming from one area that can only mean either that someone had broken in to mug him or for some reason, he’s up before you need to wake him. 

It’s nothing you have to call 911 for, but it still paralyzes you to see him, surrounded by opened jars and a particularly dirty bread knife as he stands in front of his fancy toaster, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently. 

“If you have a minute to spare, could you bring my laptop into the car?” He asks without turning around. His hand, still holding the bread knife, points towards the bar counter on the far end of the kitchen, where the laptop is still whirring away. 

“Of course, sir. Um,” you gingerly shut the monitor, putting the laptop to sleep and tucking it under your arm. “Were you… working this morning?”

“No, I was playing a riveting game of bridge against the computer AI.” He turns to you, grinning. “Of course I was working, miss secretary. What do you think I’d be up this early for?” 

You try to think of an answer, but nothing comes to mind — Vice President Na hasn’t ever woken up early for anything to your knowledge, anyway — so you just nod and bolt, unwilling to bear witness to his smile this early in the day. When you come back, particularly less red in the face, you find him topping one of two sandwiches with the last slice of bread to complete it. He takes one, as you expect he would, and you stand there, trying to look polite as you essentially observe him eat.

This isn’t something very unusual; ever since the first time you’d done it, you’ve been watching him out of habit. So far, only the motivation’s changed from you wanting to make sure he doesn’t bolt to you simply enjoying the view of his profile when he eats. Of course, he probably doesn’t know this, but he’s also just gotten used to you watching him and probably finds it funny — as suggested by his perpetually amused expression — that you still think, after all this time, that he’s going to make a run for it. You don’t actually mind it; you get to watch him for free, and he has something to laugh about, so everyone kind of wins. 

He’s halfway through the sandwich when his expression turns quizzical. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Eat,” you echo hollowly. “Eat what, sir?”

“A delicious, handmade, gourmet peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich.” When you don’t move, he pushes the plate with the untouched sandwich forward towards you like he thinks you can’t understand anything he’s saying. “What? Are you allergic to something?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

There’s no but; you don’t have a good reason to decline other than the fact that accepting it feels weird, but refusing him when he’s looking at you this expectantly is just as awkward. You rub the back of your neck as you walk over, not missing the look of triumph that crosses his face as you pick up the sandwich and take a bite. It’s good, but you don’t really think that has anything to do with his culinary skills, based on what it is; still, he looks like he’s patting himself on the back for this feat. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Secretary ____________, I hope you can count this as a momentous occasion for the both of us.” He chuckles. “You get free breakfast made especially for you by your direct superior in the comfort of his own home, and I finally get to learn what all the settings on my toaster are for. Between you and me, I think mine’s the better achievement.” 

You’re still in the middle of eating when you laugh, and you hastily raise a hand to cover it — only Vice President Na catches your wrist halfway through, so quickly you vaguely choke on the bread that’s only partially down your throat.

“I’ve never seen you laugh,” he looks as surprised as you feel, although probably for a different reason. “I don’t even think you’ve ever smiled at me, specifically.”

“Oh.” You need time to respond, mostly so you can swallow but also because you need to collect yourself from your shock. There seems to be a lot of that going around this morning. “Sorry. Should I do that more often?”

“I mean, if you ask like that, it’s kind of disingenuous,” he laughs. “But I like it. I like knowing you’re not just in a constant state of stress because of me. Feels even more momentous than the toaster thing.” 

He loosens his hold, and you manage to take your hand back, now refusing to meet his eye. “I’m not… stressed by you.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, and he looks particularly delighted when he sees the corners of your lips turn up again. “Not for a while. And not that my opinion matters, but you’ve been performing above expectations, sir.”

“You’re right,” he hums, taking the plate and putting it in the sink — a problem he seems to be saving for later. “It doesn't matter. But I like it, all the same.”

You’re willing to chalk the morning off as a wonderful anomaly, especially since the rest of it passes as it normally does, with a generally quiet car ride (you’ve also learned that Vice President Na likes to listen to rap music on days when he wants to avoid falling asleep in the backseat, which is equal parts amazing and amusing) and a fifteen minute briefing of what he has on his plate today. He disappears for the better part of the morning and even the whole lunch hour, but you expect this because he has a business lunch with the representatives for some Norwegian appliance company that’s looking to break into the Korean market. You can’t imagine many people want a state of the art rice cooker alongside their monthly internet bill, but it’s polite for him to go anyway, and the prospective partner seems very on edge about company secrets. It’s one of those meetings you aren’t allowed to come along to, which means that you’re missing out on a few hours of Vice President Na trying to iron details out with a couple of old guys. 

While you eat, you’re once again struck with the random notion that it feels weird not to be around the Vice President. You’ve been working together regularly and in a very close capacity, which basically means that you’re always in his shadow. It’s the life you were kind of hoping to have at the beginning and were deprived of for a good two years. Now that you have it, it feels weirdly natural — so natural that it’s unnatural to not have his voice ordering you around in that easy tone or his aftershave lingering in the air directly above you. 

You throw the tissue you used to wipe the oil from your egg toast off your mouth onto the table, crumpled and wilted. 

You miss him, which is ridiculous considering you don’t even know what there is to miss. Your relationship, while admittedly lightyears ahead of the starting point it had been at back then (again, not a great standard, considering you didn’t even have a relationship before this period of time), is nothing close to the point of being what it should be for one to miss the other. 

And yet, you look forward to seeing him, watching him do something from afar, helping him whenever he needs you. You like the fact that he still sometimes fakes left when you’re accompanying him back to his office, and you do this thing where you pretend to be annoyed even though it makes you happy to know he won’t go anywhere. You like the little sounds he makes when he eats his super unhealthy corndog as if he’s eating it for the first time every single time (see: very unnerving and slightly disturbing but altogether amusing mmmmmmmmmms). In fact, if you didn’t have a vivid memory of telling him off from way back then, you feel like you could easily convince yourself that things had always been like this — that you two had always been together, happily at work. 

You’re not surprised that he isn’t back from his meeting even when you get back to your desk after lunch, but you do feel a pang of dejectedness that lasts for a few more hours — time which you spend lazily looking over a contract he’d signed yesterday that needs a fair amount of amending and re-signing. It’s hard to pretend to care today, for some reason, especially since your mind keeps going back to peanut butter sandwiches and some ridiculous vision of Vice President Na standing in the middle of your tiny studio apartment’s kitchen area. 

Your reverie’s broken when an envelope falls onto your desk, covering the page of the contract you’d been glassily staring at for the last hour and a half. You’d drawn the same circle about twenty times already, and the paper’s all dented from your efforts. When you look up, Vice President Na is staring down at you, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Miss me?” He drums the envelope, the paper muffling the noise of it all. “Oh? I was joking, but it looks like you actually did. That’s twice in a single day, Secretary ____________. You’re setting a very high record.”

You try to tamp down the smile on your face upon seeing him, clearing your throat so that you have an excuse to press your lips together. You guess it doesn’t work because he just keeps smiling, anyway, or maybe he’s just in a really good mood. “Did your meeting go well, sir?” 

“Is Lotteria the national fastfood chain? Too bad I don’t work for anyone because it kind of feels like I deserve some kind of reward.”

“Could we say that this partnership is its own reward?” 

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” he sighs. Once again, his forefinger taps the envelope, calling your attention a little more clearly to it. “I know we’re on a tight schedule for this, and I hate to ask this so late of you, but —”

“Of course, sir; I’ll have it in your hands first thing tomorrow.” 

You’re already gathering it up along with your other (vaguely unfinished) paperwork when his whole palm comes down, trapping the envelope and everything else you’d been intending to carry under it. Your hands go up like you’re being held at gunpoint, your eyes wide. 

“On second thought,” Vice President Na muses, a little too serene for someone who’d just scared the living daylights out of someone else. “How about I take care of the Samsung deal you’re looking over, and you can handle the Norwegian contract?”

“I haven’t… really made a lot of headway with it, if I’m being honest.” You’re hoping he doesn’t ask you why because you’re too embarrassed to come up with a lie on the spot and will inevitably have to confess your random attraction to him under these terrible circumstances if he does. Luckily, he just shrugs.

“All the more reason to split the work, then.”

The still mildly stern part of you is begging to point out that he’s giving you a whole new set of documents to look over anyway, so it’s not even like you’ll have less to do, but the larger, more endeared part of you tells it to shut up and mind its own business. “I thought the crux of our agreement was that you’d never have to work overtime.”

“Because I look like such a stickler for the rules, don’t I?” He snorts, waving you in with the same envelope, and you concede.

Working next to Vice President Na isn’t anything new to you; you’ve been doing it everyday for a while now, especially if he needs you to be quick on call. Ever since you’ve realized his presence makes your heart beat a little faster, you’ve promised yourself not to let that fact show at all when he’s around, something you’ve been quite careful about perfecting. 

Something’s different, though, when it’s after official hours. Maybe it’s because the floor is quieter than it is during the day, so there’s nothing you can listen to but the sound of pen scratching on paper and Vice President Na’s steady breathing. The only real interruption is when Hyunsung knocks on the door to ask if the Vice President is going home; the look on his face is panicked and confused, like a puppy that’s just been dropped off at the mouth of a dumpster site, when he’s told that Vice President Na will drive himself home, so he can just leave the keys. 

Maybe it’s also because it’s pretty dark outside, and while you’ve worked into the night a few times, it’s usually alone or with some other poor sap that has even more backlog than you do — it’s never been just you and the Vice President, who seems supremely unperturbed by the fact that he isn’t at home doing… whatever he does at home after work. You can only guess at it (or wish you knew). 

That makes one of you that’s keeping busy, although you know it should be two. The fact that you’re distracted by his presence all of a sudden is only exacerbated by the mutually exclusive headache that the paperwork you’re looking over gives you. You don’t know why you had expected it to be in Korean, but you and your intermediate level English struggle to keep up with all the little things you have to look through. Sometimes, you can’t tell if the clauses are actually confusing or if you’re just the poor product of your middle school education. It strikes you more than once that Vice President Na had gone through this, somehow, himself — talked to people in a completely different language, probably with ease. You can at least be proud of yourself for being right: for as long as the Vice President puts his mind to something, he’s able to do it — perhaps even well. 

What shocks you after an eternity of silence is the hand that extends towards you, forefinger lightly nudging your chin. You sit up straight like a bolt of lighting had gone through you, meeting Vice President Na’s thoroughly and inexplicably amused expression. Your jaw slackens in shock, but his finger just stays there, like it isn’t invading your personal space. Like it just belongs there.

“What are you doing?”

“What—” you splutter, bemused at the fact that you hadn’t asked the question first. “What are you doing?”

“You keep moving your mouth. What — are you praying or something?”

“No, I —-” You gesture at the contract page you’ve been trying to stumble through for the past twenty minutes. “No, I’m just… I’m reading?”

“You’re…” The start of a laugh escapes him, and you really don’t know what’s so funny. “You’re reading aloud?”

“I wasn’t making any noise, I think,” you grumble, sounding a little more defensive than you’d care to admit. 

“You read silently aloud, then.” His eyes twinkle at this information, although why it should elicit this reaction also completely escapes you. “Why? Because it helps you memorize it or something?”

“My English isn’t that great,” you admit begrudgingly, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “Sometimes I need to mouth the words to understand it.”

And he does the most outrageous, inexplicable thing: he gently cups your chin, making sure you can’t turn your head to look away in embarrassment. Now you have to look at him, red in the face and close to exploding. 

“Don’t you think that’s a little too much, miss secretary?”

You can’t ask what; your voice isn’t working. You just open and close your mouth around the syllable, and after a couple of attempts, he starts copying you, evidently having a better time than you are based on the grin stretched across his face.

“What? What? That you’re doing something this cute in front of me is what I mean. You’re obviously going overboard, and I don’t think it’s very nice.”

He retracts his hand as quickly as he’d used it to close the distance between you, and your hand immediately comes up in its place, almost cupping your jaw like he did. It definitely doesn’t give you the same tingly feeling, so that’s an obvious bust.

You and Vice President Na have a sudden staring contest with amended rules: you blink a hundred times a minute at him while he laughs quietly, leaning back on his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It confuses you and kind of enrages you, but you also find your heart thumping away in your ears like it’s trying very hard to remind you that Na Jaemin makes you feel alive. 

“I— I just—”

“Coffee? I could use some coffee. You look like you could use some too.” He stands, buttoning his blazer with one hand like he has someplace important to go. You’re still so shell-shocked that you don’t even try to stand up to help him, a fact which he notices very clearly. “Oh no, I’ll do you this favor. You sit tight and read your contract. I’ll be back. Keep doing that cute thing with your mouth.” 

Vice President Na finds you exactly as he left you: still wondering if you should be offended at his teasing or enamored by his touch and, more importantly, what the hell his deal is. You have a million questions that need answering, but the only thing you blubber out when he comes back is “Why?” 

“Because you’re amazingly fun to tease,” he responds simply. “And because it’s true. I find it extremely cute. I find you very cute, Secretary _____________, in a kind of good girl, cool girl kind of way. It’s a little confusing to me too, but I think this slightly stern but overall gentle aesthetic of yours is actually growing on me a little.”

“Sir, I—”

“While we’re taking a break,” he interrupts you. You guess it’s probably the right time for a break considering there’s no way you can work in peace now. “Do you constantly have to call me that?” 

“What else would I call you?”

“My name,” he suggests, taking a sip of coffee. You ignore the shit, that’s hot that comes out of him as he puts the paper cup down gingerly on his desk, looking a little bit betrayed by his drink. “Jaemin. Many people call me that.”

“People who are close to you, you mean. Like your family or… your friends.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we’re close? Or that we aren’t friends?”

“Sir, I work for you.” 

“So by that alone, we simply can’t be friends? Et al?I think you really are being too much now, Secretary ____________.” He folds his arms across his chest, tutting disapprovingly as he leans back on the edge of his desk. You try not to think too hard about the fact that he does it very close to you, at an angle optimal for viewing the leanness of his form. “After all those times you broke into my house—”

“To get you ready for work.”

“— walked into my bedroom—”

“Only whenever necessary—”

“— gone through my things while I’m half naked in bed like you’re trying to organize a charity drive—”

“Because you need to get dressed, not because I have some perverted agenda —”

“—eaten the food off my kitchen counter, too—”

“You told me to!” You get to your feet, the contract slipping from your lap in your enthusiasm to defend yourself. “You offered it to me!”

Whatever happens next is completely out of your control, and you know this because the room spins without you moving by your own will. Vice President Na must have been an expert dancer in his past life, or something, because after that one dizzying moment, you find yourself leaning against the edge of the table he had been just a second ago. Warm hands are on your waist, tucked under your cardigan, the heat bleeding through your shirt. 

And the Vice President’s smile is inches away from your face, still mischievous but much gentler than any other time before. 

You’re not sure if you’re paralyzed or if you just don’t want to move, but the reason doesn’t affect the outcome: all you can do is stare up at him, once again dumbfounded after a small outpouring of words that ends in some kind of forced defeat. Except this particular surrender doesn’t feel so sore, for some reason. 

“Even when you’re angry, you’re still pretty, you know that?”

“I wasn’t… angry,” you mumble under your breath, afraid that talking louder will scare him off. You don’t even think he’s listening all that much to you, considering that all he does is tuck your hair behind your left ear and completely change the topic. 

“So, tell me, Secretary ____________. Is this still a situation where we’re not close at all?” He pauses for a moment, probably to let you answer, but you don’t say anything. You’re pretty sure your swallowing nervously is the only true sound you make. He seems to be eager to do a lot of the talking anyway, which is absolutely fine by you. “Or have I completely misread all your cute little signals?”

“Well — no, but I didn’t send any signals.” Obvious ones, at least. You’d been pretty sure you had tried to keep it under wraps as much as possible, but you’re starting to realize it’s a little possible you’re not as great at pretending as you think you are. 

“Not on purpose, probably. Although you really almost got me with the one-man show vibe you have during lunch hour.”

“I… didn’t think you knew, if I’m being honest.” Honesty is the only thing you have right now, anyway, especially since Vice President Na has pretty much confirmed, in his own way, that he knows about how you feel. Now you can only wonder if he’d noticed before you even came to terms with it yourself, and the thought of that being a real possibility urges you to grab the still-steaming cup of coffee and douse yourself with its contents. 

“For a while, I was pretty sure you were messing with me. I would never,” he adds just as you say it too, mimicking your astounded tone up to the lilt. “Which is why I started thinking about why else you might be looking at me so intently. You weren’t sitting there objectifying me, were you, miss secretary?”

“Sir, I would never,” you repeat, and he mouths the same words again in his amusement, although silently this time. 

“I think I would have been okay with it if you were. Or would be, even until now. For the record.” 

“I wasn’t.” 

“You sure? No shame in it. Totally fine. Not sure about anyone else, but I’m totally okay if someone else thinks I’m eye candy in the privacy of their own minds. I am, I think, a fine specimen of a human, if I do say so myself.”

“I really wasn’t, sir.”

“You should have, then. Lost opportunities.”” 

“I could argue that I was just worried you’d leave and not come back.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” he hums. “Not anymore, anyway.” 

The ‘to you’ is what stumps you into another silent spell, but this time, Vice President Na doesn’t attempt to fill in the void. He just starts running his eyes over your face, like he’s trying to read something there or maybe memorize your features, or something. At some point, you start thinking about how this kind of silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, contrary to your expectations and with interesting consideration of the fact that he’s still holding your hips. Apart from the idle skimming of his thumb over the curve of your pelvic bone, he doesn’t move — nearer or closer, which is probably for the best since you don’t know which one you really want more at this point.

Again, when you gather some part of your wits, the only thing you still know how to ask is “Why?”

“Because,” he replies immediately, simply, like the answer has always been very clear and you’ve just been too ignorant to figure it out. “You said that I could, not that I had to.” 

It’s hot. Isn’t it hot? You don’t know what he’s talking about, but your body already reacts on principle, and you have to stand-half-lean there with your entire face burning and Vice President Na’s body heat washing over yours like an electric blanket.

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

“It means I didn’t do this for my dad or just because you told me off in the comfort of my own office.” He bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from laughing (yet again) at you as he witnesses, from the best seat in the house, your face turning almost purple with the effort of keeping down your embarrassment. “Although that played a bit of a factor in it. I couldn’t tell if it was rude of you to say so much or kind of cute that you did despite knowing you were being rude. But that’s besides the point.”

Good, you think. If he manages to hit you with another cute in this timeframe, you may easily cease to exist. 

“You know firsthand, anyway, what my dad always says. You must take on the responsibility you were born with. You have to do your job. You must remember that you owe your life to my achievements.” He mimics his father’s gruff, booming voice amusingly well, to the point that you can’t stop yourself from laughing. His facade breaks easily, and you think you hear him mumble cute under his breath again, although you choose to ignore it so your knees don’t buckle completely (something that you think would be very embarrassing with you so close to him). “I don’t think he’s ever once said an encouraging word to my face. And if there’s anything I can confidently say I won’t do, it’s doing what people only say I need to do. It’s my life, you know what I mean? I’ll do what I want.” 

“You’re saying you suddenly wanted to work because I said you could?” 

“More like I wanted to see if you were right.” He muses. “I was pretty sure I didn’t have the personality for it. Or the attention span. Or the skill, either.”

“I think a couple of those things are still up in the air, sir.”

“One compliment and you’re already gunning for another insubordination report.” Vice President Na’s voice is a low, casual hum, but you notice the grip around your waist tightens for a brief moment. “At first, I figured I’d just show up to get everyone off my back, but I realized along the way that I’m pretty good at this being at the helm business. I’m sure you’ll agree. Hopefully because you want to, not because you also have to.”

“I do agree.” Your reply is wholehearted, and the Vice President’s smile widens. Your chest swells so much that you think you might explode right in front of him. “Because I want to.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, miss secretary. I’m not attributing all my successes to your impulsive words.” He teases, although his eyes stay gentle despite his tone. “The efforts were still all mine. However, I’m not too proud to admit I had a very responsible first mate by my side, for whom I am very grateful. Although I hope this doesn’t mean she’ll pluck up the courage to ask for a raise considering how well I pay her. I think. Does she get paid well? Maybe I should ask Park Jinhee from accounting.” 

“She won’t,” you laugh softly, not missing the fact that he’s finally learned her name. “And she’s not really doing this for the salary, even if it is a nice bonus.” 

“What’s she doing it for, then?” 

As a job, this was really mostly about yourself — or it was, in the beginning. You’d terrorized Vice President Na to some degree because of the innate tendency towards self-preservation, and when that felt a little one-sided, you also considered everyone who might lose their jobs if the department got cut. It had been, for the most part, an act of pure desperation, so strong that you were willing to point fingers and raise your voice (only a few decibels, because you’re not a crazy person) at your boss. Now… that wasn’t really part of the equation. Maybe you had gotten used to the fact that the Vice President wouldn’t be going anywhere, so you’d stopped worrying about your and everyone else’s jobs, which all seem to be on a smooth path alongside the captain of the ship.

But if you had to be honest to yourself, part of the reason you’d grown a bit complacent about thinking about the fate of the department also had to do with the fact that you genuinely enjoyed being next to the Vice President. Mornings spent helping him prepare for work were regular highlights in your week, and the looks of approval you received from him every time you helped him finish a particularly difficult task were second to none. Always being close to him, always being the first and last to see him in the day, simply being able to look at him -– silly as that all sounds, they now play an undeniable factor in your desire to wake up and go to the office every single day. 

“I did it for you.” You answer, and because the answer’s honest, it feels completely natural to say. A pause slowly lengthens between you two, though not nearly as tense or borderline uncomfortable as you thought it might be this time around. A slow smile stretches over the Vice President’s face, but his words don’t easily take the straightforward route this time, either.

“Should I take up with the human resources department the fact that you’re outright breaching the terms of our contractual workplace relationship? How am I?” He speaks over, with you again, your voices overlapping. You can’t help it — you laugh at the absurdity of how well he’s come to know your responses, from the word choice to the lilt in your voice that signals some level of affront. When, exactly, did Vice President Na start committing the things you said and did into memory? “You’re seducing me, miss secretary. Before you say you’re not — you are. You are, without even knowing it. You’re winning me over, telling me all these sweet nothings to tickle my heart — I believe in you, Jaemin. I love working with you, Jaemin. I did it all for you, Jaemin, because you’re obviously the best in the whole world, ho ho ho.”

“I never said it like that.” 

“You might as well have.” 

“Should I stop believing in you so that we can avoid a scene, then, or is the damage to your good standing too far gone?”

“Rather than stopping something already in full motion, I think it might be better to make certain amendments to our current agreement.” Vice President Na reaches for the pen tucked into his breast pocket — the gold clip catches the fluorescent light and momentarily blinds you as he brings it up between you. He brings it to one side, then to another, and your eyes follow it, amused but also admittedly a bit hypnotized.

“What kind of trance are you putting me under, sir?”

“The kind that gets you to stop calling me that,” he chuckles. “Among other, more important things on my agenda.” 

You have an excellent view of Vice President Na’s stellar smile from the back of the meeting room. 

The deal he closes three days later goes even better than expected; not only does he bring Amazon into the fold after weeks of (surprisingly consistent) hard work and no small amount of beguiling charm (owing to the fact that he’d offended said Amazon representatives earlier on in his still relatively short-lived career), but he also manages to snag Samsung Electronics’ participation. As an already existing subscriber to the company-provided phone plan, you’re pleased to find out that you’re entitled to twelve guilt-free months of Prime Video as part of a new promotional deal, which you can now enjoy on nights you aren’t working overtime — something you’ve racked up more of as you’ve found yourself striking more of a work-life balance, thanks in large part to the Vice President’s steadily active involvement in all things on the ‘work’ aspect of the scale. Your first goal is to finally get past the first episode of an animation everyone in the department is raving about (but that you haven’t seen more than five minutes of, in actuality, because the horrible subtitles and sluggish 144px stop motion-esque have, until recently, adamantly deterred you from enjoying anything about the story).

Standing a fair distance away from the executives, you wait for the flurry of handshakes and accompanying congratulatory statements to die down; it takes quite a while, considering the sheer volume of people, and the thickest throng has come to gather around Vice President Na. At one point, all you can see of him is the slightly unruly lick of hair that’s sticking out above the rest of the considerable crowd of balding men around him (the sole crow’s feather a mountain range of gray). All their voices overlap, and you’re only able to catch key phrases — brilliant young mind… knack for business! … just like the President… bright future ahead, you know? 

Fifteen minutes of conversation and bellowing guffaws pass before Vice President Na emerges, adjusting the front of his blazer as a result of too much handshaking. Behind him, still speaking to one of the  marketing executives, is President Na, who shoots his son a surreptitious look you’ve never seen him wear in your considerable number of years in the company’s employ  — one of triumph and pride. The Vice President, however, is intently loosening his tie and scanning the room, stretching himself just a fraction taller above everyone else to get a better view throughout. 

You wait, wondering if he’s looking to speak to someone, lost in that host of black and gray suits — the Amazon media director, perhaps, or the in-house designer that also seems to be trying to catch his eye, for some reason (you sense the needy greed for a sudden promotion that seems highly unlikely in such a setting), but even though his vision passes over them, however briefly, Vice President Na doesn’t seem satisfied.

That is, until his eyes land on the corner of the room you and Secretary Son have backed yourselves into to allow the higher-ups room to mingle. 

One beat later, and the corners of his mouth are pulled up — a soft, knowing smile directed in your general direction. You glance at Secretary Son, maybe out of instinct, maybe somehow out of panic — as though you worry she’ll somehow come to chastise you, but she’s too busy trying to re-buckle her thin coat belt with rapid-fire tsks. She seems acceptably preoccupied, so your eyes flit back to the Vice President, whose eyebrows are now slightly raised, the telltale signs of a growing grin now playing on his lips as the front of his teeth begin to peek out from the seam. Another cock of his eyebrows, lifting them higher, tells you he’s waiting for some kind of message — an indication that you see him too, maybe, or… perhaps, oddly, any sign that you’re as proud of him as everyone else in the room is. 

You can’t help it  — you laugh, louder than you’d have originally liked to, a hand coming up over your mouth as Secretary Son’s head snaps up from her waist, bamboozled at your quick but sudden outburst. She throws you a look that suggests she firmly believes your mind has snapped, quite like a stale breadstick in a derelict Italian restaurant, but it’s worth it; Vice President Na looks satisfied at this — though, why he would be, you haven’t a true clue. 

As the managers and members of the board file out of the room, both you and Secretary Son inch closer to your respective direct superiors; you both stand a few steps away as the last of the executives drag their feet, still hoping to share one last handshake with either of the two, until an elderly Mrs. Kwon’s surprisingly firm grip is finally shaken off by a sheepish President Na. He turns to his son, who’s still hosting the remnants of a genial smile on his lips, clearly poised to say something. For some reason, you expect the senior to berate the former, simply out of sheer habit, but he does nothing of the sort. 

“Jaemin-ah,” his voice is gruff but not at all begrudging; it’s a low rumble of triumph. “Who’d’ve thought? My boy… you brat…”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now, dad,” the Vice President teases, to which the President chortles heartily. 

“Old men like me have the right, much more than anyone else.” You’ve never seen the President wear an expression even remotely close to softness, but you see it in his gaze now; it strikes you, then, that although you’ve always known the two to be related, this is the first time you can confidently say they resemble each other to the cores of their being — a view of happiness, somewhat mirrored in each of them. “I’m proud of you, son. You did everything I hoped you would — no, no… more than that, even.” 

“I’ll take most of the praise, thanks,” Vice President Na replies with his characteristic cheek. For a moment, so quickly you think you may have missed it, his eyes flicker to you. “But I can’t say I could’ve done it alone.” 

“Punk,” President Na snorts, yanking on his son’s earlobe; you and Secretary Son have to avert your eyes with expert speed to avoid being caught snickering at the slightly juvenile “ow, dammit,” that the Vice President groans out. “One big closed deal, and your head’s this big? I better not catch you floating away to a Las Vegas casino after all this.” 

“Give me some credit; I’d at least visit the desert first.” This time, when the Vice President glances at you, his father’s head turns too, and you stand up straighter at the unprecedented onslaught of attention. “Besides, I’ve got someone here to keep me anchored now.”

“Good work, Secretary ____________,” President Na offers you a rare smile that truly has you feeling like the world has turned upside down: the President in an agreeable (almost ecstatic, though you’d never say that out loud) mood, the Vice President doing his job not just in general but actually commendably well, and not a single strand of baby hair sticking up from out of your ponytail. Inconceivable. 

You bow, murmuring a thank you, and Secretary Son quickly follows suit for the formality of it all before she strides over to the President, who’s leaving his son with one last thunder-like clap on the back before he’s leaving the meeting room, still jovial when he catches up with the suspiciously lagging figure of Mrs. Kwon by the door. 

Vice President Na starts to follow suit, walking towards the other end of the meeting room; you quickly scurry behind him, still clutching your tablet, blinking a low battery warning, to your chest. You’ve come to grow accustomed to the ‘secretary’s pace’ over the last few weeks as well — always close enough to help, never too close enough to step on a superior’s toes.

But in the moment you fumble to silence your device, you end up stepping into someone’s shadow; glancing up at the Vice President, you find yourself looking at not the familiar view of his back but that of his side profile (one you’re actually also familiar with, though you refuse to admit to the level of familiarity). He’s slowed his pace considerably, allowing you to naturally fall into step with him, and even this, he expects a response from you somehow — he asks for it with yet another wiggle of his eyebrows. You laugh again, shaking your head, and yet, inexplicably, it seems to be exactly the reaction he hopes to see.

The department floor erupts into applause when the two of you pass through the glass doors; a flash of mollification crosses the Vice President’s features before he’s back to his signature light humor, raising a palm up in receipt of praise. Park Jinhee is clapping with only her left hand smacking the side of her mug, a few drops of coffee streaming down the handle side on impact. One of the team managers rushes forward, eager to shake Vice President Na’s hand, and, riding his high, also yours, pumping it up and down with so much vigor that you mumble a quiet ow behind a strained smile. Only the Vice President’s hand on your shoulder, steering you away, saves you from what feels like possible dislocation. 

He’s still waving at them like this is a pageant and not his day job, even as he guides you towards his office door; you have to use your elbows to push it open and effectively help you both avoid ramming into frosted glass. The applause dies down as your somewhat conjoined figures disappear through the doorway — you first, albeit convolutedly, your heel still holding strong in the job of keeping the door wide open enough for Vice President Na to saunter through before you let it swing shut to a now relatively silent office floor. 

His hold on your shoulder doesn’t let up, though; it’s still urging you forward, towards his desk, and you open your mouth to say something along the lines of I’m gonna break my hip if we keep going this way, but just as your throat conjures up the first syllable, he turns you around, letting you rest light against the edge of the table. 

In a pattern reminiscent of three days prior, Vice President Na’s hand finds its way to your waist, utterly comfortable in a way that mystifies you; he acts like it belongs there, as natural as the smile that’s still playing on his lips. 

“Sir, you realize it’s the middle of the day?” 

“You realize that we had a deal,” he corrects you, brow furrowing in feigned sternness. “Hold up your end of it, miss secretary.” 

“Only if you stop calling me that.” 

“Now, that absolutely was not part of the contract.” 

When you laugh this time, he chimes in; there’s a harmony in your voices that has your posture softening. You feel airier, your heart much lighter, and when you look up at him, you can’t help but flush at his expectant gaze. 

“You realize it’s the middle of the day,” you repeat, carefully, the words suddenly somewhat unfamiliar on your tongue — the next two syllables, most of all. “Jae… min.” 

Odd as it is, you’re rewarded with the pleased look that takes over his features; he takes a moment to exaggeratedly revel in this new occurrence. 

“Better. Much better. You could still be a bit more comfortable with it, I’d say, but… baby steps?” 

“Please re-prioritize your day, si— Jaemin.” The terse tone you’re going for is brutally marred by your blunder, which has his shoulders shaking from laughter. “Someone could very easily walk in.” 

“Who’s going to fire me?”

“I can think of one person.”

“You heard him. I’m proud of you, Jaemin. You’ve completely exceeded my expectations, Jaemin. You are the light of my life — my favorite son, Jaemin, ho, ho, ho.”

“Sir,” you sigh. “You’re his only son.”

“We had a deal,” he repeats, letting the return to habits slide, and there’s a laughably childish air to his words. “I’ll… file an insubordination report. Breach of contract as well. Tsk, tsk, miss secretary. Not on such a momentous occasion.” 

“Some might classify this as threatening behavior.” Your eyes are soft, though, when they meet his humored gaze. “If you want a reward… ask a little more nicely.”

A soft snort — his fingers dig lightly into your waist, and the next second, he’s lifting you off your feet and settling you lightly atop his desk. his palms never leave you, even after you’ve been placed; they’re increasingly warm beyond the fabric of your top. 

“____________,” he murmurs, saying your name so naturally that you could almost believe he’s referred to you as nothing else for as long as you’ve known him. “Kiss me.” 

Your own hands find their way behind his neck, but he does most of the work in closing the gap anyway; you’re not even sure who, between the two of you, gave that first sigh of longing, of relief. Perhaps it was both of you, all at once. 

Jaemin still tastes like the coffee you’d given him this morning — not a trace of richness, but a bittersweet and earthy twang that’s signature post-Americano. There’s even a hint of mintiness from the nervous handful of Tic Tacs he’d had just before the meeting started; you find that out the moment his tongue swipes against yours, leaving behind the invisible bite of menthol. And then there’s you, a clean taste that settles against his teeth, subtle first but growing stronger until you’re satisfied with the notion that you may linger there for some time — even after you pull away, slightly breathless.

“Congratulations to me,” he breathes out, trademark grin flashing bright again. “So what happens if I close next month’s Disney Plus deal?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; his hand’s already skimming down, over your hips, following the path of your thigh. Your hand reaches out on instinct to stop him, but he’s oddly more aware of his surroundings than you give him credit for (or maybe, you’re just that predictable to him). He meets your palm, fingers lacing into yours and allowing him to lift your wrist to his lips. There, you feel the warmth of his kiss again, and he uses his hold to bring himself even closer, until he’s able to press his face into your neck. 

“Sir—”

“Jaemin. You call me Jaemin from now on, remember?”

“Sir.” You’re adamant. “It’s work hours.”

“You’re not tense.” 

He doesn’t move his head; in fact, you feel him burying his face further into your shoulder. In this position, there’s no real way for you to pull away — there’s also no real desire for you to do so, anyway. 

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Warmth again on your skin — his lips leave an invisible mark just above your collarbone. “I like you best like this.”

“What? Not tense?”

“Happy,” he corrects for accuracy. “Happy that you’re with me.” 

You fall silent, not because you’re not sure of what to say, but because you don’t need to tell him that he’s right. 

Moments later, his fingers find their way into your ponytail; the index hooks into the elastic, bringing your hair down. You feel his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, he’s inhaling your perfume again. 

“Green tea. Something floral. Jasmine? Maybe a little bit of citrus.” He lifts his head but stays close, warm breath washing over you. “It’s so you. Fresh. Pure. Beautiful.” 

The gap between the two of you doesn’t last for too long thereafter; he kisses you again, and your heart lifts to find that your taste still lingers somewhere there. It’s longer because it’s slower — less playful and more exploratory, until he pulls away to a much more breathless you. How he finds the air to talk even after is miraculous to you. 

“Be mine, miss secretary.” 

You blink — once, twice, at his serious expression, wondering if it will break and give way to more humor. But he waits, unwavering, until the last piece of resistance you’ve clung onto is washed away — the last thing that made you, for a second, deny that you were in love with him. 

His smile slowly mirrors yours as it grows. 

“Like you could ever get rid of me, Na Jaemin.” 

[tonyboneysblog]

ACCIDENTAL NAB P2

paring: thief!hawks x princess!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: profanity

Notes: part two! I really love this series sm😭 hawks his mean also

Summary: thief!hawks steals you away and takes you far from your home! On accident…

Part one: ACCIDENTAL NAB P1

You feel warm. you’re soundly sleeping after you dosed off, still not trusting the three men who took you away from your home.. (obviously)

your dreams have never been nice ones but for once they feel warm, you can vividly see all of your sisters crammed together trying to guess all the words in your fathers books.

you can hear them laughing while you walk into the room, they see you and their eyes brighten.

They practically beg you to read the book aloud to the three of them, you walk over and cuddle into their warmth. They whisper soft comments about the story while slowing falling under sleeps spell.

It’s so warm in this dream, you want to be here for- flick!

you open your eyes to see yellow ones staring right into your very soul.

“Morning!” He loudly chirps.

“…mph” your mouth is still gagged by the cloth, of course it is.

“Well I’m assuming that’s a good response instead of an insult…”

You look around the carriage, it’s not terrible but it’s not as good as yours back at home…obviously.

Dabi speaks up, “listen here and listen good, princess, we don’t need you causing a..ruckus while we’re in this god forsaken place.”

“Hey I quite like this trading post” the blonde responds.

“Shut the hell up hawks.” Dabi says curtly.

Hawks raises his hands in the air as a surrender motion, while Tokoyami hustles towards you. Guiding you out of the carriage .

“Just follow close to us.” Tokoyami says in a whisper.

You glance around the bigger town, many are staring, many scoff…for some reason.

Your used to the stares, mostly because your the princess, but still your surprised no one has recognized you yet? Don’t you people love you, shouldn’t they immediately recognize someone they worship?!

You wish you could just run away but, these three men are huddled around you like your some…Someone to be bought! And you are in fact priceless.

The four of you pass by many shops, some more worn down than others…god you miss your kingdom.

“There’s the bar…” Dabi says.

Hawks scoffs, “please Dabi, we’re with royalty at the moment, maybe don’t think about getting wasted?”

Dabi sighs, slouching down slightly in defeat…”her damn fault for hiding in a box.”

Tokoyami snickers softly, until you send him a glare that could envy your fathers.

He clears his throat, “don’t question the future queens decisions…”

Dabi laughs, “if she’s the future queen then we’re all doomed, thank the gods we took-“

“Could you two maybe not speak so loudly of us having the princess..?” Hawks angrily whispers towards the two.

They all finally shut their traps. You’d rather listen to your sister rant about how ‘gorgeous the gardener is!’.

you just want to be with your family honestly.

Your father always bossed you around anyways, you should be glad for this small bit of freedom! But, he only did it because he loved you…or maybe because you looked so much like your mother.

No, no, no thinking about the past…these men don’t even deserve to see your tears roll down your face! They’d probably collect them and sell it to the night market anyway…

You finally reached the shop you were supposed to be at, you watch as some of your most luxurious items go towards the shop keeper, as his eyes widen with glee.

“Sorry about your stuff…” Tokoyami whispers softly into your ear, “we do what we have to.”

“Mmphph”

The four of you leave after making a deals, the men stashing the shined golden coins into their pouches. How has no one recognized you still? Can’t they see your their next Queen?!

no matter how many eyes you stare dead into, no one even makes a move to help. Maybe they’re just scared to butt in!

or maybe…they don’t even know who you are.

you shake your head, I mean you weren’t as popular as your sisters, with all their beauty and charm…but! You were the oldest. Maybe that’s why no prince asked for your hand in marriage.

No, y/n stop that, you are just as great as all your sisters! Someone will have to recognize you, right?

“Should we rest here for the night sir?” Tokoyami says to hawks.

Hawks looks glances at you, then towards Tokoyami, “you tired ‘Yami?”

Tokoyami nods, “only slightly, I’m just worried for the…our friend here.”

Three kidnappers worried about your sleep schedule is absolutely perplexing to you.

“Yknow my favorite thing about SableStome has always been their amazing inns.” Dabi says with dullness.

Hawks laughs, “Can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic.”

Dabi sighs, “Their beds are nice.”

Hawks then confidently starts to stride to the inn, “I suppose we have to stay then, right?”

confident men are always your least favorite, I mean no man has actually spoken more than 10 words to you but still.

Honesty you feel a twinge of excitement that you’ll be sleeping in a nice soft bed instead of a small, stuffy carriage…or box.

Hawks swings open the door to the inn and walks over towards the front desk, “two beds please~” he coos out.

The woman at the front desk smiles softly, “it’s nice to see you again hawks, new friend coming with you?” She ushers towards you.

no, your not their new “traveling buddy”, your the very popular and very kidnapped princess!

“Yep! She’s not the talker though…” says hawks.

Of course you’re not a talker, you’re being gagged by some nasty hanker cheif.

“Alrighty, here’s your key!” She slides the key over towards hawks.

“Thank you sweetie..” he says.

The sun has almost finished setting, you can tell from the window you’re looking out of, it’s gorgeous…reminds you of when your mother would take you to the shoreline and spill wise words from her mouth.

it’s truly terrible that you no longer remember a single thing she’s said.

“Hey, snap out of it” Hawks comes into your peripherals, “we got a nice room for ya, princess, cmon…”

He walks away. It’d be nice to get some rest..at least you couldn’t think about the past in your sleep, or atleast not too in depth.

You walk up the stairs, following behind hawks closely, opening the door then looking around the room.

It’s about the size of your closet, not terrible, the beds are kinda big at-least, only two…wait two?

Who in gods name is trying to cuddle up to you in the middle of the night? No princess should be…even sleeping near someone of their status!

Hawks looks towards your distressed expression, “What?”

“Mphpmph!” You muffle out.

“Do you want the gag off..?”

Well it would be nice, but that wasn’t what you were trying to say!

“Mrmphphpm”

“I mean…promise you won’t yell?” He says softly.

Well there’s really no point in yelling, what’s the clerk gonna do against three men….

You nod eagerly, hawks shakes his head letting out a small chuckle, “fine, fine.”

He pulls down your hood, undoes your scarf, then unties your gag, pocketing it. Slightly gross but at least it’s off now.

“You must be out of your damned, trivial, insignificant mind if you think I’m even sharing a bed with you, you big boned avian.”

Hawks sighs, “I didn’t take it off so you could just be mean…”

“you heard me.” You say.

Hawks looks at you, “what do you want me to do, sleep on the floor?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! glad your meager brain could think the same as me.”

“Alright the gag is going back on-“ “w-wait hold on!”

Hawks stops, raising his eyebrow.

“I-I uhm…it is improper for someone of my status to sleep with...you.”

Hawks rolls his eyes, “look, you may think your reallll important but your sisters are way more admired than you are. We barely even recognized you as royalty.”

well ouch…

He continues, “Not to mention that not one single person has even tried to help you, so stop complaining about who you sleep next to.”

Tokoyami steps in, “no need to be so harsh to her, Hawks, I doubt you would want to sleep near people who accidentally kidnapped you..?”

“Well she wanted to be all sassy!” Hawks says agitated.

Dabi speaks from the bed, “I say she needed the wake-up call.”

“You’re not helping.” Tokoyami says.

You stomp over towards the vacant bed, slamming yourself down into it.

“Hm, guess she’s over it!” Hawks says cheerfully.

Tokoyami and Dabi sigh, hawks looks at both of them, “what?”

Their voices slowing fade as you push yourself farther and farther into your own head. You’re already having a terrible time, being kidnapped and all, but they just rub the salt deeper into the wound!

How would mother respond? never mind actually, she would have never fussed in the first place. Father most likely would have beat their head into a plup. Mother made him soft, made you soft, then she was gone.

Your sisters barely remember her, but you remember her smile, your father says she looks exactly like you.

You can feel the a second weight be put onto the bed, you don’t care who it is, hopefully it’s the nice bird headed one.

do your sisters miss you as much as you miss them? Who’ll read to them, who’ll will be there to check their dress or if they look presentable enough to see the man who wants their hand in marriage?

You open your eyes slightly, looking towards a window. It’s dark out, how long have you been stuck in your own head?

You rise from the bed quietly, you look at the door, it’s locked tight so you can run out. You make your way towards the windowsill, sitting down.

Your tired but not tired enough to fall asleep just yet, your heads to full of thoughts anyway, when have you ever been this sentimental?

The moon is beautiful tonight, bright and fully lit. You’re glad your father taught you how to read because then you’d never know how the moon changes.

You didn’t know which one you liked more, the sun or the moon? Then again the sun could shine by itself while the moon needed the sun to shine even half as bright.

“What’re you doing..?” Says a soft, sleepy voice.

You look over to where the voice could’ve been, locking eyes with yellow ones.

“Nothing.” You says curtly.

Hawks rubs his eyes, “your one weird princess, huh?”

“That’s rude.”

“You’re rude.”

There’s silence after hawks speaks.

“Well-“

He cuts you off, “Come back to bed.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t, I just don’t want a grumpy princess in the morning…”

You huff, “fine.” Then plop yourself onto the bed, “don’t suffocate me with your wings, I’m important.”

“Sure you are…” he says tiredly.

“I am.”

“I’m not disagreeing.”

“good.”

You close your eyes, the warmth he emits isn’t…terrible. In fact, it’s quite comforting.

“Hey” hawks whispers.

“what.” Your reply quietly.

“Why were you in that box, no judgement it’s just…weird?”

You sigh, “I was…playing hide and seek.”

He starts laughing, covering his mouth so he wouldn’t wake the others, “stupid…”

He flips around, facing you. “sorry that we took you…”

“yes, you should be..”

“You are so hard to be nice to..”

“My father-“

“I don’t wanna hear about your father, I already see his face in every town we go to.”

Well isn’t that insulting, your father is wonderful!…wait, do the people see your face too?

“Hmph.”

“What?”

“Do you see my face too?…in public?”

Hawks looks towards the ceiling, then back at you, “I see your sisters more.”

“Hm…”

That’s why no one recognized you, your barely even publicized.

“Don’t know why though, I personally think you’re prettier than your sisters” he says faintly.

“Really?”

“no.”

“Asshole.”

He starts giggles, his wings puffing up slightly.

“Such a way with words eh? I’ll leave you alone now”

“good, your terrible company.”

He snickers and turns to his side, facing away from you.

“Night, princess”

You only hum in agreement.

It’s not terrible here, but you oh so badly want out from this small freedom.

[froggibus]

Stay A While - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff w a shot of angst

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you’ve always been one to suffer in silence, shutting yourself in your apartment for the duration of your episodes. but Jason Todd doesn’t want to sit idly by and watch you suffer alone, even if it annoys you

CW: depressed! reader, mentions of depressive episodes, negative thoughts/self talk, Jason is overbearing, mentions of insomnia, reader struggles to eat, some violence (out on patrol), the rest of the family kinda sucks in this lmao

this is for the people who followed me expecting Batfam/DC content and didn’t unfollow when I didn’t post any for months 😭 I love y’all. also idk the idea of soft! Jason makes me so emotional. also I WOULD LOVE SOME DC OR BATFAM REQUESTS!!! if there’s anything you want me to write I will gladly do it 🫶🏼 (also let’s ignore the fact that this is like my 3rd angsty post in the past few days oops)

————

It was common knowledge around Wayne Manor that disappearing into your room (or apartment) for a few days meant something different for everyone. Usually, it wasn’t anything to worry about. 

Sometimes it would be Tim finally sleeping when he’s pushed himself too far. Other times, it was Dick working a case and refusing to leave until he knew what to do. For Bruce, it usually meant he was injured and trying to hide it from everyone. 

Jason was still finding these things out little by little, so when you suddenly disappeared into your apartment, he was worried. 

“Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about,” Tim tried to ease his mind. “Y/n tends to retreat when things get bad.”

“And you guys are okay with that?”

Dick shrugged, adjusting the ice pack he had pressed to his forehead. “We tried the first time it happened. After a while, we realized that alone time is the only thing that really works. If y/n needs help, y/n will reach out.”

And the topic ended there. Or at least, it did for Dick and Tim. Jason couldn’t stop thinking about it though—did they really just let you suffer in your apartment all alone whenever you had an episode? The thought made his skin crawl. 

He’s had a few bad episodes over the course of his life, and while he managed to deal with it alone, he didn’t think that you should have to. 

Maybe that’s what led him to your apartment at four in the morning with a bag of takeout. 

You open the door dressed in your pyjamas despite not having slept a wink. You're almost surprised to see Jason standing there with the paper bag. Didn’t everyone know to let you ride it out on your own? You thought they decided to stop bugging you ages ago. 

Still, you don’t think it was fair to slam the door in his face, and instead welcome him inside. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

“Just thought I’d check on you,” he sets the bag on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You squint at him. Did he really think you were that dumb? You figured he would have asked Dick or Bruce right away if you suddenly fell off the face of the earth, and they would have told him about your situation. Jason and you had never been particularly close, either, so why was he here?

He raises his hands in defeat. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of somewhat. Alright? I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“I mean, I’m fine aren’t I?”

Your words come out harsher than you’d like, but you can’t help but be annoyed at the sudden intrusion. Not to mention the implication that you can’t take care of yourself. 

“You clearly haven’t slept in a while so we both know that’s some bullshit.”

You sigh. He’s right, after all. You can’t remember the last time you slept, let alone for more than a few hours. Though used to staying up late on missions and patrols, you never went this long. 

“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” you admit. “But I can take care of myself, Jason. So while I appreciate the concern, you can leave.”

He doesn’t protest, instead grumbling to himself while you show him to the door and effectively kick him out of your apartment. He stands outside the door for a while, wondering if he should try harder. 

He decides against it, and thinks he’ll just have to check on you again tomorrow. 

—

You almost feel guilty unpacking the takeout he got you, but then again, there weren’t many days lately where guilt and stress didn’t weigh heavily on you. As soon as you felt that familiar flood of negative thoughts and emotions, you knew it was time to withdraw. Still, through all of your episodes, you were yet to experience one quite this bad. 

It’s nice that Jason checked on me, you think to yourself. At least someone thought of you. Sure, you’d told the others countless times over the years that solitude while you sort through your thoughts was imperative, and it was true. Regardless, it was nice to have someone check on you, even if it was annoying. 

You dish yourself a plate of Chinese food and sit down on your couch, looking out at Gotham city through the window. It’s a dim, rainy night and the weather does nothing to help your mood. You find yourself picking at your food, having only a few bites before packing it up and leaving it in the fridge. 

You didn’t eat much, but it’s a start. 

—

Jason tries to push back the thoughts of you on patrol the next night, but he can’t. He just thinks of the bags that line your under eyes and the way your voice cracked when you said you were fine. 

It’s only when he damn near loses an eye to a stray bullet that he realizes he can’t ignore it anymore. He ducks around a corner, ready to head back to his bike. 

“Hood, where are you going?” Nightwing calls after him. 

“I gotta go check on something!”

Red Robin scoffs, “y/n is a big kid, Todd. Just leave it alone.” 

He shakes his head at the younger boy. He wants to argue with him but for once in his life, Jason Todd bites his tongue and turns the other cheek. 

When you open the door, you’re unsurprised to see Jason Todd standing there in his Red Hood suit. “Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, walking past you straight into your apartment. “I’m back.”

“I—welcome back?” You close the door behind him, spinning around on your heel and raising an eyebrow at the man in your living room. 

“Look, I know I said I’d leave when I knew you were taken care of but I don’t—you’re not. Like, seriously, y/n, just talk to me.”

You sigh and take a seat on the couch. “Do you really want to listen?”

“Yes,” he says and sits down next to you, dropping his helmet on the cushion next to him. “If it helps you, I’ll listen til my damn ears bleed.”

His words are almost enough to bring a smile to your face, the muscles twitching almost painfully. You nod slowly, drawing your knees into your chest. 

Jason analyzes your body language, seeing just how vulnerable and small you really are despite your usual front. He knows to tread lightly here. 

“I—,” you tug on your hair slightly, trying to think of how to verbalise it. “Have you ever been so tired, like beyond tired, that you can’t sleep?”

He goes to speak, but thinks the better of it. You don’t need to hear about his own problems right now, but the truth is he has. He’s been where you are before—guilt and misery weighing so heavily on him that he can’t breathe. 

“I don’t even know what triggered it. I was fine one day and then all of a sudden….” You gesture to your current state in hopes he gets the idea. “I really hate feeling like this,” tears prick at your eyes and your nose stings with every word, “but I’ve never really found a way to make it stop and—and—“

Jason is almost as surprised as you are when he sets a gloved hand on your shoulder. “Y/n,” his voice is soft, “it’s okay to feel this way.”

His touch helps ground you and you manage to take a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this, Jason,” you say quietly, voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear.

“There’s no shame in the way you’re feeling.”

“I know that I just—can you just go? Please?”

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue with you, but thinks the better of it. You look so soft and sad and vulnerable. He doesn’t want to push his luck and push you further away from him. 

He grabs his helmet and stands up. “Have a good night, y/n. I hope you manage to get some rest tonight.”

You watch Jason Todd walk out of your apartment door for the second night in a row. 

—

Jason is surprised when his phone screen lights up with your picture while he’s on patrol. The last person he’d expect to call him at two in the morning was you, especially considering he hadn’t heard from you in a few days. 

He tried to come and visit you the next night, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. Y/n’s tough, he thought to himself. You don’t need his help. 

He can’t pick up the phone in the middle of a fight, though, and has to wait until the henchmen are in a pile on the ground. He doesn’t even retort to Damian’s comment on how long it took him to take them down—his mind too focused on you and what could possibly be wrong. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing redial on your number. Please be okay, he thinks. 

You answer on the third ring, your voice sounding soft and defeated. “Jason?”

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“I-I just…” you sigh into the phone and Jason’s heart clenches at the sound. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Jason considers this for only a second. “Alright, I’ll be there in 10.”

He hangs up the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket, making the walk back to his bike. 

“Todd?” Robin says in his earpiece. 

“Pipe down, brat. I have more important things to deal with tonight.”

“More important than protecting the city?” Nightwing says over the comms. 

You have no idea, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, opting to turn off the ear piece and focus on getting to you as quickly as he can. He said he’d be there in 10 minutes, but he’s at your apartment door in 7. 

You’re waiting at the door when he knocks, a blanket over your shoulders, curled in on yourself. As soon as you open the door, you’re wrapping your arms around him. 

His suit is damp from the rain, soaking into your pyjamas and making you shiver. Still, you don’t let go of him. It’s been a particularly rough day, and you needed some company to combat the thoughts filling your head.  

“Miss me?” He jokes. 

You say nothing, content to hold him as close to you as possible. He rubs your back gently before wrapping his arms around you and half carrying you back into your apartment. 

He closes the door behind him, awkwardly adjusting to hold you up with one arm. Not that it’s much of a struggle for him, considering he’s a lot bigger than you are. 

He’s torn, he doesn’t want to let go until you do, but he wants to talk to you and figure out why you needed him so badly. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to make that choice because suddenly you’re pulling away from him and tucking your hair behind your ears. 

You look anywhere but him. “Um, thanks for coming…”

“Anytime.” 

You try to think of something to say after that, anything to break the ice and explain yourself and not make this a huge waste of time for him. Before you can speak, though, Jason goes first. 

“You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to,” he says. “I know it’s hard.”

You nod slowly, every movement of your body feels sluggish and heavy. You got a few hours of sleep the other day, but only out of sheer exhaustion. Now, it seems the exhaustion is catching up. 

“I’m just gonna…sit down,” you plop onto the couch cushion and pull your knees into your chest. You pat the cushion next to you, inviting him closer. 

Jason takes off his helmet and jacket, laying them on the kitchen island before sitting next to you. “Have you slept much?”

You shake your head, resting your cheek on the cushion and looking into his eyes. “A few hours the other day but…nothing since.”

“Did you want to try while I’m here?”

His eyes are soft, a jarring contrast from his other features. It’s almost as if he’s pleading with you. 

“Y-yeah, okay,” you slowly rise from the couch, your damp pyjamas clinging to your body. You usher for Jason to follow you to your room. 

You dig through your drawers, looking for a pair of clean pyjamas. You settle on a t-shirt you stole from Dick ages ago and a pair of sweats you used for training. Jason looks away while you change, trying his best to respect your privacy despite the way his face heats up. 

You crawl into your bed, trying to rearrange the messy comforter to cover your body. “Do you…is it okay if you lay with me? It only has to be until I fall asleep.”

Jason knows he’s pushing his limits, his heart racing at the thought of being in bed with you. He shakes the thoughts away—this is completely innocent. He’s just taking care of you. 

“Yeah, I can stay a while.”

Jason lays down next to you, his broad frame taking up more than half of your bed. Your breath catches in your throat at his proximity, and his warmth draws you in. Somehow, for the first time in days, his presence is enough to let you relax. 

Jason lays with you for some time, just staring at the back of your head while you cuddle your pillow. You must have fallen asleep at some point, because your breathing is even and your body is relaxed. 

He smiles, it’s the most calm he’s seen you in days. He knows you’re sleeping now and he can leave, but he doesn’t want to. What if you wake up and he’s gone? He doesn’t want to risk upsetting you. 

You roll over in your sleep, your head landing perfectly under his arm and on his chest. His breath hitches in his throat at the contact. He tries to adjust his body to make it as comfortable as possible for you to lay on him. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling you within his own body. Jason can’t help but think to himself in this moment that he’ll take care of you no matter what, even if you can’t take care of yourself. 

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Week 1-4: Yandere Apocalypse - Uvil Penz

Original Post

Getting to meet everyone was nice and all but it’s entirely different from living with them

When it comes to sleeping arrangements the Penz brother’s each had their own rooms

Naturally Marco was sharing with Aria

Willaim with Simpson 

Leaving Uvil who speedily offered to room with you

“If you wouldn’t mind (Y/n), maybe you should stay with me.”

Of course Henrietta and Grant would have a problem with this

Both of them whining about the other as you let Uvil usher you away from the living room

“C’mon don’t leave me with this crazy broad!”

“Nooo! But (Y/n) reminds me the most of my baby! I need to sleep with them! THIS IS SO UNFAIR-”

With the clicks of multiple locks he decides you both are ready to turn in for the night

“Just for safety. After all you don’t really know these…strangers yet.”

“Uh thanks.”

You try to ignore the fact you don’t really know him either

But with a sporadically themed bedroom with two beds and a full bathroom, you’re not complaining

Because of your closeness with one another it’s natural as tiredness tugs at your eyes that you confide in him

“I for one, am glad you survived. I’m sorry for the emptyiness you feel but I think you’ve filled something for all of us…especially me.”

It’s nice when he says sweet things to you

And when he leads the group with grace

Or when he makes a fair meal plan for everyone to follow with the refrigerated and canned rations

…it just gets weird when he so easily adapts to the invasive demands of the group

Siphoning your time like some prized toy

“(Y/n) will not be drinking from you for at least another day…your behavior with the food rations is to blame.”

“THAT IS SO UNFAIR!WAAAAHHH!”

“Ha weird idiot, instead they’ll have to endure my ultimate smackdown…in the gaming room.”

“No to you too little brother.”

“What?! What did I do!?”

“Marco says you made Aria cry and he refused to operate the drones we have outside because of that. Thus you’ve lost your (Y/n)-privileges.”

“That’s….so unfair...”

Of course he doesn’t bother to ask you at all despite how polite he is pretends to be

But he has no problem intertwining his hand with yours while he goes around the bunker taking inventory

Or encouraging you to watch movies while cuddled up beside him

Its not so bad

It’s a great way to get used to the bunker life 

With Uvil’s guidance you’ll start to get used to this new way of life

And by the end of the 2nd week you’re starting to find your way on your own

But Uvil will never let that happen

Still hovering around you and monitoring your time despite your independence

“Space? (Y/n) you’re my dearest bunker-mate, of course I worry about you.”

It’s annoying but he’s far from the worst person in the bunker

Unbeknownst to you, Uvil’s only the best at hiding his obsession with you

When he’s not by your side he’s watching the cameras intensely for everyone’s movements

3 monitors dedicated to you 

What camera room?

The camera room only the Penz brothers seem to know about and none of them will confess

Not only being your most devoted watcher he’s the only one free enough to suffocate on the sheets you slept in 

To touch keep the dirty laundry you share with him

Or the access he gets to your journal entries 

But the best thing of all is the closeness he’s granted as your first real friend

“(Y/n) would you like a massage while we watch a horror movie? I know you’ve been feeling tense lately and I want nothing more than to help you relieve that.”

He knows a month is all he’ll get away with

Before the others start to riot

But this will be enough…for now

“I’m going to miss you (Y/n)...but it’s a small cycle. You’ll be back with me before you notice. And you’ll always find a safe space in my bed room.”

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

night light

this is based on this post by @pepsicurtis

read on ao3

It was ridiculous, frankly. Ponyboy was the one who needed someone next to him to sleep, not Soda. Yet, Soda couldn’t stop tossing and turning. Part of it was to do with the fact he had no idea where his brother was, that Ponyboy could be anywhere in the country. 

But as he turned over again, he realized that he missed the weight of someone else in bed beside him. He missed Pony kicking him and flopping all over the bed. Hell, he would rather Ponyboy waking up from a screaming nightmare because that would mean he was safe. 

The first night, Soda slept all of three hours. He dragged himself through his shift at the DX, barely making eye contact with Darry when he got him. 

The second night, he tried the couch. But he kept waking up, thinking he heard the door opening or the phone ringing. Darry tried to talk to him in the morning, asking how he slept. Soda just murmured, “Fine.” Before pulling himself into the shower.

The third night, he tried Darry’s chair. Half the time Darry ended up sleeping there anyway, maybe there was something magic about the chair that made sleep come easier. It didn’t. Soda slept even worse than before. 

“Look at me.” Darry put a hand on Soda’s shoulder and forced him to meet his eyes. “Did you get any sleep?” Soda shrugged. Darry sighed, “Maybe you should stay home today.”

Soda quickly shook his head, “No, we need the money.”

“Soda-”

“I’m going to get dressed.” Soda shrugged Darry’s hand off his shoulder. 

He knew it hurt Darry, but every time Soda looked at his oldest brother, he saw Darry hitting Pony and their little brother running out the door. Both of them were struggling. And Soda didn’t even let himself lean on him, he couldn’t. Because he knew the second he let Darry comfort him, Soda would forgive him. He didn’t want to forgive him, not yet at least.

Until the fourth night. 

It was midnight. Soda was trying to sleep in his bed again. He had Pony’s pillow hugged to his chest, blankets tucked tight around him. Yet sleep wasn’t anywhere close. He didn’t think he’d felt that alone in a very long time. So he finally forced himself out of bed and padded down the hall to Darry’s bedroom. With his pillow clutched to his chest, he felt so much like a child. 

He remembered being a kid, before Pony was able to talk. He and Darry used to share a bedroom and they would stay up talking. Soda used to be able to make Darry laugh so hard he got a headache. That didn’t happen so much anymore.

As always, Darry’s bedroom door was cracked open. Soda nudged it open. In the light from the streetlight, he saw Darry lying on his back, fast asleep. Soda crept in and sat down on the floor next to Darry’s bed. He laid down, curling his legs to his chest. With the sound of his brother breathing, he thought he would be able to sleep. No such luck. 

“You really gonna sleep there?” Darry’s voice was soft in the dark room.

“It’s comfy,” Soda lied. Darry was silent for a long moment. “I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I.” The admission surprised Soda. “Soda, get your ass up here.”

With the permission given, Soda quickly climbed into the bed, hoping Darry wouldn’t change his mind. But he didn’t. Instead, Darry lifted up his arm and let Soda curl against his side. Soda clung to his big brother like he’d been wanting to for days, he pressed his nose against Darry’s throat. 

“I’m scared,” Soda said softly. 

Darry’s arms tightened around him, “Me too, little buddy.”

“Do you think he’s gonna come home?” Soda’s voice broke a little. 

He felt Darry sigh under him, “I don’t know. I really hope so.” Darry’s hand moved in small circles along Soda’s shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, Pepsi Cola. I’m sorry I got angry and I’m sorry I yelled at the two of you and I’m even more sorry that I-I hurt Pony and made him leave.”

He felt Darry starting to loosen his grip on him, but Soda only held him tighter. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be.” Soda didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, he just hiked the blankets up over them. “Soda.”

“Hmm?” 

“Didja hear what I said?”

“Yeah. Just thought it was stupid.” Darry chuckled. It was the closest Darry got to a laugh since Pony and Johnny left. “I really miss him, Dar.”

“Me too, little buddy. It doesn’t feel like home without him here.” 

Soda sat up and looked down at his big brother, “He’s going to come back, right? Because if he doesn’t-” Tears started to well in his eyes and he found himself being quickly pulled back into Darry’s arms. He cried softly, clenching his fists into Darry’s shirt as if afraid he was going to leave too. 

“He will,” Darry said. “He’s going to come home.” It was a promise Darry couldn’t make, but at that moment, Soda didn’t care. For a second, he let himself be a kid again. He let himself believe that Darry could do anything, that everything was going to be okay as long as his brother was there.

“Okay.” Soda’s voice broke. “Because I don’t think we’re going to be okay if he doesn’t.”

“I know.” Darry pressed a kiss to his head. “I know.” 

Soda slept soundly that night and he knew Darry did too. Even though his dreams were filled with Ponyboy and Johnny, they were kinder than the previous nights’ imaginings. There was no blood, not bruises.

In the morning, Soda made them both coffee and packed Darry’s lunch. When they parted ways for work, Darry left Soda with a long embrace and a squeeze to the back of his neck. It was more than enough to keep Soda’s spirits up the rest of the day.

That night, Soda slept in Darry’s room again. Darry didn’t say a word about it, he just smiled.

[tzuyubit]

rest

an: hi. been awhile since i’ve written anything. im sorry if this isn’t really tzuyu, but im #trying. sorry if this is bad too. mistakes are mine!!!!!! half asleep posting this… sorry….

prompts: im worried about you” // “you don’t seem like yourself tonight

college au kinda sorta

tzuyu eyed you quietly, you seemed to be lost in thought about something and none of the other girls seemed to have noticed. that didn’t surprise tzuyu though, no one could read you better than her.

she bit the inside of her cheek, rummaging through her brain of any possible reason you could be so down. however, this was a failure because surely you would’ve come to her already if something was bothering you, right?

it wasn't long before you started to feel a set of eyes staring into the side of your head. tzuyu gave you a look of concern, but you brushed it off and laid your head atop nayeon’s shoulder, bringing your attention back to the movie that was on. this made tzuyu even more concerned than before, but she couldn’t do anything about it now.

instead she watched as you cuddled into nayeon, your body slowly turning away from her seemingly every 10 minutes. tzuyu couldn’t help but feel a little hurt by your actions. has she done something to upset you? did someone tell you something bad about her? did you hear a rumor around school and believe it to be true?

tzuyu spent the next 30 minutes waiting in what felt like agony for the movie to be over with. she knew you’d go to bed afterwards as you didn’t like staying up too late since classes started early.

you said your goodnights to the surrounding girls and made your way down the hall and into your room. you sighed knowing you couldn't avoid her from this point on. nonetheless, you peeled the sweatshirt off your body, leaving you in just a tank top and shorts, and buried yourself under the covers. maybe if you pretended like you were trying to sleep she wouldn’t question you?

wrong.

only a mere two or three minutes went by before you felt tzuyu’s slender body slide next to yours. she was hesitant at first, but decided to wrap her arm around you anyway. a few more silent minutes went by and you’d started to think she might actually not bring it up.

again, you were wrong.

“i’m worried about you…” tzuyu mumbled.

“don’t be.”

“you don’t seem like yourself tonight.” she countered, hoping to get somewhere.

“I’m just tired.”

a hum could be heard, “maybe. but i doubt that’s the reason you’ve been avoiding me.”

there was another beat of silence before she spoke again. “have i done something?”

“no.” you answered calmly, which only confused tzuyu further. “then what is it?”

your body shifted beneath the covers, eyes now staring into hers with the help of the moonlight shining on her face.

“you’re good at everything, you know. it’s like you don’t even have to try. always getting a’s, never anything below, loved by so many people despite you keeping them at arm's length, i’ve never even seen you lose your temper. you’re perfect. i don’t now why you settled for me. i get b’s and c’s in class, i don’t really have a lot of friends, or people that remember me, i get annoyed and irritated too easily, even the way i dress is questionable. you’re just so put together and-”

“except i’m not.” your girlfriend interrupted. “you shouldn’t compare yourself to me.”

you exhaled. “well you sure make it look like you are.”

“exactly, which is why you shouldn’t compare yourself to me. i’m nowhere near put together all the time, i just know how to manage things and my emotions to the point where it looks like i am.”

the way she stared down at you, seriousness filling her eyes caused you to avert your gaze.

“i just think you could do better than me.” you mumbled softly.

“ah.” tzuyu brushed her finger against the line of your face. “well i don’t think so. i think you’re the one for me and that’s all that should matter. you’re important to me for many reasons, but the fact that i love you in the way that i do should be enough. nothing that you said negatively affects our relationship. im happy and that’s all that matters to me. i hope that you are as well?”

you met her eyes again and nodded. “i just want to be enough for you.”

“you are,” she promised. “now let's go to sleep. you need to rest well before classes.”

and so you did, face snuggled in the crook of her neck as she held you close.

[hellfirexhoe]

Insomnia - Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Summary: Just two friends, helping each other sleep in filthy ways

A/n: it is just like me to post a smut not only on a Monday but also on the day Tumblr decides to add content filters by default, boooooo!

Warnings: 18+ content, minors do not fucking interact, friends to lovers, unprotected sex

“Are you asleep?” You turn to the still figure beside you, 

“Yeah. You?” 

“Idiot.” You snort at Eddie’s reply.

Eddie switches the lamp on and immediately regrets it as he blinds you both. “Ugh, shit what time is it?”

You squint your barely-adjusted eyes at the clock on his dresser,

“Uhhh, 3am.”

“Fuuuuuuuck.” Eddie whines.

It must be the sleep deprivation that emboldens you, or the close proximity to Eddie, or the slight buzz leftover in your system. 

“If neither of us can sleep, why don’t we have sex?” Eddie’s eyes snap open as you speak, shit have you just crossed a line? 

It's not like neither of you had ever thought about it, in fact you’re both acutely aware of the tension between you. As are all of your friends. Friends who don’t appreciate you sucking the juice from an ice pop, cheeks hollowing, never breaking Eddie’s gaze while he practically sweats opposite you, while they’re just trying to enjoy a game of D&D. Friends who also don’t appreciate Eddie having to “readjust” himself when you bend over in low cut tops. Friends who don't understand how you could possibly sleep in the same bed together and not be fucking on the down low. 

“Did you finally fall asleep?” You ask quietly when Eddie hasn’t spoken in several minutes, you can see he’s staring up at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. You fiddle with the old shirt you've borrowed to sleep in, 

“I’m honestly not sure. See, I’m fairly sure I’m dreaming right now because there is no way you just said what I think you did.”

“If you’re going to be weird about it, the offer is off the table. I’m just trying to think of ways we can get to sleep.” You’re hoping this will provide enough cushioning to soften the blow if he rejects you, that this could be chalked up as a dumb joke and not a cripplingly embarassing moment your friendship might never recover from.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I just never expected you’d be the one propositioning me ‘s all. I always assumed our rampant sexual chemistry would culminate in me begging you on my hands and knees.” 

“I mean, I can get on my knees if you’d like.” Eddie laughs, rolling over to face you instead of his ceiling, you can’t help but smile as you see his face, it’s almost criminal how attractive he is.

“I’d love to see it, maybe not at 3am though.” 

“Is that your way of letting me down gently?” You can’t help the small pout of your lips as you speak, 

“Fuck no, just figure if we’re trying to sleep we should probably stay cosy.” To emphasise his point he pulls you close to him, so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and pulls the covers around you both. He starts slowly, fingertips ghosting over your soft jaw, your head instinctively tilting up to his, silently willing him to kiss you. He knows you well, too well, his lips meeting yours with no hesitation, knowing what you want. All the times you had imagined this moment, it was a rushed moment, hard, rough, the culmination of years of pent up desire. This? This was soft, made you melt into his arms, a kiss that made you never want to leave this moment, never leave his bed. 

Both of your breathing gets heavier as Eddie's hands start to wander, rubbing circles with his palms onto your hips, grazing the top of your underwear with the slightest touch, you come away from his lips with a soft sigh,

"Still with me?" Eddie catches your chin and tilts your head to look up at him, "We can stop if you're not into this."

You shake your head, "Don't want to stop, don't want to ever stop."

Eddie chuckles softly, running his thumb slowly over your swelling bottom lip,

"I mean, we'd have to stop at some point sweet girl, we'd need food, and water." Your conflicted expression makes Eddie laugh again, "I promise I'd come right back after getting those boring life sustaining things." 

"Better."

Eddie pulls you back in for another soft, sweet kiss, still giggling softly as your lips find each other. You wrap your leg around his waist and pull him in, allowing no space between you, Eddie's hands are at your lower back, his left coming down to rub your thigh, before continuing its descent down your leg, coming back up to your body at a snail's pace, as if he's mapping your legs, mapping a path to where you need him most. You waver again as his hand tracks up your inner thigh, inching closer to your core, Eddie's hand stills and he pulls away from your lips,

"Everything okay?" His brown eyes are on you, assessing you, trying to figure out if he's pushed you too far.

"I'm fine. Its just," your stomach is flipping and your cheeks are burning at your next admission, "Eddie, don't make fun of me, but I'm really, um, worked up from you just kissing me."

He wants to tease you about it, so badly, but how can he refuse such a sweet face, asking him so sweetly?

"You don't think you've had a similar effect on me?" Eddie's eyebrow quirks, he had a point there, you'd been feeling evidence of that effect since you'd wrapped your leg around him. Eddie's hand comes back to your thigh, his other holding your face, guiding you to look at his face while his hand creeps ever closer. He's not quick enough to hide the surprise on his face when he gets to your centre and finds you soaking through your underwear,

"Not a word, Munson." 

"Sorry but no deal, all this for little old me?"

"Nothing little about you." You counter as you press yourself into him more, feeling his rock hard length through his boxers. 

"Flatterer." Eddie mutters as he hooks his fingers into the elastic, gently guiding your leg away from him so he can pull them off, before he returns your leg to his hip, his fingers now stroking slow paths up and down your folds, his eyes trained on yours, watching your face. His fingers move inwards and you hiss as he brushes past your clit, then back again when he realises what he's found, there's a mischievous smirk on his face and he leans in to whisper to you,

"Hmm, now I really don't see what the hell that guy's issue was last month." He's referring to your last date, at the end of which you'd gone to Eddie's, flopping down on his sofa and declaring men who cannot find the clit to be useless and making up a worryingly large portion of your dating history. 

You want to sass him, tell him he's being cocky but your brain is suddenly occupied by the sensation of Eddie's calloused fingers rubbing around your clit, your eyes feel heavy and you want to close them, your head instinctively turning to face the pillow but Eddie's free hand is gripping your chin, forcing you to look at his face

"Nuh-uh, you're going to look at my face while I make you come with my hands. No hiding that pretty face." The intensity of his gaze leaves you breathless, and his incessant attention to your clit means you have no chance to catch your breath, instead your breathing comes in ragged gasps that get faster the closer he pushes you, your starting to flinch away from his touch as you teter on the edge of overstimulation,

"Shh, I'll make it better." Eddie's fingers glide through your slick to your entrance, entering you slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion. 

"Fuck." Is all you're able to mewl at the fullness once he's knuckle deep, your eyes getting teary. Eddie nods in agreement, starting to work his fingers inside you while his thumb toys with your clit, you're quickly back at the edge of your orgasm, Eddie's pupils are dilated and his breathing is matching yours, clearly getting off on watching you come undone by his hand. You swear the air surrounding you is getting hotter, heavier, making it harder to breathe, you can feel the pressure in your body building, making you tremble until finally, you're reaching your peak, clawing at Eddie's arm and with a loud cry of his name, eyes squeezing shut so tight that tears stream down your face. Eddie keeps his hand in place until you've ridden out your high, planting kisses on your forehead.

"More, I need more." You breathe out, cringing slightly at the desperate whine in your voice, 

"You sure?" Eddie waits until you're a bit more coherent, shaking less like a leaf in a hurricane. You nod enthusiastically and he rolls over to his nightstand before a flurry of curse words leave his lips,

"Shit fucking - goddamn." You can guess the cause for his frustration, 

"Eddie… its fine."

"Shit, sorry." Eddie flops back down onto the bed, a little grouchy.

"No, Eddie. Its… fine." You hope he understands the look you're giving him, otherwise you might just be pulling a demented face. 

"You're sure?" 

"100 per cent." 

Eddie is still slightly hesitant as he hovers above you, hands either side of your head,

"Really sure?" You nod and Eddie shakes his head, "No, you need to use words for this."

"I want this, I want you." You feel your stomach lurch a little with anticipation as Eddie's bare cock lines up with your entrance, and sinks in, inch by inch. As you'd commented earlier, there is nothing small about Eddie, despite his earlier efforts you're still left with a slight sting as your snug walls adjust to him. 

"Fuuucking hell." Your turn to nod in agreement, a  little dumb struck by how good it feels to be so full of Eddie. A whimper escapes your lips as Eddie gives his hips a tentative roll, and almost instinctively your body draws him close, legs locking around his waist, arms pulling him down until he lands on you with a soft "oof". Once he's certain he hasn't squashed you Eddie starts rolling his hips again, setting a deep and drawn out rhythm, your g spot being stimulated with every motion, your walls hugging his length so tightly that you swear you can feel every vein on his cock. 

Your moans are music to his ears, especially when his name is interspersed between them, he can hear the pitch change as you get closer, so he staves off his own orgasm, determined to get you there first, he doubles down, upping his tempo and teasing your neck while whispering in your ear,

"This pussy is fucking perfect, you know that? You're fucking perfect."

You try to disagree but he cuts you off by sucking a hickey onto the side of your neck. He comes away from your neck to peck your lips once, and as soon as he does your hands are pushing the hair away from his face so you can see just how blown his pupils are, see the flush that starts at his cheeks and trails down to his chest. 

"You're fucking perfect." You manage to stutter out between gasps and moans, your hands travelling to his back and digging in, leaving angry red lines as he fucks you into the mattress. 

"I'm so fucking close Eddie." 

"Don't hold back on me now." Eddie flashes you a smile and with a well timed thrust he has your walls clenching around him while you leave more angry lines down his back, you're fairly sure your vision goes blurry for a few seconds while the pleasure short circuits your brain. Its Eddie kiss that brings you back, desperate and hungry this time.

"Baby, you need to drop your legs or I can't pull out." Eddie pants as he ruts into you, your legs are still locked around his waist and he's perilously close.

"Don't." There's an irresistible grin on your face and Eddie curses,

"Shit, you sure?" You nod, "No, no, words again please. Hurry." Eddie's sweating and biting his lip, desperately trying to hold back but unable to stop himself from fucking you,

"Eddie, don't pull out." That's all it takes to completely knock the air from his lungs, and he's finishing inside you with the hottest fucking groans you have ever heard, hips never stilling as he fucks his cum deeper into you.

He collapses down beside you, swearing and sweaty as he comes down from his high. You wait until you can hear that both of you are breathing normally and ask him again,

“Are you asleep?”

“Baby, I physically do not have another round in me. Give me ten minutes.” You slap his arm and he winks at you,

"So, quick question… Just how many girls are you screwing?" You ask, referring to the lack of condom availability.

"Tragically, the ones I had expired, I thought I had bought more but apparently not." You try to stifle the giggle, you really do. 

"Shut up." Eddie's laughing with you too, pulling you close to his chest, making you wrinkle up your nose when your skin sticks to his.

[mcf124]

Sometimes Love is just not enough.

LN4 x Y/n

You finally realize that long distance just wasn’t what was best for you.

Sometimes Love is just not enough

Laying at home once again, staring at the ceiling knowing Lando is traveling around the world while I sit here in Monaco. Yes I could leave, I could go and follow him around, and I wish I could, but I promised my dad I would get my college degree.

But then there is the pain of missing him, feeling like I am all alone while I watch everything he gets to do online.

He comes home tomorrow and I know when I bring it up it will be huge fight, but it something that I really think that we need to talk about.

Next Day -

“Honey I’m HOMMMEE” Lando yells.

I laugh walking towards the kitchen “Hi Lan”

He walks up to me and kisses me, I melt right into it.

“How are you?” He ask.

“Lan.” I whisper.

His eyes get wide “What?”

“We need to talk.”

‘Okay” He replies.

I begin to walk towards the living room hoping that he would follow. I have no clue how this is going to go, I really have no idea what I am going to say, or if anything I say will really change the facts that are right infant of me.

“Your gone a lot” I whisper having no clue how else to start this conversation.

“That my job y/n” He says staring right at me.

“I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Then come with me.” He says.

I try not to roll my eyes I knew exactly where this was going to go.

“You know I can’t Lando, I have school.”

“Well then you can’t get mad at me because that is the only solution, I can’t be home anymore than I am.” He starts to raise his voice.

“You think I don’t know that Lando, I lay here wishing that I was with you wherever you are at the time.”

“Y/n What more could I possibly do” he says angrily, standing up and starting to pace.

“Please Lando I just want to talk, please just sit”

“No, I’m not because this is stupid, there nothing that I can do”

“That’s not what I am trying to say, I’m not trying to find a solution, I just want you to hear me and how I feel.”

“You don’t think I miss you all the time?” He ask

I just look at him.

“I lay In bed wishing that it was you next to me instead of a hotel pillow, I lay wanting to call you but knowing your in class because of the time differences.” He says

“How do you just get over it, because I am over hear drowning.”

“I know you love me that’s how” He says

“Yeah well sometimes love isn’t enough.” I say, regretting my words immediately.

“what.” He whispers.

“Lan”

“No don’t Lan me, what do you mean, what are you trying to say?”

“It hurts, It hurts me so much that I lay in bed unable to sleep, crying because I know I can’t be there for you like you want me to be, upset because I’m not like other WAGS traveling around, posting all about you”

“This is about the media isn’t it?” He ask.

“It doesn’t help, I won’t lie” I start to tear up but I do everything in my power so the tears do not fall.

“I don’t care that you’re not there, I know you are cheering me on from here” He says.

“But I feel like I’m not doing enough and its killing me”

“Y/n Please”

“I think this was a bad idea” I whisper

I continue “We jumped right into this Lan, we didn’t think about how hard this would be, and maybe you are able to do it, maybe the love we share is enough for you, but for me, it’s not”

I look up at him and see his shocked face, he has no words, I can tell. I stand up from the couch and head to the bedroom knowing that I am the one that is going to have to leave.

Do I want to leave, no, but I can’t do it anymore. Is it stupid probably, but I should have listen this long distance thing, especially when they are In a different time zone every week, is hard.

I grab the things I will need and walk back into the living room where I see Lando siting on the coach looking straight ahead.

I start to walk before I turn back around and say “if love were enough, I would be staying in your arms right now, but sometimes distance is just too much.”

I turn around and head to the door, pulling on the door handle I know it will be the last time. I open the door and step out, I feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. I know if I turn around I will run right back to him.

So I don’t, I shut the door, walk towards the elevators and let the tears finally fall.

[lover-sy]

WHAT I DO WHEN I’M ON MY PERIOD

୨☕️୧

Hi, hii! Today’s post isn’t random because I started my period yesterday and I also got sick so my energy is really drained and I want to share a few tips to maybe help some of you! ( this is the 2nd time I’m writing this so I’m a bit annoyed )

— HYDRATION : you gotta drink A LOT of water during your period. Hydration is already so important as it is but during your period it’s 10x more important

— TEA : first of all shoutout to all my tea girlies. Then, I love drinking tea ( without caffeine!) because it not only makes my cramps better because of the warmth and since i often drink peppermint and ginger ( which is really good during your period ) but i also just convince myself that tea will make me feel better so it does. ( it’a all about the mindset )

— POSITIVITY : I always try to see the good in things which also includes my period. As i told SOME PEOPLE I imagine it as the blood of my enemies.. not i’m kidding. I just tell myself that I can grow a whole human and that it’s gonna be over soon. This isn’t temporary so I shouldn’t complain because I can’t change anything about it by complaining ( I tell myself that with a lot of things. Complaining never helps )

— EATING : I try to get as many vitamins in as possible with veggies, fruits and nuts but fish and chicken is also very good for you!

— VITAMINS/SUPPLEMENTS : i only eat chicken as meat so i’m deficient in a lot of vitamins so i have to take a lot of the most important one during your period is magnesium. Even if you eat a lot of food containing magnesium ( mostly nuts ) you should consider taking some magnesium supplements

— REST : this is the key to not passing out in this week of suffering. Sleep a lot and limit your physical activity ( I’m sorry to my athletes out there. ), instead of going to the gym and doing heavy workouts stay in bed and read a nice book or do chores around the house ( also has you moving )

— MOVE : very contradictory but yoga and a bit of walking can never do harm, i love walking during my period because it makes me feel like I did something but it also doesn’t leave me completely drained from all energy.

— WARMTH : tea, warm baths, heating pads and pets ( my cats keep me warm <3 )

— DISTRACTION : this may differ from person to person but I need a lot of distraction especially when I’m just laying around in bed so I usually read a very captivating book to focus 100% and forget about the pain.

— PEOPLE : I stay in my dark room and when I’m in school talk less because I’m worried that I’ll snap at people but I usually tell my friends that I’m on my period or they figure so there isn’t any misunderstandings

— REMINDERS : you can’t do anything about the fact that you get periods, they’re normal and you shouldn’t feel ashamed about them. People who make you feel that way about them are childish. You weight may vary so don’t panic! ( i don’t weight myself during my period because it’s not my real weight so it’s of no use! ). Your energy is already low so try to stay calm and not waste it on unnecessary things or people. Drama can wait for when you’re ovulating.

[moonshine999]

Spill your post trailer Helaegon ideas with us please😩

hellooo, I will try my utmost best to articulate them.. sensibly

.

.

as the teaser stands, the performances by Tom and Phia genuinely look phenomenal. It seems stealing the spotlight worthy, especially Phia. Since this is the first season we get to explore her character and also her last season because damn you writers, it looks like she’s really giving it her all and I’m genuinely so excited to see that. details? Love that they grew Aegon’s hair out, the Helaena shot of her looking up might be one most ethereal shots I’ve witnessed, the aegon strut was legit everything. things I am not much a fan of though is the costuming (for them, more so Aegon because we haven’t seen any Helaena dresses in full, at least officially). Because though I love the sunfyre embroidery on his outfit now, it literally looks no different from the coronation costume at first glance. Sure it is dark green instead of black but like cmon. Give aegon pretty costumes 😌. Also sad we didn’t see Sunfyre, Dreamfyre is understandable but come on, we see Syrax and not the most beautiful dragon in the world? Not the dragon who had the strongest dragon-rider bond in history with Aegon? Not the dragon who ends up killing Rhaenyra?? THE FUCK.

but I’ll stop complaining because the teaser is nice and these are just nitpicks about the definite bias. .

. Okay the next things I’m gonna cover are more so ideas for scenes rather than a breakdown or analysis cuz we literally got 2 shots of each of them 🥲

.

.

🕯️Helaena’s visions

I did see quite a few posts saying/implying that we will dive more into Helaena’s visions this season. So I do think it would be interesting to understand that dynamic with her and Aegon when she has them. Like has he matured enough to understand that even though he can’t comprehend his wife, she needs his help OR he still thinks that she is acting idiotic as he did in s1. The leak that said something along the lines that Aegon will first be seen at the council, bored but then is called to attend to his queen could also tie into this. Maybe Helaena isn’t crouching over due to pain of pregnancy ,as some have speculated , but due to the suddenness or pain of one of her visions.

(also I have put a one shot surrounding this in the W.I.P folder along with the thousand others lying there so expect it in about 80 years 😃)

🕯️just them handling being king and queen

this is a pretty vague thing but literally just show them. Just show them getting along, sitting at councils, dragon riding, sleeping in the same room, all before b&c rips everything down. Even one scene of them together handling this can work, in fact just one scene of them being soft with each other would just go to show what it was like and what it could have been like had the war not happened. Just adding more tragedy to their story.

🕯️flashbacks

another pretty vague one. But as I said in this post , I really do think we should have seen them as kids, how they get along and especially their wedding. They could perhaps fit it in, in the episode of the funeral. Aegon or Hela looking back on that day, when things were arguably simpler and their only concerns were stopping Aegon from crying during sex. (IM SORRY, WE ALL KNOW IT HAPPENED)

okay more seriously though, them reminiscing on the past i.e. the day their union was first formed on the day it all broke apart. They as parents should be allowed to feel that grief, with each other and I genuinely hope we don’t get robbed of that. speaking of them as parents though…

🕯️the kids

it is actually so unsettling that half the fans didn’t even realise that they have kids until b&c started being talked about.

Again I beg, SHOW THEM. show them talking to Jaehaerys about becoming heir, how Aegon would go back to his memory of his mother doing the same to him (could also come under flashbacks). Show them trying to stop Maelor to stop crying, show them sitting with their kids at the feast, show them trying to manage their duties as well as their kids.

.

.

but alas it’s just speculation, half of them just wishes. Let’s hope we get some glimpse of their dynamic is season 2 because my god helaegon nation is starving.

[sugarcoatednightshade]

finally got around to watching The Unsleeping City and I'm so obsessed with Pete. immaculate vibes. perfect character.

Anyway I'm halfway through episode 8 and I can't stop thinking about the previous episode, We Need to Talk About Pete. Especially that scene where Robert Moses shows him that video of Kingston admitting that he'd kill him if necessary, and Pete assumes that it's just taken out of context. Which is funny and sorrowful because this is a rare instance where context makes his statement 1000x worse.

And I had to pause Subway Skirmish and write this quickie just exploring what would happen if Pete heard the whole conversation, terrible context included. Its mostly work for word until the end, the only difference being that Ricky agrees more with Esther and basically proposes an intervention, which gets to Pete in a whole other way.

I'm predicting that Pete and the gang make up almost immediately. Either at the end of this episode or the next one. Which is really sweet and affirming, but I love the idea of pvp and Pete actively fighting the rest of the group, maybe embracing being the voice of nightmares as well as dreams, isolating himself with nightmares, etc.

Anyway, I cant finish the episode I'm on until I post this. mom said. Enjoy 1.5k I literally wrote instead of sleeping. This is a first draft, unedited, probably full of needless angst and grammatical errors, I wrote it in like an hour and refuse to read it again. Enjoy.

Robert held the phone out to Pete. Its screen showed a video cued up to play.

“Listen, kid, I’m not trying to force you into anything here. I just want you to have all the information, know who you’re really working with.”

“I know who I’m working with,” Pete lied. But he was looking down at the screen which showed his new – friends? Associates? Comrades in arms? – sitting down at a table. The angle was high and the quality kind of shit, like it was taken from old security footage, but Pete could clearly make out Kingston’s expression, frozen in something like rage. It was a weird expression on him, one Pete hadn’t seen in all the time he’d known the man.

“Just look,” Robert said. “Come to your own conclusions.”

Pete takes the phone away from Robert, hating himself for it. But, goddamn it, despite it all, he was still fucking human. Even knowing Robert’s game – he could practically smell the shit he was talking – he couldn’t pass up on free information. If only so that he could know what Robert knew, so he couldn’t use it as extortion later.

Yeah, Pete thought, real convincing.

He pressed play. The image on screen jumped, showing a much calmer and collected Kingston. It was reassuring for all of one second, because when the recorded Kingston opened his mouth, the words he said sent Pete’s stomach rocketing to the floor.

“I mean, here’s the truth Alejandro if things get out of hand, we put him down. Straight up.”

He barely hears Kugrash’s and Sofia’s protests, ignores the revelations that Kugrash has human kids and a whole human life he abandoned, stuck trying to process what he just heard.

Kingston is speaking again, saying that ten out ten times he’d choose the city over Pete and that’s fine, really, that’s fine. Pete’s not selfish enough to thing that he matters more than the entire population of New York City. And Kingston is supposed to be the voice of the city or something. It’s basically his job. Pete should be used to people in his life choosing their careers over him.

Sofia asks a question that’s been bothering him for a while, and Alejandro answers confuses him at first – he talks about someone named Jackson and a Concrete Order and some other things Pete doesn’t really understand until…

“It is not fair to the people who have come to this city or have been born here and lived here their entire lives, that their wellbeing, safety, and in fact, even their life or death should be thrown into chaos because of what amounts to often a joke.”

Pete thinks back to the bug monsters that had attacked Astoria. Despite all the destruction and chaos and death, at no point had he sensed any real malice coming from them. They had been excited and grateful and fully unaware of why what they were doing was wrong. To call them evil implied that they knew right from wrong and actively chose it, but they were just doing what they did just because.

Alejandro had become more animated as he spoke, gesturing wildly with his hands, but now he lowered his voice enough that Pete had to raise the volume and lean in to hear it. “Peter actively courts the darkness more than the light.” Alejandro’s back was turned to the camera, but Pete could see the way his shoulders hunched forward, as if he were sharing some great secret or revelation.

Suddenly his hands feel clammy with sweat. He wants to pause the video but can’t, can’t let Robert know that any of its getting to him, so instead he watches as a group of people talk about him like he’s something dangerous, talk about locking him up – you guys have to tell me if you’re cops, right? – and taking his drugs and putting him down like he’s infected. Like he’s a rabid dog that can’t be trusted not to bite.

And, looking around, Pete hates to admit that they’re right. What defense does he have, sitting in a vampiric nightclub filled with dead-eyed humans selling their bodies for a little cash? What defense does he have when he’s so used to that stare that it barely registers? How many times has he sold drugs to people with that same look in their eyes, desperate and empty?

Pete knows what kind of person he is, what kind of people he runs with. And like Robert had pointed out, he’s not exactly subtle. Pete knows he’s dirt. Robert called him a businessman. Kugrash seems to think he’s just some troubled kid who needs a little guidance. Kingston and Alejandro think he’s a ticking bomb.

But Pete knows what he is. He’s a homeless drug dealer who sells to monsters and children, whose only friends are nightmares and people who want him dead. Fuck them, he thinks, who fucking needs them.

Some girl – Esther, he thinks, but it’s hard to remember when her back is to the screen – voices her support of Kingston.

Ricky is facing the camera, so Pete can see his face when he agrees with her. The grainy footage blurs his features, but he still looks sad when he says, “Obviously, Pete needs help. He’s not in a good state physically, financially, or mentally. He a danger to the city, sure, but he’s just as much a danger to himself. I’m not saying we lock him up, but what if we just supervised him. Helped him get clean and sober, and then maybe that would help him calm down a little, give him a little more control over what he’s doing.”

Hearing Ricky – perfect fucking Mr. March with his washboard abs and crest-white smile – talk about staging an intervention is almost more painful than watching Kingston plan murder.

How fucking dare they. What, they know him for one fucking week and decide it’s their business what he does with his life. They’re total strangers, who cares if they think he’s dangerous. Of course he’s dangerous; it’s New York fucking City, everyone here’s dangerous. The people right now discussing his murder probably more dangerous than he is. But them coming after his livelihood? His medicine? Sure, he could probably live without the coke and shit, but what happens when they come for his anti-psychotics? His Zoloft? His Testosterone?

Would they decide that’s unnecessary too, decide to take that away from him for his own safety?

Sofia, previously his strongest defender, looks to be agreeing with Ricky. Only Kugrash is pushing back, talking about self-medication and withdrawal. But Kingston’s talking over him and then the video cuts, ended, back to the paused scene showcasing Kingston mid-yell.

A voice from the corner of his mind he’s beginning to associate with his magic speaks. They know nothing of your struggles… they do not know your pain as we do… they would have you imprisoned or worse, without trial or jury… we can help you escape…

A shadow appears in front of him, and Pete nearly jumps out of his skin. But its only Robert asking for his phone back. Pete hands it over without a word.

“I hope you have considered what you have seen.” He says.

“I might need some time to think it over,” Pete says, which is true. “I know the area, I might head across the street a get a drink.”

Robert frowns. “Why go to another bar and pay when you can get drinks here for free?”

His tone immediately sets Pete on edge. Between his dad, Alejandro, and now Kingston and Ricky, he’s so goddamn tired of men telling him what to do. And Pete’s not some fresh teenager new to the scene; he’s not stupid enough to accept free drinks from a suit.

“No, actually, I think I’d really rather leave.” He says, moving to the exit. Robert lets him leave.

On his way out, Pete catches sight of his reflection in a mirror. It covers a wall of the club floor to ceiling. What he sees reminds him of that one vampire movie, Van Helsing. Most people in the club vanish in the mirror. It’s just him and Robert and the other humans reflected. Robert excluded, Pete thinks that he fits right in with this crowd. It’s his first time seeing his own reflection in days; bloodshot sunken eyes and unwashed hair, his skin visibly damp with sweat.  He looks like any other homeless junkie. How could anyone think he’s dangerous? How could anyone think he’s an important player in this game?

The mirror people stare back without seeing. The voice of magic whispers… but you are important… you are important to us…

Pete turns to keep walking, makes his way out onto the street now bustling with city life. He was stupid to think this new group of friends wouldn’t fall apart or turn on him. They were too good to be true anyway. How could he have forgotten that he belonged here in the gutter with the rest of his people. Homeless junkies and petty thieves.

He wouldn’t forget again.

[ew-headyhearts]

OHMIGODFINALLYMOREEDDSWORLDCONTENTIVEBEENSTARVEDFORSOLONG

Request from ur local Tom simp, I was so happy when u mentioned Tom and the fact he’s a bassist in a nsfw post

istg please, imagine him just practicing with Susan and his S/O randomly just spaced out onto his hands (I’m a strong believer that this fucker wears rings, I’ll fistfight you on it) and he’d notice and be a total jerk abt it, lovingly of course-

ALSO BONUS FOR THE NASTY HORNY SHIT, PLEASE IM SUCH A SIMP-

Anon… do you have any idea what you’ve done? This right here, this is my SHIT!! HIT ME RIGHT IN THE DAMN KINK. This took me way too long to write but I hope it was worth the wait. The ending is abrupt I know. I got carried away a little bit and it became more than what was requested. I might just be willing to make this a two parter... Perhaps.

Obligatory, under the cut for more. Do not read if sexual situations make you uncomfortable.

Rock Me to Sleep (Part 1)

TW: N$FW, Hand kink, mentioning of wanting to be choked, bassists reign supreme

It was late at night and the sun had long since gone down. The clock read somewhere after two o'clock in the morning. Granted, it was a bit hard to tell as you’re fighting off sleep. Blearily trying to blink away the tiredness in your eyes. There was no use trying to get sleep at this point. Even if you wanted to sleep, the house was filled with the low humming of a bass.

Your roommate, Thomas, seemed far too busy to care about your plight. In fact, more often than not, he did his best writing late at night. Or maybe he just enjoyed being a nuisance. How the other two seemed to sleep so easily when Tom was doing his nightly jam sessions, you haven’t a clue. Perhaps they’d grown so used to it over time.

Maybe you should consider taking Matt’s offer from the other night. Ear plugs would make sleeping far easier. Although, noise canceling headphones would prove extra useful.

You ponder on your decision for a while. So long in fact that you slowly begin to drift off to sleep. Just as your eyes flutter shut once more, sleep so close to sinking into every fiber of your being, you’re ripped from it so suddenly. The jarring rift Tom had started seemed to force you unceremoniously from the beginnings of a dream. Even Edd seemed furious about this. He could be heard from his own room yelling at Tom to stop for the night.

The peace that followed was brief, but still joyous. Though, it seemed Tom was only content with playing some lower cords. Was it fortunate for the others? Yes. For you however… The shared wall between both of your rooms did little to muffle the noise.

Maybe it was because you were cranky or maybe it was just the dreariness of your sleep deprived state, but you got up from bed. The moment from between you leaving the sanctity of your bedroom to the point where you were at Tom’s door was nearly nonexistent. Judging by that fact, it’s safe to say you are in some desperate need for sleep.

Tom doesn’t even bother to meet your gaze. He seemed far too caught up in playing to even notice the way your weary body held itself up by the doorframe. His face seemed clenched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut as he let his fingers drift along the fret. While his fingers danced across the strings, his other hand rested comfortably against the body. It seemed to smack lightly at the bass to some imaginary beat he was making up in his head.

You don’t even realize just how long you’re staring at this point. The tired ache of your muscles had long since been forgotten. Instead it was replaced by a new ache that settled deep inside the pit of your stomach. With a deep breath that you had been holding, you step over to the side of his bed. Had you really been breathing that shallowly this entire time?

His eyes slowly open now, finally acknowledging your presence. Though, it didn’t seem to be that bothered by it. Much to your disappointment, his fingers freeze along the fretboard. He raises a brow at you. It was a silent question, one that he’d hope he wouldn’t have to voice. You’d already interrupted his flow, and speaking would bring him further out of the headspace.

“Don’t let me stop you,” you speak, before letting your body fall down onto the opposite side of the bed. Your knees hang haphazardly over the side of the bed while you stretch out across your back.

Maybe it was just your tiredness that wanted him to keep on playing. After all, the current melody he had going was smooth and deep. One that rattled the room slightly and settled deep into your chest. At least, that's what you can tell yourself while you watch him settle back into a rhythm.

Tom didn’t seem to question you further. In fact, he seemed all too content to have a live audience to the current jam session he was having. The way his hands stretched out to each cord was almost hypnotizing. Calluses strummed at smooth metal to produce the sweet melody that filled the room. It seemed his hands had committed the cord to memory and flowed as fluidly as water.

Though, you catch your eyes lingering for far too long on his digits. You could see the way each tendon flexed with the stretch of his fingers along the fret. Or maybe, it was the way the veins seemed to pop with his current hand placement that sent a warmth into your core. Whatever the reason for your current euphoric state, there wasn’t any denying the way you ogled his ringed fingers.

Tom didn’t seem as bothered by your ogling. A smug smirk was plastered across his face and his void-like eyes were turned to look down at you. “You know… you could take a closer look,” His head tilts downwards slightly, nudging towards the guitar in his lap. It was another invitation, beckoning you to come closer and touch him. An offer you would have been foolish to refuse.

Now you really couldn’t disguise your presence as just out of tiredness. He’d fully caught you staring at his powerful hands. But, as you settled right up against him, there didn’t seem to be any judgment in his gaze. The way his muscles seemed to relax as your own fingers brush against his bare arm gave cadence to his relaxed state.

From this distance you could smell the cologne. A clean and crisp scent, dominated by sage and bergamot that tapered into a woodsy musk. Rustic, yet incredibly intoxicating.

The two of you stay like this for a while. You, with one arm tucked into his side and the other splayed out across his forearm, and Tom with his guitar tucked in his crossed lap. You could feel each movement of his muscles under his dark skin. Tom was thankful he’d long since discarded his typical blue hoodie for a gray tank top as he enjoyed the contact between you too.

Maybe he was showing off a bit. His fingers curled ever so slightly against each string as he plucked them. You could notice the faint outline of his tendons stretching against the skin each time he stretched out a digit across the fretboard. The satisfied grin on his face made it obvious, he was definitely showing off.

It seems you don’t even notice the way your hands have started playing their exploration game. One finger moves down his forearm slowly, tracing a vein down to the center of his wrist that rested against the body of the bass.

A part of you worried this position would make his playing awkward, but Tom didn’t seem to care all that much. If anything, the soft furrow of his brows gave the hint to the exact opposite. His forked tongue darted out for a split second, both sides moving along his bottom lip slowly. It seemed he was barely containing his own elicit excitement about this whole scenario.

“Pervert,” Tom chastises you, despite the way his own body seemed to react so sweetly to each touch of your skin against his own, “You’re really easy to entertain, huh?”

“Does it really bother you?” You question him in return. Though, he seemed all too quick to protest the second your body started to pull itself from his side.

“I never said that.” His hands pull away from the base of the guitar for a split second, wrapping around your waist to pull you back into him. This time your knees brushed together, and sides pressed tightly against one another. You settle your head against his shoulder, letting your hair tickle against his stubble.

“You really seem to enjoy this,” Tom noted. His gaze flitted back and forth between you and the way his fingers continued to strum. “If I’d have known you were this easy to work up, I’d have tried this a long time ago.”

You don’t even seem to register his words, too transfixed on the way his hands gripped at the neck and squeezed. He gave a knowing smirk the second he noticed the absolute dazed look you were giving him. Maybe, if you played your cards right, he’d let those hands wander around your throat. Just imagining the way the cold metal of his rings would leave little divots in your skin if he squeezed just right was enough to work you up even further.

It seemed that Tom was happy to go on like this for a while. There was only one reason he’d continued strumming a low tune, with the express purpose of working you up further. He took note of the way your breath would quicken with every little movement. It really seemed like he had you right where he wanted you. Did you want him as much as he wanted you?

The way your hands began to wander a bit further down his forearm and traced into the palm of his hand was enough to draw his attention again. Even as he tilted his head back up to meet your gaze, he continued strumming.

He was confident in his own abilities. Your hand wandering into his own didn’t prove to be any hindrance. If anything, it emboldened him to really put on a show.

“Something on your mind, baby,” Tom asked. Though it seemed less so a question, and more like an implication to your current state. The way his empty eyes fell half-lidded showed his intentions. He really was teasing you and that smug smirk wasn’t going away anytime soon.

He was entirely willing to push you even further, just to see how long it’d take for you to break. A deliciously tortuous game of hot-and-cold. Just to see who’d crack under the pressure first and give in to their desire. Tom was very confident in where he stood in this little game. You, however? Your resolve was quickly crumbling. You found yourself wanting to push just a bit further. To really explore this new desire further.

“Could I uh…” The words died in your throat as your throat was suddenly dry. Your intentions were by no means innocent and the mere thought of acting on such impulses was making your heart race. Tom arches a brow. A silent question urging you to continue. A beat passes before you do so. “Would you let me try something?”

The rift he was working on stopped suddenly. The sound was almost akin to a groan that trailed off into silence. Tom let his bass rest in his lap as he turned his full attention to you. He was intrigued by such a vague request, but his curiosity urged him to give you a nod of approval.

“What did you have in mind?” His tone was light yet impish. Tom had an idea of what you want but he’d rather play dumb. It made the buildup even sweeter when you fully shed your inhibitions and gave in to him. The excitement was overwhelming as his own mind wandered to what you might have in store.

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Fatherly Comfort

Summary - Part 10 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure)

Warnings - slight angst, mentions of pregnancy

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N - G’day guys, I just wanna start by thanking you for all the likes, reblogs and follows since my last post, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this one too. And remember my inbox is always open for requests or even if you just wanna chat. Until next week, enjoy! 

Night falls and morning rises and Dean still hasn’t returned. You’re sitting in the kitchen alone sipping a cup of tea when Sam walks in half asleep. 

“Have you heard from Dean?”

“Sorry, Y/N, I haven’t. I thought he would’ve been back by now. He’s probably sleeping off a hangover in the Impala somewhere. I’m sure he’ll come home soon.”

“You don’t think he would’ve gone back to his old habits, do you? You don’t think he’s in some other woman’s bed right now? I mean, he said one-night stands are easier…”

“No, no, no way. Dean loves you, so much. No matter how upset or hurt, he would never. Just give him time, he’ll be back.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

Sam pours himself a cup of coffee and makes his way into the library, leaving you alone again. You try Dean’s phone again but you just get the message bank. So you call Bobby instead. Much like how he’s the boy’s surrogate father, he had taken you in quickly too. He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, kiddo, what’s up? What have those Idjits done now?”

“Hey, Bobby, I need some advice, I don’t know what to do.”

“Was it Dean? Did he hurt you?”

“Honestly, I think it’s my fault. Do you think I could come stay with you for a while?”

“You know you’re always welcome here. I’ll make up the guest room and stock the fridge.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Anytime, kid.”

You go to your room and pack a bag, ensuring to slip in your knife and gun just in case. You stop by the library on your way to the garage.

“I can’t sit here and just wait for him to come back. I’m gonna go stay with Bobby for a few days, maybe he knows where Dean is. If he comes back here just tell him to call me.”

“That’s a six-hour trip, do you want me to come with you?”

“I need some time to myself. I have my silver knife and gun, I can handle myself.”

“Please, let me come with you. Dean will kill me if he finds out I let you out of here on your own.”

“I’m not a child, Sam. In fact, I am having one. I can look after myself,” you turn to walk out.

Sam follows you to the garage. “Fine. But call me whenever you stop and when you get to Bobby’s. I’m gonna be tracking your cell also.”

“I will. Thanks, Sam.”

He pulls you in for a brief hug. You pull away and hop into the bright red vintage car, tossing your bag on the back seat. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Around six hours later you drive into the Singer Salvage yard. You’re utterly exhausted. Bobby comes out to meet you, opening the door for you before spotting your bag and grabbing it off the back seat.

“You look exhausted, kid. Come on inside and have a drink.”

You’re so drained you just nod and follow him inside. He takes your bag upstairs to the guest room before joining you on the couch with two open beers. You take one but you don’t drink it, you just swap the bottle from hand to hand inspecting it.

“What this cheap stuff ain’t good enough for ya anymore? That boy been spoilin’ you?”

“No, I’ve actually just recently given up drinking.”

“A hunter that doesn’t drink? That’s new. He knocked you up, didn’t he?”

You don’t say anything. You put the beer on the side table and grab a cushion, pulling it close to your chest. Tears start to well up again as you take a deep breath.

“Aw, darlin’, does he know?”

You nod.

“Alright, then what are you doing on my couch?”

“I’m not sure if I should keep it.”

“And Dean?”

“We had a fight about it…I haven’t heard from him since. He has been nothing but supportive, he wants this baby so badly and I know I hurt him when I mentioned thinking about an abortion. 

He said that our relationship was a bad idea and that one-night stands are easier. I’m scared, Bobby. What if he-”

“I’ve known that boy since he was a kid, he’s loyal to a fault and he loves you. If I know that boy then he’s driving around trying to find a way to disperse all the evil from the world so you have no reason to doubt keeping this baby. Deep down this has always been his dream, and now that there’s a chance of it coming true he’s gotta be struggling. Then you go and say you want to take that dream away from him?”

“Yeah…”

“I also can see where you’re coming from. You’re scared, unsure of how you’re gonna protect your child. Unsure of whether Dean will be able to give all this up and live a normal life with you? Am I close?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, let me tell you something. Those are fears every expectant parent has. I may not have had the chance to have children of my own but you three are pretty close to it. And even without all the demons and spirits and ghouls, I’d still worry about you being safe. Parents worry about how to protect their children from getting sick or hurt. That’s completely normal.”

“So you’re saying for the first time in ages I’m experiencing something completely normal?”

“More or less. Listen, you’ll always worry about the safety of your child, regardless of demons and such, but at least they’ll be surrounded by family who will protect them with their lives and do everything they can to keep them safe from all of this and anything else that comes their way.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Aw hell, it’s getting late and I haven’t even fed you yet. What can I get you?”

“I’d love a pizza, but I think the bean would disagree. Just think of anything Sam would eat and get me that.”

“You got the morning sickness, huh?”

“Unfortunately…”

“Alright, I’ll be back soon. You know the drill, make yourself at home.”

After Bobby leaves you pull out your phone and try to call Dean again. You get the message bank again, but instead of hanging up, you leave a message. “Hey Dean, it’s me, I’m worried about you and I miss you. Please call me, we need to talk. I love you, and I love the idea of raising this baby together, you keep saying we’ll do this together and I believe you-” The beep cuts you off. You get up and go upstairs to shower.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up to the smell of pancakes, so you get up and make your way downstairs. You find Bobby standing at the stove with his back to you. You spot the orange juice on the table with two plates. 

“I didn’t realise you cooked.”

“Well, good morning to you too.”

“Sorry, good morning, Bobby.”

“I don’t really not since, well you know. But it’s not every day a pregnant woman turns up on my doorstep. You need a fulfilling breakfast, you’re growing my grandbaby.”

“Your grandbaby, huh?”

“Family don’t end in blood, kid.”

“This baby is lucky to have such a caring and protective grandfather. Oh, and orange juice instead of whisky? It’s a weird look.”

“Shut up, ya idjit.”

“I love you too, Bobby. Thank you again for all of this.”

While you wait for Bobby to finish cooking you grab your phone to call Dean again, but you find it’s flat so you plug it in to charge. When it lights up you find 20 missed calls from Sam but none from Dean.

“Bobby, did Sam call you?”

“Yeah, I told him you were here. He said you promised to call. He was really worried about you.”

“I forgot to call him when I got here.”

You call Sam and apologise for not calling and scaring him. 

Over breakfast, you discuss the ongoing demon situation. And then you help with the dishes. As you’re drying up you hear an all too familiar purr of an engine. You turn to Bobby and say, “you called him?”

“Damn right I did. I need to set that idjit straight.”

“Did you tell him I was here?”

“No, but I bet he spotted that sweet red ride the second he drove in.”

“He’s gonna be so mad I left the bunker. I need more time! I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Hey, Bobby! Please tell me you picked up a car identical to one from the bunker!” you hear Dean call out. The sound of his voice makes you freeze.

Dean walks in without knocking but stops as soon as he sees you. You keep your eyes locked on the ground. You can feel his gaze on you. You start to tear up again, guilt filling your body.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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[secretswiftymarvelfan]

In The Middle Of The Night - Colin Shea x Reader

A/N: I wrote this ages ago with the plan of putting it into a series I had planned but I decided to scrap that series but still wanted to share this little scene I wrote for it!

Summary: In the middle of the night (in my dreams), you should see the things we do, baby.

Word Count: 581

Warnings: Fluff! Mention of Threesome!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist

It was the middle of the night and neither of you had fallen asleep yet. You’d gotten as far as lying in bed together but tiredness and sleep never found you. Instead, you both laughed and talked as you stared up at the ceiling as if you were star gazing.

Colin was listening as you recounted this story from your time at college. You were animatedly talking gesturing wildly with your hands. He smiled whenever you had to stop for a moment because you were laughing too much at the memory.

He moved his head to the side so he could watch you properly. Watching every mini expression you made as you talked. He loved how expressive you could get when you got excited about something. He could listen to you tell this story a million times and he wouldn’t mind because he would never get bored of hearing you talk. He could feel a swelling sensation in his chest when he looked at you as if his heart was taking up all the space. He realised in that exact moment that not only did he love you, but just how deeply he did.

“Oh,” he muttered.

“What?” You ask confused at his interruption.

“Nothing I just-“ he said quickly shaking his head trying to work out if he should say something.

“Ignore me” he waves it off, telling you to continue.

You chuckle at him before jumping straight back into your story while Colin just continued to listen. Except he wasn’t really listening, his mind stuck on the undeniable fact that he loved you. It was a secret that he wanted to scream from the rooftops. He tried thinking of how to tell you, should he buy you a bunch of flowers? Get his guitar out? He wanted the moment to be perfect.

“Okay, what is it?” You say grabbing his attention once more.

“What is what?” He asks playing innocent.

“You weren’t paying attention” you point out turning to face him.

“Yes I was I promise!” Colin defends holding his hands up.

“No, you weren’t because I just said I had a threesome with Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman and you didn’t bat an eyelid,” you tell him with a knowing look.

“Okay I’m sorry, I just got distracted for a moment” Colin apologises with a sigh.

“It's okay, what were you thinking about, you had an odd serious look on your face” you ask laying your hand on top of his.

Colin sighed looking down at your hand and turning his over to intertwine his fingers with yours. He then looked back at you watching as your eyes searched his. He remembered the first night you’d met, how you both spent hours talking and laughing with each other. A memory that wasn't too dissimilar to how tonight was playing out. He smiled when he realised there wasn’t a moment more perfect than this one right here.

“I love you” he smiled squeezing your hand gently.

“What?” You whisper in disbelief.

“You’re my best friend and I love you” Colin repeats.

You remain silent for a moment you’re face still one of shock. Colin starts to panic that you don’t feel the same way, was it far too early? Was he about to scare you away? Just as those fears were starting to get the better of him you smiled shifting closer to him and kissing him gently.

“I love you too” you smile resting your forehead against his.

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