#note on that though i am talking about PEER approval the first step in even getting here was being ok approving of myself first | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvknow · 4 years ago

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in another lifetime | lee minho

genre: ceo/iron man!lee minho x secretary!reader | ceo au ; superhero au ; alcohol mention ; blood mention summary: you and your boss were inseparable. no one could understand how you could work ungodly hours for such an inexperienced ceo. but your job was to stick by Mr. Lee for as long as you were getting paid, and that meant being his date to charity balls and helping him turn into the country’s best superhero. wc: 18.9k a/n: rewrite of that one w**jin fic cuz fuck that guy ~! the public has spoken.... lee minho has been chosen as the winner

Secretary was your title, but you liked to think you were more than just that. Perhaps secretary was just an umbrella term for amateur sommelier slash novice multitasker slash the only employee who knew how to drive stick. Whatever your job entailed, you were sure to list all of those tasks in your updated resume when it was time to pass the torch onto some other poor sucker because you would much rather die than be a secretary for life.

It wasn’t like your boss was a total ass, or anything. That was actually the scary part - the fact that your boss was one of the kindest and most attentive people you’ve ever worked for, yet you still hated this job! What made this so horrid was the amount of walking and running your poor feet had to do. And guess what? No sneakers were allowed in the office, so you were left with walking over forty-thousand steps in a day in toe-pinching sole-aching glossy shoes that were half a size too big for your feet because shoes like these always ran out in your size in the store.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee,” you greeted, walking into his private office at 8:00 am on the dot as normal. With tired eyes, he looked up from his stack of blueprints and gave you a warm smile. You don’t know how he does it, but he always managed to welcome your morning visits with a smile that almost made you consider your resignation. “Iced americano, extra shot.”

“You are a blessing,” he praised graciously. One sip of the liquid gold was enough to wake him up right away.

“Long night?”

“Yeah. You know how it took us hours to decide the wall colors for each floor in our building? Imagine doing that all over again, but for a superhero suit prototype.”

“But it’s just a suit this time, not fifty floors.”

“This isn’t just a suit, _____. It’s the suit of a man who’s going to save the world one day! A suit that everyone will lay their eyes on and judge me for my color choices.”

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

“Yes, two colors actually. Red and gold.”

“Wow, such a loud and loyal color choice.”

“Is it?” Your handsome boss pouted slightly while scanning his designs. “Seungmin said the same thing. Maybe I should change it -”

“No!” you interrupted for the sake of not wanting to look up Pantone’s thousands of shades of ruby and champagne. “Red and gold are perfect for you.”

Minho’s pouty lips melted into a proud smile. “If you believe so, then I trust you. Come take a look - what do you think of it overall?”

You walked around his ginormous custom-made walnut desk to peer over his shoulder. Minho could smell the familiar gardenia scent you wore for years and it immediately brought comfort to his panicking soul. Somehow your presence always calmed him down, no matter what stressful situation he was in. Maybe that’s why he wanted to have you around 24/7. How selfish of him.

Your couple minutes of silence were so agonizing that his nervous foot-tapping habit he told you about that he thought he got rid of in college broke through, which was your cue to answer.

“I like it. I like it a lot, actually,” you admitted honestly. “I would definitely feel safe if I saw you come to my rescue, although the helmet is a little concerning.”

“Concerning how?”

“Well, it has such a… A, uh… How do I put this politely? A dead expression?”

“‘Dead’ is a polite adjective to you?”

“I mean come on, Mr. Lee, there are two eyes and a flat line for the mouth where the corners curve downwards just slightly and it looks like you gave him little fangs. There’s not much life in the eyes, either.”

“They light up when the suit is on!”

“Maybe I’ll like it more when I see it in person?”

“The helmet is the only thing I’m confident about, so nothing and no one can change my mind,” he said stubbornly.

“I’m sure everyone will love it,” you reassured while smoothing out the stress wrinkles on his indigo shoulder pads. “When do you plan on starting the build?”

“In half an hour.”

“What!?” Minho nearly spit out his espresso at your yelping and the frantic way you sifted through your massive planner and scrolling through your emails on your phone at the same time. Oh, so that’s what he forgot to tell you! He knew something felt off. “B-B-But I didn’t get an email that the shipment arrived!”

“I called the company at five in the morning just as they opened and demanded an expedited shipping of all the materials and they’ll be arriving in half an hour.”

“But did the quality department approve of the materials? Or your design at least?”

“You do know I’m the CEO, right?” Minho smirked teasingly. “That’s business talk for ‘fuck Quality’.”

Minho stood up from his black velvet Chesterfield chair to escape your nagging and briskly walked away towards God-knows-where. Like an obedient, push-over puppy, you trailed closely behind with a light jog and all you could think about was how it was too early for your feet to be aching this badly.

“I don’t like the idea of this,” you said firmly.

“You never do. Loosen up a little, will ya?”

“I will not! I looked the other way when you decided on signing a contract to collaborate with that ugly luxury car brand, I agreed with the proposal of a new smartphone that totally flopped in the end, and I barely allowed the approval for the development of the new branch in Taiwan! All of those ideas are whatever, arbitrary even, but this? This puts you at the front line of danger, Mr. Lee! What if something goes wrong, or the material is compromised? What if these companies take you for a fool for not checking in with the quality department first? What if you’re setting yourself up to be sabotaged, huh?”

Minho pressed the down button on the elevator, ignoring your pleas. Even though all you do is nag and play by the rules, he knew you were only doing so because he didn’t bother to. In the end, you were just looking out for him, and he couldn’t appreciate you more.

His gives you what he thought was a reassuring smile. To you, it looked rather mischievous “Lucky for me that you’ll be there the whole time, right?”’

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean you’ll watch the entire suit being built while you work. Then you’ll see how safe it is. I need someone to double check me, anyways.”

“Mr. Lee, I don’t think I’m qualified for that.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

Your engineering experience went as far as Physics I and II classes with a teaspoon’s worth in basic circuitry, so if Minho thought that qualified you to double check his work, then you might have to question his PhD degree.

The elevator welcomed you both into its vacant container. The lowest level this elevator could reach with a single button was the basement, but if the right person (or the wrong person) were to dial the buttons in the order of 4-4-1-9, they would be taken nine floors below the basement to the rumored ‘Super Office’ (ten was too much because Minho didn’t like the feel of the heavy pressure and eight was such a silly number).

The steel doors opened right into his Super Office which he designed to be five times larger than his executive office so he had plenty of room for building up new car designs and bringing his super suits to life for both him and his partners. His successful designs that were once worn but are now retired were placed on mannequins and stored inside a tall glass box on display for him to admire.

You walked up to your favorite one, eyes sparkled adoringly at Seungmin’s first Spider-Man suit.

“You always loved the red and blue,” Minho noted behind you. “Still not a fan of the black one?”

“The black one is scary! No one wants a hero dressed in all black, like that color does not exude the feeling of safe.”

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

Beside Seungmin’s old spidey suit was an empty display case you assumed was meant for this final draft of Minho’s Iron Man suit. Surrounding the two glass cases were dozens and dozens of wood and plastic demos that didn’t work out in the end, but Minho didn’t have the heart to take them to the dumpster.

“Looks like the shipment arrived early!” Your mature but easy-going boss jogged up to the piles of wooden crates and packages that were laid out neatly in the center of his work space. Without much patience, he took off his indigo suit jacket, tossed it to the side like it wasn’t worth two thousand dollars (to which you caught before it hit the ground), and took the crowbar on top of the pile to open the cases with ease. Sheets of metals, different tools, and a cool welding and soldering set scattered along the concrete floor. Minho gave you an excited grin that mimicked a child upon opening gifts on Christmas. “Let the building commence!”

There wasn’t room for any argument, so you took a seat at his desk where he normally would sketch the designs and worked off of his desktop with a heavy feeling of defeat. At least watching the process would be cool, right?

Maybe cool wasn’t the right word. Or watching.

For the next three months, from sunrise to sunset, you spent your day nine floors below the surface for almost twelve hours a day being his little helper. From holding pieces of metal in place while he flame torched them together to feeding him take out because his hands were covered in oil, you did it all and God, if Minho didn’t give you a raise or at least some meal tickets to the executive cafeteria, you might just quit on the spot.

“Done.” With a heavy and exhausted sigh, Minho clapped his hands together and marveled at his nearly-finished product. “We’re done!!”

“What about the red and gold paint?”

“I can’t work on this anymore or I’ll implode. I’ll just take this to my car guy and he’ll paint it exactly how I want it.”

“Not really a self-made suit then, is it?” you dared to challenge your boss.

He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Shut your mouth and give me my food.”

You handed a slouching Minho his box of take-out and wooden chopsticks. While you had a perfectly comfortable ottoman he could have sat on right next to you, he remained on the cold concrete, probably too sore and worn out to even stand up, let alone walk to a cushioned seat. Minho was a man with personality and many faces, but his face of satisfactory upon completing projects was when he was the most handsome. For a while, you two just sat in silence, taking in every detail of the flawless iron suit while slurping noodles.

“So,” Minho began nervously. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Lee,” you say immediately.

“You mean it?”

For someone so intelligent and talented, it was a wonder how a man like him could be insecure about any of his creations.

“Absolutely,” you reassured. “Flawless. Is it fully programmed and everything?”

“Yup. I installed the software and artificial intelligence last week.”

“Sounds like the only thing you need to do is take it out for a spin.”

Minho hummed with approval. “... Can you do it for me?”

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, suck it up.”

“Isn’t it reasons like this why I hired you?”

“I was hired to be your secretary, not your lab rat.”

“To be fair, the job description was pretty vague.”

“Yeah, I definitely did not expect to be helping you construct a modern Knight in Shining Armor cosplay.” After wiping your mouth clean of all MSG and soy sauce, you tossed your dirty napkin in the trash bin that was a considerable distance away.

Minho followed suit, who was also able to get his napkin in the can. Then you tossed another napkin, and then him, and this went on until you were left to toss your boxes and chopsticks. The real challenge was tossing the plastic wraps of the fortune cookies.

“Whoever loses has to do whatever the other says,” Minho proposed.

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement. “Fine, but I will not test that thing out if I lose.”

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

You did your best to crumple up and squish out any air that was left in the wrapped before whipping it like you were throwing the first pitch. The wrapper hit the rim of the can and fell to the side. But that’s ok, because there was no way your boss could even come close to -

“WOO!” Minho cheered, getting up from the floor while you were left slumped in the chair filled with defeat. Of course, whatever he wanted, he would get his way. “Man, I am super lucky today.”

“What the hell! Did you wrap it around a stone or something!?”

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

“There’s no use in arguing. Just lay the consequences on me, boss.”

Minho scooted the ottoman closer - almost a little too close. Then, like a handsome little goldendoodle with his swooshy chocolate hair and sparkling eyes, he gazed up at you pleadingly before offering you your punishment.

Fear and flattery tickled your spine. “Spit it out.”

A grin followed. “You will accompany me to the ball next week.”

“The Children’s Charity Ball? The biggest charity ball of the century? The one where all the white-haired big shots attend with their dates who just barely turned eighteen?”

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

Not wanting him to see you blush, you began cleaning up the mess from the takeout. “Lazy as in why not find a real date? You know, someone you’ll have a good time with.”

“Hey, I always have a good time with you! And I’m doing you a favor if you think about it. If I wanted to bring anyone else, that would mean you’d have to flip through all of my contacts and have you choose the perfect date for me. So unless you want the extra overtime, I’ll expect to see you dressed to the nines?”

“Don’t you want to bring someone more suited for this role? Someone with much more finesse and elegance?” you said as you twirled dirty napkins in the air.

“If I’m being honest, I do not have the time nor do I want to put in the effort into bringing someone so bland.”

“Who says they’re bland? What if I pick out one of your supermodel friends or like a professor, or something?”

“All my supermodel friends like to toke up in bathrooms and what’s a professor going to do? Lecture me to death? _____, please, I am begging you - be my date? You know you and I are going to have a blast, I promise you. We always do when we’re together.”

A moment of silence passed while you shuddered in disgust. You couldn’t believe you were going to say this, but… “So what should I wear?”

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Wear anything besides velvet because that’s my fabric of choice.”

“Can you at least do the picking for me? We should at least match in the slightest.”

Minho let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine, I’ll do all the work.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Lee.”

“It’s what I do best.”

After cleaning up the mess and a last quick polish on the Iron suit, the two of you took the elevator to the level below the basement where Minho parked his favorite fancy shmancy foreign sports car you couldn’t pronounce. In its shiny and spotless all-white glory sat his coup in his executive parking spot where no other car or person was in sight.

“Quite showy for you, isn’t it?” you accused your normally toned-down boss.

“I had a hunch that today was going to be the day we finished, and low and behold, we did. Soojung the Spyder always brings me good luck,” he patted and praised his prized roadster.

The distance from the office to your apartment was a solid forty-five minutes away by public transportation, right on the edge of being not too far, but not close enough, but by car it was only twenty-five minutes. During your first couple of years with the company, you enjoyed the lonely rides and getting lost with your thoughts, but there were moments you got so lost that you missed your stop a couple too many times and sometimes the winter made waiting outside so unbearable. It wasn’t until you started to clock in tons of overtime that Minho was nice enough to drive you home from then on.

“C’mon, _____, just get in the car,” Minho begged for the twelfth time, holding the passenger door open with one hand and an umbrella with the other. He parked his car illegally right in front of the bus stop that so many other employees used. Why did it matter that you were using it while it was thunderstorming and past 10:00 PM? “The heat is escaping the longer we argue.”

“It’s fine! I don’t live too far away,” you lied. “Please go home, Mr. Lee, your puppy must be worried sick.”

“Hazelnut can wait, but I can’t. As your boss, I order you to get in my car!” Though the statement was serious with his booming voice, his pouty lips made it much less intimidating.

“With all due respect, I have clocked out for the day and I don’t have to listen to you until 7:00 am tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me break the law.”

“What do you mean?”

The blinding lights of the bus flashed irregularly, a polite way of telling Minho to get the fuck out of the way. But he didn’t move in the slightest. He patiently waited for you by the passenger door, not moving a muscle and looking like a car model dressed in his long, warm and tan pea coat. The patient and smug look on his face let you know he wasn’t playing around and that he’d dare tell the bus to wait until you got in.

“Mr. Lee, get out of the way!”

“Not until you’re in my car,” he shook his head stubbornly. “The bus is getting closer ~”

Your anxiousness hiked up exponentially when the driver held the horn long and loudly, not looking like they had much patience in them and indicating that they were very, very annoyed. For the sake of not inconveniencing the butt-load of passengers and the driver and securing your job, you hurried into his car, cursing up a storm that rivaled the one outside. A triumphant and smirking Minho followed suit and sped away at a dangerous speed, perhaps breaking a second law that night. For those twenty-five minutes (or maybe it was fifteen with Minho’s driving), the car was silent because your reckless boss focused on cutting every civilian off on the highway and you were too busy covering your eyes in fear.

“You were so dramatic back then,” Minho snickered at the seemingly-harmless memory.

“Me!? You were the one who parked in front of a bus stop and begged me to get in!”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get in the damn car!”

“How does it look to on-lookers that a secretary is getting into her boss’s car!?”

“It’s not like anyone knows our relationship.”

“Oh please, someone like you driving a beautiful shiny car picking up sad ol’ me at the bus stop - of course on-lookers may not know me and my relationship to you, but they definitely know who you are at the very least.”

“I could not give more than zero fucks of what people think.”

“Yes, that much is clear.”

“_____, you can’t always worry about what everyone thinks ~”

You sighed loudly, as if you’d explained this to him a thousand times already. “Worrying is the basis of my entire title, Mr. Lee.”

“And will you drop the ‘Mr. Lee’ once and for all? We’re the same age!”

“Same age, but different titles and a massive pay gap. You and I are not equals.”

Minho reached over to mess up your hair. “You’re so formal, it’s so cute!”

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

Minho had dropped you off and walked you up to your apartment more times than you can count, but you don’t think you’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your humble abode. Of course you’ve visited his mansion just as many times, since you participated in the designing of it, and him having to see such a sad home in comparison is, well, terrifying each and every time.

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

A handsome laugh escaped your handsome boss’s lips. “Still hate having me so close to your home? You know, it’s quite rude you’ve never invited me in and yet you’ve been in mine hundreds of times!”

“My home doesn’t have marble statues or glass refrigerators and I can’t hire you to redesign the interior.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“But I do!”

His tongue tisked disappointedly. “What a shame. I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but friends don’t break sensitive boundaries.”

He passively waved you off. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

It was your turn to pout. What could he possibly want this time? “Already? At least let me sleep peacefully.”

“It’s nothing complicated, I promise! In fact, it’ll save you thirty minutes. Don’t bring me my coffee tomorrow.”

“Don’t? Are you on a caffeine cleanse again? You know how badly that went last time - you barely lasted two days and you fired someone, to which I had to convince you for forty minutes to hire them back.”

“No, not a cleanse. Just come in a bit earlier. Let’s get coffee together.”

“Do you have time for that?” Knowing how packed Minho’s schedule was in the mornings, you wondered his sanity for making time just so the two of you could grab a cup.

“I’ll make time. Actually, you’ll make time. Can you pencil us in for some coffee?”

“U-Uh, yeah!” With nervous and shaky hands, you pulled out your work phone and squeezed in half an hour of coffee time. “Done.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

Before going into your apartment complex, you watched Minho wave goodbye before blasting music with a deep bass and speeding off, leaving a smokey trail from burning rubber.

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

“I hate him,” you said to yourself upon walking into Minho’s office.

Like an artificially intelligent robot that didn’t know of its purpose, Minho dressed in his Iron suit walked around his office doing regular office things, like dusting the blinds and tidying up loose papers on his desk. It was a little difficult to do smaller tasks with his stiff and massive iron hands, so you’re not entirely sure what your boss was doing.

“G’morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “Just taking this baby out on a test drive.”

You had just noticed the paint job was completed on the suit which meant that it was good to go. However, you didn’t think this was the ideal way to ‘test drive’ a superhero suit.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee. Is this really the right way to test drive?”

“I got too excited when my car guy told me it was done. He did it so quickly and precisely, too. Look, he even engraved it with my signature! She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very shiny. The gold and red are much prettier than I imagined.”

“Right!? Not too Gryffindor-y, is it?”

“Not at all,” you said sincerely. “Do you want to get coffee now? We should hurry, you have a conference call at 8:00.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Minho followed you to the door with a trail of heavy iron steps. You turned around quickly and gave him an incredulous look, one he’s seen much too often. “I don’t want coffee anymore.”

“Why not!?”

“I’m not going out in public with you wearing that thing! You look ridiculous!”

“That’s so rude of you to say about my pride and joy! This also took me thirty minutes to put on!”

“Mr. Lee, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

It took only five minutes to get your boss stumbling out of the suit because the button for the release was hidden under a metal panel on his wrist, but at least it was painless.

“I thought you didn’t want to reveal Iron Man until you tested it and got your seal of approval?” you asked the child-like man.

“That’s still the plan, but I’m just so excited! I think we should test it tonight.”

“Tonight? Already?”

“Yup, and I need you here with me in case I die, or something.”

“And to think I was gonna relax and take a bubble bath tonight.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

“I’ll believe it when I drop my bath bomb in my tub.”

In your whole time working here, you’ve spent more time together with Minho at both the office and at his home than working alone. The ratio was about seventy-five percent at the office, fifteen percent at his home, and ten percent miscellaneous, like going to business lunches or simple walks to the coffee shop like today. The long work hours were brutal on your feet and your social life, but the money was way too good to pass. You swore you broke the world record for ‘quickest payment of student debt’ with your hard work.

To anyone else, your job sounded so unappealing that no amount of money could ever convince them to do what you’re doing. ‘So brave’, they tell you, but it’s not that you’re brave, it’s that you’re loyal and as much as you hate to say it, you had the best boss. Yes, he’s a little goofy and yes, maybe a bit naive because he’s so young, but he treated you like you’re his equal and not someone so beneath him who takes all of his notes and takes his laundry to be dry cleaned. Plus when he compensated for your time so handsomely, how could you hate your job? Every day was new and exciting when you were with Minho.

The day went along as normal, from conference calls to lunch and finishing the day with an interview with the press. The very second everyone clocked out at 5:00 pm, you followed a speedy boss to wherever he led you.

“Are we going to test it out now?”

“No, silly, it’s still too bright out! We have to test it once the sun sets.”

You knew that sounded too good to be true. You held a light jog in order to keep up with him. “Where are we going then?”

He turned and gave you a suspicious grin. “Shopping!”

“For what!?”

“You and I need matching outfits for the charity ball, remember?”

“You know, I was just kidding when I said that… We don’t have to match…” The last thing you want is for someone to mistake you as your boss’s date instead of his secretary, but to be fair you don’t know many guests going that bring anyone that isn’t a date, so you kind of shot yourself in the foot when you didn’t make that shot into the trash bin.

“We are matching and I am not arguing with you.”

A defeated sigh escaped your lips before entering the backseat of Minho’s car where his driver would take us anywhere he pleased. He told him a cross section that sounded familiar, but not enough for you to guess where you’re going, so from here on out until you were home taking a hot bath, the rest of today would be a surprise.

The car stopped in front of a glossy black DIOR building. You expected nothing less from Minho.

“You would pick Dior,” you scoffed, completely amazed at how someone so rich could have so much brand loyalty to one company.

“Hey, they are consistent and beautifully crafted, don’t judge me.”

“Mr. Lee and Lovely _____!” An older, graceful lady came running to greet both of you with a warm smile dressed in a hot red shade of lipstick. You recognized her voice to be the owner from all the times you called to ask about any pieces Minho could reserve before they hit the runway and were snatched up by the ‘I Have Daddy’s Credit Card and Inheritance’ private-school boys. This was your first time seeing her in person and her calming voice matched her mature appearance perfectly. “This piece has been waiting for you ~”

“I can’t wait, Auntie,” he smiled back graciously like an obedient nephew rewarded with cookies.

She led the two of you to the very back where the private dressing and tailoring area was, where the mirrors went from the floor to the ceiling. The store owner walked in with Minho’s fabric of choice, a velvet jacket with crisp black pants and a white button-up that had the slightest sheen of silver from metallic strands woven into the shirt fabric. In the shadows, one would think the velvet was black, but in the light or at certain angles, there was the slightest sheen to it that showed the darkest shades of indigo and green, like an oil slick. You couldn’t believe the amount of detail in the velvet that your eyes looked like they were popping out of your sockets.

Your boss was so eager to try it on that he was taking off his pants before you were warned. Quickly you turned around and shut your eyes, pretending that you didn’t see his KakaoTalk-patterned boxer briefs.

“M-M-Mr. Lee! At least warn me if you’re going to strip!!”

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

A couple of zips and rustling of fabrics later, Minho tapped your shoulder to turn around. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets again while looking at your boss dressed in a suit that was clearly made for him and him only. It didn’t look like any tailoring was needed at all! He looked like he walked right off the runway. There had to be some enchantment spell in the fabric because you swear you’ve never seen any man more handsome before this moment.

“I take it you like it?” Minho teased.

Your cheeks tickled with red when he caught you staring. “You look amazing as usual, Mr. Lee.”

“You think so?” You knew so. “It’s not too flashy, is it?”

“Not at all. I think you have the perfect amount of flash. How does it feel?”

“Like a glove. It’s already perfectly tailored!”

“I know your measurements by heart, my dear,” Auntie bragged. “Of course I had it ready to go already.”

“You’re the best.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. “What would I be without you?”

“Not GQ’s best dressed man under thirty, that’s for sure.”

“Could you do me another favor? Do you perhaps have something for _____ to match? We have a charity ball next weekend.”

“Mr. Lee, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

Before you could object, Auntie ran to the back of the store where all the hidden inventory was held. You glared at your cheeky boss, still dressed in his sexy outfit and it was hard to keep your glare when he looked so damn good, that handsome bastard.

“I’m not wearing whatever she brings out.”

“You will and you’ll look great and we will buy it, so don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

Both you and Minho whipped your heads to see Auntie running in with a blacker than black satin and silky outfit that was simple but elegant. Nervous goosebumps spread through your arms and straight to your wallet. You already knew this was going to be the most expensive outfit you’ve ever worn.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped so slightly.

“Try it on!”

Minho followed Auntie out of the dressing room but not before shooting you a triumphant wink. I mean, who were you to deny your boss and the store owner, right? So with ease, you put on the cooling fabric that clung to your body in all the right spots. The mirror did all justice and perhaps it was a magical mirror that Dior spent millions on to convince their customers to buy everything because damn, you look hot! With your face as red as Minho’s Corvette, you presented the outfit to the two judges.

“Oh, it fits perfectly!” Auntie gushed with wide eyes.

Minho stayed silent with his mouth ajar and eyes scanning you up and down like you were a precious gem discovered in a deep cave beyond a waterfall. It was hard to differentiate between feeling flattered and feeling like object, but at least you were a desired object, right?

“You look amazing,” Minho admitted sincerely, no longer looking at you with awe and rather content.

“Really? I look ok?”

His handsome smile shined brightly at you. Whether you were dressed in your formal work clothes that screamed ‘absolute virgin’ or you were head-to-toe in Dior, you were never just ‘ok’. You always had the attention of everyone in the room once you walked in, especially his. You were always stunning, no matter what. Validation from your boss always came easy and calmed you quickly because he only had eyes for you.

“You look just fine,” he lied, because ‘fine’ didn’t come close to how you looked to him.

“We’ll be the best dressed at the ball, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

The car ride home was quiet other than the trot music playing on the radio from the driver’s playlist. Minho seemed as cool as a cucumber, but you were at the edge of your seat feeling a bit awkward and ugh, unintentionally sweaty. Compliments from any man was one thing, but coming from your boss? A whole different level of weird, especially if they weren’t work related! What did ‘you look just fine’ even mean!? Was that a good thing? Were you too average-looking? Whatever it was, from now until you fall asleep at ungodly hours, those words were going to circulate your thoughts, perhaps haunt you for days.

At exactly 7:03 pm, just as the sun set below the horizon revealing the indigo night sky, the driver pulled up to the back entrance of the building that led to a secret elevator that would take you straight to the underground office after punching in the code. A giggling and grinning Minho was the first to hop out of the car and ran towards the door.

“Mr. Lee, hold on!” you whined as you struggled to get out of the tall car.

“Hurry up, _____! Now’s the perfect time to earn that OT!”

“This time-and-a-half pay better be worth it…”

Upon entering the elevator, you were ready to punch in the 4419 code, but Minho had already pressed the button to the top level, which led to the roof slash helipad.

“Why are we going up?”

“We can’t test the suit inside, silly. Seungmin came by earlier to pick up his suit after I recalibrated it last night and I asked him to take the suit to the roof.”

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

“You let him wear it before you test drove it!? Mr. Lee, that’s extremely reckless!”

“Relax, I trusted he wouldn’t mess anything up, and look! It’s right there!”

The glass elevator made a slow stop to reveal the red and gold suit standing proudly in the center of the helipad. As soon as the doors panned open, Minho handed you his suitcase before running out and tossing his blazer onto the floor before hastily stepping into the suit.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, running back to your frazzled state. He took the leather suitcase from your hands and popped it open so he could give you a glass tablet. “This is for you.”

You looked at the shiny slab of glass with wonder. “What is it?”

“It’s like a control center. You’ll see what I see in terms of my stats and where I am in the city. If anything goes wrong, like say the jets give out, I need you to send a command to manually turn on the back-ups.”

“And what code is that?”

“Not important, we’ll study those later.”

“Later!? What if something happens tonight!?”

“Nothing will happen I promise, I’ll see you in a bit ~!” his cheering faded away the further he ran from you and to his beloved suit.

There was no use in fighting your boss, so you did as you were told and touched the tablet to reveal the control panel. It was black for a few moments before the screen showed your tiny self off in the distance looking down at the tablet which meant that Minho was able to put on and turn on the suit super quickly without any problems.

“What do you see?” he asked you through the speakers of the tablet from his built-in microphone in the helmet.

“I see me in the distance, the battery level of the suit, and all other weird liquids and commodities at one hundred percent.”

“Perfect!”

You turned to look at your boss who was stretching and feeling out the suit as if this wasn’t his 50th time wearing it. Still, he looked so excited and proud of his hard work, it was hard to tease him about how childish he was, even if he was trying out his yoga poses he just learned.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels incredible! Totally indescribable now that I’m out in the open. And it’s surprisingly lightweight.”

“How were you able to make it feel light with all that metal?”

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

You rolled your eyes. “The work of a genius, huh?”

“You’ve got that right. Are we ready to take off?”

“I believe so. Are you ready to take off?”

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

Before you knew it, you saw the camera’s view on the screen wobble and turn towards the edge of the building. Terrified, you saw your child-like boss get a running start before he dove off the edge and into the sea of the city.

In a panic, you ran and took a peak over the edge, hoping the jets or whatever kept the suit flying would operate properly and leave you without any worries. At first, Minho was but a dark red speck falling beneath the shadows, but a second later, he came flying up at lighting speed doing tricks and flips with ease and whooping loudly, as any normal CEO of a software company slash wannabe superhero would do. You could hear him giggling through your tablet, and like a spectator watching the most spectacular aerial performance, you watched him with a smile on your lips.

After his solo, he glided back down to you and hovered beyond the edge just at your eye level. You couldn’t see any features behind the glass of his eyes so you were left awkwardly staring at his expressionless helmet with those signature weird fangs. After all you and Minho have been through together, even with an idea like this being so ridiculously obscure, he could always rely on you to support him no matter what. He saw how your eyes sparkled with wonderment and how your cheeks dusted a soft pink and it was then that he knew you would stay by his side for even more ridiculous shenanigans to come.

He would never let you leave, anyways. Even in another lifetime, he’d have you by his side forever.

“How cool do I look right now?” he asked. His voice sounded deeper and electronic through the helmet, like he was a robot or had his voice programmed through a phone like Siri. You imagined an idea like that was how Minho planned on becoming immortal one day.

You raised a brow. “You look kind of… scary?”

“Scary!? Why?”

“I don’t know, if I saw a flying robot come at me at rocket speed, I think I’d be terrified!”

“Well, if I come to your rescue, at least you’ll know it’s me.”

“I suppose. So what are you going to do now? Throw a reveal event? Press conference, perhaps?”

“That, or wait for a Demon-Level threat to pass through our city. I don’t know, whichever comes first.” Minho shrugged nonchalantly. “Wanna see something cool?”

Before you could agree, Minho held his palm to the sky before a neon blue blast shot out of it, disappearing into God-knows-where. You could feel the heat from the beam of light radiated around you and fear sparked inside your chest.

“What the hell was that!?” you exclaimed.

“Isn’t that so cool!? Gonna hit some suckers and fry them up like bacon!” Your boss blindly shot another beam of light into the sky and you prayed to someone out there that no planes would disintegrate in the process.

“Hey, careful! What if you hit a satellite or something!” In the process of grabbing Minho’s iron hand so he’d stop being so reckless, you burned yourself upon touching the hot metal opening like a total dumb ass and yanked your hand back. “Ah!!”

“Oh, shit.”

Quickly and haphazardly, Minho landed back on the helipad and climbed out of the iron suit. In the process of running back to your aid, he untied his black silk necktie to use as a temporary band aid on your scalding palm. Gingerly, his cold hands took yours and ran a thumb over the scarring semicircle.

“Ah ah ah stop!!” you cried with tears of pain and embarrassment streaming down your cheeks.

“Sorry! Here,” Minho wrapped his tie around your palm and tied it tightly. The pure silk felt cooling against the burn and soon your tears stopped and you couldn’t do anything else besides sniffle. “Let’s go back inside. My office has a first aid kit.”

Your mumbling and cursing boss led you back to his office with urgency, blaming himself for being so stupid and recklessly playing with what could be considered a weapon of mass destruction. And now his favorite person, the one person who believed in his iron suit, was hurt in the process, pouting cutely and holding your burned hand like you were an injured puppy. This was one of his greatest fears upon completing this project.

You sat on his sapphire blue velvet couch with the bronze-gilded frame that looked like it belonged in the Ravenclaw common room trying to alleviate the pain of the burn in Minho’s ice bucket (for his white wine, of course) while he shifted through his drawers to find the first aid kit you gave him a couple years ago.

“Do you remember when you got this for me?” he asked as soon as he pulled it out from the bottom drawer. You shook your head, too lightheaded and in too much pain to remember. He sat next to you and began to tell the old story while patching you up. “It was your third year working here, but my first day as CEO when I took over for my Dad. I got so many paper cuts from all the paperwork I had to read and sign and I got a massive headache afterwards and I just wanted to eat something because all I had that day was an iced americano. It was so late and by the time I was finished, it was maybe 7:00pm -”

“8:00 pm,” you corrected in between sniffles.

“Ah, so you do remember! At 8:00pm, you waltzed into my office wearing your comfiest clothes with a bag of take-out in one hand and the first aid kit with a million bandaids and Tylenol in the other. That night, you sat in my office and helped patch up my fingers, fed me lo mein, and helped me with the rest of the paperwork for two hours. I thought of you as my guardian angel since that day and vowed to myself that no matter what, you and I would stick by each other’s side and be the dynamic duo that we are forever. Oh, how the tables have turned tonight. Now I’m the one patching you up.”

Minho had finished wrapping your palm at the end of his story. Something about his proclamation didn’t sit right with you. Something about staying here forever, clocking in massive amounts of overtime and being subservient to the same men sounded like your own personal hell.

“I can’t be your secretary forever, Mr. Lee.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to think about that for quite some time, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

“I, more than anyone else, know that.”

Your handsome boss chuckled lightly at the heavy subject. His curly coffe hair covered his eyes as he looked down at your hand and traced small shapes on the bandaid. You knew that he knew you didn’t want to stay here forever, and he couldn’t blame you, but it didn’t make the thought of you leaving any less heartbreaking.

“Does it feel any better?”

“Much better,” you said truthfully as the cooling gel felt like a magical potion.

“This first aid kit is the only practical gift I’ve ever received. All others are for the aesthetic.”

“Do you prefer practical gifts, Mr. Lee?”

“Of course! The fuck am I going to do with a VVS diamond-encrusted chain?”

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

“And partake in their pissing contest? No, thank you.”

“You’re telling me you won’t be doing that this weekend at the Charity Ball?”

“When I have you next to me, I don’t need VVS diamonds,” Minho grinned flirtatiously.

You hit his arm with your good hand and he flinched upon his correct prediction. “I am not an accessory!”

“Of course not! You are my beloved intelligent sidekick that all other big wigs tell me they wished they had! But when you look like that, it’s bonus points ~”

“Ugh, your kind are all the same!” you scoffed, trying to collect your things and storm out the door.

“It’s a compliment!” he teased. Minho managed to chase after you and grab your things to carry to his car so he could drive you home for the 1106th time.

After a long and tiring rest of the week helping your boss do target practicing with the iron suit on, Saturday had arrived and now you had the honor of accompanying said-boss to a Big Dick contest disguised as a Charity Ball. The main event was for the sake of the children of course, but the real show was to see who was wearing what designer with what accessories and who pulled up in the fanciest sports car with the youngest and sexiest date in their arms. You were so, so lucky to be working for someone who liked to stay low key, despite always being the center of attention.

“Why are you so nervous?” Minho teased, nudging your arm as you both walked up to the front doors of the venue. “This isn’t the first time you’ve played as my date.”

“I know, but it doesn’t get any easier,” you admitted, shyly covering yourself from the much-more revealing outfit now that it was tailored to fit.

“You and I look fine! Muted colors, minimal diamonds, low key attitudes - we’re perfect! No one will even notice we’re here.”

That was a complete lie, because the second you walked in, a swarm of gossip columnists and magazine writers circled around the two of you, bombarding you both with the same questions you were so used to.

“Mr. Lee, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Lee, who’s your lovely date?”

“Mr. Lee, what’s the best way to lock in that your date will go home with you?”

Minho raised his hand slightly and all that could be heard were the cameras clicking. God, the power he has…

“Dior, a close friend, and be so irresistible that they can’t say no.”

Without another word, he gently took your bandaged hand and led you out of the circle of gossipers who were silent in awe. With your free hand, you covered up your ugly laughing.

“You’re such a cornball!” you said in between a fit of giggles.

“An irresistible cornball, at least. Now, walk me through all these people again?”

Minho was young and when it came to networking, he still had the mentality of being the CEO’s son rather than the CEO. That meant that Minho didn’t care much in remembering other CEO’s names and relied on you to remind him of all the people he should have remembered three years ago. It was a consistent hour of introductions and small talk about future goals, collaborations, and golfing, all of which you were able to expertly tune out while sipping prosecco and snacking on caviar tarts. Years of experience thankfully made these events easier.

“Did you practice your speech for your donation?” you reminded Minho after taking a seat at the prestigious Table 2. Since the company was one of the Charity Ball’s biggest sponsors, the CEOs were always invited to say some manufactured speech.

“Yeah. I even practiced it in the shower. Hopefully I get the charity organization correct this time.”

“It’s amazing how you even got this far.”

The Charity Ball should have been named See Who Can Donate the Most Money Ball because every speech given by a CEO of some company tried to out-do each other. Luckily, your company’s speeches were always last and your touch of humanity written on paper always had the audience in awe with the Minho’s compassion. To pass the time, you and Minho played rock-paper-scissors and whomever lost had to drink champagne. Let’s just say Minho ended up having the infamous Asian Glow.

His face was still blushy by the time it was his turn and you almost felt bad because the pictures with the flash turned on probably wouldn’t be so flattering in the magazines, but that wouldn’t matter because he still looks like the most stunning man in the room. All eyes were on him as he made his speech, but he had his eyes on you. Probably because he would piss his pants if he saw how many people were looking at him. You gave him two thumbs up for encouragement.

“It is the greatest honor to be here and giving a speech for the third year in a row. Children are the source and future for a better world, and it is our duty to -”

You blanked out for most of it since you wrote it. It was hard to focus anyways when his eyes were so piercing, so you averted his gaze and counted the number of peppercorns on his unfinished steak. At an alarming fifty-three, you glanced around the gallery to see if anyone was actually paying attention. Many, if not all, of the guests around your age were paying attention with dreamy eyes and pouty lips, all wishing they were in your position tonight. Some even dared to make eye contact with you as if to say, ‘how DARE you NOT pay attention to the sexiest man alive!?’ The older, more powerful guests seemed genuinely interested in the amount Minho was donating and the older dates seemed to care more about their reflection on the back of a spoon.

The fattest check with a bunch of zeros was walked onto the stage. A standing ovation was in order of course, and you conformed with the crowd, even though applause always made Minho visibly uncomfortable.

“He throws a big, fat check to charity and yet he still doesn’t like the attention, huh?”

As the clapping died down and the noise faded into the smooth hum of the live piano and jazz music, you turned to face the owner of a familiar sly voice. The man that stood before you was the famous doctor slash art collector slash playboy who you’ve come to know after attending all of these flashy events.

You smiled slyly at the man. “If it isn’t GQ’s Bachelor of the Month, Dr. Park Seonghwa.”

The raven-haired man gave you his signature smirk. Then he took your hand and kissed it tenderly like the prince he is. “Lovely _____, pleasure to see you as always.”

“Have you been doing that to all the other guests you frequent at these events?”

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

You let out a loud scoff. “You and your way with words.”

“Are they enough to convince you to finally go out to dinner with me?”

“Not quite.”

Seonghwa sighed tiredly and dropped his head as if this was the first time you’ve rejected him. Guess every time felt like the first time. The handsome raven held his hand out to you. “If not dinner, how about a dance?”

Hesitantly, you searched for your boss like you were trying to sneak away from a parent. He was busy shaking hands and catching up with The Important People’s Club, so you didn’t think one dance would hurt, though once you feed a dog a treat, he’ll be begging for more forever.

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

“What!? Ok, fine, one dance, unless you’re really feeling it and then we’ll dance some more.”

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

The young doctor led you to the dance floor before you could object further. For someone not-so-smooth with pick-up lines, he was definitely smooth with his moves. With one gentle hand on your waist and the other holding your hand, you two glide around the white tiles like the Royalty of the ball, and truly, for a few moments, it really felt like you were the star of this fairy tale.

Seonghwa let out a tired sigh. “Intelligent, beautiful, loyal, and good at dancing? How are you so good at everything?”

“Stop that.”

“I mean it! Yet no man swept you off your feet.”

“Just because I won’t say yes to you, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting for that special someone.”

Seonghwa held your hand up high and made you do a little twirl. “You might be waiting for a while, beautiful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“With Mr. Minho by your side twenty-five hours eight days a week, there is no man that has the courage to come in between such a strong relationship.”

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

Song number one melted into song number two and it passed you both as you continued to discuss the hot topic of why you’re still single. It’s a conversation topic that you thought was reserved for nosy family members for you to brush off, but coming from another man who has begged for your number since you both met really put your love life into perspective. Perhaps you were too loyal to your boss…

While engulfed in the heated debate, Minho was desperately searching for his right hand where he thought you’d be - either at your seat or by the bar, but you were at neither. After receiving his order from the bar, he let the expensive gold liquid over ice flooded through his bloodstream, which led him to a group of gawking gossipers whining and gazing at the dance floor. What was all the hype about?

The sight of you in the arms of the world’s most arrogant doctor didn’t sit too well with him. The scene made him see green.

“You’re such a liar!” Minho heard you laugh aloud. “I did NOT give you so-called bedroom eyes at Yuta’s house warming!”

“You’re telling me you weren’t eyeing me up and down like a barbecued piece of pork belly dipped in sesame oil?”

“That’s because you had sesame oil on your white shirt!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Minho took another sip of his golden drink before putting it down haphazardly and waltzing towards the dancing couple. To onlookers, this scene looked like it was straight out of those cheesy love triangle dramas. The gossipy gals wondered - would Minho punch Seonghwa? Would he grab your hand harshly and drag you away to scold you and tell you how much he cared about you? Would he kiss you!?

You saw your uncharacteristically stern-looking boss approaching, and even though you’re unsure of his intentions, you still smiled brightly, as you always did whenever you saw him. Minho lightened his heavy, angry steps. Even with another man by your side, you still looked at him. How could he be mad at you?

“Hello, Mr. Minho,” Seonghwa greeted, holding out a hand for him to shake. You knew your boss wasn’t the biggest fan of Seonghwa, but he politely returned the gesture anyways. Somehow you felt your heart beating in your throat - the tension on the dance floor was too high, too powerful, and you were but an awkward and nervous secretary standing on the side while two powerful men duked it out.

“Dr. Seonghwa, nice to see you again.” Minho was good at lying, but his lies never passed you. The amount of discomfort knitted in his eyebrows almost made you snicker. “Long nights at the hospital still?”

“As always, but at least it’s rewarding and enjoyable. How are your long nights at the office?”

“Can’t get enough of them, right, _____?”

“What? You’re still doing that much overtime?” Seonghwa asked worriedly. Now, was he worried because you were overworking yourself or was he worried because you were spending so much time with a man that wasn’t him?

You shrugged unapologetically. “I love that overtime pay.”

“_____, that’s not good for your health -”

“I tell them that all the time,” Minho interrupted defensively. He was always like this whenever anyone questioned the amount of work you had. To you, it was not much of a burden at all, but to anyone else, they couldn’t fathom your work hours but if they saw your paycheck, maybe they’d understand. Even your boss felt bad whenever your friends blamed him, but no matter how much he tried to convince you of a normal 40-hour work week, the duties of being his secretary never added up to just that. Therefore, your boss always felt the need to defend you and him for the sake of making sure you weren’t portrayed as his slave. “But you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only because it’s you, Mr. Lee,” you said like you’re reading a script. Somehow that doesn’t translate through the ears of the two powerful men in front of you, as your boss smiled triumphantly and Seonghwa couldn’t help but shake his head.

“If you ever want to take me up on that date, Lovely _____, you know who to call.” The most handsome man who’s ever flirted with you took your hand gently and planted a sweet, soft kiss that sent little tingles all up your arm. You don’t think you’ll ever reciprocate his feelings, but the feeling of being desired and wanted by a man really kicked up your ego and really made you think - when was the last time you ever liked someone, or someone ever liked you?

Park Seonghwa disappeared into the crowd and perhaps left the Charity Ball all together. Until next time.

Your boss turned to face you, whose stern face quickly melted into innocence as he knew what was coming by the look on your annoyed expression. “What?”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and mumbled under your breath, “Ugh, you are unbelievable, Mr. Lee.”

As you tried to escape, the desperate man caught your hand. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you for just five minutes, can you let me do that?” you snapped in a hushed volume. “Or do you need to watch over me and speak on my behalf, since you’re my Father apparently!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like that.”

“You say that every time, especially when I’m talking to another man and even more-so when I’m talking to Dr. Park. When will your sorries mean something?”

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

All of the attention that was once focused on the handsome CEO and his secretary shifted to the glass ceiling that was now shattered to pieces upon the force of some dozens of masked strangers dressed in all black. Minho instinctively, though harshly, forced you down so he could hover over you so none of the glass hit you. What followed seemed to be too numbing, as all of the stimuli in the banquet hall was too much to handle.

“Get down,” Minho instructed while pushing you under one of the tables. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Lee!”

Of course, he didn’t listen, as Mr. Lee always did what he wanted, right? Which would normally annoy the fuck out of you, but who has the time to panic about what your boss was up to when you’re stranded under the table and shrouded by cheap table cloth linen?

Since those people had invaded and fallen from the sky, you noticed that no gunshots or any sort of violence outside of melee were heard. No purpose of the attack is even known yet, but the signs were promising, until the famous alarm was heard throughout the whole town.

“Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until all threats have been cleared. Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until -”

“Ah, yes, the richest of the rich gather here today to donate the smallest percentage of their some billions of dollars to charity,” a booming voice tisked through a microphone. “Do you feel good about your good deed of the year? Are you proud of yourselves?”

For some unknown reason, the voice paused, as if waiting for an answer or a reaction from the people. Nothing was heard besides shrill screaming and crying, which was probably what the wannabe-vigilante wanted. For the first time, you peaked through the slits of the table cloth. At the stage where Minho gave his speech was a now-broken stage with the foot of a giant robot through it. It was a very top-heavy robot that looked like it had a large cavity in its belly, whose odd shape probably served some weird purpose unknown to everyone.

“Perhaps you’ll be proud of your donations for once when we capture you all and milk you of your every last penny!” The man laughed evilly at the head of the robot. “Down with the rich!”

“Down with the rich!” his people cheered in unison.

The oddly political turn of events made the scene less jarring - it seemed like an over-exaggeration of townspeople coming together to fight for higher taxing of the rich. Then you were reminded of the Dragon-level threat by how the minions loaded up the richies with a gun pointed to their heads and the complex mechanism that loaded them up to the belly of the robot. Somewhere among the mass of people you saw Seonghwa in between another surgeon and a senior engineer at Tesla before he disappeared behind the walls of metal.

“Hey, I found another one!” someone yelled close by. “Under Table 2!”

Shit. “Fuck.”

Perhaps all those years of advance self defense classes that Minho’s father enrolled you in would come to good use this time.

By your glamorously-strapped heel, one of the masked men dragged you out from under the table. There was no use in struggling, and the man seemed quite satisfied with how you complied.

“Let’s go, darling.”

With your free foot, you dug the pointy end of the studded heel into his groin. Luckily, you can only ever imagine how painful something like that could feel. He was in so much pain that he doubled over and let go of your foot, leaving you to flee to God-knows-where after you stole his police baton.

“Don’t fucking call me darling,” you spat as a farewell.

There were too many men in between you and the emergency exit, so you had to fight your way through like in those cheesy American action movies. A bunch of kicks in the groin here and a couple baton to the knee caps there were enough to get you by half way, but then they started double-teaming on you. Of course, this was much harder, but Senior Mr. Lee didn’t give you the best sensei in the damn nation for no reason. You felt invincible even after defeating multiple double teams, but it was the triple teaming that got you stuck. You can only kick and baton so many groins at one time until two men held each of your arms and the other stole the baton.

While struggling to break free, you managed to knee the one in front of you in the chin, causing him to cut his lip with blood dripping on his cheap leather shoes. After realizing what had happened, he punched you in the cheek as punishment. Was that a bone you heard cracking?

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

Out of nowhere, your knight in Iron armor landed before the one who punched you and returned the favor, sending his body through so many walls of this building that you worried about the foundation and how long you had before it collapsed.

Minho’s red and gold helmet swung sharply and the empty eyes were staring into the souls of your captors while at the same time not.

“Who’s next?” Minho threatened with his super cool and inaccurately deep robotic voice.

Both men fled the scene as quickly as possible, losing their grip and throwing you to the floor. The penny taste finally registered in your brain that yes, you were definitely coughing and spitting out blood.

The cold metal of Iron Man’s hand helped you to your feet while the other cupped your quickly-bruising cheek gently. The underlying tenderness of your boss’s touch somehow healed all pain, or perhaps it was the cooling iron. Gestures like these were so foreign that you almost forgot it was your boss behind the mask and not some handsome stranger who was ready to sweep you off your feet. It was instances like these where you wished the latter was real.

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go save your investors.”

A light chuckle came from Iron Man. “My driver’s already waiting outside. Are you able to run?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

“Do not argue with me until you save everyone, Mr. Lee.”

Minho shook his head tiredly. He knew there was no use arguing with his headstrong secretary. “You’re so stubborn. Just promise you won’t get into any trouble this time.”

“No.”

“I’m cuttin’ down on your work hours!” he yelled, blasting off to fight the giant robot thing so he wouldn’t have to hear you argue back again.

You were left with a couple of masked minions who still had the balls to attack and capture you as if you were worth more than your surprisingly above-average five-figure salary. Your copper saliva mixed with your boss trusting you enough to not die in the middle of a Dragon-level threat really pumped the adrenaline through your veins, so as one man sprinted to attack, you managed to dodge it and kick him in the throat before he could try something else. The other guy tried to sneak up behind you, but you were quicker, swinging the baton hard enough to the head to knock him out cold. The power you felt coursing through your body left you on a major high. Where were all the other minions? No way was that all…

In the middle of the banquet hall was the face-off of the century, rivaling any and all story lines from DC and Marvel combined. A tiny seven-foot-something intricately crafted and painted sheet of metal was about to fight a giant several-stories tall and several-dozen-tons heavy hunk of junk with dozens of guests they managed to scoop inside. Now how was Mr. Lee going to save the day this time?

“Lee Minho, the man of the night,” the man controlling the ship scoffed. “You will look like my childhood favorite action figure once I stuff you in a glass box in my office! A prized treasure is what you’ll be. How does that sound?”

“Sounds kinky.” You could just sense the smirk behind his mask. “Then what will you do to me?”

“Milk you of all your assets, of course! Liquidation of its truest definition! The redistribution of wealth will come easy to the people, especially with your earnings in the mix!”

“Fine, take my money. But let these people go.”

“Absolutely not! I need all the money I can get! How do you expect me to change the distribution of wealth of the entire world with just one CEO’s salary!? Mr. Lee, I thought you knew that, silly.”

“Ok, fine. You take all of our money and then what?”

“Well, kill you, of course.”

A chorus of gasps and crying were heard from the belly of the machine.

The philosophical man continued. “People like you are the very reason there is a large pay gap. You sit on your ass drinking cocktails and eating caviar and you donate to some profiting charity only a tiny percentage of what you make while all the good hard-working people are the ones bringing the big bucks into your bank account! And what do they get? Small paychecks and four hours of sleep!”

Yeah, this guy was bad, but he had his points, so you’ll cheers to that, am I right?

“Well, then where will you get your money after that? Hm?” The captain stayed silent. “Where will you get more money to sustain this utopia? Certainly not from the hard-working people who have no experience leading or handling such a huge sum of money. And certainly not from you, right? Ha! With your five-figure salary paychecks that barely get the bills paid on time.”

A heavy arm swung to try and snatch up your boss. Though the arm was so large and heavy, Minho barely managed to escape his grasp. By the silence of the once-chatty leader of the pack, you could tell that he was bothered by the words spat by the youngest CEO in the room. How dare Minho mock his hard-earned pay when his earnings were given to him on a VVS diamond-encrusted platter!? There were a couple of times where he landed a couple of hits on your boss and you should feel worried, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it. You hated to be on the enemy’s side, but you, too, were one of those five-figure salary paycheck owners that are barely scraping by with their bills. And of course you were all for the redistribution of wealth, but this guy definitely went a little too far…

You would think that the sheer size of this oddly-shaped hunk of metal wouldn’t be able to move so fast, but it managed to capture Minho by digging its claw to the wall and sandwiching Minho in between. He couldn’t even wiggle his way out between gaps because the thing was pressing too hard against the wall. Minho could feel the metal bending from inside.

“People like you will never understand the worth of the dollar,” the captain seethed. “Not when stacks come to you in baskets sewn with gold and jewels commissioned by your Daddy. People like you, and everyone captured, need to be humbled a little. Maybe you all can learn a little something from the working class.”

“Then we die, is that right?”

“Of course! But at least you’ll die a hard-working man, Mr. Lee.”

“I will. But I’ll die a hard-working man with billions in my grave before I let you take a penny!”

The blue beam of light that you once cursed for burning a half circle on your palm you were now thankful for, as that beam of light shot your boss up in the air and freed him, taking a few fingers off of the hunk of metal with him. A couple more shots of incinerator beams later, and both arms of the robot had been severed and half disintegrated. Minho kicked the glass where the leader sat and pulled out the defenseless lump of flesh that spoke the harsh truth about the wealthy. The leader was a young man who was not much older than either you or your boss, who didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Perhaps he expected, or even wanted, to go out this way - fighting for what he believed in.

The police, who had been waiting outside for all the ruckus to die down, came in and cuffed the leader and a few of his minions who cowardly hid under the tables. Minho helped all of his investors safely come out and among the crowd you saw Seonghwa, safe and sound.

You thought after a traumatic attack that now was not the time and place to reveal who Iron Man was or even associate yourself with him, so you tried to mix in with the crowd and book it to the driver like he asked you to do before. But of course your flaunty boss wanted to do the exact opposite.

“_____, wait!”

No, no, no, no, no, what the hell! Really!? Right now!? was how Minho read your expression as he walked to you with the suit on. When the seven-foot something Iron Man stopped before you, the face of his helmet slid open to reveal an out-of-breath Minho. The entire banquet hall echoed with gasps.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you? Your bruise is getting worse!”

You could not feel anything on the left half of your face besides intense pain and somehow numbness at the same time and your limbs felt like jello and over-kneaded dough. But you couldn’t let your boss worry about you - he needs to take care of more important people right now. You’ll be fine come tomorrow once you sleep on a frozen bag of peas.

“I’m fine, I promise,” you said convincingly. “Looks like you have an impromptu press conference to deal with.”

To Minho’s dismay, all of the cameras and press and the phones of his business friends captured his face inside the Iron suit next to his famous secretary that all his business friends wished they had. He knew you hated press conferences because even though you never said anything, you were always by his side and that meant the cameras were pointed at you also.

“I can deal with them. Go to the car and go home.”

“I can stay with you.”

“I won’t allow it. You need to go home and ice your face.”

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

Minho never raised his voice at you ever because he never had a reason to. You were always hard-working and loyal and you always did everything correctly and did it with his best interest in mind. He’ll allow small things that might be detrimental to your health, like all the over time you loved to have and the unhealthy amounts of coffee you drown yourself in. But when the arm that’s supporting your body weight was shaking, your left cheek was the color of aubergine, and you had blood splatters on different parts of your body, that’s when he had to draw the line. Worry was knitted into his brows and his lips were a flat line and you only ever saw his face like this whenever he talked with his father. It was terrifying to see him almost mad at you and it made your heart sink a little that you did something wrong.

He softened his expression upon seeing your glossy eyes. “Take Monday off to rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday, ok?”

“But -”

“I’ll pay you for your time off, so don’t worry about the money. I just want you to rest. Can you do that for me?” You could only nod. “Thank you. Go home - I’ll text you when I’m done cleaning up tonight.”

Minho plastered on his happy television face and returned to the fawning crowd and overly-thankful investors. You were blinded by the flashing camera lights and that was your cue that you didn’t belong there anymore.

The trot music-loving driver hummed the whole way home while driving on auto-pilot, as he had memorized the path to your apartment long ago. Sitting in the back seat covered head-to-toe in the finest satin wasn’t as luxurious when you were alone as opposed to having your equally-luxurious boss next to you. You imagined what it’d be like if a giant robot didn’t crash the party this evening: you’d probably yell at him more about how you needed space and that he was overreacting with the whole Seonghwa deal; then he might try to bribe you with food or dessert so that you’d stop pouting like a child (and you’d totally cave in); and finally, he’d walk you up to your doorstep begging to come inside once more and you’d deny his entry, only for him to leave you with a comment about how you were the most stunning person at the ball tonight.

In short, as much as you hated to admit it, the ride home was lonely. Can you believe that? Your short time alone away from your boss was fucking lonely. Not peaceful, not relaxing, not mind-clearing, but totally and completely lonely. So much so that your heart ached a little, and to put these feelings in the simplest terms, it was because you were so used to being by his side that the emptiness to the seat next to you mimicked an unfamiliar cavity in your heart. It’s a painful feeling, really, because that meant leaving this job would be much harder than you hoped.

As if he planted a tracking device in your phone, Minho texted you upon locking the front door to your place.

The Money Man [01:03 am]: did you make it home ok?

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

You [01:04 am]: just got home. are you stalking me?

The Money Man [01:04 am]: you didn’t think the phone i gave you was completely harmless and bugless, did you? ;)

You [01:05 am]: i should have known better. how’s the impromptu press conference? are people surprised that it’s you?

The Money Man [01:07am]: they are, but at the same time it’s not. ppl keep asking me questions and won’t let me take the suit off, can you believe that!? it’s hot as balls in this thing!!

The Money Man [01:07am]: shit, gotta go - gotta somehow convince these idiots this is definitely NOT something to invest in.

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

The Money Man [01:08am]: yes, darling.

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

Having Sunday all to yourself was normal and you did what you always did every weekend: cleaned your place, took your time making a nice meal, organizing all of your work papers, and ended the night with a hot shower and an ice pack to your cheek. Monday, on the other hand was a disaster. You were so bored! Your fingers were itching to scribble down your boss’s agenda and you were so tempted to log into your work laptop, but you knew Minho would chew your ear off for not listening to him and resting as you should. It wasn’t your fault that you were a work-a-holic!

After looking in the mirror and hating the way your face looked for the fiftieth time, it was time to accept that the bruise wouldn’t disappear for at least a couple more weeks. Sunday was at its ugliest, where the center of your cheek was a deep purple and there was this off-colored halo around the perimeter. Now, the swelling went down and it wasn’t as purple or painful, but still equally ugly no matter how you looked at it or tried to cover it up.

After a lonely and boring Monday afternoon, your doorbell rang around 5:00pm. You weren’t expecting any visitors or deliverymen, so upon peaking through your viewfinder, you were surprised to see your boss on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” you asked surprised.

Minho was glad you didn’t seem disgusted by his presence since he was the one who told you to take the day off and you must be tired of seeing his face by now. He whipped out an oily bag from behind his back with a child-like grin on his face. It was an unusual sight to see a man dressed in a several thousand dollar business suit carrying a twenty dollar bag of dinner.

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight - you tell me to take the day off, rest up, ice my bloodshot cheek only for you to come into my home and say I need to work?”

“Yup,” he claimed unapologetically, squeezing past you to get through.

“Yes, please come in, Your Highness,” you rolled your eyes, though he was already setting up at your dinner table.

“Your home is nice. Why are you always so embarrassed whenever I try to come in?”

“I mean, look at it. It’s nowhere near as nice as your home.”

“It’s as more of a home than my place will ever be, no matter how many velvet cushions and arcade games I ask you to buy for the place.” Minho whipped out two bottles of beer, his favorite chaser to wash down the oiliness of the fried chicken, and poured them into glasses. “How’s your cheek?”

“By the look on your face, I guess not so good?”

He adjusted his twisted expression upon your teasing. Blood and bruises were never his thing, so any variation of the sort just looked bad in general. “It just looks so painful… Have you been icing it like I asked?”

“I have, and it’s not as painful as it looks!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Minho challenged your claim by standing in front of you and lowering his head to see you at eye-level. His face was way too close to be considered appropriate for CEO and Secretary relationship behavior, though you knew he never cared for those formalities. His eyes were always so sparkly per usual and that gave him that dreamy stare all the ladies in the office loved. You never saw the appeal to it until now, with only a few centimetres in between.

He poked your bruised-like-an-apple cheek.

“Ow, what the hell!” you screamed, swatting his hand away.

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

“Well, people don’t go around poking my cheek all day!”

“Do you need pain killers? My doctor can write you a prescription for the best one on and off market.”

“That’s ok, I only trust Dr. Seonghwa.”

Minho gave you the same look he gave a former intern who got his breakfast and coffee order incorrect. Let’s just say the intern started crying on the spot. You, on the other hand, could barely hold in your snicker from his death glare. You were never on the receiving end of the infamous death glare and now that you were, it was hard to take it seriously.

“Ha ha,” Minho fake laughed. “Not funny.”

“What exactly do you have against him, anyways? It’s surprising that you’re threatened by the likes of a doctor and not some other hot shot software company CEO.”

“I don’t have anything against him.”

“You’re such a liar!” you scoffed, taking a swig of the ice-cold beer. “If you didn’t have a problem with him, you wouldn’t have acted so defensive at the charity ball.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he said shamelessly. A vigorous bite of a chicken leg came afterwards. “He looks at you like how I look at chicken legs.”

“Well, maybe I like the way he looks at me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

“You deserve it for acting like my Dad that night.”

“I said I was sorry! I even bought you dinner and cold beer to make up for it!”

“Oh, so this is not because you said that me and you have some business to discuss?”

“Well, that, too.” Minho wiped his greasy fingers on his silk handkerchief that he kept on the inside of his breast pocket before whipping out his phone to show you multiple news articles on the night of the charity ball. “Watch these videos.”

Almost all of them were exposing your boss who was behind the genius that is Iron Man, but what preceded the reveals were clips of you kicking major ass. The sources came from both paparazzi and the security tapes at multiple angles and it was hard to hide the fact that it was you as all angles captured your facial features quite clearly. Headlines and whole articles talked about how the mighty CEO and his secretary were the perfect unstoppable duo and they weren’t wrong - you kicking ass in a sexy outfit with a man of iron handling the big guy? Definitely a story worth selling.

Your brows furrowed worriedly because you had no idea how Minho felt. “Are you mad…?

“Mad?” Minho paused the current video and placed his phone face-down on the table so he could focus on his good chicken and better company. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! What’s the point in showing me these videos?”

“To show you how bad ass you look! Where did you even learn these moves!?”

“For some reason, your father thought being a secretary was dangerous enough that he decided to enroll me in some classes. I actually really liked it a lot, so I kept at it and I guess I got to a pretty advanced level.”

“Pretty advanced is definitely a misnomer, love. Well, it’s good to hear that Father has made one good decision in his reign.”

“Is this the business you wanted to speak about?” you asked shyly, hoping that the beer was a good enough excuse for your blushing cheeks. You’ll never get used to Minho praising you.

“Sort of. I have a proposition for you.”

“What, that you want me to be your sidekick?” you scoffed. When Minho remained silent with only the same sly smirk on his lips, you could see your worst fears coming true. “Oh, God, you’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!? I am not sidekick material!”

“You totally are! You and I are already the perfect duo! Why not take it up a notch!?”

“No, Mr. Lee, I cannot be your secretary again, but in a different form and outfit!”

“Why not!? It’s not like I’m not going to pay you for it.”

“The pay is not the problem. The pay is never the problem. It’s…”

How do you put that the pressure of keeping the entire country safe and being by his side twenty-four/seven sounded like your own personal purgatory that you could never escape for as long as you lived, or until you died by the hands of some Demon-level threat monster?

“It’s a huge commitment, I know,” Minho admitted. “Too huge to even put a price on it. But can you at least consider it? I can’t imagine anyone else by my side except you.”

Now only if a man who wasn’t your boss said that to you without any underlying superhero context, you might have considered the proposal.

“Mr. Lee, I can’t…”

You hesitated getting the right words out, but Minho knew why. You’ve been bringing up how you couldn’t stay his secretary forever, and although he knew this was true, he couldn’t help but try to keep you anyways. You’ve been loyal to him for so long that he often forgot how to treat you like a friend and not his subordinate. But the thought of you leaving? Soon, at that? It was something he didn’t want to think about just yet. He wanted to keep you by his side for as long as he could.

Minho downed the last of his beer before whipping out his phone again. This time a slow song played over the speakers. He stood up and offered you a hand.

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

“You and I never got to dance on Saturday. So dance with me.”

“Here? Right now? In my small ass apartment?”

“The next charity ball isn’t for another month and I don’t think I can wait that long.”

His impatience was just shy of flattering - if only you weren’t so afraid of being within close proximity to him. It was one thing when he helped ease the burn on your hand, it was another when he touched your cheek while inside his iron suit, but the two of you alone dancing in the middle of your living room was a whole other level of intimacy that needed to be hidden from human resources,

You took his hand and he led you to the living room. One hand on your waist and another holding the one with the scabbing half-circle. The two of you swayed in silent contentment for several songs. It was a comfortable silence, but there’s some hidden sadness to it that you couldn’t explain - something along the lines of him missing you dearly, despite you being right in front of him, and you missed him dearly, too. So much that your nerves made you squeeze his hand harder, asking him to not let go of you for a long time.

Then your boss pulled you in close enough that it felt like he was hugging you.

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

“Thank you,” he began. “For always being there.”

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

“Not just as my secretary, but as my friend.”

“You think of me as your friend?”

“I do. Don’t tell Vice President Chan this, but I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“You’re quite soft, aren’t you?” It took a moment to register that he was definitely not joking. The tension in your shoulders diminished and you were able to relax in front of the equally-vulnerable man. “I consider you one of my closest friends, too.”

“Really?”

“By association though. After all these years being by your side, it’s only natural that I came to like you.”

“I like you, too,” he chuckled, tucking some hairs behind your ear. “A little too much, at that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In another lifetime, I feel like you and I would be soulmates.”

“You don’t think we would be in this lifetime?”

Were you hoping to be? “Perhaps. By association though, right?”

You didn’t want to press more about any underlying meaning to his statements, so instead you looked down embarrassed. In another lifetime, in this lifetime, in multiple lifetimes, Minho thought you and him would be each other’s soulmate no matter what, because a lifetime with you sounded perfect.

A thumb gently ran over the perimeter of your cheek bruise and it tickled rather than burned, so that was a good sign that it was healing. A loud tisk came from your boss.

“God, do I really put you through this much pain!?” he cried aloud.

“Huh? You didn’t cause this - those dumbass followers did!”

“I guess, but I was the one who brought you to that event! And what about the scar on your hand, huh? I definitely caused that one.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s it, I can’t be hurting you like this anymore. I can’t be putting you through all of this danger like you’re my bodyguard. I have to let you go.”

You knew he was joking when he couldn’t hold in his cheeky smile. “That is not probable cause to fire me, Mr. Lee.”

“Really? Dammit.”

“No matter how many times I get hurt, you can’t get rid of me that easily, ok? I go out on my own terms!”

“So strong willed… I almost hate it.” Minho sighed exaggeratedly before pulling you in for a real hug this time. His arms squeezed your waist tightly, letting you know that he didn’t want to let you go even if he tried. “Just make sure to give me a two weeks notice, all right?”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“I’m going to miss hearing that from you the most when you leave.”

You hit his chest lightly, but he caught your hand and held it for a few moments before leading you back to your kitchen to finish up dinner. The rest of the night wasn’t you and your boss - it was you and your closest friend enjoying dinner and some ice cream you had in your freezer.

In another lifetime, huh? Too bad you were stuck in this one.

Work has mellowed out in terms of paperwork and actually work and has instead transitioned into more press conferences and meetings with government officials regarding Iron Man. In theory, the meetings sounded cool, but you wouldn’t know for sure, as your boss decided to take one of the newer girls as his assistant for these meetings.

The first time he denied your company, you were only a little confused, but it soon passed when he said there was a lot of paperwork he only trusted you to complete on his behalf. But when he would bring her to every event - whether it was out of habit or on purpose - for an entire month, and her only, it really made your blood boil.

No, you weren’t jealous…! You weren’t jealous he was hanging out with someone younger and prettier and more his type! Definitely not! You were upset that your boss, whom you called one of your closest friends in a time of vulnerability, was already replacing you before you could put your two weeks in! And you knew this to be true when he denied your invitation to get lunch and instead you found him in the cafeteria laughing and flirting with the new girl at the table you and him would always sit at.

For a whole month, without even knowing it, you were slowly getting left behind and replaced for someone better - someone who would actually heed his every word and never argue. Someone who would keep their mouth shut for once. Someone who wouldn’t mind taking order from him forever.

It had been a month since you were living in this limbo, and tonight, the night of the Animal Cruelty Charity Ball to which Iron Man would be making a guest appearance, was when you knew he no longer needed you.

“You’re taking Ryujin…?” you repeated, as you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Yes, so you can go home early if you want,” Minho said as he fixed his bow tie in the giant mirror in his office. He then turned to present to you with an ignorant grin. “How do I look?”

“Why are you taking her?”

“She’s been working hard this past month, so I thought I’d reward her with tonight and have her practice some networking skills.”

“How generous of you,” you mumbled bitterly to yourself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you help me put on this chain necklace thing? The clasp is so damn tiny…”

Reluctantly, you helped clasp the silver jewelry. While you thought your boss was heavily admiring himself in the mirror, he instead was focused on you and how your face was uncharacteristically stern.

“Are you ok?” he asked sincerely. He pressed a firm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You harshly swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged it off, thinking that you probably had a bad week with all of the boring work he’s been having you deal with. A lot of weird and unsettling energy was pent up inside of you for the past month, so before you exited Minho’s office for the weekend, for some reason you thought this was the appropriate time to speak on it.

“Actually, I’m not fine,” you blurted out. Minho gave you his full attention for the first time that month. “I… I’m putting in my two weeks.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“No, but I will figure that out later.”

“You don’t have another job lined up but you want to quit? Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t - he was more hurt than anything else that you wanted to leave without a proper explanation. He thought you and him were doing well… What changed so suddenly?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Minho noted how your voice was shaking. “I was fine when you had me staying ungodly hours, I was fine when you had me get you coffee every morning and your dry cleaning every Monday, and I was fine when you involved with the Iron Man project, but now all you’ve given me lately is paperwork and shit that the new hires should be doing and not myself!”

“_____, language -”

“And why is that? Why do I feel like I’m starting to get left behind already, or-or why do I feel like you don’t appreciate anything I do!? It’s clear to me that you’ve already begun to replace me, so what’s the use of me staying here when you don’t want me anymore?”

Minho was silent. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad or surprised at your sudden outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating and his silence even more so, like this was his ideal form of psychological torture. Minho didn’t seem to care for your feelings anymore as he turned back to face the mirror.

“Your two weeks has been noted,” was all he said.

You left the room in tears, with your blood still boiling and your heart crushed. But this was a good thing. In the end, this would be a good thing, is what you were trying to tell yourself, because this lifetime wouldn’t let you be with Minho.

Another month passed by and you were left in a worse limbo than you began with a month and a half ago. No one was contacting you about any job offers so you were left to ‘self-reflect’ or some bullshit this self-help book told you to do for the past two weeks. Luckily, all the overtime you put into your savings account had vastly accumulated into an unthinkable sum that would support you far beyond whatever the government noted as a proper unemployment time. Like, you didn’t even know what to do with the money sometimes - thank Minho for time-and-a-half, huh?

On days where you couldn’t help yourself - when you felt like torturing yourself - you would look up Minho on all the tabloid sites. Surprisingly enough, this happened way more than you’d like. Of course, as you speculated, Ryujin had quickly taken your spot as his secretary and God, did you like to shit on how terrible she was! You didn’t have to be at the office to know that Minho must be frustrated with her by the crookedness of his ties and jackets and how she must have forgotten to schedule a salon appointment by the look of his roots and unruly brows.

Ha! That’s what he fucking gets for not being grateful! That dick!

What a shame your relationship with him had come to. To spend what felt like an entire lifetime with him to being complete strangers, it was like you were reborn into this new and fresh carefree person. So carefree that you hummed on the way home with a bag full of fresh produce from the local market.

Perhaps you should have been less carefree, as a stranger snuck up behind you and knocked you out cold.

“Ryujin, where’s my document-signing pen?”

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

Minho sighed loudly, running a hand through his curly locks and staring intently at the mess of papers that scattered on his desk. His desk hadn’t been this messy since the first day he started when he had to sign all of those official documents that transitioned him to CEO. The same day when he fell for you.

Ryujin, who was nothing close to a secretary compared to you, was only getting on his nerves these days. Perhaps yes, he’s been a little too harsh on someone who’s still fairly new, but in truth he just didn’t have a way to express his frustration about you leaving all of a sudden. Where had he gone wrong?

“Take the rest of the night off,” he told his subordinate.

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

Another sign left the young man’s lips. This time it was because he was tired. He couldn’t deal with anymore bullshit tonight.

An anonymous FaceTime call rang his phone. Who could be wanting to FaceTime him at such an odd hour of the weeknight?

When he swiped to answer, all he saw was you tied up roughly to a splintered chair with tape covering your mouth. Minho nearly dropped his phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Lee,” a familiar voice sang. From the shadows behind you emerged the fake vigilante that led the invasion of the Charity Ball. “I see that you’re doing well.”

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

“I think you know what I want.” A shiny knife drew a line across the other cheek, small drops of blood seeping through and mixing with the dried tears and dirt. Minho’s heart felt like it was collapsing. “A blank check addressed to little ol’ me.”

“If I see another scar on them, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

The man held his hands up high in defensive mode and took a step away from you. “Fine, I won’t touch them! Just give me what we want near the docks.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and one more thing - come dressed in Iron Man and I’ll slice their throat. Bye!”

The line cut dead and Minho had no choice but to leave empty-handed with only a blank check in his pocket.

The air inside the enclosed cargo bed was hot and suffocating and your rising panic did not ease your pain or heavy breathing one bit. It didn’t help that the guy and his minions were playing with your hair and playing with their knives, dragging the dull edges on your arms and neck. Normally, you wouldn’t be so weak and crying to the point that the tape around your mouth was loosening up, but life these days was tough and perhaps an event like this, causing Minho major inconvenience once again, was what you deserved.

Scurrying and uneven footsteps were heard from outside and you really, really hoped it was Minho not dressed in Iron Man.

“Here already? He must like you,” the leader teased.

The back of the cargo bed opened up to reveal that the sun had fallen a long time ago and the light of the moon outlined your plain and simple hero. He didn’t give the leader a second passing glance before blindly shoving the blank check to his chest and rushing by your side to untie you. First, he ripped off the tape and you let out loud gasps of air and cries.

Minho’s shaking hands take hold of your face to try to calm you down. “Hey hey, shh, I’m here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” You shook your head vigorously, whining and trying to break free from the ropes tying you down. “Hold on, I got you.”

Before Minho could untie your hands, one of the minions hit him on the back of his head the same way they knocked you out. But your boss was stronger than that - his head was harder than his iron helmet. At the failed attempt, Minho hurled the guy over his shoulder and out the cargo bed. Your bad ass boss got up like it was nothing, but he was breathing heavily.

Not because he was tired or weak, but because he was furious.

Three more guys tried to kick his ass and it was then you realized that your boss wasn’t just some fake hiding behind an iron suit who could program it to fight. He truly was kicking their ass! Like, raw strength and all! If you weren’t scared to death, you might have thought this was kind of hot. But then Minho punched one of the guys too hard and it sent him flying over to you, to which you fell over and broke the chair. The rope was no longer tied to anything and you were free.

Yet another one of the lame-o sidekicks tried to capture you again, but now you were equally as furious, if not more, than your partner in crime. How dare they sneak up on you and not even give you a chance to fight back!? That was the definition of a weak-ass group of villains! So of course you had to show them a lesson and kick a few balls and some asses. But the number of asses was infinite and you were getting really tired. They had enough people to fight you and Minho until you couldn’t keep up and then they’d kill you easily.

“Mr. Lee, now would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans!” you begged between kicks and breaths.

“Ten seconds tops. But when I say so, I need you to hold my hand, ok?”

“What!? What are you planning!?”

“Just trust me!” You and Minho saw the leader direct the last ten of his minions to finish the job. “Ready? Three… two… one!”

A heavy force on the outside pushed the cargo bed off the edge of the pier and into the ocean with the purpose of drowning everyone in it. The only sensation you felt was ice cold water freezing your blood flow and Minho grasping your hand for dear life while trying to swim up to the surface. Before blacking out from lack of oxygen, you felt the ripples of something entering the ocean and saw a faded red and golden glow of light. Not a second later, a hollowed Iron Man on autopilot rushed you and Minho to the surface and placed you gently on the sand just under the pier. The silent night was filled with a chorus of ugly coughing fits from you and your boss. What a wonderful CEO slash ex-secretary couples activity this turned out to be.

As soon as your breathing returned to a rhythmic beat, a wet, crying, sand-covered Minho held your face in his still-trembling hands. He didn’t say a word - he simply held you and pressed his forehead to yours, making sure that yes, this was real, and not some unconscious dream where he was still in the middle of the ocean drowning. Yes, you were there with him and you were alive.

“Why are you crying? I was the one kidnapped,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten up the mood if but a little bit.

Minho laughed between sniffles and shivers, but couldn’t stop crying. He was smiling, but still crying, and if that didn’t perfectly depict this situation, you’re not sure there’s anything out there that did. Haphazardly, he planted a cold kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? You had nothing to do with this.”

“I’m just sorry in general. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry for making you feel like I was replacing you. I’m sorry for not buying you that cappuccino three years ago. I’m sorry for -”

What’s the only way to silence your sexy boss in a heartfelt moment like this that would complete this superhero plot line? Kissing him mid-sentence, of course. You kissed your loving boss fully, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your whole body into it. It took him a while to register that yes, his secretary was definitely kissing him, but once it did, he kissed you even harder, enough to make you fall back onto the grass with him on top of you.

You’re left breathless the moment your lips parted. “I-I, uh, I forgive you…”

“How could you ever think that I could replace you?” he muttered. “I could never. Not in this lifetime.”

“You also said that me and you wouldn’t happen in this lifetime,” you challenged.

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

Iron Man returned to Minho’s basement as soon as his job was done, so your favorite driver picked you two up in ten minutes with plush hot towels and dry clothes to change into. The pajamas you wore already had your initials monogrammed over your heart.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Minho began awkwardly on the car ride home. “I was going to gift them to you a couple Christmases ago, but you said that monogrammed clothing was cheesy and stupid, so I abstained…”

“... They’re not so bad,” you admitted truthfully. “Very soft.”

Coming home to Minho’s felt so wrong, yet so right. You’ve only ever been inside for business reasons, such as redesigning his closets and kitchen pantry, but now that you were here on leisure - well, after almost fucking dying - it was kind of weird. But Minho holding your hand reassured you that you were wanted here - that he needed you here, damp with salt water and all.

“Take a shower upstairs. I’ll go make some tea.”

You gladly obeyed, using your favorite shower that you helped design. The door and the walls of the shower were made of glass and the shower head hung from the ceiling, making your long, hot shower feel like it was raining. Your body was covered in cuts and bruises and it was really ugly, but you’ve never felt more badass and in control in your entire life.

You left the shower smelling like orchids and eucalyptus and entered the kitchen that smelled like ginger and honey. Minho, who had also showered, followed shortly after, stealing a kiss on your cheek that was cut up earlier that evening.

You followed Minho to his giant marble island while he poured tea into white mugs on the other side. This felt so… domestic. This felt so right. This felt like home.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he smirked slyly.

Well, that ruined the moment. “What, no ‘how have you been the past month since I replaced you with some other chick’?”

“I promise I’ll ask that after, but I need to ask you this.” Your hard-headed boss was all giddy just at the idea of it and it was the first time in a whole month since you’ve seen him smile like this. He was so, so cute.

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

“Mr. Lee, I already told you, I can’t -”

“As the Head Director of the Iron Man project.”

Your eyes widened at the prestigious title. “Head Director?”

“You stayed by my side through all the criticism and the praise and I can’t imagine a better person for the position.”

“So it’s not just a fancy title for like, super mega ultra secretary, right…?”

Your handsome man chuckled. “No, I promise.”

“Head Director, huh?” your lips slowly spread into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

“Only if you don’t fall in love with them like I did.”

You rolled your eyes and continued. “An extra week of vacation.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Last one. I’m your date to every event from now on.”

Minho raised his eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? And if I say no?”

“Then I say no.”

“Jeez, I’m kidding! So strict. Of course you can, on two conditions.”

“Fine.”

“You call me Minho from now on. Or boyfriend, or soulmate, or sexiest man alive, or whatever suits your fancy.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” Minho leaned in and puckered his pink lips. “Seal this with a kiss.”

You start your new job next week - after Minho cashed in one week of vacation to spend with his soulmate.

#minho #lee minho #lee know #skz #stray kids #lee minho imagines #minho imagines #lee know imagines #lee minho scenarios #minho scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids minho #i still hate the ending idc tho #if i had time i would rewrite it... too sleepy lolol

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gdcee · 3 years ago

Text

Road to Nowhere

Pairing: Loki/Sigyn - mild, might have to squint to see it.

Summary: Loki and Sigyn talk while she escorts him to Kid Loki's Kingdom.

Warnings: Panic attack.

=================

"You know I'm only going to keep pestering you until I have the answer."

"I wish you luck in your endeavour," Sigyn returned coolly, stepping lightly as she began to climb the massive pile of garbage blocking their path. "Nevertheless, my lips remain sealed."

Loki huffed, a slight quirk at the corner of his lips which was not quite a smirk. He set off after her, determined to be the first to the summit of Rubbish Peak.

He had to admit he was quite intrigued by that tantalising crumb of information this Sigyn (so very like and yet not quite like his own) had dangled before him. Of course he was curious about the identity of the lucky bastard who had won her fidelity.

All he had was a preferred pronoun. That at least eliminated half of his (admittedly rather short to begin with) list of possible lucky bastards.

After he had gone through the list (which did not take long because as stated earlier, it was really quite short), he started throwing out random names to see if any of them got a reaction.

No such luck.

His attempts to tease and fluster the information out of her had been just as ineffective.

Her reaction to his puppy dog eyes routine had been...perplexing. He'd gotten one soft, achingly tender smile before a heavy melancholy had descended upon her. Like the dark shadow of a mourning veil stealing the brightness from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks.

She had not reprimanded him, but he made a note not to pull that trick again anyway. Besides the practical reasons for keeping her goodwill (survival, information, mental stimulation), the simple fact was that she was Sigyn.

He didn't want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Not anymore.

Being a harmless annoyance and pest was still perfectly acceptable though.

He stood atop the great mound of refuse, his hands and face smeared with oil and other liquids of questionable origin, grinning triumphantly down at Sigyn. He vanished the grime he'd accumulated before gallantly holding out his hand to her.

Sigyn huffed a soft little laugh, the barest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. Without any hesitation, she reached out and allowed him to pull her up.

Loki glanced down to where they had started and noted that it was a long drop. Not nearly enough to kill an Asgardian or a Frost Giant, but enough to hurt.

Trust.

It made him feel as giddy as the first time he'd tasted the enchanted, heady liquid gold that was the mead brewed from honey harvested from the hives of the talking bees that resided near Iðunn's famous apple orchards.

"Ahem."

Loki realised with no small degree of embarrassment that he was still holding Sigyn's hand. He hurriedly worked a spell to remove the dirt under her fingernails and let go. Then to cover up his embarrassment, he resumed pestering.

"I don't understand why the identity of your beau necessitates such secrecy," he sighed with the lightest touch of a pleading whine, "Do you think I would object to your taste? He can't possibly be worse than Theoric."

"I think my life choices are none of your business."

"Exactly! You should forget about my opinion. Shout his name to the world and damn the naysayers and killjoys."

"I would but sadly, Alioth has a sense of hearing."

With that, she picked up a flat sheet of metal lying loose and proceeded to slide down Rubbish Peak on the improvised board. Despite being only at most a quarter Ljósálfar on her mother's side, she moved with their characteristic effortless grace.

Loki peered down, did a couple of quick mental calculations and snapped his fingers. He disappeared from the summit with a flare of green light and reappeared at the bottom no more than a second later in similar fashion.

"Good to see your teleport still works," Sigyn tossed her wind-mussed hair out of her face, "Why didn't you use it earlier to get to the top?"

"Too much debris and no decent eyeline. I didn't want to risk getting stuck under a foot of garbage." He frowned, pondering. "Still works?"

"Not a reference to you personally," she moved forward without looking behind to see if he followed, "Just something I noticed about some of the other Lokis around here."

"Power loss? Nothing to do with you and that coven of other Sigyns whose domain I and the other Lokis are forbidden from entering, I presume?"

"No, I've seen it even in Lokis on their first trepass - if something is limiting their power it's not us. In any case, we would never do anything to permanently disable a Loki's magic. There's just some things you don't do to a fellow mage, you know?"

"You just rough them up a little and kick them off the property?"

"More or less. Except for the kid and alligator."

"Do I want to know how one instance of me ended up as a semi-aquatic Midgardian reptile?"

"You can ask him yourself when we get to the Kid's Kingdom," she paused for a moment, as if she'd just remembered something, "Or maybe not, I think only the old man you knows how to talk to him."

Loki blinked.

"There's an old me?" He asked, disbelieving, "As in a wizened, wrinkled, looks like your grandmother me?"

"Eh, not quite as old as Grandma Hretha. Maybe about 4,000? 5,000?" She shrugged, "Either way, your vanity may rest easy; you look perfectly fine as an old man."

"Thank you for that milquetoast endorsement of my future self's good looks," Loki said dryly, "I was more perturbed about...something else."

Curiouser and curiouser.

How had the aged variant escaped their destined end? How had he managed to grow old before the TVA arrived to arrest him for cheating his final death?

He thought about the tape featuring all the TVA approved highlights of his life.

He thought about that other Loki, the Loki who had played out the role assigned to him and how very young (the same face as his own) and terrified (the same fear as his own) he had looked with the Mad Titan's monstrous hand around his throat.

Loki swallowed thickly and pulled at the collar of his TVA issued office shirt which suddenly seemed far too tight. The tie impeded his work and as he struggled to loosen it he could feel his terror rising up to choke him.

there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you

inevitable

you think you know pain?

Inevitable

HE WILL MAKE YOU LONG FOR SOMETHING AS SWEET AS PAIN

He felt his legs buckle and his knees hit the ground as if it were happening to someone else.

"Loki!" Sigyn's voice was close but he heard it as if a great distance separated them, "Loki, breathe."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He wheezed.

"I am going to remove the tie and unfasten your collar," Sigyn continued as if she had not even noticed his rudeness, "I will need to touch you to do this. Alright?"

Needing help for such a pitifully simple task was galling. But he didn't want Sigyn to leave him. Loki managed a shaky nod. He let her ease his trembling, sweaty hands from his shirt collar. With quick, brisk movements she pulled the tie loose and tossed it somewhere to join the rest of the garbage.

"Follow my breathing now." Her voice was clearer to him now, more present. She was kneeling next to him, so close and warm and oh, her hair did still smell like apple blossoms. He watched the regular rise and fall of her chest and tried to match it. "That's it. Very good. Nice and slow."

Her fingers were at his throat for a mercifully short time. Just long enough to pop the top button loose and push the starched fabric away from his neck.

"Stay with me. You're doing very well. Breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out."

Without really thinking he grabbed her hand and pressed her palm against the centre of his chest. Perhaps he was possessed by some irrational notion that the pressure against his breastbone could keep his thundering heart from beating right out of his chest.

She didn't try to pull away. Her hand was warm, even through the shirt fabric. She moved a little, and one of her dainty fingers slipped into the open gap of his unbuttoned collar and brushed against the dip between his clavicles. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before Sigyn's gentle prompting had him matching her rhythm once more.

"Feel better?" She asked after what seemed an eternity.

"Yes," he breathed, "Yes, much." His chest still felt a little tight but the worst of that dreadful episode was over.

"Good." She lifted her hand from his chest and patted his shoulder firmly - a gesture that he had seen Týr bestow upon struggling Einherjar recruits after they'd passed the final leg of their training. "You did very well."

He didn't feel like he'd done anything worth praising. He'd collapsed like a pack of cards. This wasn't the first time he'd experienced terror but every time before now he had been able to push past it - stamp it down through sheer force of will and that primitive, animal part of his brain that knew that danger was never far away.

Why had he folded now? Now - when he was probably the most at ease he'd been in ages (months? Years? How long had it been since New York?) and the threat of Thanos was no longer an issue-

...a terrible thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Just out of curiosity," Loki tried to sound nonchalant, "Have you ever come across a fellow by the name of Thanos here?"

"Thanos?" Sigyn's brows drew together in a frankly rather adorable expression of pure befuddlement.

Ah. Well, at least he could place whatever nexus event had led to her pruning as occurring before Ragnarok and Thanos's massacre of half the Asgardian survivors.

"Big purple fellow," he explained, "Quite ugly, enormous chin, has rather disturbing ideas about resource management."

"Uh, no, I can't say that I've ever met anyone like that here."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "I can swear on my magic if that would reassure you."

Sigyn had always been very leery about oaths, especially ones bound with magic. Most mages worth their salt were.

And yet...he couldn't really explain why, but he'd always felt like her issues with them were less about best practices and more about some personal grievance.

That she would offer him such a thing...

Loki felt completely undeserving.

"No," he said hurriedly, "No, no, it's fine. I...I trust you."

Sigyn smiled. It was the first real smile he'd seen so far and it was like watching the sun come out from behind a cloud. He didn't know if it would last - if that melancholy from before would snatch away the sweetness of this moment.

So Loki ruined the moment before it could be stolen from him.

"...even though you refuse to tell me about your paramour."

Sigyn scoffed, all exasperation but it was better than seeing her sad.

"You are insufferable."

"Thank you, I do try."

She snorted and shook her head. "Alright, come on, you goose," she helped him up, and even though his legs were slightly shaky, he stood and did not fall. "Our first rest stop is about 20 feet...thereaboutish-" she waved vaguely in the direction of a mostly empty grassy knoll upon which a gaggle of the oddest creatures scurried. They resembled iridescent headless chickens with little purple spheres hovering over their severed necks.

"I still think we should have taken the car."

"Ugh," Sigyn wrinkled her nose, "Cahrs. Nasty, noisy, smelly things. I swear, Midgard really went downhill after those monstrosities were invented. "

#loki #sigyn #mcu #logyn

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gaming-universe · 4 years ago

Text

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART FIVE-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar (I have to apologise for taking so long to post this part. I have been going through a lot of personal stuff lately).

It had been an intense staring contest between you and Park for the last five minutes.

Even though internally you did feel somewhat intimidated by her presence, you stood tall, folding your arms over your chest as your eyes narrowed into a deadly glare. Every fibre of your being screamed at you to tear the bitch apart, to yell and scream at her for her part in what she did to you. If Mason hadn’t been standing beside you, you just might have done it. “You’re looking well...” She spoke lowly, no ounce of regret in her tone as she tried to micking your posture “for a dead woman”. You scoffed a laugh, your jaw clenching as your tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth. You raised a challenging eyebrow, the corner of your lips tugging upward in a matching smirk. “So do you” You replied, your tone so cold that Mason recoiled from its harshness.

Her eyes glazed over with a look of pure hatred, Woods releasing a low whistle from his place at the coffee table which did nothing to ease the now increased tension. A pair of footsteps entered the room, Adler clearing his throat as he moved to stand on your other side, blocking your view of Park. “What are you doing here?” He questioned, his voice low and dangerous. Your chest tightened at his tone. It wasn’t the type of tone he used when something had gone wrong, or when he was left in the dark or confused. Adler was pissed, perhaps borderline furious.

“You didn’t come back to the safehouse last night, I got worried” She replied, her response making you roll your eyes. You watched observantly as Adler’s shoulders tensed beneath his leather jacket, quickly turning to face you with a look of anger. His arm brushed yours as he moved to grab you forearm with his hand. “We need to talk, now” He practically seethed, dragging you out of the living room and into the upstairs hallway. You said nothing as Adler released your arm from his hold, pacing back and forth before bracing his hands on his hips. When Adler’s gaze finally moved to you, his entire demenour changed. His shoulders slumped, as he ran a stressed hand through his hair. “I was going to wait until Hudson got here, but I need you to be one-hundred percent on board, or at least on the same page as I am. I want you back on the team”.

You shook your head, biting your lips anxiously “Adler, I’m not sure-”

“Just hear me out. You know more about Perseus than anyone here Y/n. I need you. That’s why I need to know if you are with me or not” He spoke sincerely, moving just that little bit closer so that he was standing mere inches from your form. You pressed your lips into a thin line, looking up at him through his sunglasses. “If I agree to be part of the team again, you have to promise not to screw me over. If you screw me over even once, I am out”.

Adler nodded “I promise, like we said this morning. No more lies, no more bullshit. You will be the first person to know about everything that is going on when I do. I promise”. You stared up at him with a nervouse expression. You still weren’t entirely sure whether or not this was a good idea. But you wanted Perseus dead more than anyone. There was a burning anger buried deep within you that had been there for a very long time. Right now, you might not have known the exact reason why it was there, but it was enough to make you accept Adler’s offer wholeheartedly.

Nodding in what you assumed was relief, Adler continued “Okay, now I’m going to tell you this in confidence, and you cannot let anyone know about what I am going to tell you. Hudson and I suspect there is a mole in the team”.

Your eyes widened, your lips parting slightly in shock. “What? Do you have any idea as to who it might be?” You asked, not liking the way Adler’s expression fell. “No, we don’t. A month after you...after you were KIA, we started intercepting outgoing coded messages from someone in this team. With your skills, we could find out who it is in a matter of days. We just need-”

“Hudson. We just need Hudson to approve this little operation, huh?” You finished for him, once again feeling yourself becoming somewhat closed off again. Adler moved to place his hand comfortingly on your shoulder “I’ll take care of it, you don’t have to worry-”

“But I do. No offence, but you don’t think Hudson might be a little on edge after discovering that I am alive? And what about the huge mistake about my defection? I’m sure he would be super pissed off about it-”

“I have no doubt he will be, but one thing is for sure, he won’t be pissed at you” Adler interrupted, raising his eyebrow at you with a small tug of his lips “I can guarantee you that”. Your eyes met his, peering through those glasses to search for any sign of doubt, for any sign of hesitancy coming from the man before you. When you found none, your shoulders slumped heavily, your gaze turning towards the square curtained window at the end of the hall. “Alright...” You began, trying to hide the growing uneasiness from your voice “so what happens after we are done here? Where do we go?”.

“We’ll head back to the safehouse in West Berlin. From there, Woods, Mason, Park and myself will focus on this new lead we have on Perseus, Operation Hydra. You and Sims will focus on decoding those messages, and finding out who our mole is”.

A haunting chill travelled down your spine, as vivid flashes of your time at that safehouse consumed you; being strapped to that gourney, the serum coursing through your veins and setting your senses alight in a painful fire. The thundering of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, the taste of copper in your mouth-

Adler watched as your eyes glazed over, your mind going to a dark place that even he didn’t dare venture. This was all his fault. He had damaged you, likely beyond repair. Your features that once looked at him with such a bright smile, had lost the glow. You were a shadow of your former self, in more ways than one. And it was all because of him. He gently tightened his grip on your shoulder, a strange warmth enveloping him as your eyes immediately cleared, lifting to stare up at him with a small forced smile. It truly amazed him how resiliant you were, even after everything you had been through.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes to calm your racing heart before nodding your head slowly. “We should probably head back downstairs. Who knows what chaos has gone on between Woods and Viktor”.

The way you suddenly changed the subject caused Adler’s stomach to twist, but he didn’t press the issue as he chuckled deeply, rolling his eyes in amusement as he stepped away from you. “You have a point, no doubt he’s probably broke by now” He teased, gesturing for you to go down the stairs ahead of him. You nodded, moving past him with small steps. You knew for certain that this would change things, with you now back on the team. But strangely, you felt like this was where you belonged. That you were meant to be with Adler and his team. But time would tell you supposed, and you hoped to god that this little arrangement would work out.

Tag List: @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat @staryozora @lovinggooppalacebanana @ktdragonborn @quietblogs-2-rd @cerezi @alluringartangels @its-crank-time @bridgebabebridgesme @xundeadqueenx @deviljoonie @dishonored-pendletwin @shyherrman @alice-went-away

#russell adler x reader #russell adler #russell adler imagine #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #call of duty black ops cold war

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 3 years ago

Text

fought on your side long before you were born

Fandom: Kamen Rider, Batman, Kamen Rider W Characters: Hongo Takeshi, Tachibana Tobei, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Hidari Shoutaro, Philip, Damian Wayne Song: "Father to Son," Queen (playlist here)

1977

Tachibana’s got a shop now, something he can use to support his family now that he isn’t traveling, and the first thing that greets Takeshi as he walks in is the thick smell of motor oil. There’s a bike in pieces at one end of the shop floor around which several young men are clustered, arguing cheerfully. Another young man is sitting in a corner near them, inexplicably playing acoustic guitar and responding briefly whenever he’s addressed. It’s new, but it feels like home, and Takeshi can feel his shoulders instinctively relaxing.

“Hongo!” Tachibana himself emerges from the shop office, beaming. “When’d you get back to Japan?”

“Just now, I came right here.”

“Damn right you did.” There’s some hugging and back-slapping and general affectionate ribbing, and then Tachibana says, “So what do you think? Nice place, right?”

“It’s wonderful. How’s your son?”

“Healthy as a horse, running me and Mari ragged.” Tachibana gestures to the huddle of young men at the other end of the room. “Plenty of help around here, though.”

Takeshi grins. “I can see that. Who’s the one with the guitar?”

“Oh, him? American kid. Funny story, really, I’m closing up one day when this young guy just materializes—no, not literally, he’s just real quiet—and asks, am I Tachibana Tobei? Only Dr. Jin in Madrid says I’m the best in the world and will I teach him about motorcycles! And he hands me a letter of introduction from Keisuke!” Tachibana sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “So he’s renting our spare room at the house and working here for a few months. Quick study, too. Shiro taught him guitar, he’s in town for a bit and they hit it off. Here, come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

They head over to the disassembled motorcycle, and the young men fall all over themselves to be introduced, which Takeshi bears with good cheer. They’re young, of course they’re enthusiasts.

The American boy is last, and Takeshi is shocked to realize that he is a boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen, a pale youth with blue eyes and a lonely look that reminds Takeshi of Shiro. No wonder they get along. He sets his guitar aside and bows, stiff and solemn, and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hongo. Mr. Tachibana talks about you a lot.”

“That I do! Hongo, this is Bruce Wayne, he’s the summer guest I was telling you about.”

“Good to meet you, Wayne. Your accent is excellent.” The boy’s got a firm handshake. “What brings you to Japan?”

“Study, sir,” but the boy’s tone says that’s not all of it. “I’m trying to learn all I can. Maybe I could ask you a few things later, if you don’t mind.”

Takeshi blinks. “Not sure what you’d want to ask, but I don’t see why not.”

He eats dinner at Tachibana’s house that evening, because of course Tachibana isn’t going to let him get away unfed his first night back in town. Mari greets him at the door, Joji in her arms, beaming.

He’s intially surprised to see that the American boy is there too, until he remembers, of course he is—Wayne’s renting the spare room. And he’s barely noticeable for most of the meal, silent, although he’s clearly listening to everything that’s said. After dinner he also helps Mari with the dishes, entirely unprompted, which Takeshi approves of, and then spends some time gently entertaining the toddler.

Later, Tachibana and Mari step away for a moment to get their son to bed, and Takeshi looks at the silent young man sitting in the corner and says, “So. Wayne.”

“Yes, Mr. Hongo?”

“You said you had something you wanted to ask me, and we’ve got a few minutes now. What can I help you with?”

Wayne remains quiet for a long moment, and then fixes those piercing eyes on Takeshi and says, “Mr. Tachibana says you’re the strongest person he knows. What does it mean to be strong?”

Not what Takeshi had been expecting. Granted, what he wasexpecting, he doesn’t know, but…not that. He thinks about it, frowning. “I’d say…kindness.”

Wayne’s forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Wayne, you can get as powerful as you want in life, but it’s only strength if you can use it to be kind. Otherwise it’s just tyranny.” Takeshi leans forward and holds out his hand, as if to shake. “Anyone, any fool on Earth can take their hand and make it into a fist. To reach out to someone when they need help, that’s strength.”

Slow nodding, and Wayne reaches out to him in return, clasps his hand for a brief moment, and says, “Thank you. That’s a valuable insight.”

Takeshi nods. “Ask Tachibana that question, too, and Shiro. It’s a good thing to ask. Tells you a lot about the person answering.” He considers it for a moment. “Of course, there will always be some people you won’t be able to help, we share this world with monsters. But you must always try to be kind. That’s strength.”

2017

Bruce checks his watch as he walks up to the restaurant, satisfied to be a precise fifteen minutes early, and then looks up and is surprised to realize that for once Dick’s beaten him there. Not only is he there, too, he’s talking to someone Bruce doesn’t recognize.

The stranger seems to be about Dick’s own age, a man in a black fedora and slightly old-fashioned dress clothes from a minor Japanese fashion label. His tone suggests an awkward tourist, but his stance says he’s a fighter, and the way he watches his surroundings indicates that he’s memorizing as many details as possible. He’s got a guidebook in one hand, and a notebook sticking out of his pocket, and he’s speaking Japanese, which is not one of Dick’s stronger languages. Bruce steps forward, thinking he might need to translate, but Dick replies to the other man in English, which is met with a thoughtful nod. So—they’re about the same level in each other’s languages. Better at hearing than speaking. Convenient for them.

“—so if you’re looking for something in his field, the natural history museum is great. If you want somewhere more romantic,though, the Thorndike is amazing, and there’s this restaurant right near it, I forget the name—oh, hey, Bruce! You’re here! What’s the name of that restaurant across the street from the Thorndike Museum?”

“San Sebastian Jatetxe.”

“That’s the one! Thank you!” Dick beams at him, then turns to his companion. “I’ll write it down for you.”

“<Thank you, I’d appreciate that.>”

“Of course! This is my foster father, by the way, Shoutaro-san.Bruce Wayne. Bruce, this is Shoutaro Hidari, he’s visting Gotham for a couple of weeks.” To Shoutaro again, “Bruce’s Japanese is much better than mine.”

Bruce nods. “<What brings you to Gotham, Mr. Hidari?>”

Shoutaro relaxes visibly at the question; it’s likely the only new voice he’s heard speaking his mother tongue in days. “<My partner is attending a conference here, so we decided we’d make it a vacation.>”

“<Aha. Curators and archivists?>”

“<How did you guess?>”

“<A friend of Dick’s and mine is also attending, she mentioned that international registrations are up significantly this year.>” Bruce pauses. “<If you’re looking for date spots, the Thorndike is excellent, as Dick said, but the Botanical Gardens are also very nice this time of year.>”

Shoutaro blushes warmly. “<Thank you very much for the recommendation.>”

He doesn’t think much more about Dick’s tourist friend until that night, when he and Damian are out on patrol. It’s a quiet night, so they’re stopping a mugging as gently as possible when the mugger—a repeat offender and sometime informant, Bruce makes a note to check in on him at home out of suit—says, “So, uh, Bats. Who’s the new guy?”

Bruce frowns. No one new should be operating here.“Which one?”

“You know, the bug guy. My buddy texted about him, said he was speaking some other language. Well, he said it was a bug ninja who spoke Japanese, but he watches a lotta anime and he gets real excited, so I ain’t sure he’s right.”

“A bug. What color?”

“Oh, it changes, it’s cool as hell.” He shows Bruce and Damian a picture on his phone. “He a friend’a yours?”

“Yes. He’s visiting.” Bruce peers at the photo and then hands his informant two hundred dollars. “Buy dinner and go home, Nathan. Tell your aunt I say hello.”

“Yo, sure thing. Thanks, Bats!”

They’ve only been searching a few minutes when their earpieces crackle and Babs says, “Roof of GPL Central Branch. Someone I don’t recognize, they just took out some Joker goons who were robbing a jewelry store at the corner of High and 26th. Dick’s on his way too.”

They touch down at one end of the Gotham Public Library’s roof as Dick’s landing at the other and survey their guest, who’s looking between the three of them with something that’s likely surprise, although given that their face is entirely concealed it’s not certain. The insectoid red eyes and sharp antennae on the helmet and the white scarf drifting in the air from the back of the right shoulder send a shock of recognition down Bruce’s spine. He considers speaking first, but then nods to Dick instead. For better or for worse, Dick is good at putting people at ease.

“Hi there.” Dick waves to the stranger, tone cheery but guarded. “We haven’t seen you around before, mind telling us what you’re doing in Gotham?”

The stranger cocks their head to the left for a moment before saying, haltingly, “We. Ah. We are…tourists? We did not mean to…um…” The left eye of the helmet flashes as they’re speaking. A beat, and then the righteye begins to flash, and they say, in an entirely different voice that’s noticeably accented but much more fluent, “I’ll handle this part if you don’t mind, partner. Good evening, we’re Kamen Rider W. Our apologies, we didn’t mean to intrude on your territory. Are we addressing the famed Batman and his companions?”

Bruce says, slowly, “That’s correct. You’re a Rider?”

“Oh, you’re familiar with the term! That’s wonderful. Yes, that’s correct. We’ve been in operation as such since late 2008, although of course primarily in Japan.”

“Tt.” Damian scowls. “<If you mostly work in Japan, what are you doing running around here?>”

The left eye on the helmet begins to flash again as W responds in the first voice, in Japanese now. “<It wasn’t exactly the plan, a man in clown makeup waved a gun at me and tried to take my wallet and once I’d knocked him out I noticed that there were about five more clowns breaking into a jewelry store down the street. I couldn’t just leave them to it.>”

Dick is also frowning now. “I—have we met before? I recognize your voice. The, uh, left-hand one.”

“” says the left-hand voice, and then the right-hand one breaks in with, “Actually, based on his memory of your speech patterns, I believe you and my partner met earlier today, you recommended a couple of date locations and a Basque restaurant I’m eager to visit.”

Bruce can see Dick’s eyes going wide from halfway across the roof. He’s visibly biting back the urge to address their guest by name, which would be discourteous, to say the least, with everyone in costume, so Bruce cuts in with, “Is my understanding correct that we’re speaking to two people currently?”

“That’s correct!” says the right-hand voice, sounding delighted. “We two are a single Kamen Rider.”

Dick blinks. “Is this like a Firestorm thing? Are you fused?”

“Not unlike, but no. My physical body is currently unconscious in our hotel room, which is certainly much more comfortable than some of the other places in which I’ve passed out. Although as my partner wasoriginally going out to get us something to eat when he was accosted, I ambecoming concerned about my caloric intake.” And the left-hand voice says, “<Yeah, I was thinking I’d be able to get us something decent at the Seven-Eleven, but the ones here are different from the ones at home.>”

“I think,” Bruce says, “this conversation would be better continued elsewhere.”

Twenty minutes later they’re all out of suit and seated around a table at an all-night diner, and Shoutaro’s partner, introduced only as Philip, is inspecting the menu with interest. “This is intimidatingly lengthy, do you have recommendations?”

Dick grins. “Get one of the meat-lovers omelettes. And then if you still have room get some baklava, the owner’s mother makes it and it’s amazing.”

Bruce, meanwhile, is turning Shoutaro’s business card over in his hands. “<You’re a detective?>”

“”

“<I’ve heard of the Fuuto Museum, they hosted an intriguing exhibit on Mesopotamian artifacts last year.>”

“<You heard about Nitoh’s exhibit here? That’s amazing, I’ll have to let him know.>”

“<Please tell him I was very impressed with his thesis.>”

Damian’s been scowling silently into his milkshake, but suddenly he slaps the table and everyone jumps. “I knew I recognized that name!” Then, to Shoutaro, “”

“<I—you did? Really? It hasn’t had any translations, how did you hear about it?>”

“<My, uh.>” Damian shifts awkwardly. “<My mother gave it to me, I like detective stories. I enjoyed it. Although that copy was lost.>”

“<Oh, I’ll send you a new one if you like, I don’t imagine it’d be easy to get here.>”

The waitress comes by, and her eyebrows slowly rise as everyone orders, presumably at the quantity of food on request. When she’s left again, Philip turns to Bruce and says, brightly, “I also take it that you’re the sponsor Ms. Gordon mentioned, we had a very stimulating chat at the conference earlier today.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that you met her.”

“Coincidence and fate figure largely in our lives, Mr. Wayne.” Philip smiles like a cat; it’s oddly charming. “We’re superheroes, after all. Here,” to Damian, “Dick mentioned to me that you like animals, would you like to see a picture of my cat? He used to be a supervillain.”

After they consume a truly astonishing amount of diner food it’s time to part ways, and Bruce shakes hands with Shoutaro and Philip and says, “<It was good to meet you both.>”

Philip beams. “<Likewise, thank you, it’s been a pleasure. And I’m looking forward to seeing more of Gotham.>”

Shoutaro looks up at him for a moment. “<It’s been good talking to you, Mr. Wayne. You…remind me of someone I used to know.>”

“” Bruce turns to go, but then turns back. “”

They nod, precisely in sync, and Philip says, “<Yes?>”

“<What does it mean to be strong?>”

Silence for a moment, Shoutaro and Philip glancing at each other while Dick and Damian wait in puzzled silence, and then Shoutaro says, “<Kindness,>” and Philip says, “<Love.>” Another shared glance before Shoutaro continues. “<Anyone can hurt someone else. Helping them, that’s strength.>”

Bruce nods. “<Somehow that’s what I knew you’d say.>”

#hongo takeshi #tachibana tobei #bruce wayne #dick grayson #hidari shoutaro #philip #damian wayne #fanfiction #30 day shuffle challenge

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msoogabooga · 4 years ago

Text

Wasting Away (Tom Riddle x Reader)

Chp. I - A Sworn Enemy

Warnings- None

Word Count- 2146

Summary- You have singlehandedly decided that Tom Riddle is to be your sworn enemy until the end of time.

A/N- Hello! This is my first chaptered Tom Riddle fic. Hope you enjoy and tune in for more!

•••

Tom Riddle was the loneliest boy that had ever existed. You were certain of it whenever you witnessed him walk alone in the corridors or when he picked at his food in the great hall while everyone around him chattered amongst themselves, leaving him be. Ever so often you take a glance at his parchment paper in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he sits next to you, and you catch him writing lines of beauty. Words that flow together and create great works of art. That is until he catches you staring and covers his paper with his arm, not before cursing under his breath at you of course.

Oh yes, though you felt a sense of pity for the lonely boy, you swore to hate him until the day he died. It wasn’t always this way, of course. You wouldn’t be so cruel as to hate an innocent peer. In fact, you even thought to befriend him of course. The unforgivable day happened outside on the castle grounds. It had been raining quite heavily that day. You ran through the downpour of the storm as your house scarf floated behind you and your mary janes began to stain from the wet dirt. You had finally reached the shelter of an arched corridor and began drying yourself with your scarf. A sudden clatter startled you as you turned your head towards the direction of the noise. The black-haired Slytherin boy was crouched on the ground picking up a bundle of textbooks and parchment papers he had dropped. He began to grow more frustrated when he realized they had become soaked from the seeping rainwater that came through the window. With a pitiful frown, you rushed over to help him.

“Better the books than yourself,” You said with a smile, acknowledging your rained-out state as you began to pick up pieces of parchment. “The storm came so suddenly. I hardly had any time to rush to safety and, well, this happened. I was playing Quidditch you see. It was a bit cloudy, sure, but not even the greatest prophecies could’ve predicted this storm. You’re quite lucky, though. You don’t seem to have a drop on you, except on your schoolwork of course.” Tom Riddle snatches the parchment from your hands so fast that it leaves you with a papercut on your hand. You wince and take your hand back before shooting him a glare.

“Do you mock me?” He spat.

“I was just trying to help,” you explained with a grumble in your voice. “You didn’t have to be so harsh.”

“What makes you think you are allowed to talk to me?” Tom picks up the rest of his items and stands up. You stood up right after.

“Well excuse me all high and mighty. I didn’t know I needed to sign a prerequisite form before daring to stand in your presence. As I said, I was just trying to be of some assistance.”

“I never asked for any assistance. You’re making me seem pitiful.”

“Or maybe, get this, I was just trying to be nice!”

Tom scoffs. “Nice? Yeah, alright.” He makes a sharp turn and begins walking in the opposite direction of yours.

“What is wrong with you?” You shout. “I don’t even know who you are!”

Tom stops. He began walking towards you once more. You take a step back, unsure of what caused him to turn around. “Of course you don’t. I don’t expect you to. But I know everything I need to know about you. You’re the type of person to befriend a lonely kid because you feel it’s your moral obligation. Because you think that this will help boost your popularity points. Don’t think I don’t see right through you. I see the way your friends whisper and giggle at me in the corridors. You may not think I hear it but I do. So if you think you’re going to make a fool out of me for your own benefit then you’re clearly mistaken. So you can go back to your friends and tell them all about our interaction because I know you will. Now, goodbye.”

He walked away before you even had a chance to respond. You wanted to clarify. To say that you don’t approve of your friends gossiping. That you genuinely meant to help him out. But your saltiness took over and you only replied with, “AT LEAST I HAVE FRIENDS.”

You were unsure if he heard you or not because he had already disappeared from view. But you were satisfied. You knew who he was, obviously. That part was a lie. Tom Riddle was quite infamous for his knowledge in Defense Against the Dark Arts and is an acclaimed member of the Slug Club as well as yourself. You had even made eye contact with him a few times while you had dinner with Slughorn and the rest of the Slug Club. But you never expected this innocently kind looking boy to be so cruel at your act of kindness. You didn’t know much about him but you did know one thing: Tom Riddle was now your sworn enemy.

This is made extremely evident at his increasing side glare while you two sit together in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not by choice, of course. Assigned seating was never more painful than this moment right here. Still, the most you can do is glare back while everyone silently reads. You open your textbook as a way to distract yourself and flip to the unit you are currently on. Iguanas, iguanas, iguanas. Though you are puzzled as to how they were linked to dark magic, you took down notes anyway. You follow the pattern of dipping your quill in ink and writing line after line. All while you feel the hot glare of Tom’s eyes on the back of your neck. The bell signifying the end of class rings and you take a sigh of relief. Enthusiastically to get out of there, you begin gathering your materials, scooping your textbook in your arms all at once. Tom clears his throat quite obnoxiously enough to gain your attention.

“You miswrote something.” Tom states. You shoot him a dazzled look. “In your notes. I couldn’t help but look at your sorry excuse for parchment paper. It just reeked of misinformation. Sure enough, you wrote down that iguanas were omnivores when they are in fact herbivores.”

“Since when do you care so much about iguanas?” You ask, raising your eyebrow at him. “And why do you even care about what I write in the first place?”

“Well, one, I don’t. And two, I would just rather not be sitting next to the girl who got low marks on the iguanas exam. It would be quite embarrassing to witness.”

“Oh go suck an egg,” You retaliate. Tom Riddle scoffs and leaves without responding to your comment and your best friend, Wendy Slinkhard, replaces him.

You had met Wendy in the Slug Club. She was top of the Ravenclaw class, earning high marks that introduced her into the Slughorn's group. The first thing you noticed about her was the way her doe-eyes lit up every time someone mentioned writing. It was all she ever talked about. Her grand aspiration to become a famous author in the wizarding world. She had quite a euphonious voice when describing her life, casually mentioning the fact that she is indeed muggleborn and unafraid of any criticism. How her entire family is made up of writers and she is thrilled to follow the legacy. She had the most elegant way of describing things you had ever seen, almost like works of poetry roll off her tongue. When you ask how she comes up with these unique words she just responds with, The wizarding world seems to give a great muse to the imagination. Whatever that means, you are unsure, but it seems important enough.

“Well hello there,” Wendy says in her wispy voice. “Seems you have quite a charmer for a partner.” She looks over to Tom Riddle who has just left the room.

“Right.” You reply, getting ready to leave alongside Wendy. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard every time he speaks. I’m telling you, Wendy. You couldn’t bear sitting next to him for an hour.”

“Oh, I am sure of it. I’m not sure if I feel too keen about my partner as well. He is, to put it shortly, not quite attentive. Constantly asking me for notes or an extra quill, it’s quite annoying really! But overall, nothing compared to who you have to deal with. Tom Riddle. I always knew there was something off about that lad. Merlin knows why Professor Slughorn chose him of all pupils for the Slug Club.”

“Well he is exceptional at the Dark Arts, I’ll give him that. He has such a crude way of showing it as well. Constantly showing me up. Making me seem as inferior in knowledge as opposed to himself. A real nightmare.”

“Well, if it means anything to you, nothing good can ever come from being exceptional at the Dark Arts.” Wendy gives a slim smile and nods.

You and Wendy walk alongside each other on your way to your next class. Coincidentally, both of your classes are right next to each other. Though you really do miss having her in the same class. You speak to no one in History of Magic. You just sit alone with your face in your hands, hearing your professor go on and on about some troll war you don’t care too much about. Your quill picks up every once in a while to jot down scribbles of information. Something, something... Troll War. Not the most exciting subject if you were to be honest. But it sure beats suffering another hour with Tom Riddle constantly pointing out every minor flaw in your notes. Something about your professor’s voice sends you into a bit of a drowsy state. The way his words flowed so slowly and sterile. Slowly bringing you closer and closer into a…

“Wow. You look bloody awful.” You jolt awake at the sound of Dahlia Ferdinand looking down on you. She is dressed in her Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper and stands with arms crossed and a smirk spread across her face. You lift your head from the desk and detach a piece of parchment that had stuck on your face.

“How long has class been over?” You ask groggily.

“For about an hour, give or take.”

“She’s joking!” Wendy calls out, running into the room and standing beside Dahlia. She adjusts her giant red glasses and flattens her skirt. “Only a few minutes. No need to be so childish, Dahlia.”

“Oh come on. You never appreciate any of my jokes.”

“Dahlia, you know I hate your immature remarks. They are plain and unfunny.”

Dahlia rolls her eyes. “You must be real fun at parties.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been invited to one.”

“Don’t worry. We can tell.”

You let out a snicker before covering it up with a cough. Wendy, seeing right through you, shoots you a glare before adjusting her glasses once more.

“Speaking of parties…” Dahlia continues, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a green envelope. “Marcella Rosier invited me to the Slytherin common room party tomorrow night. From what I gather it’s going to be a grand event. Her uncle supposedly is bringing in firewhisky from Hog’s Head. Naturally, I expect you two to come with me.”

“Firewhisky, Dahlia?!” Wendy interjects before you can respond. “You know that is very much against the school rules. Not only that but against the law as well. And don’t even get me started on the policy of dorm-hopping in the middle of the night. I don’t even trust that Rosier girl to begin with. I’ve heard a load of terrible things involving her. Why are you even friends with such a person?”

“You know, Wendy, you sound like nails on a chalkboard sometimes. A simple no could do. What about you?” Dahlia responds, now addresses you.

“Oh,” You say suddenly. “Well if you’re going then I guess I’ll go as well.”

“So will I,” Wendy adds on, much to both you and Dahlia’s surprise. “Only to drag Dahlia out and scold her when she gets carried away with the firewhisky which I know she will.”

Wendy and Dahlia glare at each other and you cough. “I promise you, Wendy, that I will keep Dahlia outside range of the firewhisky.”

Wendy nods, satisfied. The three of you go your separate ways. You head straight to your dormitory, ignoring all work assigned for this weekend and your rude encounters with Tom Riddle. You raid your closet and begin the hunt for an acceptable outfit to wear to the biggest party of the semester.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle angst #tom riddle x you

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years ago

Text

Monster

Hufflepuff!Reader X Draco

Again is this what you came for?

You paid for?

To watch somebody burn and crumble and stumble

Then fumble all my words and let you twist them and listen

To all the ugly things you tell me I am

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Summary: Things go from bad to worse. Not all stories have happy endings, and it would be stupid to only read the ones that did. You and Draco learn that the only way to fight prevailing evil is unconditional love.... but can you two manage?

A/n: I’d like to formally apologize right now for how much this is going to hurt all of you because... oh boy. This gets really angsty and depressing and I’d like to remind you that Draco actually had to go through all of this alone. Sure, JKR does a lot of fucked up shit, but what she did to Draco Malfoy, I will never forgive her for. She lost my respect even before she said what she did on Twitter. But as I said before: watch me save Draco Malfoy. (P.S. If you haven’t listened to Special by Gabbie Hanna or watched the music video, I highly recommend it and then crying over it because Draco Malfoy man)

Draco paced his room, scattering his possession in his fury. His room shredded once more. What had he done? What had he said? What had just happened?

“You have some nerve showing up here,” He heard his mother hiss from downstairs.

For a moment, he thought it might be you, and false hope fluttered in his chest. Wiping away his tears, he slipped your locket into his pocket and stood. Snapping his fingers, his room started to put itself back together as it pained him to remember the first time you had done that spell for him.

Now you were gone.

He let you walk away. He said the cruelest things to you. He watched you break in front of him at his own hand. He broke his promise.

“Where is she!?” Your mother’s voice demanded from downstairs. “I know she’s here!”

Draco frowned, his thoughts spinning on a dime. Why was your mother looking for you? Wouldn’t that be the first place you ran to? Fear and panic struck his chest. Were you hurt? Did you need help? His anxiety turned back to fury.

“What do you mean where is she!?” Draco snarled, leaning over the banister. “She’s gone! No thanks to you!”

“What your tongue boy,” Your mother snarled. For a fleeting moment he saw the same fire in her eyes that resided in yours when you fought him. He dismissed the thought.

“No,” He glared, defiant. “You did this! You took her from me! She thinks I always knew! She thinks that I’ve kept it from her for years!” He descended the stairs, hurling the accusations at your mother. “She idolized you! She loved you! And you manipulated her! You manipulated me!”

“I did what I had to do,” Your mother said coolly.

“You lied to your daughter! You made her think you liked me! That you approved! And for a moment I believed it too!” He spat.

“Draco, what are you talking about?” His mother asked, coming to stand beside him.

“She gave me Y/n’s father’s wand for Christmas and told me what really happened.” He took a sharp breath in. “She never told Y/n the truth. She made me do it. She tricked me into doing it so that Y/n would hate me.” He was seething fury as he realized just how deep this treachery went.

“I had to protect her from you, but she figured it out too,” Your mother sputtered. “You Malfoys are all the same, I had to protect her!”

“No.” His mother spoke up, her voice like glass shards. “He is nothing like Lucius. The only one acting like him around here is you,” Drawing her wand, he watched his mother put a full body bind on yours without an ounce of pity. “How dare you manipulate my son! How dare you make him give up the one girl he’s ever loved! You have no idea what you’ve done!” There were tears in his mother’s eyes. He had never seen his mother cry before.

Her eyes met his.

“Go. Find her. Bring her home.”

He flew up the stairs, grabbing his wand and cloak and broomstick, racing off into the night. He had no idea where to start looking for you. If you weren’t at home and you weren’t with him, he didn’t have an inkling to where you would go. As Pinnae you could be anywhere.

Panicked, he started to scan the landscape below him for any sign that you would actually try to come back here. There was no sign of you.

His thoughts raced out of control believing that you could be in serious trouble, or worse, taken by the Dark Lord. That would be his luck at this point. There was one thing that gave him hope: you knew that he never meant to hurt you with the truth about both of your fathers.

His wand, tucked in his robe pocket, began to grow warm until it almost burned him. Drawing it, he realized that he had picked up your father’s wand, not his own. It hummed in his hand, he wondered if your mother lied about the wand wanting to protect you as it responded to him.

Silvery streams emerged from the end... the residue of a Patronus.

He couldn’t cast a Patronus at any other time let alone now. He was hopeless and angry and scared.

But he had to find you before a Death Eater did. Before Voldemort did. Before his aunt did.

“Expecto Patronum!” He roared, thinking of how much he needed you.

A silver roaring lion burst forth from the wand.

“Oh, you’ve got to be bloody joking,” Draco muttered and watched the Patronus leap to the ground and race off in a direction that held no consequence to him. But he trusted that it would lead him to you.

He raced into the city, watching the glowing lion soar over the rooftops before stopping at a home of no consequence to him. Draco dropped to the street, veiled under darkness. His Patronus paced anxiously along the small path to the door of the house.

__________________________

“Y/n?” A familiar voice called my name and I dared to look up.

“Abby?” I squeaked.

“Merlin Y/n!” She rushed to my side, wrapping her arms around me. “You’ve had us worried sick!”

“Us?” I asked, wiping away my tears.

“Our mothers and me,” She answered, and I scowled.

With a shaky voice I explained to Abby what had happened. About Draco and my fight, then the confrontation between my mother and me. It was almost easier when I retold it. It seemed less real.

“Lucius killed my father,” I said the words again, and they were just as heavy on my lips. My eyes falling on the gravestone. “I’ve lost... everyone, Abby,”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Abby scoffed gently, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Everyone? Really? I didn’t know your life began and ended with Draco Malfoy,” There was a soft smile on her face.

I gaped at her and the words set in. I didn’t really lose everyone. Not even close. She right there beside me. And I thought of her parents, and Pansy, and Ernie, and Luna... My life didn’t begin and end with Draco—no mistake, he was a very nice part of it—and though it might have begun with my mother, it didn’t end there either.

“And I know, between Draco and Pansy, we haven’t hung out as much as we used to. And I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but you haven’t lost me Y/n,” She wrapped me into a hug, and I clung to her. “I’d still give anything for you. Hufflepuffs for life,”

I let out a hopeless laugh, pulling away from our hug.

“He probably hates me. I should have stopped and listened...” I confessed the sad truth. “Maybe he’s right... I run away to my stories and ignore reality,”

“Those stories have kept you alive,” Abby encouraged. “They’ve kept you going in the midst of reality.” She took my hand. “So, how about we try again and find a new story?”

I nodded, smiling and feeling better. Something was pacified in my chest. It still hurt, sure, but there was a comfort that I wasn’t alone any longer. That I could try again. That I could take the next step.

“Come on,” Abby stood. “Let’s get out of here,”

I nodded and took her hand, finding my balance. She grabbed her broomstick and there was a silent question in her eyes: was I going to ride or fly? I smiled and we both boarded the broomstick and flew back toward the outskirts of London to a town house I knew well.

Crashed on Abby’s bed—after Abby gave a quick run-down of what was happening to her parents—I rubbed my face and finally felt myself relax for the first time tonight. The familiarity of Abby’s roomed calmed me and her comforting words—reminding me that I wasn’t alone— now covered me like a blanket.

Just like when we were kids, Abby and I curled up in her bed and watched the stars peer over the rooftops of London as the glow in the dark sticker stars smiled at us from the ceiling.

________________________________

Draco rang the doorbell and was met with a stranger with the same piercing eyes that your best friend had.

“She said you might find your way here,” Mr. Bones smiled. “Come on in son,”

“Is she here? Y/n?” His voice was quick and panicked.

“Asleep upstairs. Both girls are,” Abby’s father locked the door behind him.

Draco stood, rigid, not sure what to do. He wanted to see you more than anything. He wanted to know that you were okay. He wanted to apologize and plead for forgiveness and hold you close until everything was secure... but if you were asleep, he knew you needed it. So, he could wait. Mr. Bones led him into a sitting room, and he felt like he was being scrutinized.

“Now, from what I understand, you have been through quite a lot recently,” Draco nodded at his words, clenching his jaw. “And though I am not your father, I am here for you. My wife and I both are. This is a safe place for you, as it always has been for Y/n and Abby.”

That caught Draco by surprise. Surely, he knew of what his father had done. Of what he had done. If you had spoken with him, then he knew a lot more than most. And yet, those were the first words offered to him by a stranger who didn’t know him from Adam. Draco was welcomed in this small home? He didn’t understand it.

“I know this road isn’t easy for you either.” Abby’s father sighed, not noting Draco’s bafflement. “You are aware of what is coming, more than I will ever understand,” His tone was sympathetic. “And I fear that I cannot change what has happened or what will come, but I can encourage you and offer some guidance if you are willing to listen,”

Draco nodded mutely, a strange feeling growing in his chest. Now that he was over the shock of the situation... something else settled within him. It was kin to the one he felt around his friends and perhaps his mother... but this was different. This was new.

“Draco, son, from what I’ve heard from the girls, tonight was difficult between you and Y/n. She is like a daughter to me as much as Abby is, and though I would love to protect her as such, I know that you perhaps need me a bit more.” Abby’s father offered a kind smile.

“Though I cannot step into your shoes, I can only imagine that you are upset because you had no choice in what happened tonight, or the information that you were given, and yet the fault and responsibility was laid on your shoulders. And therefore, you lashed out with angry words in fear, and it’s understandable. But you must remember why you were afraid, of why you were angry.”

Draco nodded and looked down at his hands. The strange feeling in his chest grew a bit more and his hands began to shake slightly as his eyes stung with unshed tears. For the first time in his life someone blatantly said they understood why he has such a sharp tongue. It was a strange feeling of relief. But it went deeper, Draco was challenged to think of something he never had before: why was he scared and angry?

“I can’t pretend to think that you’ve had a proper view on what love should be from those around you,” Draco’s eyes flashed up, his internal monologue pausing, about to protest but Mr. Bones held a hand up, stopping him. “I understand that you may love Y/n, and I do not deny it, but love is so much more than you will ever believe,” Mr. Bones pressed on.

“So, you both lashed out—I cannot place all of the blame on you, I know Y/n can be a bit hot headed when she’s angry,” There was a soft reminiscent smile on the wizard’s face. “You lashed out because your love was being threatened.”

There it was.

The realization washed over him. Of course, it made sense as to why he lashed out. Of why he said those unforgivable things. That was the reason he never found to the question he never asked. He left like his love was being threatened. His love for his parents, his love for the life they had given him. His love for you, his love for the second chance you had given him at life. He lashed out in anger and fear because he loved... and maybe he loved too much... too fiercely that ended up getting him into trouble.

“But love, it keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects. Always trusts, and always hopes...” Mr. Bones sounded like he was quoting something, melancholy in his voice. “Knowledge... it’s important. The truth just as much so. Words are said, but they’re forgotten with time... but love prevails despite it all,”

Draco wanted to believe in that sort of love. A selfless unconditional love that could forgive him, but what evidence did he have that it could exist?

He stopped the depressing thought and truly began to think, picking up his early train of thought. You were unconditional when you held him that night his father was sent to Azkaban. Abby was selfless when she trusted him enough to be alone with you and didn’t mind that he took up a lot of your time. Pansy’s defense of him was always unconditional, no matter if he was right or wrong, even before he had you. His mother loved him and his father despite the abuse she suffered over the years and refused to leave his side even now.

And before him, Mr. Bones, Abby’s father, a man who married a muggle, invited him into his home in the middle of the night, sat him down, and gave him advice. Good advice. A man who kept you safe and loved you like a daughter. A man who held no hesitancy in calling him son or extending the same protection over him as well. A man he had met maybe ten minutes ago.

Draco could believe in that sort of love.

____________________________

Padding down the stairs half-awake in the morning, it was still dark, and the sun hadn’t had a chance to rise yet. Abby’s parents were both awake: Abby’s mom was a teacher, having already left for her muggle school, and Abby’s father worked for the Ministry. Abby herself was still fast asleep when my body decided that it was awake.

I nearly had a heart attack when I looked up and Draco was causally sharing a cup of coffee with Abby’s dad like he’d been doing it his entire life. His hair was a mess—as it always was in the morning, but there was the same sleepy smile on his lips.

Then he caught sight of me and dropped his mug. It shattered on the floor and he jumped cursing. Abby’s father laughed and easily cleaned up the mess with magic and I might have giggled too.

“Hey,” I offered softly, going into the kitchen getting two new mugs from the cupboard and making us both coffees.

“Good morning,” His voice was a bit shaky as he leaned against the counter. I offered him his mug and took a sip of my own.

“So... look, I’m sorry about—”

“I’m sorry about what—”

We both tripped over the other’s words, then I started to chuckle, and Draco dissolved into laughter beside me. It was a sad, hopeful sort of laughter that held yearning and forgiveness. He took my hands and in his gentle voice, he began again.

“I lashed out in anger and fear. And I said some awful things to you. And I’m very sorry,” His blue eyes seemed to hold the world in them. “Forgive me?”

“If you can forgive me,” My eyes watered as I looked up at him. “I should have stopped and listened and I’m sorry,”

He wrapped me in his arms, and though, I knew that my life didn’t begin and end with Draco, it was still nice to have him be a part of my life. It was like a part of me had come home. Now that we were together and everything was more or less settled between us, I didn’t feel alone at all anymore.

He withdrew from the hug and reached for his coffee, but I grabbed his arm.

“Have you slept at all?” I narrowed my eyes at him. His lack of response gave me my answer.

I went to the cabinet over the stove and pulled out a vial. I glanced to Abby’s dad and he nodded in permission and I gave it to Draco.

“You need to sleep,” I pressed.

“Do you just know where everything is here?” He mused, taking the vial.

“Draco,” I chided, noting his sudden change of subject.

“I know, I know. But I... I’d like to be able to sleep in my own bed,” The confession was almost guilty.

“Then we go back to the Manor,” I took his free hand. “You need to take care of yourself.”

“But what about you and—”

“It’ll still be waiting when you’ve woken up,” I smiled and took a deep breath. “Can Abby come with us?” I looked around Draco to her dad.

“I think this is something that you two need to do alone. Abby will be available; all you need to do is send a Patronus message.” He smiled. “Let her sleep though,”

“But I can’t—” I started to explain that neither of us could cast a Patronus to send a message.

“I can,” Draco blurted out.

My attention turned to him, a shocked look on my face.

“You can what now?”

“I... I can cast a Patronus?” He admitted sheepishly, like I was going to yell at him. “I picked up your father’s wand on accident, when I left to find you,” He still wasn’t daring to look at me. “I... I was frantic thinking that maybe they got you... and the wand just... I cast a Patronus, and it led me to you,”

“The wand... and you... and... wow.” My mind processed all of the information. “So, I guess the wand really is yours,”

I wasn’t as upset about the ordeal as I was last night. In fact, I felt better knowing that my father’s wand was in good hands and that it had helped Draco find and protect me. Maybe my father was watching over me after all. The thought made me smile.

“Y/n, wait, no,” Draco fumbled. “You can have it back, you were right—”

“Hey,” I called softly. “It’s alright. The wand belongs to you. He would want you to have it,” I smiled. “Wand lore is a finicky subject, and a wand’s loyalty even more so... but I do believe in my father’s spirit, and I do believe that that wand found its way to you for a reason. Even if the methods were... questionable.” I decided. “I would like my locket back though, if you don’t mind.” A warm smile grew on my lips as I held out my hand.

Draco reached into his pocket and carefully slipped the necklace into my hand and I took a moment to fasten it around my neck, the familiar weight soothing me.

Abby’s dad led us to the hearth and took out the box of Floo Powder.

“Maybe I should go first,” Draco caught my hand. “Just in case. I’ll come back and let you know if it’s alright or not,”

I nodded and watched him grab the powder and with practiced ease, clearly state Malfoy Manor. I waited anxiously for his return my mind started to draw up worst case sceneries, then another part of my mind telling the former to shut up.

“Thank you, for everything,” I smiled and hugged Abby’s dad. “It might not seem like it, but it means the world to him, what you did.”

“I’m glad I could help darling, let me know if you two ever need anything at all,” He smiled as Draco reappeared in the hearth.

“Come on,” Draco smiled and we both were whisked away to the Manor.

Narcissa greeted us as we stepped into the grand living room. She gathered Draco into a hug, and then pulled me into her embrace as well. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, an unspoken promise passing between us as we hugged. Draco and I headed upstairs without another word.

I watched him toe off his shoes and head to an en suite bathroom to change, and after a while I heard the shower running. His room was a bit different in the daylight. My things were still in the corner and everything seemed a bit too neat. I could hear the words echo off the walls that were said less than twelve hours ago... it felt like a lifetime ago.

I picked up Draco’s copy of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe and smiled when the dandelion greeted me on the page that I had underlined over a year ago.

“Don’t you have that memorized by now?” His voice was soft and playful. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him in sweats and messy damp hair.

“Not entirely,” I quipped back, setting the book down.

He gathered me into his arms carefully as I glanced around the room. It had such a strong scent of just him that I relaxed easily. With the curtains drawn, it was as dark as it had been the night before, save the bedside lamp. Crawling under the cover of his bed, we curled up together as we had done so many times before. Draco’s eyes had a hard time staying open and never really opened completely.

“It’s a lion,” He mumbled out.

“What’s a lion?” I asked, running my hand through his damp silvery hair.

“My Patronus.”

A small chuckle escaped my lips.

“Oh, what would Harry say?” I teased softly. “Or your father?”

“I don’t really give a damn,”

I laughed again and continued to card through his hair. I remembered that he had told me that I was cute when I was half awake and I understood, because a half-awake Draco was precious. He didn’t curse too often, but the word just slipped out almost naturally, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

After a while his eyes didn’t open again, and his breathing evened out. I tried to sleep; I really did. But I couldn’t. I picked up the book from the bedside table and began to read once more. The hours slipped by, my eyes becoming heavier.

When I opened my eyes again, I was extremely stiff. Without thinking I stretched my arms and heard a muffled grumble from Draco who I had just dislodged from his curled-up position next to me.

“Sorry,” I ruffed his hair as an apology and slipped out of bed, stretching completely this time.

“What time is it?” His grumpy voice mumbled.

“Uh, I think a little after six?” I squinted at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, that’s how clocks work,”

“Our sleep schedules are so screwed.” Draco sat up and rubbed his face, groaning.

“Well, we’ll take a Sleeping Potion later and everything will be fixed,” I said, not so optimistic that that would be the course of action in a few hours.

We headed downstairs where dinner was laid out on the dining room table. Narcissa was eating quietly, nose in a book. She looked up when we both hovered by the door.

“Good morning sleeping beauties,” She teased lightly and gestured to the food laid for us. We ate in silence, still not fully awake.

Draco was right, our sleep schedules were screwed. It was about ten and the stars had come out to play and we were both still wide awake. Narcissa had bid us goodnight not too long ago and Draco and I were out on the grounds, the moon and our wands lighting our way.

“You’re going to forgive her, aren’t you?” Draco asked softly. “Your mother.”

I hummed in acknowledgement and couldn’t deny that I had been toying with the idea. On the one hand, she was my mother but at the same time, she hurt me deeply and she hurt the one that I loved.

“Forgive... I think so. But it won’t ever be the same again...” I whispered to the gravel path under our feet.

Draco took my hand and stood in front of me, his other hand tilting my chin back softly.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, right?” He murmured softly.

“Of course,” I replied reaching up and stroking his cheek. “But we’ve never faced anything like this before,”

“And we need to plan, because I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not live in constant fear without some idea of what to do,”

I nodded. “So, what were you thinking?”

“Well, I’ve more or less organized our problems,” He admitted sheepishly. “I was hoping that you might have some solutions,”

“Well, what problems do we have?” I nudged his side as we sat on the soft grass under an apple tree on the outskirt of the Manor. Fireflies danced around us. It seemed almost surreal, to talk of such darkness and evil in the midst of beauty. Like something sacred was being tread upon.

“In forefront,” He began. “Would be my aunt. She is still quite taken with my mother, and though my mother has shown her disdain for Bellatrix... she’s obsessed with the family name. And she won’t be too keen on you with me. I thank the stars you’re a pureblood, but...”

“In her eyes, I’m a blood traitor,” I mused, resting my chin on my knees. “Yeah... and a Hufflepuff,” A giggle left my lips despite it all. “How ridiculous that seems now... a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin,”

Draco rolled his eyes and chuckled. “But I think my mother has something that might help, but it would be asking a lot...”

“I think we’re a bit passed being hesitant around what we ask of another,” I pointed out.

“Maybe so,” He sighed. “But I want you to know that I wish it would all go away, and we could be normal teenagers and not have to worry about a war... and I’d give anything for that,”

I looked up at him. His face was pressed into a cold, somber mask as he looked off to the stars in the sky.

“I know, I do too.” I acknowledged. “But... this is what we have... a war. Reality,” He flinched at the word.

“Sorry,” I mended. “Bad choice of words.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for saying those things to you,” He admitted softly. I sighed softly and intertwined me fingers with his, resting my head on his shoulder.

“I think that comes with time,” I shrugged softly. “Forgiving ourselves of what we’ve done... learning to love what we see in the mirror,” A quiet moment passed. “You know I forgive you right? For that night?”

He nodded, moping. I smiled because it was so like him to do and I was happy to know that even though it all, Draco was still there, underneath all the fear and worry.

“So, Bellatrix,” I took a deep breath. “You said your mom might have an answer?” He nodded. “Okay, next problem?”

“The Dark Lord,”

“I think that’s everyone’s problem Dray,” I drawled and pouted at the flat look he gave me.

“He’s going to come for me. I know it. Because my father failed him... and because it seems like I’ve been marked for it since birth...” He rubbed his face, hiding in his hands. “I don’t know what he’s going to want from me but... I’m terrified that he’s going to make me take the Mark,”

“You think he’ll make you?” I squeaked, trying to keep my voice even. “I thought he was selective about his inner circle?”

“I think he’ll do it just to punish my father, regardless if he wants me or not,” That was the sad truth of the matter.

I nodded and thought a moment.

“Then we can talk to Snape... he should know something that could help us... and I guess your mother would have an idea because she went through it with your father...” I paused. “I’ve never really looked into Dark Magic before...”

Draco gaped at me.

“Are you hearing yourself!?” He demanded, standing and pacing away from me. “You... you can’t look into Dark Magic. I... I won’t let you,” His voice was shaky.

I rose, nearly stumbling and caught myself.

“Draco, we don’t have a lot of options here,” I pressed.

“But you can’t!” He almost roared.

“And why not!?” I shot back.

“Because I need you to be my sunshine! I need you to stay pure and good! I need that!” Tears streamed down his face. “I need you to be my fairytale that I can run to,”

Whatever I was about to say to him fell from my lips. My heart about shattered as I took a careful step towards him. He didn’t back away from me, so I took that as a good sign.

“Draco,” My voice was soft. “I will always be your sunshine, but I won’t leave you to walk through this alone. I said it was stupid, but I am a Hufflepuff. I believe in kindness and good and always will, but ignorance is dangerous. It’s the difference from being harmless and peaceful,”

I reached out and took his hand. His shoulder shook softly with tears. I tilted his chin back and wiped them away.

“There,” I whispered, smiling. “Problem solved,”

He laughed at my poor excuse for a joke and curled his arms around me.

“Any other problems?” I teased lightly.

“Loads,” He mused back. “But... they’ll come in their own time I suppose.”

____________________________________

“Mother,” Draco spoke softly. “I think it’s time that you took Y/n to Paris,”

“Paris?” You squeaked. “Like Paris, Paris? This is your solution to Bellatrix?”

“Yes darling,” Draco cooed softly, smiling. “If you’re going to be by my side through all of this, and you’d like to be protected from Bellatrix, well, you need to look like a proper Malfoy,”

You gawked up at him, something shining in your eyes. He could see the excitement growing and wondered if you ever had anything new or designer before. Recalling your cutoffs and t- shirts, he thought maybe not.

“But I can’t ask this from you guys,” You fumbled turning to his mother. “Really, it’s a nice gesture but,”

“Think nothing of it dear,” Narcissa fluttered her hand. “Draco is correct, if you’re going to get through this, you need to look like a Malfoy.” She rose and set down her book. “Shall we then?”

“Wait,” You pulled Draco’s hand. “Abby will actually kill me if she doesn’t come,”

“Of course,” Narcissa smiled.

“Should I feel this ridiculous?” You walked out of the fitting room for what seemed like the hundredth time and Draco’s heart still skipped a beat.

He couldn’t deny, though he loved you in your casual clothes, seeing you formal and proper did something else to him. The ladies in the shops all fawned over you and your beauty and fluttered around with about twenty new things for you to try on each time you found one thing you liked.

“Yes,” Draco smiled smugly. “But you get used to it,”

“Isn’t this all a bit much?” You looked down at your jet-black dress that hugged you in all of the right places and the pair of high stilettos and sheer tights that were paired with it. “I get keeping up appearances but how the hell am I supposed to walk around Hogwarts in these?”

“Balance Charm,” Narcissa chimed in. “But you may be right, you are still going to have to attend school,” His mother switched to French, “Maybe something a bit more casual. Not as tight. She needs range of motion,”

“You’re still getting that dress, right?” Abby peeked out from the other dressing room curtain.

“Yes,” Both you and Draco answered at the same time, both turning varying shades of red.

Before either of you could make the situation worse, the associates of the store pulled you back into the fitting rooms, yelling at you in French and he laughed because he knew you had no idea what they were telling you. With an entire new wardrobe—that you pulled him away from the register before you could hear the total—you looked like you had walked out of a high fashion catalogue.

Sure, you were in something simpler—a deep green flowing high-waisted skirt and a black blouse with pearl earrings and necklace, still in the same heels you complained about earlier— but Draco couldn’t stop looking at you. Nor could he stop himself from finding your reflection in the shop windows and feeling a bit satisfied about how well you fit by his side.

Abby bid you a goodbye after lunch and pestered you about taking pictures of everything else you bought. You laughed and didn’t exactly promise anything, but there was something hidden in your eyes. After a while you relaxed and really started to branch out. Choosing things that you were interested in, and not looking so nervous—like you were going to break whatever you touched.

“She really is lovely,” His mother spoke softly in French. “I’m so glad you have her through all of this,”

Draco nodded and watched your fingers run over the soft fabric of new dress robes that were the same deep green as the dress you wore to the Solstice Ball the summer prior. How things had changed since then.

Draco was sure that he had seen it all, and that you couldn’t get any more perfect and beautiful, but Merlin was he wrong. His mother shooed him out of one salon and told him to wait outside. He did, not without rolling his eyes, however.

You emerged, looking at him expectantly. Though your hair was still short, it was neat and not the normal disarray that occurred when you ran your hand through it to keep it from your eyes. Your face looked as if it had been airbrushed, a light pink to your cheeks and a deep red to your lips that invited him in. You noticed him noticing you and the pink on your cheeks deepened.

Yet, he still missed something about you that held summer days, and reading in the sun, and muggle t-shirts and bare feet.

“Y-you look lovely,” He stammered out.

You blinked at him. “What?”

His mother laughed and placed her hands on your shoulders.

“He said you look lovely,” She rolled her eyes at her son. “And to think you still know French after all this time,”

Draco realized his mistake and turned pink.

“I didn’t know you knew French,” You took his arm and walked with him down the Parisian street.

“Mother taught me,” He explained. “I thought I had lost touch with it, but apparently not,”

After returning to the Manor, his mother took you away for a moment and left Draco to his thoughts. The big house didn’t seem so cold and empty anymore now that you had made a home here. Your echoes and ghosts danced through the room that he walked into.

________________________________

“Narcissa, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve given me,” I sat beside her in the smaller sitting room.

“Nor I, you my dear,” She smiled. “I understand what went down between you and your mother, and I truly am sorry.”

My eyes flickered to the floor, studying the Persian rug beneath my feet.

“And after everything that you have done for this family, and for my son, I extend an invitation for you to have a home here. Many things are coming for the both of you, and I think it would rest easier on you both, as well as my own heart, if you were close and safe.”

“Mrs. Malfoy—I... I can’t. That’s too much,”

“It is just enough,” She nearly scolded.

My eyes met hers and I tried to figure out what I should do. Did she mean that she wanted me to stay? Would the Malfoy Manor be my new home? Could I give it all up and stay?

Then I thought, what was I giving up and what was I gaining?

“I’ll stay,” I smiled.

“Wonderful,” She stood and drew me into a hug. “Now, I know that you and Draco are both concerned about my sister, and perhaps I am as well, but, for right now, I wish nothing more for you and Draco to have these last few moments to be kids,” She stroked my hair softly. “So do not fret darling, not now,”

I nodded, knowing that her words were easier said than done. But I tried anyway.

Draco and I spent the next few weeks together as we had the summer before. I read to him, we walked the grounds, he played the piano for me, I spent some of the days flying as Pinnae with Draco flying on his broom beside me, Abby and Pansy came over, we practiced magic and defense spells, I read up on Dark Magic, Draco tried to stop me from doing that, we went swimming in the lake in the wood, I pestered Draco until I achieved making him speak French for me—the language not...

Anyway.

It became a new sort of normal. I had written to my mother and we were on speaking terms, but I had boundaries now. I wouldn’t let her hurt me again like she had before. Slowly my books started arriving from my mother as well as most of my other belongings until I had my own room at the Manor filled with my books and other possessions. A room that was heavily enchanted so that only I or Draco could enter.

Though I read to Draco most days, and sometimes Narcissa would stay in and listen—she was gone most days, meeting her sister at other locations trying to keep her from the Manor—there was something to be said about the silk that fell from Draco’s lips on the rare occasion he read to me.

We were a tangle of limbs and blankets one night and he took the book from my hands after my words began to slur too much for his liking. Setting the book side, he chose another form my pile and opening the book, he began to read:

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?'

So, she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.”

His voice was as honey when he read. He wove together the story in my mind taking my hand and pulling me further and further into the tale. I was lost, my hand in his. Down the rabbit-hole and into a wonderland.

Dawn filtered in through the curtains and I woke up meeting silvery blue eyes continuing to read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I shifted, scooting up and laying my head on his shoulder, letting him know that I was awake.

“Morning,” he greeted softly. “Did I wake you?”

I shook my head softly and slipped my eyes shut.

“Do you want me to read aloud?” He pondered; his voice soft.

“If you want,” I yawned.

That was the last day it seemed that we had to ourselves. Darkness spread that night. An evil that no one could deny nor escape. And it came for Draco and me.

Draco was asleep beside me and I read the end of Dante’s Inferno wondering why I had even started to read it in the first place. The tragedy offered me no comfort. The light from the bedside table was snuffed out, plunging me into total darkness. I drew my wand, trying to cast a lighting charm, but my voice didn’t seem to work.

“So, you thought you could hide from me, young one?” The voice was sinister and made my blood turn to ice.

“Bellatrix,” I whispered, my eyes adjusting, catching sight of the deranged witch.

“Come quietly little pet,” Bellatrix smiled manically. “No need to wake the young prince,”

I looked down on Draco, who was sleeping so soundly. There was not a fear nor worry on his face. He was at amity.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin his moment of peace, now would we?” She purred. “Don’t worry, The Dark Lord has plans for him too,”

I squeezed my eyes shut and carefully extracted myself from Draco’s grasp, placing a soft kiss on his forehead before turning to Bellatrix.

“Just don’t hurt him,” I begged softly.

“That is not for you to bargain,” Bellatrix snapped, grabbing my arm violently, ripping the wand from my hand.

I felt the familiar pull of Apperating and was in the middle of a forest that held no consequence to me surrounded by hooded figures. I wanted to crumple to the ground and cry again. Couldn’t I have just one moment of safety?

“No, my dear I think not,” A raspy voice purred.

The hooded figures turned and dipped their head in reverence to this voice. This thing. This monster.

“You,” Fear froze me into place.

Bellatrix pulled my hair and I felt a sharp blade run across chest. I let out a sharp cry.

“You will speak with respect to The Dark Lord,” She hissed into my ear, throwing me down.

“Me,” His smile was wicked, his red snake like eyes seeing straight through me. “You should consider yourself quite honored, not many have the privilege of meeting me,”

“So, you’re going to kill me then? To get to Draco?” I hissed, surprisingly courageous for the given situation.

“Quite courageous indeed,” Voldemort mused. “And yet you are nothing but a Hufflepuff. Weak. Kind,” He sneered the word. “Favoring fair play?” The Death Eaters jeered around us. “The world isn’t fair, my pet,”

“I’m aware,” I narrowed my eyes at him, pulling myself up. The cut on my collar began to sting and burn. I covered it with my hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Again, his crimson eyes delved deep into my psyche, peering at me as if I were something to be studied.

“It seems you might,” He took a step closer to me. “But you truly have no idea, do you?”

It felt like I was being ripped from my mind and placed somewhere else. A room I knew well, the foyer of the Manor. A man I had only seen in photos was bloodied and bruised on the floor.

“Please, please,” He rasped. “Please, I have a child, Lucius,”

Tears sprung into my eyes. I reached out to my father, trying to comfort him, but my hand passed through him, as I were a ghost.

At wand point, I stood between my father and Lucius, greeting a cold stare that I loathed. This was the man that had hurt the people I loved. First my father, then my mother, then Draco.

Voldemort’s claw like hands snatched me out of the way and gripped my neck and waist, forcing me to watch what I knew was coming. I found myself not able to look away, even though my muscles screamed to, my body would not respond.

“See where love gets you? What happens?” He hissed over the sound of my father’s screams and a bright green flash.

I was released and crumpled to the ground.

“Then your mother... she was supposed to love you. Didn’t turn out so well either did it?” Voldemort laughed as did the others around me. I hung my head, tears streaming silently.

“Just kill me,” I whispered. “And be done,”

“But where is the fun if we don’t break you first?” Voldemort mused. “It’s one thing to kill, another to watch someone be utterly destroyed when then realize that everything they believed in was nothing more than a fairytale. To be so impossibly wrong that it extinguishes you.”

“How have I been wrong?” I snapped, looking up.

“Watch your tongue!” Bellatrix shouted, casting a curse sending me reeling in pain. I didn’t even notice that I was screaming.

“Now, now dear Bella,” The Dark Lord chided. “She does not know to whom she speaks. Her ignorance is no reason to punish her,”

The pain stopped.

“Your utter blind belief in love however,” Voldemort smiled maliciously. “That is something to break,”

“You can’t break that,” I gasped out. “You can break my body, and my mind, and maybe my spirit, but not my love,”

“But my dear, who do you have to love? Your father is dead. Your mother betrayed you. Your friends? Where are they now?”

“Draco,” I rasped out. “I love him.”

“He does not belong to you,” Voldemort laughed. “He is mine and has been since the moment he was born, you foolish girl.”

“Yes, I am a foolish girl,” I refuted, drawing up on my arms. “I love him, and he loves me! And you cannot break that, not with a thousand swords, and you cannot track that! Not with a thousand spells,” I stood on shaky feet.

The pain that exploded in my chest had me back on the ground writhing in pain. In utter agony. Every cell was being burned alive as they seemed to unattached themselves from the other. I felt myself being ripped apart and unmade by the universe.

“Stop,” I heard faintly. “We need her alive, for now,”

_____________________________

When Draco woke, inky blackness surrounded him. He was alone in bed, even though knew you were beside him when he fell asleep. You book was thrown unceremoniously to the floor. Fear gripped his heart.

When he rose, he found your wand discarded on the ground. Anxiety and terror began to grow in his chest. Dressing quickly, he hurried downstairs and found the Manor completely empty. He called for you, but there was no answer.

Come and join us young Malfoy, A dreadful voice hissed.

Without a second thought he plunged into the darkness of the night, desperate to find you.

Desperate to make sure that you were still alive.

Draco rushed into the circle of dark cloaks, coming face to face with Voldemort. He didn’t care though, he just wanted to find you. His eyes fell to the forest floor and he almost collapsed in relief that you were alive, cowering on the ground. His aunt’s wand was trained on you, and he could see the deep gashes along your skin. Blood mingled with dirt.

“Young Draco!” Voldemort called, a wicked smile on his face. “What an unparalleled delight, I had rather hoped you come,”

There was a snickering that rose from the Death Eaters around him.

“Free her,” Draco snarled. “Do what you want to me, but let her go,” His voice was cutting, like his father’s. “She has no hand in this,”

He heard your feeble voice try to protest, but you were silenced when Bellatrix raised her wand, not even having to cast a spell. The Dark Lord laughed.

“Your lover makes a passionate plea,” Voldemort knelt down beside you, gripping your chin with his claw like hands. “Perhaps you haven’t been lying and he truly does love you,” He threw you to the ground, where you didn’t get back up again.

Draco’s blood boiled as Voldemort faced him.

“You have become weak like your father. He failed me and now I will punish him by taking you.” The Dark Lord stalked closer to him. “You will join me. You will take my mark. You will execute a task for me,”

Draco held his head high and squared his shoulders, his eyes not leaving your unmoving form. He knew this was coming, but he didn’t care. He had to keep you alive.

“If you refuse,” The Dark Lord chuckled. “She dies, and you become mine anyway,”

You lifted your head, your large round eyes meeting his, almost no light left in them. He couldn’t bear to think of any moment when the light was completely gone from them. He understood his father a bit more.

“I will join you,” Draco breathed out. “My loyalty is yours,”

“Very good!” Voldemort clasped his hands together. “I hope you will not disappoint me like your father.”

“I am not my father,” Draco hissed.

________________________________

I watched as black robes and masks surrounded Draco, one holding his shoulders, one forcing out his left arm and another yanking his hair so that his head was raised and trained on the Dark Lord. Crazed fear was written on his features as he locked eyes with Voldemort who drew his wand.

Hopeless cries left my lips at the sight, my eyes wet with unshed tears. Bellatrix dampened her foot on my arm as means to quiet me. I bit my lip, trying to hold back a scream.

Then a hopelessness settled over me, pure darkness and evil that took away every inkling of love and faith that I possessed. Despite the utter despair, I kept my eyes trained on Draco. I wouldn’t abandon him. Not now. He wouldn’t be alone.

The darkness coiled like a snake, slithering from Voldemort’s wand and bound Draco’s arm. There was a chanting that I didn’t understand the meaning of. Trembling words left Draco’s lips in the same ancient chant.

A piercing sound tore through me. It was worse than the darkness. It was worse than hopelessness. Draco’s desperate screams of agony shattered me to my core. I covered my ears with my hands despite the pain from the broken bones and deep gashes. It was nothing in comparison to the pain that Draco’s shrieks punctured my heart.

Then it was over.

A chill washed over me. I dared to open my eyes and lowered my hands from my ears.

The mass of black robes had vanished. Draco was kneeling on the ground not yards from me, shaking. His head was bowed, his hands grasping at the dirt.

I pulled myself up and dragged myself over to him. Part of me marveled that I was still alive.

“What did they do to you?” Draco’s voice shook as he lifted his right hand and stroked my hair.

“I’m fine,” I rasped, wincing as I sat up. “Draco,”

“Don’t.” He breathed out. “Just...”

I nodded and pulled up next to him, laying my head on his shoulder. I could see the deep dark etching on his skin of the Dark Mark. It burned my heart that it was there to save me.

“Let’s go home?” I whimpered.

“Y/n, you... you shouldn’t... I’m not...” He stammered out.

“You just took that to save my life,” I reached up and lifted his chin; his blue haunted eyes met mine, filled with hopelessness and despair. “Hell, if I’m going anywhere,”

He nodded and pulled me into his arms. Drawing his wand—my father’s wand—from his blazer he whispered a soft spell and my wounds started to undo themselves. I felt my strength returning and my hand mending itself. I flexed it and the pain was gone.

“Dray,”

He shook his head.

“No, you’re going to hear this,” I took his face in my hands. “Thank you. Thank you for what you did for me.” Stroking his cheek softly I pressed my lips to his softly. “I love you,”

There was a loud crack and Draco and I flinched until there was a familiar tear streaked face.

“Mother?” Draco rasped.

“Oh Draco,” She rushed and knelt beside us. “I’m so sorry, they wouldn’t let me be here, I would have,” Her hands brushed through his hair in the same delicate way mine did.

I leaned away and let them have their moment. Then she reached out for me, tears glistening in her eyes as her hand stroked my face.

“I am in your debt once again my dear,” She whispered. “You were there for him when I couldn’t be,”

“It’s all my fault,” I sniffed. “He did it to save me, he... he was gonna kill me.”

“I know, but the fault does not rest with you.” Narcissa pulled us both close. “Let’s go home you two,”

My mind seemed to go numb and onto autopilot. Draco and I carried another back to the Manor and back up the stairs to his room. His mother started to draw a bath, the sweet scents sending a calming aura that had no effect on Draco or me. Narcissa left a jar of cream on the counter and stroked his cheek softly and squeezed my hand before leaving us alone.

With shaky hands I unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders. Silent tears fell down both of our faces. Somehow, we managed to end up in the silky water together. His hands, trembling and unsure, unhurriedly washed the dirt and blood from my skin. I reached out, taking his left hand and turning it palm up, gazing upon the gruesome mark that was left.

A sob wracked through Draco’s frame as he pulled his arm away and curled in on himself, weeping.

I had been wrong.

I could be shattered.

I could be broken.

I stretched out, my quivering hand resting on his arm and a broken cry left my lips.

For once in my life I had no idea what to do. I had no idea how to fix this or what next step to take. I was scared and felt estranged. For the first time in my life I was angry with the universe because why had it come to this? What had either of us done so wrong to deserve this?

It sent me into tears and panic. Draco eventually pulled me into his arms, and I clung to him, as we both broke down on each other. Dawn glittered in through the window, but darkness still loomed over us like a heavy cloud.

I don’t remember curling up in his bed, but I found myself there anyway.

Neither of us attempted to sleep. We knew that it was a lost cause. I came to my senses when I noticed that Draco was raking his nails along his forearm, in a feeble attempt to clear the skin of the dark ink.

“Draco,” I chided, taking his hand, pulling it from the irritated skin.

He jerked away from my touch and rolled over in his bed, facing away from me. I tried to shove down the rejection that spread through my chest and rose from the bed. Padding softly to the bathroom, I took the jar that Narcissa had left, understanding its purpose.

I knelt down beside Draco, my hand extended in a silent question. His tear-filled eyes barely met mine but when they did, he gave in. The cream in the jar was a soft white color and it tingled on my fingertips. Carefully, I smeared it over the Mark, gauging Draco’s reaction. He was stoic. The redness around the Mark began to fade and it seemed that the mark itself began to fade into the skin.

Setting the jar on the bedside table, I stood.

“Do... do you want me to stay?” The words were unsure from my mouth. I had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, and I didn’t know what to do.

“Sunshine,” Was all he got out.

I nodded, understanding, thinking to the night in early summer. Burrowed in his arms, we both clung to one another, saying nothing, but meaning everything. This was what we had been waiting for. And now it was here.

“We... He’s... He’s in my head,” Draco rasped out. “I can hear him... he... fuck, Y/n, he... he wants me to kill Dumbledore,” He voice broke. “That’s my task, that’s...”

Impossible, I wanted to finish, but I didn’t.

...........................

Our O.W.L. results came in and I couldn’t find a smile to give when I saw that we both passed with the highest marks. Jobs after Hogwarts seemed so impossible. Almost trivial.

Draco and I did sit and talk about his trial.

“Is there a way to get someone else into Hogwarts to do it?” I looked up from a book of cursed objects. “I’m sure Bellatrix would love to do it...”

“It has to be me,” He snapped and rubbed his face. “But we are going to need a distraction so that we can... I can do it.”

I took his hand and laid my head on his shoulder. We both agreed only spending one hour a day on plans for his trial. The rest of the time we desperately tried to escape it all. We spent quite a bit of time in Paris. Draco took me to the Louvre, and we walked along the Seine.

Abby and Pansy noticed immediately the deep bruise like shadows that lingered under our eyes from sleepless nights when they arrived to spend an afternoon with us. They never asked, but I could see the glances exchanged between them.

Abby pulled me aside one day and finally asked.

“It’s not my secret Abby,” I whispered softly. “I just... I really need you to remind me it’s okay, because I need to do that for Draco and I’m slipping Abby,” Tears stung my eyes.

Gathered into her arms, I broke down into tears again, gripping at her shirt.

“I... I was there... The Dark Lord... he... I watched my dad die Abby... He made me...” I sobbed out. “It’s all I see when I close my eyes,”

She stiffened, not saying anything. Stroking my hair softly, she just held me. Some part of me wished that it was my mother that was holding me and telling me it was alright, but I knew that it never could be.

“We’re gonna kill this son of a bitch, you hear me?” Abby took my shoulders. “We’re going to make sure that he pays for what he’s done. If that means getting along with Potter, then so be it, but we’re going to make him pay,”

I nodded and wiped away my tears, smiling for the first time in maybe a week.

____________________________

Your legs were draped across his lap as you read to him. Maybe it was stupid, but you were reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe again, and despite it all, it comforted him.

“I wish there was a wardrobe that could just transport the others into Hogwarts. It would make our distraction a lot easier.” You paused reading, thinking aloud.

He frowned, and something sounded familiar in your words. He gently set your legs in front of you and stood, his fingers trailing the spines of book that surrounded the two of you.

“Dray?” You stood, you hand resting on his shoulder.

“I knew there was something familiar about that book,” He murmured, selecting an ancient book from the shelf, scanning the index then flipping to the proper page. “Here, vanishing cabinets. They were common in the first Wizarding War... they created a passage between two cabinets.”

You took the book from his hands and your hour had begun.

“There’s one at Hogwarts, I... I remember George saying something about it...” You murmured, scribbling in your notebook.

“Weasley?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

You nodded and looked up. “If we could only find it... and another on the outside.”

“The Room of Requirement?” He pondered. “If it were anywhere...”

“It would be there.” A smile reached your lips and his.

Maybe this wasn’t completely hopeless.

“We can check Borgin and Burke’s,” His mother suggested after your epiphany was shared. “They have a lot of old artifacts and relics. We can go tomorrow. Draco needs to be fitted for new robes anyway, and your book lists have come in,”

You two nodded, his hand in yours.

The next day the three of you headed to Diagon Alley. It was one of the first times that you had been on his arm in the Wizarding World looking like a Malfoy, and he couldn’t help but smile at how effortless and beautiful you made it seem.

While being fitted for his new robes, Draco was becoming very irritated and he looked to you for constant comfort because he was breaking down inside. There was so much fear that someone would accuse him of being a Death Eater, that he would be taken to Azkaban, that he would be torn from you.

“Bloody hell, doesn’t he have a life?” You muttered, your eyes drawing his to a boy with messy black hair and piercing green eyes.

Both Ron and Harry stood with their wands drawn, and Draco took a small step in front of you, glaring the golden boy down, sneering.

“Now I don’t want wands drawn in my shop,” Madam Malkin scolded. His mother stood, standing between him and the trio.

“Put those away,” she said coldly to Harry and Ron. “If you attack my son or Miss Y/n again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.”

“Really?” said Harry, taking a step forward. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Draco had to stop a smile from curling onto his face. If only Harry knew exactly who he was dealing with now.

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. “Really, you shouldn’t accuse—dangerous thing to say—wands away, please!”

But Harry didn’t lower his wand. Draco’s mother gave a twisted and cold smile.

“I see that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.” Not after Draco finished his trail.

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. “Wow . . . look at that . . . he’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!”

Draco’s blood boiled and now you were standing, your wand out. His hand went out to stop you protectively as he glared Harry down.

“Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!” He snarled.

“It’s all right, Draco,” His mother pressed her lips into a tight line. “The boy is ignorant. We cannot blame him for that,”

Harry raised his wand higher. Draco clenched his fist, knowing that you were holding his wand at the moment. He wished that you would hand it over, but maybe, it was for the best that you didn’t.

“Get lost Harry,” Your voice came in strong and cold. “You’re not going to do anything, and we have better things to do than entertain your pettiness.”

“You’re worse than he is,” Harry spat. “What would Cedric say, if he knew?”

You went rigid under Draco’s touch. He growled at Potter and his friends. Granger was trying to pull Harry away, and Ron was dumbfounded, baffled that Harry would say something like that.

“It’s easy to love those who are good to you isn’t it?” You hissed. “But you will never understand unconditional love,”

Your hand intertwined with his as you turned your back on Harry and his friends and Draco could see your resolve crumbling. Harry had made a low blow by bringing up Cedric and Harry would pay for hurting you like that.

“Come,” His mother decided. “We’ll go elsewhere,”

Draco ignored the tittering from Madam Malkin as he pulled you close to his side and walked out of the shop with you, his mother not far behind. Immediately he pulled you into a tight embrace and your arms wrapped around him.

“I’m so sorry darling,” He whispered softly. “Harry will pay for that,” You nodded into his shoulder.

He stroked your cheek softly and you nuzzled into is touch a small smile touching your lips.

“It’s a shame,” You whispered. “You looked really handsome in those robes,”

He chuckled. “If she stuck me with another pin, I was going to lose it,” He admitted.

Walking along Diagon Alley, you waved at Hagrid, smiling. He seemed quite surprised to see you with Draco but offered a nod and hesitant smile.

“Mother,” Draco gave his mother a knowing look.

It was time for him to go into Borgin and Burke’s alone. You slipped him his wand back and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” You whispered. “Especially with Potter around,”

He nodded begrudgingly and took off towards Knockturn Alley. Fate seemed to be on his side when Borgin confirmed that he did have another Vanishing Cabinet in the shop. The only issue was that the one at Hogwarts was damaged by the information that Abby had given to you.

Borgin insisted that he see the cabinet, but Draco refused. It had to stay put for this to work.

“Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

“No?” Draco mused, a menacing smile upon his face. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

He hated that it came to this, but he revealed his Dark Mark to the shop owner and watched the fear come into the eyes of Borgin. He rather that no one know of what had happened to him and loathed that it had to be a bargaining chip when he’d rather be rid of the wretched thing.

“Tell anyone,” Draco hissed, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

It was another part of your plan. You said insurance would be important and Draco agreed. He knew Greyback would be the best insurance that anyone could offer.

“There will be no need for —”

“I’ll decide that,” He snapped. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.”

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course, not . . . sir.” Borgin bowed to him, as he once did to his father and it twisted Draco’s insides so much that he barely was able to keep his charade up.

Draco quickly stalked out of Knockturn Alley and back into your arms. You looked to him, expectant and he nodded. Guilt tore through him as relief flooded your features. He hated doing this to you. Making you walk this dark path with him, but he had no idea how he would manage it without you.

That night he curled up on your chest and your hands absent-mindedly ran through his hair. You were humming some sort of lullaby that he couldn’t quite place, but it was a repetitive tune for you over the past few weeks—something that you were clinging to.

“My dad... he used to sing it, it’s muggle I think...” You explained when he asked. “And then my mother did... when I had nightmares.” Your face fell a bit. “You reminded me of it when you called me your sunshine,”

Sure enough, when he did draw the few lyrics you remembered from your lips, it was very fitting. Soon, the lullaby became a comfort for you both.

A ray of sunshine in the middle of darkness.

Chapter 7

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kettlequills · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 1: waking dreams: master of fate

Miraak is victorious against the Last Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha, and reclaims his rightful place as ruler of Solstheim. However, the world he wakes to is not the one he left behind thousands of years ago. When the certainty Miraak once relied on is questioned, will he be able to adapt to this new world and the people within in time to prevent the destruction of all he has worked for? On A03 here.

Tags and tws: Blood and graphic violence, major death, mind control, Apocrypha, Mora.

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended.” Miraak’s words rang out bold and proud over the inky seas that surrounded his lonely tower.

He stood, gleaming and glowing, every inch the Dragon Priest he had been, unchanged and preserved in time like a moth behind glass, since Hermaeus Mora’s theft of him from his rightful place at the helm of Tamriel. He kept his back straight and his shoulders tall, let his voice thunder with echoes, and he looked down upon the Last Dragonborn fearsomely-masked, staff in hand. His show, his pride, his excitement, was for his benefit, and theirs, and the dragons that watched them, silent and monumental in this battle of the ages.

Sahrotaar, Relonikiv, Kruziikrel. His companions, his servants, through his torment – and now, the witnesses of his triumph.

As they would all witness!

“The hour of my freedom from this place and its fickle master draws near!” Miraak cried exultantly, fought to remind himself it was for moments more premature, “and soon I will be master of my own fate, once again. My time in Apocrypha is over. And soon, so will be yours.”

Hermaeus Mora’s thousand-fold eyes were unseen in the sickly green sky, but Miraak knew he was there. If he peered over the sheer edge to that liquid darkness, he knew he’d see Seekers clustered like crows, with their ragged cloaks like tattered wings tugged by no current save that of Fate and Mora’s will in airless Apocrypha. In the waters themselves, he would see Lurkers bleeding oil with steady pulses that sat upon the ink in fiery shimmers. Even the constant muttering of rustling pages hissed and whispered amongst themselves, as if placing bets. He heard the riotous wet slap of the ink against the base of the tower, the tentacles beneath squirming like blind worms to the light, and Miraak knew the whole of Apocrypha was watching.

In the tautness of the near-silence, his dragon- and man-heart stuttered in its restless anticipation, cried with each pounding beat the hope of a thousand years’ work swift-coming culmination: soon, soon.

Steady and sure, the Last Dragonborn that returned his gaze. Even now, on the eve of his victory, he drank in the sight; how he had craved the presence of another as the years worn on in his lonely imprisonment.

The air seemed easier to breathe scented by the freshness of Nirn they carried in their lungs, and their arms, their armour, were richly coloured, the most vibrant thing in this world of nightmare and books. No pallid greens or inkblushed blues for them, this Dragonborn wore handsome red and burnished steel. They were solid, made strong by the grain and meat of Skyrim, by the grape and grass of their sun-dazzled, Aedric-blessed life outside this cursed realm. Even now, their form was faint to his eyes, anchored to their real body on Nirn. As he soon would be real, and subject to the pressures of the wind and the rain, the sun and sky, once more.

They were no simple Seeker of Mora’s knowledge, this Dragonborn, with their well-worn sword held sure in their grip and their scratched shield in the other, no, they came to Miraak in the armaments of a warrior, the trappings of an empire Miraak had seen in illustrations. Their skin was browned by sun, their dark eyes watchful and shadowed beneath the owl-face of their wood mask.

Such cheap imitation though their mask was, he scoffed internally, of the mighty artefact they would have been gifted had they walked in Miraak’s time – but no, the men of this new age were weak and stumbling, and remembered not what they ought. No matter, though, he thought, and felt his lips twist to bare his teeth unseen, Miraak would teach them.

“You will die here, by my hand,” Miraak continued, promised, “And with the power of your soul, I will enact my glorious return to Solstheim.”

Unaffected, or perhaps he dared to hope, sparked by this threat, the Last Dragonborn rolled their shoulders with a metallic grinding and extended one gauntlet. They beckoned to him insouciantly, and their feet slid apart to a fighting stance, ready to leap in any direction.

“No words for me, Dragonborn?” Miraak taunted, too eager to let this fated confrontation end without a moment to savour its richness upon his tongue, and the Last Dragonborn growled.

“You waste your breath,” they said, in their raw, untrained Voice of thunder, “Better to beg the name of the one who will be victorious: I am LAAT-AAZ-IN!”

“A strong name,” Miraak allowed, grinning savagely under his mask as their Shout rocked the tower beneath them, shivers of that power in the soles of his boots, “You could have been mighty, if fate had decreed otherwise, Slayer of Alduin.”

“Might is unnecessary to win against a man who only talks.” Laataazin nettled at his pride, but though their weapon was held ready they waited for him to speak first, as the elder of the two of them. The note of respect for Miraak was beyond what he had expected – the Greybeards it seemed had bothered to teach their rare pupil some things. Miraak burned to know what else.

“Is that so?” Miraak murmured, and he could not hold back anymore, mortal words were soft as snow in his mouth and he needed fire. “YOL TOOR SHUL!”

It was a mighty greeting, and Laataazin’s wide eyes vanished behind their shield. The plume of fire was brilliant and blinding-bright, and through it, Laataazin charged fearlessly at him. Blinking smoke from his eyes and too slow to leap aside, Miraak swept his staff across his chest. Their shield, glowing white-hot at the edges, smashed into him like a battering ram. The staff clanged hollowly at the brute impact.

They wrestled there at the summit. It was hot work. The thinner parts of Laataazin’s armour were molten and spark-bright, the flames that licked at the fabrics of their tabard smoking relentlessly. Miraak drove his heels into the soft leathery floor, refusing to back down even as he felt his staff begin to creak ominously and his muscles scream. Kruziikrel snarled – Miraak heard the snap of jaws, one of the other dragons harrying it. Sahrotaar? Laataazin had flown it to the summit. Their eyes burned in the firelight through the mask, behind the shield, glimpses of brown shimmering orange. Miraak met those fire-bright eyes, and saw in them a soul that mirrored his own.

Inexorably, Laataazin pushed him back.

Miraak gritted his teeth as he was forced back one step, then another. He had the height advantage, towering clear, he could see their skin bubbling and scalding under their armour at the intense heat, but Laataazin was strong. Cracks raced like fault-lines up his staff, and he had moments – moments, before it shattered in his grip.

They would disarm him? So be it!

He gave a giant shove, and Laataazin’s shield dipped as they staggered. He seized the opportunity and at once Miraak discharged all the magic in the staff. It exploded with a thunderous boom and crack of searing white light.

Miraak was blown clear, rolling quickly to his feet with visions of Laataazin planting their sword in his spine. He squinted around his arms protecting his head from the shrapnel flying everywhere, and hissed.

Laataazin had gone to one knee, but as he stared, they shrugged off the explosion and rose to their feet. Their mask had shattered on their face, and they swiped their metal-clad arm over the wreckage. Fresh blood splattered free from the splinters driven into the flesh of their face, but Laataazin did not pause a moment before raising their head to look for Miraak. Threateningly, their shoulders rolled back, their neck arched, and Miraak had just enough presence of mind to throw up a ward before Laataazin Shouted.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

His ward was battered by the strength of their fire, but held. Over the roar of the dragon-fire, Miraak could hear his actual dragons thrumming warmly in approval. Miraak’s fierce joy welled like a song in his heart. Laataazin’s Thu’um was strong, nearly his match. How long it had been, since he had had conversation with one of the Dov – true conversation, of magnificent fire and fury!

Miraak would not dishonour his opponent by holding back an inch. As Laataazin’s dragon-fire dimmed, Miraak shot a bolt of lightning into its heart. Laataazin cursed in a rumbling voice – either he’d surprised them or hit them. He followed it up immediately with a torrent of ice-storm. The cold was revitalising after the heat of their grappling, and even better, he heard the brittle snap of Laataazin’s armour. Thick mist descended, the hiss of his summoned snow spitting when it touched their searing hot armour, the tower.

Miraak drew his sword and spun it idly in one hand.

“Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn,” he called smugly. Casting Muffle in one hand, he prowled around the column of mist and strained his eyes for any movement in the shadows inside. There – a flicker!

Miraak’s Cyclone Shout bolstered the speed of his limbs, until he was like a surging tempest. He rained down blows on Laataazin, their shield, their armoured shoulders, but Laataazin bore the vicious attacks like a fortress of stone. His oily weapon, the gleam of Mora’s eye dark against his wrist, spawned writhing tentacles that yanked and pulled at the ties of their armour. One strap frayed and snapped under his onslaught, and Laataazin leapt back as if they had just realised what he was about.

“Serpent!” they hissed at him, and Miraak smirked.

He turned his eyes to the crumbling pillars where the dragons snapped and snarled at each other. Relonikiv was tenting its wings, posturing at a growling Sahrotaar, whose finned tail lashed restlessly. Its eyes were dull and distressed.

“Weak that you are,” Miraak called up to it, “You may serve me again to redeem yourself.”

He summoned in a great breath to Shout, but Laataazin’s rung out first, with a crack like sundering worlds. All three dragons froze, the leash of Bend Will dropping over them like a lead blanket.

“Go!” Laataazin shouted hoarsely. They had pushed themselves to Shout sooner than they should have, Miraak could hear the cracks in their throat. No master indeed the Greybeards had raised.

Relonikiv was first, shooting up like an arrow from a bow, then Sahrotaar with a howl of “Thuri!” that sounded almost mournful. Kruziikrel fought, digging its talons into the pillars, but Relonikiv swooped down again to bite at its head until, roaring, Kruziikrel lumbered into the sky. Sahrotaar circled them in swooping lines, like a carrion bird over an army.

“Using my own Shout against me?” Miraak snarled, “They cannot help you up there!”

Miraak did not wait for them to recover but rushed to close the gap. He needed that shield gone if he wanted to close this fight and secure his freedom. Distracted by the dragons, Laataazin didn’t have time to raise their shield before he was on them.

“MUL QAH DIIV!” Miraak’s Dragon Aspect emblazoned him like a god, strengthened his attacks. He went for power this time, two hands clutching over the grip of his sword, blinding Laataazin with sweeps of his great spectral wings. They firmed beneath their onslaught, but their fierce eyes were looking at his face – and so therefore missed his tail lashing around to crack against their knee.

Laataazin stumbled, and Miraak wedged his sword under the shield and sent it flying. A well-placed lightning bolt had it soaring clear over the edge of the tower, and he retreated out of the range of their retribution. With how strong they were, he did not want to risk being caught beneath their blade. He imagined they must strike with the strength of a giant.

Facing him, Laataazin’s expression, marred by old scars and freshly-cut by the splinters of their mask, was a ferocious scowl. Their only reply was a wracking cough. They held their weaponless hand cocked protectively over their midriff, where the loosened strap had left their chestplate to sag on one side.

Relonikiv screamed anxiously.

They met with a furious clash. Evenly armed, though Miraak noted Laataazin had not once used magic, their struggle was one of bodies and clanging weapons. They drove notches into his sword with the force of their swings, jarred his arms all the way up to his shoulder. The fight was long, brutal, and messy. Thrice they cut him and once they just fisted a hand around his belt and headbutted him so hard his skull rang inside his mask.

The summit quickly became scarred with their tumultuous battle, smoking pits of dragon-fire and magical ice still crackling with the aftermath of lightning. The leathery spines of the books that made up this particular tower became waterlogged and swampy under their feet, making Miraak’s boots slide and slip when they bulled against him.

It was an intricate dance, and Miraak’s partner knew the steps well. Better, perhaps, than he, after all this time in Apocrypha with none but Seekers and Lurkers with whom to practice his skills. He praised their skill, and reassured them of the inevitability of his triumph. He could not lose. Miraak’s destiny was freedom.

Through it all, the ink swirled and sucked against the base of the tower, and the dragons circled far above it, their agitated roaring backdrop to the clashing of their blades, Miraak’s grunts when they pushed him back. Laataazin was quiet, but he heard the raspiness of their breathing, saw the sweat that dripped down their forehead and mingled with the blood on their face. He couldn’t stop himself from inhaling when they came together again, close as lovers with their breath misting the front of his mask. Their sweat was pure and human, untainted by daedra.

When they were so close he could feel the trembling of their muscles as they fought him not through their blade but through their brace against his chest, Miraak met their eyes. They were brown as earth, he noticed, narrowed in determination. Bloodshot, as if they hadn’t been sleeping well. He bared his teeth at them. How long had they spent, toiling at his stones? Were their bloody eyes his alone?

The tentacles of his sword oozing wetly down the guard of their own, Miraak leant all his weight on their arms. He bore down on them with all his height advantage, crowding the smaller Last Dragonborn until he could see the strain gritting their teeth.

“Getting tired, Dragonborn?” Miraak purred, ignoring the fatigue in his own muscles.

They flicked their gaze up to the dragons circling far overhead. Their arm shook. Miraak pushed harder, sensing an opportunity, and all at once their body trembled at the force of him and gave in. His sword punched into the gap in their armour and slid in to the hilt. Reflexively, Miraak tried to yank it free – but it had notched into bone, and all he achieved was making blood gush wet and warm from the wound.

Laataazin gasped.

For a brief moment, the both of them only blinked at the sword that speared from Laataazin’s chest, the blood that spurted steadily over Miraak’s gloves, but then suddenly, their weapon fell from nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.

“NO!” Mora howled, “This cannot be!”

Laataazin fell, and Miraak caught them without knowing why. They were warm and real, heavy, in his arms. He sank to his knees to bear their weight, arrested by the sheer redness of their shocking-bright blood over their steely armour, his robes, his buckle. Exposed, Laataazin stared up at him, their ruined face mortal and small. This close, he noticed details about them he had not before; the grey hairs that stood among the close-cropped brown of their hair – older than Miraak looked, but centuries younger – the wrinkles around their eyes and mouth that told him they had loved to laugh, once. Laataazin did not laugh now. They coughed, a wet, rattling gurgle, and blood splattered over the scarred lips. They were trying to speak, he could see their lips fumbling, but only blood came out.

“This is the only way, Dragonborn,” Miraak hissed at them, “The only way I can be free.”

Their hand, weakly, curled into the front of his robes.

“This is not my design!” Mora shrieked, and Miraak was dimly aware of his tentacles racing over the floor towards them.

Laataazin’s wide eyes stared up at Miraak. Tears of pain glittered on their cheek. Their breath was shallow and rattling around the sword. They were going to suffocate on their own blood; Miraak had perforated their lung. But there was no time for Laataazin to die slowly in Miraak’s arms. Mora was coming.

Miraak gripped the Last Dragonborn’s jaw, and closed his eyes, his bloody gloved hand spreading red stains over Laataazin’s neck as he sought the softness of their temples, then the back of their head. He pulled on his magicka, that deep and verdant pool inside of him. And then as Mora reached them, Miraak cast the strongest lightning spell he knew.

A snap of burning flesh and Mora’s scream. Laataazin’s body convulsed in his arms, and Miraak roared in pain as the electricity shot through his own body, but they were dead before their stunned hand could untwist from their robes.

Mora’s tentacles wrapped around Laataazin’s chest and yanked. Miraak clung to their body doggedly.

“No,” he shouted, “NO! You won’t-“

A bolt of green magic struck his shoulder and Miraak cried out. Seekers – waves of them, coming up the side of the tower-

Laataazin’s flesh was beginning to glow, Miraak maintaining a death grip on them as the embers of their soul roared to life and surged into him. He felt their flesh dissolving against his fingers, felt the hungry jaws inside his dragon-soul rear its jaw wide, ready to rend and tear Laataazin’s soul into nothing but power for Miraak.

Another blast of magic rocked him, then three more in quick succession. It blew him onto his back and Miraak stared through eyes blurred with pain as the three dragons in the sky tucked their wings and dove. Fire blasted from Sahrotaar, immolating a wave of Seekers before they could fire on Miraak again.

Mora’s tentacles thickened like snake coils and with a mighty heave, the Prince yanked Laataazin’s body from his grasp. Miraak clung to the shred of the Last Dragonborn’s soul even as their body was ripped away from him. With effort, Miraak plunged his magic into the centre of Laataazin’s soul, and followed that tiny, tugging thread, back to Laataazin’s real body.

The air rent wide with a horrible Daedric scream. An unholy rictus of green light shredded open and Miraak saw through, warm darkness, firelight, Nirn. Mora was howling with rage, his thick tentacles wrapping around Miraak’s neck, his body, his limbs, trying to slow him down. The dragons protected him from the Seekers, rode flaming passes over Mora’s tentacles so they withered and popped with the thick reek of smoking oil, but Miraak felt himself being dragged back, slowly, into Mora’s embrace.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, desperation searing as tears in his eyes.

For a moment, Miraak felt a surge of something, as if some dying ember of the Last Dragonborn had heard his cry as he ate their soul, and then the glorious streams of gold and blue and green became fire, dragonfire, infused with all the colours of Keizaal’s auroras and hotter than its sun. A rancid smell boiled up as Mora’s tentacles bubbled and burnt in the fire of Laataazin’s soul infusing into Miraak, their flesh into his, their will becoming his own.

Miraak forced his foot through the portal, then his shoulder. He struggled there like a fly caught in a web as the portal began to narrow and waver, his body wrenched between planes by Mora’s tentacles.

“Niid,” Miraak roared, “MUL QAH DIIV!”

His Dragon Aspect formed spears of spines that drove into Mora’s tentacles, causing the Daedric Prince to snarl. The tentacle hold loosed, just barely, just slightly, and Miraak stumbled forward, out, out, out, into Nirn.

Miraak collapsed to his knees onto Laataazin’s fleshless body, hearing their bones rattle within the casings of their armour at the force of the collision. With his last shred of strength, he reached back and hooked his hand into the portal, feeling Apocrypha’s fury shred into the bone and muscle of his hand. It was agony, agony, but first Sahrotaar’s blue snout wrested its way out, Relonikiv, slim and quick, and Kruziikrel, shouldering through with a deep bass roar at the tightening shred of Mora’s thorns.

The portal snapped closed with a resounding boom. Miraak felt Mora’s presence die, a last imprint of futile, terrible rage.

One of the dragons was howling, and droplets of dragonblood were stinging acidic on Miraak’s shoulders, his bowed head. His hand was a wreck, bloody ink gushing from the wounds, and Miraak was laughing, laughing.

He gripped Laat Dovahkiin’s empty chestplate until his gloves creaked. Their mask rattled free of their fleshless skull, blank white wood yet unbroken here, with no eyes, no enemy, no soul. Miraak gasped for breath around horrible laughter that wrenched at his chest as if it were possessing him, hot tears in his eyes.

Miraak was free.

(tags: @sumsaltysorceress @argisthebulwark)

#inkwrites #my fic waking dreams: master of fate #miraak #skyrim #laataazin #elder scrolls #hermaeus mora #major character death

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pocket-luv101 · 4 years ago

Text

First Impressions // Chapter 3

Fandom: Servamp Ship: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: After Licht meets the wealthy bachelor, Hyde, she was certain that she could never be friends with him. Their paths continues to cross and she slowly comes to know him. Licht wonders if she judged him too quickly. (LawLicht, Pride and Prejudice AU, Fem Licht)

Ch.1 // Ch.2 // (Ch.3) //

Mikuni didn’t bother to knock on Misono’s bedroom door before she entered. The room was dark but she had to note that smoke lingered over the candle as if the fire was recently doused. She turned away from the candle and looked to her sisters sleeping on the floor of Misono’s room. The sight reminded her of their childhood where they would make forts and tents to camp on the ground.

She could easily conclude that her sisters were pretending to sleep so they wouldn’t have to start their morning chores. The sun was only beginning to rise so Mikuni didn’t see a reason to wake them. The amber hue of sunrise was tainted with grey rain clouds. They had time before the rooster would wake the town. She knelt next to her sisters and adjusted the blanket over them. Her eyes fell onto the book next to Licht’s pillow, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

When they returned from the party, Mahiru suggested the sisters sleep in the same room and read the play Licht had brought for Misono. Mikuni knew that the suggestion was to lift Misono’s spirits after their mother’s hurtful words so Mikuni agreed. Her only condition was for them to sleep before midnight because they needed to wake early to care for the horses.

She had to finish the bookkeeping for the night so she told them to sleep first. Since they attended the ball, Mikuni stayed up later than she usually would. She was disappointed that she fell asleep in her office and missed the sleepover with her sisters. She placed the play on the desk and lit the candle again. “I know you’re merely pretending to be asleep, Ladies. While I was walking down the hall, I could hear you three reading the play. It’s not good for your eyesight to read in the dark.”

“Then we shall switch from reading the play to discuss our new neighbours? Licht told us that Hyde was the one to suggest the comedy.” Misono said and gestured for Mikuni to lay down with them. Despite how Mikuni knew it would be more responsible to start the day, she settled onto a pillow instead. “Perhaps we shall see them if we go to the theater. Mahiru will have the opportunity to speak with Kuro again.”

“Mother has voiced her approval of them due to their wealth but I dare say we must protect each other from them. We cannot trust them. Hyde called Mahiru mad when she is clearly an angel! He also bribed the mayor to sneak into the library.” Even as she spoke, Licht thought of her talk with Hyde earlier that night. She rolled onto her stomach and stared out the window to Hanafield manor in the morning light. “There is also their brother who lives in the town under a false name. Who do you think he is?”

“Kuro said his brother has his reasons to hide their family name. We shouldn’t pry. They aren’t a traditional noble family but we shouldn’t judge them. Our peers would say we’re far from conventional women and we know how hurtful it is to be called such.” Mahiru reminded them. The four sisters each had their own passion and they wanted to do more with their skills than call it a hobby. “People are far too complex to judge who they are after only one meeting.”

Mahiru thought of Kuro and pulled her blanket to her lips to hide her grin. She was certain her sisters would tease her for the budding crush. “At first glance, Kuro appears to be the perfect lord with how handsome he is. He can’t dance though. He stepped on my feet several times but his effort was so earnest and charming that I accepted another dance when he asked. I’ve never danced so much in a night.”

“All the mothers at the ball must’ve been jealous of you for catching Lord Ash’s fancy. I’m certain he spent half the night dancing with you. The rest of the night, he spent smiling at you. I would venture to say he’s smitten with you, Mahiru.” Mikuni laughed.

Heavy knocks pounded on the wall and it startled them. Licht instinctively placed her hand on Misono’s shoulder to protect her younger sister. She relaxed when Sakura’s voice travelled through the wall. “I’m trying to sleep! Quiet down!”

“Sakura does have a point. It’ll be better to continue our conversation while we do the morning chores. We won’t be bothering the ones still asleep.” Mahiru said and sat up. “We can’t waste the morning. The stable hands will come soon and I want to make something warm for them to eat. Will you help me, Misono? You can give something special to Tetsu.”

“What? Why would you mention Tetsu specifically in such a way? I don’t have any feelings for him.” Misono insisted with a bright blush.

“Oh, don’t be so upset. Mahiru is teasing you about your crush on Tetsu because you brought up her crush on Kuro earlier.” Mikuni laughed when both of her sisters tried to deny her feelings. She stood and placed the pillows back onto the bed. They cleaned the room and Licht’s eyes fell onto the play Hyde gave her. She made a note to herself to return the book to the library.

She wondered if she would see him once again since he appeared to enjoy reading. Hyde’s teasing grin from the day they met contradicted the soft smile he had at the library. He had heard their mother insult Misono and intended to ask her to dance. She didn’t know if he was motivated by pity or compassion. But the thoughtfulness in his red eyes made her heart stumble for a reason she couldn’t need. Licht cared for her sister and she was happy to see someone treat them kindly.

She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop picturing his face. Licht pulled her thoughts away from the man and she followed her sisters out the door. They went through their morning routine. Their family’s wealth was modest so they couldn’t afford a robust staff to care for the house. The sisters loved the aging building and they would help the staff maintain the home of their memories.

There was a knock on the front door and Licht glanced at the time. It was far too early for their stable hands to arrive and they would usually knock on the back door. Licht answered the door but she didn’t recognize the man on the other side. He bowed politely to her and held out a letter. “Good morning. I am the footman for the Servamps and they asked me to deliver you this invitation.”

“Thank you.” Licht was surprised by the invitation but she took the letter into her hand. She closed the door and she carried the letter to her sisters. She tore off the seal and opened it to skim the words. Mikuni was the first one to notice her reading.

“What is that?” Mikuni asked and looked over her shoulder. “The Servamps are inviting us to morning tea? I didn’t think we had made such a good impression on them to do such. The letter names all of us but my intuition tells me that this is clearly meant for Mahiru. The letter mentions that it was a pleasure to dance and she was the only one to dance with a Servamp.”

“I would love to have tea with the family.” Mahiru took the letter and searched for the line Mikuni mentioned. She smiled to herself once she found it. Then, she folded the letter and placed it on the counter. “But we will be far too busy to pay them a visit. I need to work with the staff to plan for Haruto’s visit next week. Mikuni will be too occupied with the family business to do so.”

“I’m sure Misono can handle the horses while I arrange everything for our cousin.” Mikuni waved away her protest. “Misono has been working with me and the family business for a year now and she can handle it for the day. If you want to go, you can without worrying about us. Do you want to attend the morning tea as well, Licht?”

“Since we went to the party last night, I wasn’t able to practise my piano like I usually would. I planned to compensate for that time by practising an extra two hours today.” Licht could see how excited Mahiru was by the invitation and added: “I would go to protect Mahiru from that demon but his siblings will be there. She should be safe having tea with them.”

“Thank you.” Mahiru beamed a smile at her sisters and held the letter close to her chest. “We would sneak into Hanafield’s garden and play. This will be my first time inside the manor. I will ask them to invite you three another time so you can see it as well. I’m so excited. Oh, we should tell mother and have the carriage prepared before the rain starts.”

Mahiru placed the letter in her pocket as she left the kitchen to tell their mother. She quickly found her in the drawing room and she sat across from her. “Mother, I have been invited to have morning tea. May I take the carriage to visit them? They live next to us but the distance is too far to walk.”

“I have already promised Sakura that we would take the carriage to town and watch the officers enter town. There shall be a parade! She’s so excited to meet a soldier and I hope the weather doesn’t postpone the parade.” Her mother took Mahiru’s hand and patted it gently. She didn’t feel her mother’s warmth after she said: “We have thirty horses and you can ride one to visit your friend for tea. I need the carriage.”

“I understand, Mother.” Mahiru nodded to her. She told herself to look forward to having tea with the Servamps and the opportunity to speak with Kuro again.

“Is this the file that you were looking for, Misono?” Licht asked and held out the folder to her. While she wasn’t as business minded like Mikuni, she did her best to help when Misono asked for her assistance. Mikuni said she trusted her with the family’s business but she felt a little uncertain. She was happy to have Licht’s support. “Perhaps I can bring the piano into the office to play a song to motivate you.”

“You’re a strong angel but I doubt you can carry the pianoforte up the stairs. Even if you did, you’ll leave drag marks on the ground and Mahiru will scream the moment she sees that.” They laughed as they pictured Mahiru’s reaction. She glanced out the window and she noted how heavy the rain had become. “Mahiru hasn’t returned from morning tea yet. Do you think the mud has slowed the carriage?”

As if to answer their question, Mikuni entered the room clutching a letter. Licht immediately knew that something was amiss by her pale face. “The Servamps sent us a message. Mahiru has fallen sick with a cold. She rode a horse to their manor and it started to rain during the last mile of the journey. They’re treating her cold but the doctor says it might take the night for her to recover.”

“Mahiru should know better than to ride a horse in this weather. What on earth would persuade her to do so?” Licht took the letter from her sister. She knew Mikuni would never lie about Mahiru’s condition but she was in disbelief. She wanted to immediately go to the Servamp’s manor to see her condition and to ensure that she was being treated well. In the back of her mind, she was reminded that Misono needed her help with the family business. She loved both of her sisters.

Licht turned to Misono and there was an understanding between them without speaking. “You should go, Licht. I’m worried about Mahiru as well and I’ll feel better if one of us was there with her. Mikuni and I will stay here to deal with the family affairs. We’ll go to Hanafield once we complete the work here.”

“I’ll send you a more detailed letter about Mahiru’s condition the moment I see her.” Licht promised.

She gripped the letter in her fist as she ran down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Licht only stopped to put on a coat and her bonnet. In the corner of her eyes, she saw her mother step into the foyer. She thought her mother may question why she would run into the rain. She rushed to explain as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet.

“Mahiru has fallen sick from riding in the rain and I must go to her bedside. She is being cared for by the Servamps since they planned to have tea together.” Licht slipped her feet into her boots without lacing them, worried that Mahiru’s condition could worsen if she dawdled for even a moment. “I will ride Pegasus so there’s no need to prepare the carriage.”

“The morning tea was with the Servamps? If I knew, I would’ve allowed her to take the carriage and have her bring Sakura with her. That would’ve been the perfect opportunity for her to impress the family.” Her mother sighed and Licht bit her tongue. “Sakura will be so upset with Mahiru for not telling her. She was already disappointed that we couldn’t take the carriage into town due to this rain.”

“Your daughter has fallen ill yet you speak of the feelings of Sakura’s alone? You have more than one daughter, Mother! Hell, Mahiru has been more of a mother to your daughters and she’s the third oldest of us. You would match us with husbands in exchange for dresses and Father will do the same for money to gamble.” Her worry for Mahiru caused her frustration to boil until she couldn’t contain it. Licht’s yells could be heard throughout the house. She didn’t bother to listen to her mother’s reply before she stormed out the door.

Hyde stood on the perron staircase behind the manor and he was protected from the rain by the canopy above his head. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke. He could see the creek past their garden and he recalled his first meeting with Licht. Their footman sent the family a letter to inform them that Mahiru became sick in the rain.

Sharp blue eyes played on his mind and he pondered if Licht would visit them to see her sister. She threw her shoe at him for insulting Mahiru and yelled at her mother for hurting Misono’s feelings. It was easy to see that she cared more for her sisters than how society saw her. Hyde couldn’t help but respect her passion and conviction.

He put out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting on the stair rail. Hyde intended to return into the warmth of the manor but something past the creek caught his attention. The person was too far for him to know who the rider was but he could see that they were riding towards the creek. He stepped into the rain and walked down the stone staircase.

The creek was only a short walk from Hanafield’s garden so he was able to reach the water with a light jog. On the other side of the creek, the horse continued to sprint towards the water but the rider made no move to slow down. Hyde tried to call out to the person to stop but his voice was drowned out by the rain striking the creek.

His eyes widened when the horse leapt over the creek and landed a few feet next to him. Hyde pulled himself out of his shock and he grabbed the horse’s reins to force it to stop. He shouted up at the rider: “Are you mad to perform such a dangerous jump in this rain?”

“Let go of me, Demon! I need to see my sister.” Hyde recognized Licht’s voice only a moment before she kicked him. Their screams scared her horse and the animal instinctively rose onto its hindlegs. She was thrown from the saddle and she braced herself from the impact with the ground. Instead, she found herself in warm arms when Hyde caught her.

“Are you okay, Angel Cakes?” Hyde asked. His heart was still racing and he didn’t know which of them was more startled. He looked down at her in his arms and the first thing he noticed was the tears staining her cheeks. He assumed that they were caused by worry for her sister and he wanted to reassure her. Before he could, Licht pushed lightly on his chest.

He placed her on the ground and Licht moved in front of the horse. With a simple hand on the horse’s muzzle, it became calm. Licht spoke to the horse in a soft voice and he was surprised by how lulling it was. “It’s okay, Pegasus. I was upset but I shouldn’t have rode so recklessly in the rain. When we return home, I will brush you and give you apples.”

“Our staff can care for your steed.” Hyde offered. He took off his jacket and held it over her head so she would be sheltered from the rain. The hem of her dress was coated in mud and her hair was dishevelled from the ride. Yet, she was still beautiful with her sharp blue eyes. “Your sister is well. The doctor said she only needs rest to recover.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Licht relaxed and stroked her horse’s mane. “Thank you for taking care of my sister and offering to help my horse. I want to see Mahiru right away.”

“I’ll walk you to the guest room where she’s sleeping.” He nodded. Hyde wanted to ask why she appeared so upset earlier but he didn’t know if it was his place to do so. He changed the subject and said, “I’ll have the staff prepare a towel and warm tea for you. We wouldn’t want you to catch a cold as well. Anyways, I owe you a dress after I ruined the one you wore to the ball.”

“You’re housing my sister while she’s sick. We can consider ourselves even.” She said and looked up at him. He held his jacket over her head and she felt surrounded by warmth.

#servamp #lawlicht #kuromahi #tetsono #servamp hyde #licht jekylland todoroki #mahiru shirota #mikuni alicein #misono alicein #fanfiction #fem licht #fem eves

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enby-crisis · 4 years ago

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Wish I was (Dolores) Five x reader

Summary: You knew Five as a kid but when he left it felt like your life was on pause. When he comes back to stop the apocalypse you wake up as your thirteen year old self and seek the academy out

Word Count:1396

Warnings: None

Requested: Yes

1994 April (five years old) You sat under the dogwood tree in your front yard. You were reading a book about flowers and their meanings. Flowers were your friends. No one wanted to hang out with a freak who could grow plants the way you do. It was getting late and with the setting sun, cold. Shivering in your overalls, you pause to think about weather you should go in. Your mother hasn't called you in yet and you wanted to read as much as you could before bed so you stiff it out, knowing she'd make you stay inside if you went back in. There was a strange sound followed by footsteps in the grass behind you. Startled you drop your book and half-spin to peer behind your tree to see a school boy fixing his tie as he looked around your yard. "Hello? My name is (Y/n). What your name?" You ask. You have never seen this kid before but maybe he was new and didn't know about the rumors surrounding your name yet. "Five." He blankly stated. "Five? Like the number?" You question. "Yes like the number." He glanced at your book, "Plants?" "Oh.. um yeah I like plants. I actually really like flowers." You say, hiding the book under your leg. You were not in a hurry to tell him you could spontaneously grow plants out of the palm of your hand. "Well gotta do something in this shithole huh girly?" He noted. "That is not a very nice word." You pout. "You would be right. It's not a very nice word. So don't say it." The boy studied you. "Wanna see something cool?" He asked. You nodded shyly at him. "Yeah." He held his hand out to you and you stood to take it. The second you grabbed his hand he pulled you up and you were across the street from where you stood. You cleared your blurry vision before focusing on Five. "How did you...?" "I can teleport. It's how I ended up at your house. I wanted to see how far I could go." He explained. "I can do something cool too." You rub your face with one hand and drew his attention to the other where a blue tulip blossomed from your palm. "Here you can keep it. I promise it won't die." Five plucked it and smirked at you. "What does it mean?" You smile, "Trust." 1999 December(Ten years old) You sat in the grass, cold but content with looking at the stars. With your mom at work and your babysitter asleep, it was a perfect night to freeze to death trying to find peace in the sky. Until a blue flash of light brought your attention to the previously empty space in front of you. A space where now a smug looking boy in a "private school" uniform stood with his hands pushed in his pockets. "You should be asleep." Five states the obvious. "You should be at the academy reading German or something." You huff in retaliation. Five sighs, pulling his hand out of his pockets and takes his blazer off. He drapes it over you before sitting beside you. You give him a strange look. He shrugs, "I think it looks better on you." You smile to yourself, "Thank you. But why are you here? It's too late for either of us to be up." "Heh you caught me." Five rubs his hands together. "I wanted to run an idea by you." "Okay." You hum. "Do you think I can time travel?" Five asked. "I don't know. I think the real question is do you think you can time travel? Because I didn't know I could do half the thing I could do until I tried." You share. "I think I can but Reginald won't let me try." He pouts. "If you think you can then try. Why?Do you need the old man's approval for everything?" You smile at him. Five jumps up. "You're right. I won't know unless I just do it." You follow him up, "Well when you get to the future come here. To this tree, I'll leave you a present." Five holds his hand out and you hand him back the blazer before he dissipates in a flash of blue. 2019 March (30 years old.) Waking up as a younger version of yourself was not how you planed on spending your day off. You looked like a preteen. Again. After your small fit of angry though, you cleared your head enough to know what step to take next. It was about time you pay a visit to the Umbrella Academy. You researched it on the train back to Texas. It took almost a day to go back home. Once you figured out where the academy was, you walked from the train station to the academy. You braced yourself and knocked then quickly looked down at your vans when the door opened. "Um excuse me can you-" You begin. "(Y/n)?" You hear a male voice say. You look up to see a familiar young boy. "Five?" A million things ran though your head. You had to fight the urge to punch him. But you also had to fight the urge to kiss him. You always loved this boy. Always. Even when he left you to dry when you were teens. You didn't give him that flower for nothing. You though "soulmates" would be pushing it but he was your one and only love. Your blood boils at all the times you tried to date other boys only to be left again and again and this boy was the root of all of that. "Long time no see. You look terrible. Want a margarita?" He quipped, holding up his own alcoholic beverage. This stupid pre-adolescent boy had the audacity to make this a joke. You were not amused. "Five I haven't seen you in almost twenty years and the first time I do see you, you look exactly like you did the night you left- the night you left me. And of course you did something else to ruin my life so I am only going to ask you this one time okay? Why am I twelve?" You rant. "Um long story short? Because I am. Also you're thirteen. Not twelve." Five holds the door open for you and you push past him.

You have never been to the academy before but what you saw wasn't what you expected. From all the stories Five told you when you were kids you expected a boarding school or a prison but this was a house. A home.

"Dolores this is (Y/n)." Pause. "Yeah from when I was a kid." Another pause.

"Shut up, you're embarrassing me." Five said with a blush.

"Who the fuck are you talking to?" You jeered.

Five pointed to the bar where half of a mannequin in a poke-a-dotted shirt sat holding a half melted margarita. "You've got to be kidding me." You sigh, " you left me to live with a doll for twenty years? You know what? Screw you Five. I'm done." You spin on your heels toward the door to leave.

"I got the flower!" Five half-shouted as he pulled your arm to stop you.

You turn back to face him, absolutely shocked that he had remembered a conversation you had two whole years before he got the courage to time travel.

He reached into the pocket of his blazer and pulls out the Forget-me-knot bloom you had planted a year after he disappeared.

"I know what this one means too. And-and I never forgot you either. I'm so sorry I left the way I did. You deserved some kind of warning and I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before you left but I love you. I really actually love you and when I I grew up in a future where you weren't there and I think I fixed it. You look like you did the day I left because you're tied to me. This is our second chance. My second chance. If you'll let me have it. There was not a day in my 45 years that I didn't regret leaving without you. I know I can't ever make it up to you but let me try. Please." He confessed.

You smiled, "Okay Five."

@rainbowunicorn763

#number five #five x reader #five hargreeves #number five x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua season one #five x reader fanfic #fanfic #x reader fanfiction #dolores #five x dolores #The Umbrella Academy #five the umbrella academy

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ambidextrousarcher · 3 years ago

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The Beat of a Heart

In honour of Doctor’s Day (barely in time), here’s a short story by my hand. It’s based mostly on real-life experiences, most of the scenes based on things I have seen in clinical postings. I am not sure whether I got the main character’s emotions right, but I did my best, so I guess that counts.

[Image ID: A stethoscope with blue tubing, silver diaphragm and black earpieces lying on top of a blurred keyboard, a blue pad to the left of the stethoscope, with a piece of blank paper pinned on it. On the bottom left, the words ‘The beat of a heart...’ are written in red England Hand font. End ID]

I’m tagging my usual writer mutuals and putting the actual short story under a cut.

My taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @chaanv @arjunaparantapa @hindumyththoughts @spockswhore @ashsnipes @annlillyjose @seekerbrave @avakrahn @a-confusedmess @arachneofthoughts @paneerlajwanti @vishnupada @bookdragonfanish @iamnotthat @foreveres @shellweed @will-die-without-chai.

She coughs a little, ignoring the rasp in her throat, wishing she could reach for her water bottle, but is impeded by the sheer number of people between her and the bottle in question. She reaches for the hand rub instead, the familiar smell of ethanol almost soothing for a moment. She blinks, turning to the older man sitting across her, the familiar questions on her lips.

‘Can you tell me why you’re here?’ she asks, noting down the man’s anxiety, trying to make her voice sound soothing. That is all the prompting he needs to launch into his long-winded story. She stretches a little, noticing the line of people in front of her, and the students hanging on each of her words standing behind her chair.

She smiles, looking behind her at the students, gesturing subtly for one of them to take over. ‘Make sure to examine him properly,’ she instructs. The student she had instructed nods, her eyes wide. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the younger girl responds, leading the man to a bed. She can see the couple of students who had bothered to attend all clustered together, their discussion hushed.

She suppresses a grin. They’ll learn. She herself had. And indeed, one of the the students comes forward tentatively, stopping her peer who had been taking the man’s history, and begins the examination.

She turns to her work, leaving the students occupied for now. It’s a familiar battleground of questions and answers, having to rush the patients because of the lack of time. ‘Ma’am?’ it’s a young gentleman. ‘Yes, sir?’ ‘I am sorry,’ he says hesitantly, ‘I don’t understand what you said.’ She nods. Clears her throat, looking wistfully at the bottle that still is too far to reach, and too empty besides. Looking at it only diverts her attention to the humidity the fan is doing little for, the sweat trickling down her back.

She shakes her head. Do not divert your attention. Her colleague shoots her an understanding look, as she explains the prescription once again. He nods, with a quiet ‘thank you.’ She nods back at him as he leaves.

‘Ma’am?’ She turns once more. If nothing else, she muses wryly, choosing medicine has definitely taught me to multitask. The students lead the first man back to her, their clinical skills enthusiastic if a touch inexperienced. One of the girls excitedly details the sound of an ejection click. She smiles, lending the younger girl her own stethoscope. The girl listens in with the man’s permission in quiet absorption, the ritual being repeated by each of her friends, all of them clearly awed.

The gentleman looks amused at the furore the click of his valves, amplified by his metallic pacemaker, has elicited. She corrects them when needed, leading to a response of all heads nodding at once.

As the clock strikes 1, the students ask for leave to disperse and the crowd of patients mercifully thins. She tells them to go and come back for a short class in the evening, finally leaving behind the pursuit of her elusive lunch and the all-important water.

Her lunch in front of her, her thirst finally quenched, she ruffles through her iPad for information to make the class slides for tomorrow’s discussion. All too soon the short break is over, the slides still unfinished, and she stands, following her friends out of the Duty Doctors’ Room to go on ward rounds. Her eyes flit to a notification on her News app, of a doctor being beaten by goons. She sighs. There is no use pondering over this. I can only do my best. She knows protests do little good, so she hardens her heart and strides out, sliding her phone in her pocket.

Somewhere in the middle of the rounds, the students following her and the senior doctor like ducklings following mother duck, one of them comes running to her. ‘Ma’am,’ his voice is high with fear. She gives him her immediate attention. ‘There’s a man on that bed…’ the boy points, ‘…17, he’s…he’s not really breathing.’

Oh, no. Her friend steps up, running to the patient, while she looks for his details, adrenaline sharpening her senses.

He is a new patient, there is next to nothing on his chart. She can hear a lady wailing and she winces. No one should see their loved one in such a situation, she thinks, even as she squares her shoulders, moving towards the bed, shaking her head at her friend, who had already started CPR. She gently moves the lady aside, trying to console her, even when there is fear in her own heart that the news she might have to deliver could be irredeemable.

‘Doctor?’ asks the lady querulously, ‘you’ll save him, won’t you?’ She looks down for a moment, before meeting the lady’s gaze. ‘We will do our best,’ she replies quietly, grave as the situation is. The lady nods, tears still pooling in her eyes.

She can hear her friend panting. Quiet and quick, she swaps her place with him, continuing CPR. He shoots her a grateful look. She turns her attention to the patient. Between the three of them, they manage to get the patient breathing, she notes with relief. That relief doesn’t last long, though, as she looks the patient over. The catheter connected to him, filled with orange urine, the gross ascites and icterus. He’s on Rifampicin. TB with hepatic encephalopathy. One glance at her friend tells her that he, too, is thinking the same.

The lady with the patient…his wife by the sound of it, reads the grave news on their faces, facilitated, perhaps, by her intubated husband’s gasps of breath. She sinks into the bars of the hospital bed for support. She is at a loss for a moment, as she always is when confronted by the inevitability of death. She kneels then, her hand on the lady’s shoulder, silently commiserating.

When she stands, she looks at the downcast yet awed students and forces a smile. ‘Well,’ she says, stopping them as they turn away, towards the exit, clearly assuming that class is cancelled for the day. She has no intention of doing that, though. They need to learn that life doesn’t stop for those of us still hale.

At the sound of her voice, they turn as one, looking at her with eyes comparable in size to dinner dishes. ‘I’ll just wash my hands and come back,’ she says firmly. ‘You guys go wait in the Duty Doctors’ Room for your class.’ They keep staring at her for a few moments. ‘Go on,’ she instructs. They obey, darting reverential glances at her, talking in hushed whispers. How could someone literally save a life and just go back to normal like that? She hears one of their voices, quiet, dazzled. Despite knowing the truth, the innocent fascination in the boy’s face makes her smile.

I don’t know! She hears one of his friends reply. I want to be a doctor like that, when I finish my degree, when we really become doctors, the girl says, making her smile wider. The younger girl sounds like a young child deciding the goal of her life.

She tamps down the giddy joy and the grief simultaneously warring inside her, long since used to contradictory emotions, keeping a straight face as she strides to the washbasin.

When she enters the Duty room for the class, they’re discussing the exposure she could have had. She smiles wryly for a moment. This kind of exposure is a fact of life, she nearly blurts out, deciding not to, enjoying their impressed approval for a moment, before she clears her throat.

They all look abashed. She decides to proceed as if the moment before had not occurred, which was helped by one of them asking about the man she had done the CPR on. She summarises the case, gives them a few topics to read on and sends them home.

Before leaving the hospital proper, she circulates the wards once more. The CPR patient crashes again. This time, though they try long and hard, the lose the man, the beat of his heart forever silenced.

Her senior takes responsibility of the formalities, telling her to leave. Leave she does, casting one last glance back at the shell of the man, helplessness overtaking her for a moment.

She checks in with her colleague manning the night shift if she is free to go, fighting the uncanny feeling of déjà vu that comes with every patient they lose suddenly, the realisation striking anew that life goes on.

It is a leisurely walk back to hostel, the cool air soothing on her sweat-soaked shirt. She is thinking once more of the next day’s presentation, the number of slides still left to finish off.

After a quick wash-up and dinner, she sits with her iPad. It is nearly midnight when she finishes her work, fighting her drooping eyes. She checks in her WhatsApp, shooting a quick goodnight to her parents. The statues of her medico friends are full of calls for justice against the recent violence. Her non-medico friends are, as usual, conspicuously silent on the matter.

Ah, well, she thinks, it’s not like armchair social media posts can actually do much. Besides, this is not an issue that they face. Why judge? They’re probably thinking the same I do.

She debates posting a status of her own then decides against it, for again, social media can only do so much. The bitter truth can’t be changed.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head, what mama had said the last time she had shared news of such violence. At least they didn’t kill him. You people get a lot of respect, you know?

She shakes her head, banishing those thoughts. She doesn’t want to have nightmares. Besides, tomorrow, she has to report for ID duty. She needs to be well rested for that. So she thinks of the awestruck students, the young girl’s voice playing in her head. I want to be a doctor like that, she said, when I finish my degree.

She falls asleep with a smile on her face.

When she is leaving for duty the next morning, she loops her stethoscope along the back of her throat, the diaphragm of the steth sitting firmly over her own beating heart. Time for another day at work.

Some terms that might be unknown:

Ejection Click: In some patients with heart problems, there is some backflow of the blood when the heart contracts. This backflow is heard as a ‘click’ sound when a stethoscope is used. This ‘click’ is amplified if the patient has a prosthetic metallic valve, as in case of the old gentleman in the story who is based on a real patient.

Rifampicin: A drug that is part of the four-drug regimen for Tuberculosis (TB). It increases the effect of another drug in the combination, Isoniazid, which is toxic to the liver. India has a huge number of cases of TB, being one of the TB-endemic countries. The orange urine is one of the most noticeable side-effects of using this drug.

Hepatic encephalopathy: Loss of proper brain function due to inability of liver to remove toxins. The patient on whom CPR was administered was in a coma due to this condition. He, too, was based on a real patient.

Ascites: Swelling of the abdomen due to accumulation of fluid in the abdomen.

Icterus: Yellowing of the sclera (whites of the eyes) and bulbar conjuctiva, a hallmark of jaundice.

The doctor here makes the diagnosis of TB with drug induced hepatic encephalopathy because of the ascites and icterus combined with the rifampicin usage and the coma. It is an unfortunately common condition here.

I just noticed that I haven't clarified ID Duty. It means Infectious Diseases ward duty. In this case, I meant COVID-19 duty, though it may not always mean that.

#doctor's day ramble #fiction #sort of #original work #nila writes #scribbler scribbles #nila rambles #doctors #tw: violence against doctors

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

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You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 2

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 2,200 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: I keep wondering if I should just make this story one giant document but that’s just not my style, ya know? Enjoy! -Thorne

It hadn’t even taken the man a week to get her signed into the organization. Temporary employment, they’d called it, but she was sure if she kept her nose clean for a few weeks, maybe a month, they’d call it permanent. She briefly remembered the whole history lesson on their organization, The Templars, against their archenemy, The Assassins. Both didn’t seem too particularly great in her opinion, and without warning, she’d uttered that both groups should join force and work together. No doubt that her quiet opinion had shocked the Grandmaster—and while he offered his own opinion, it was clear that he wasn’t too fond of joining forces with the enemy.

(Y/N) watched the scenery flash by in front of her through the window of the carriage as they traveled the countryside. The Grandmaster had wanted a personal appearance within the few days to record her name and such, but (Y/N) knew it was simply a fake. No, what he wanted was information—any he could pry from her fingers about her life and from anyone else who knew her. She couldn’t fight the smile that came across her lips, knowing that no matter how deep the man dug, there wasn’t going to be a scrap of evidence to find.

Her eyes darted upwards when she heard the carriage driver click his tongue to slow the horse. The carriage came to a stop and she opened the door, stepping onto the gravel. (Y/N) stared at the mansion in front of her with a satisfied expression.

“Rather fetching home is it not?” a voice murmured beside her.

She jerked and turned, seeing him standing there with an amused look; she scowled. “I do believe it’s a sign of arrogance to float your own boat, Grandmaster.”

Haytham chuckled and gestured for her to follow. “Perhaps. But you have to admit the mansion is nice.”

(Y/N) grunted. “It’s fine.” He glanced over his shoulder and she fought to not roll her eyes. “Sir.”

He narrowed his eyes, pleased at her and turned back around. “There are a couple Templars here at the moment.” Before she could say it, he added, “Thomas has been relocated back to Boston.” He stopped at the doorway, ignoring the servant who opened the door. “I wouldn’t go back on our deal, (Y/N).”

She peered at him then tipped her head. “As you say.” Taking a moment to look around him, she asked, “Who is here?”

Haytham spun around and entered the mansion, her shutting the door behind him. “Shay and another Templar who serves in his command—a man named Christopher Gist.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “You’ve already met Shay and I think you’ll like Gist. He’s a rather good-natured man.”

“If he’s not I’ll knock his teeth out.” (Y/N) retorted.

“Why is knocking teeth out your go-to threat?”

She scoffed and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh, should I instead threaten to cut their cocks off instead, Grandmaster?”

Haytham inhaled deeply at her comment and let out a heavier sigh. “Well, you’re usually planning on killing them, so what’s the harm?”

(Y/N) glared at him, but kept silent, following him into the study. The two Templars rose at his entrance and Shay smiled her way. “Ah, lass, good to see you again.” He held his hand out for her to shake, but she merely stared at it.

Sensing her discomfort, he started to pull his hand back, but she grabbed it suddenly and gave it a firm squeeze and shake, smirking at his wince. “Good to see you again as well, Shay.” She let go of his hand and held it out to the other Templar. “You must be Gist.”

He took her hand and shook it heartily. “I am! Shay talked about you, Miss (Y/N)! Said you made quite an impression at dinner the other night!”

She huffed humorlessly. “Wasn’t trying to impress anyone.” He smiled awkwardly. “But thanks anyway.” A natural smile crossed his face once more and she turned to Haytham. “So, what are the three of us doing together?”

“Patience.” He chastised lightly. “There’s a process to these things.”

“Things?” she echoed. “I wasn’t aware of a process I was going through other than a temporary watch.”

“I just wish to see if you’re in good health.” Haytham waved a hand and an older gentleman stepped into the room. “This is Alexander.” The man bowed lightly to her and she did the same, not wanting to be rude. “He is my personal doctor. I would like you to give him permission to do a checkup just to see how your health is doing.”

“Permission denied.” She’d said it so suddenly that no one reacted at first.

“Excuse me?” Haytham’s voice sounded rather shocked.

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest. “You want my permission? Well you can��t have it. I’ll a see a female doctor only.”

“There aren’t exactly many of those around, lass.” Shay muttered and she turned on him.

“Then I guess I’m not being check out, am I?” She looked at Haytham. “Either you find me a woman who is skilled in physicals or you’ll take my word for how my health is. There are no alternatives that can be decided in this. Sir.”

He regarded her a moment. “You’re sure I can’t change your mind?”

(Y/N) narrowed her gaze. “There’s not a man alive who could make me.”

They stared one another down and it seemed as though everyone was sweating from the fear until Haytham stood straight and looked at the doctor. “Alexander, I apologize, but I fear your services won’t be needed.”

The man simply tipped his head then glanced at her. “Without a closer examination, she looks to be in perfect health as it is.” He smiled at (Y/N) before taking his leave.

She let out a sigh of relief and Shay snorted. “So, it’s not that you don’t want to be examined, you don’t like doctors?” He nudged her. “Afraid of ‘em?”

(Y/N) glared at him. “I’m not afraid of doctors. I just didn’t want to be examined like an experimental rat.”

“Pfft, he’s a doctor not a scientist. I don’t think he was plannin’ on pokin’ and proddin’ ya lass.”

She ignored him, taking a seat in one of the chairs. “Can’t be too careful.” She looked at Haytham. “What else is on your secret agenda for me?”

Haytham chuckled and took a seat, watching the others take theirs as well. “(Y/N), my agenda is hardly a secret.” He ignored her quip of ‘liar’ and continued. “But since you’ve rejected a physical, there’s a tiny mess-up in our schedule now.”

“And that is?”

He met her gaze, serious as death. “I’d wanted Alexander’s approval to test your defensive skills. I didn’t want to try sparring and you pass out on me.”

(Y/N) waved a hand. “I’m in perfect condition to fight.” He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Look, I get that part of your job is to make sure that everyone is in fighting shape but do yourself an early favor and stop worrying about me.” He cocked an eyebrow, a well-hidden surprise marking his features. “I don’t want nor need your worry.” She stood up. “So save it for someone who matters.” (Y/N) motioned to the door. “Shall we make way to the training room, then?” She didn’t wait for approval nor refusal, simply twisting on her heel to leave the study.

The three men sat in a silence for a moment, then Gist said, “Well, I feel that Miss (Y/N) is going to be a splendid addition to the bunch!” He elbowed Shay. “Don’t you agree, Shay?”

The Irishman snorted and rose from his seat. “Jesus, if she doesn’t somehow scald us all to death with her words first.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit, I got first degree just from her glare.” Gist chuckled, and Shay couldn’t help but look to the Grandmaster who was peering at the doorway she’d exited. “Master Haytham? Is everything alright?”

The Grandmaster shifted his gaze and offered a smile, rising from his seat. “I’m fine, Shay. Simply thinking.”

“Care to share?”

“She’s trying to drive wedges between herself and everyone.”

“What for?” Gist inquired aloud.

Shay shrugged. “Maybe she just hates men?”

Haytham hummed and shook his head. “No…I don’t think that’s it. If it were, she wouldn’t have agreed to work with us.”

“Then what could it be?”

Before either of the two Templars could answer, a voice called, “Familiarity breeds contempt.” Their eyes shifted sharply to the doorway and they winced at (Y/N)’s harsh glare. “I’m already more familiar with the three of you than I like to be with anyone. Don’t make friends and we’ll be fine.” She tipped her head to the living room. “Move your asses, please. I have other things to do today and spending my time in the ass-end of nowhere Virginia isn’t it.” Once again, (Y/N) disappeared.

Shay huffed. “Jesus, she’s sneaky.” His face pinched much like a child’s after tasting a lemon. “And mean.” He looked at Haytham. “She’s mean.”

Haytham sighed. “What are you, ten years old?”

“Eleven, thank you very much.” Came Shay’s smart remark.

***

“You do understand the rules of engagement, right lass?”

She ignored Shay’s question and pulled a saber from the training case. Tossing the scabbard aside, she raised it defensively and simply waited for him.

He sighed and pulled his own blade. “As you wish.”

They circled one another like buzzards over a cadaver, eyes narrowed on any sudden movements either would take. (Y/N) stepped softly, right leg over her left, and Shay realized that as she made a half-circle, she stopped and went the other way, left over right. His brows furrowed and his lips mouthed, ‘What are you doing?’ but before he could even voice, she surged forward, sword coming down in a wide arc.

He side-stepped, but she followed, twisting her wrist to send it outwards. Shay raised his sword by his arm, narrowly dodging her sweep before shoving her off. (Y/N) went back a few feet and returned to her stepping. This time, he voiced it. “What are you doing?” He’d never seen such a step pattern before, and she obviously didn’t want to say. She twirled the sword in her grip and held a hand out, motioning for him to come her way. Shay scoffed.

He hurried forward and started with the same move she did, but she didn’t move, using the momentum of his sword to slide it off with hers. With his away, she aimed for his neck and in a brief moment, he thought he was done for when she gasped and dropped the blade like it’d burned her alive.

Shay reacted like anyone would, throwing his sword to the side to immediately help her. “Are you alright, lass?! What hurts?! What—” His words were cut short when she suddenly grabbed the front of his harness and pulled him forward. Unsuspecting of it, Shay jerked forward, and he was met with a blade to his throat. His coffee eyes were wide with disbelief, jaw dropped from the shock, and yet (Y/N)’s face held a rigid calm.

“Yield.” She commanded and even as he thought about grabbing for his dirk, she pressed the dagger into his skin. “Do it, I dare you.”

They stared at each other, then he said, “I give.”

(Y/N) shoved him away and stashed her dagger back into the flap inside her jacket. She silently picked up the sword and its scabbard, sheathing the blade before putting it on the rack once more.

She turned and walked up to Haytham, not a sign of emotion on her face, least of all victory. “I suspect that was good enough for you?”

Haytham would never claim to be an easily readable man—far from it in fact. He could count on two hands the number of times he’d been transparent to someone else. But the truth of the matter was that for the first time in a while, Haytham was stunned silent. Honest to God, stunned silent, and all it entailed. He blinked at her. “I—who taught you to fight?” he managed.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t matter, they’re dead. Was that good enough for your acceptance?” (Y/N) was more insistent this time, like she was itching to get away from guards she’d pickpocketed.

He regained himself and pulled his lips in a satisfied smile. “It would appear so.”

“It would appear that she cheated.” Shay grumbled behind her.

(Y/N) tossed a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t fight to gain honor. I fight to win.” She spun around and headed for the door. “And you know who wins?” She stopped beside Shay, shoulder to shoulder with him and whispered, “The cheaters.” (Y/N) started her way again. “Take me back to The Ethereal Crew Tavern, Grandmaster. I’ve a shift to work at.”

The door slammed behind her, and before any of them could speak, Shay glowered at Haytham and said, “You’re never going to get anything out of her.” He scowled. “God, she’s so mean!”

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway x reader imagine #haytham kenway x reader imagines #haytham kenway imagine #haytham kenway imagines #haytham kenway #ac rogue #ac rogue imagine #ac rogue imagines #ac imagines #ac imagine #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed #shay cormac #christopher gist

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thecassadilla · 4 years ago

Text

Change of Pace - Chapter 1

Pairing: Kristanna

Chapter 1 on AO3

Word Count: 3,292

Summary: With her sister’s blessing, Anna takes a step back from her royal duties and finds herself working for a ski resort nestled in the mountains. A chance encounter with the resort’s maintenance technician leads them down an unexpected path, as they must work together to plan the resort’s annual ball - and maybe fall in love in the process.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I’m trying something new here - I’m not really into writing multi-chap fics because I feel like my brain betrays me and I put it to the side and never look back. However, I’ve already managed to plan out the first 20ish chapters (and have written a ton of it), so I’m giving it a shot. This idea came to me back in September, when I was flipping through the television channels, and came across the summary for a Hallmark movie. Just from the description, I decided I wanted to write a fic based off of it. I did watch the first half of the movie and got some inspiration from that, too, though the ideas are mostly original. (If anyone’s interested the movie is called A Winter Princess). Rated T for the foreseeable future, but will eventually be M-rated. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

In the two months since she had arrived at Valley Ski Resort, Princess Anna of Arendelle hadn’t stopped smiling. She greeted each day with a smile, worked with a smile, and whenever she thought about how thrilled she was to be experiencing life away from the castle and Arendelle, she smiled.

If she were being honest, she hadn’t stopped smiling since her older sister - and Queen of Arendelle - had approved her proposal of a sabbatical. She remembered the day she’d asked very clearly, as she was certain that her sister would reject her idea and she’d be stuck in Arendelle for the foreseeable future.

“Soooo,” she’d started.

“Yes?” Elsa had raised a questioning eyebrow.

“How would you say your mood is today?”

“My mood?”

“There’s something that I want to ask you, and I’m not sure how you’re going to react, so I’m trying to gauge if now is a good time or a bad time.”

Elsa had chuckled. “Anna, you can ask me whatever it is that you have to ask me.”

“Okay,” she’d breathed. “I wanted to know how you’d feel if I...went away for a while.”

“Went away? To where?”

“I was thinking of taking a sabbatical and finding work in another country - temporarily, of course. Just a few months where I could do something other than mope around the castle. I think it would be good to have some work experience under my belt, especially because your coronation is next year. I want to be able to do more than what I’ve been doing.”

Elsa had nodded. “I see. That makes...sense. Did you have something specific in mind?”

“Not yet,” she’d confessed. “I wanted to know what you thought about it before I committed to anything specific and got my hopes up.”

“There are a lot of factors to take into consideration. Your identity and your security are the first things that come to mind. But...as long as you’re back before the coronation, I really don’t see the harm in you -”

Before she could finish her sentence, Anna was throwing her arms around her sisters neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best big sister, ever!”

It was some of the best news she’d received in her life. Not that her life had been dismal prior to her arrival at Valley Ski Resort, but it was rather...boring. Not boring in the traditional sense, as she had plenty of things to do. Horseback riding in the gardens, reading every romance book she could get her hands on in the library, and practicing piano at twilight. Regardless, her days felt empty, as if something was missing. She selfishly wished for more - travel, new friends, love.

So with her sister’s approval, the arrangements were made. With the exception of the general manager of the resort, her colleagues would remain unaware of her royal status, and would refer to her by her first name rather than by any titles or formalities. She’d stay on site, in one of the luxury “cabins” that the hotel rented to guests who wanted a more home-y experience, and set off to Valley in September, vastly unprepared for a life so different from the one she was accustomed to, but ready for anything. She had to learn how to do everything on her own; from cooking to cleaning to laundry, but she adapted fairly quickly to her new, “normal” routine and fell in love with her job as the assistant event planner for the resort. Two months in, and she was happier than she’d ever been in her entire life.

This particular morning had started the same as any other. In fact, when she woke up, she had a great feeling about how the day would go. She woke up feeling well rested before her alarm went off, had extra time to put on a little makeup, and was able to stop by the café on the first floor before making it to work with plenty of time to spare.

“Good morning,” she called, upon entering her office. She dropped her bag on the floor before shimmying out of her coat and hanging it on the rack by the door.

“Hey! Morning, Anna,” Holly, the administrative assistant, called back.

She glanced around and noticed that Holly was the only person there, which was rather unusual. Her boss always made it in before she did. “Jenny’s not here yet?”

“No,” Holly answered, running a hand through her chin length, raven-colored hair. “And it’s not like her to be late.”

She scooped her purse off the floor and walked over to her desk. “I know. Maybe she called out today?”

“She hasn’t been answering my calls or texts and I didn’t get an email from her.”

“Do you think Bonnie will know?”

“I’m sure she does, but she has more important things to worry about than one person calling out sick.”

“I’ll try texting her, too. I hope everything’s okay.”

“In the meantime,” Holly started, opening the top drawer of her desk and pulling out a box, “Look at what came in today!”

“Are those the invitations for the ball?”

“They are! Come look!”

Though she’d just sat down, she immediately hopped back up and ran over to Holly’s desk. She peered over her shoulder, at the silver and royal blue invitations. “Wow, those are gorgeous.”

“‘Valley Ski Resort cordially invites you to the twenty-fourth annual ball. Join us on Saturday, February sixth at seven in the evening for dinner, drinks, and dancing,’” Holly read. “Followed by the address to the hotel, of course, your extension and email for the RSVP, and the prices per head.”

“They’re perfect.”

“All you have to do now is finalize the guest list, print the name and address stickers, stick ‘em on and drop ‘em in the mailbox.”

“That’s it?” Anna teased.

“At least you don’t have to worry about hand-writing every name and address on five hundred envelopes.”

“It would give me an excuse to practice my penmanship,” Anna laughed. “My teachers always said my handwriting could go from neat to illegible in the same paper.”

“I know for a fact that your hand will be tired after sticking that many stickers to the envelopes, so don’t get too far ahead of yourself. At least the return address and stamp are already on there.”

“Less work for me,” Anna smiled, picking up the box and carrying it to her desk. “And I already have my work cut out for me.”

“Jenny is keeping you on your toes, huh?”

She sat down again, finally kicking off her snow boots and switching them for the flats she kept in her bag. “Just a little. I enjoy it though. I like keeping busy.”

“I know you haven’t been here very long, but you’re doing great,” Holly said. “Way better than any other assistant Jenny’s ever had.”

“Thank you, Holly. I really appreciate that.”

They kept up the small talk as they began their work for the day. As usual, Anna had plenty of emails to respond to and the talking helped to pass the time. A few hours into the day, the office door opened and they both turned around to see if Jenny had finally arrived for her shift. Instead, it was Bonnie, the general manager of the resort. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Good morning, Bonnie,” they responded in unison.

“How’s the planning for the ball coming along?”

“Excellent,” Anna spoke up. “We received the invitations this morning. The guest list will be finalized by early next week and the invitations will be sent out by the end of next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Bonnie smiled. “Now, I’m afraid that I have good news and bad news for you both.”

“Oh,” Holly murmured, exchanging a worrisome look with Anna.

“I’m afraid that Jenny has resigned, effective immediately,” Bonnie stated matter-of-factly. “That’s part of the bad news. The good news is for Anna - congratulations, you’ve been promoted!”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “I have?”

“Of course! Sure, you’ve only been here for two months, but you’ve been shadowing Jenny the entire time, you show excellent potential, you’ve never been late...I can go on and on, but it was one of the easiest hiring decisions that I’ve had to make in my entire career.”

Anna couldn’t help but wonder if she was being promoted out of sheer desperation, or if it was because Bonnie was the only person aware of her royal status and was trying to kiss up to her. “Thank you, Bonnie. I hope that I can exceed your expectations.”

“I don’t think you’ll have any trouble fitting into your new role. Now for the second part of the bad news - unfortunately, there won’t be enough time to hire a new event planning assistant in time for all of the upcoming events, between the Christmas season starting in three weeks, and then the ball the first week of February. I’m so sorry.”

Anna nodded slowly, trying to process everything that Bonnie had just told her. Not only had she been promoted, but now she’d have to take on the workload of two people by herself. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” she remarked. “I know that you’re going to do great. Enjoy the rest of your day, ladies.”

Bonnie swiftly exited the office, and as soon as she was gone, Anna turned to face Holly. “What am I going to do?”

Holly stared for a moment, her mouth agape. “I...don’t know. This has never happened before.”

“I don’t think that I can do this alone! How am I supposed to do this alone?”

“Anna, I genuinely don’t know. I’m as stunned as you are. I mean, I’ll do my best to help you in any way that I can, but I only took this job because it came with a set, part-time schedule. I have a baby at home - I can’t be here for all of the events on the calendar.”

“Of course not,” Anna agreed. “That’s not fair to you or your husband or son.”

“Yeah, but this situation isn’t fair to you. Bonnie has plenty of time to find a new assistant, I bet she’s just being lazy.”

“I wonder why Jenny quit so abruptly.”

“I know! Jenny isn’t the type of person to do anything abruptly. I hope that she’s not sick or something.”

A wave of anxiety rolled through Anna’s body and she buried her face in her hands. “What am I gonna do?”

“Oh sweetie,” Holly cooed. “It’ll be alright. You’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Anna exhaled heavily and nodded.

“How about we go over everything we have to do for the rest of the season?” Holly suggested. “I know Jenny normally goes over the events on a week-by-week basis, but it may make you feel better to recall everything you’re dealing with in advance. Kind of like a quiz.”

“Okay,” she agreed. She got up from her desk and paced back and forth across the office; she often did her best thinking as she paced. The office was modest; the three desks were all lined up against the right wall, and the other walls were lined with filing cabinets, a bulletin board, and plants. Lots and lots of plants. Luckily, the plants were Holly’s responsibility, so Anna didn’t have to worry about keeping them alive - something she was sure that she’d fail at.

“So the cookie decorating is on the twenty-fourth. Do you remember the game plan for that?”

“Yes. We...I have to pick up the cookies at the bakery, bring them to the conference room - which I’ll try to set up in advance - and then sell the cookies until the event is over.”

“Do you remember how much each cookie costs?”

“Three dollars.”

Deciding to distract herself as she and Holly talked, she started to reorganize the bulletin board. A couple of the fliers were outdated, and they could use the extra room for the upcoming events.

“Take down the pictures with Jenny in them while you’re at it,” Holly replied. “Alright, what’s next?”

She began to collect the many photos of Jenny that had been posted onto the board. A few of them included her, from the events that they had worked on together. It was almost bittersweet to take them down; Jenny was her boss and mentor. They spent forty hours a week together for two months straight, and Jenny had taught her everything that she knew. “Um, that’s the last event that this office has planned for the month and December is maxed out.”

“Well, what events do we have in December?”

“So many,” Anna sighed, stacking the photos neatly into a pile. “Santa will be here every night in the lobby. A reindeer petting zoo will be set up outside. A few movie nights and Christmas caroling. On weekends there will be sleigh rides through the woods and hot beverage stands outside. Am I forgetting something?”

“There’s also going to be a story time and cookie decorating with Santa event on Christmas Eve,” Holly pointed out. “All of the kids will be wearing their pajamas.”

“Okay.”

“But other than that, that’s it.”

“Thank god,” Anna breathed, finally collapsing in her office chair and tossing the pile of pictures onto her desk.

“I’m actually really excited for the story time with Santa.”

“Are you bringing your son to that one?”

Holly nodded. “He’ll only be eight months old, but why not? It’ll be adorable.”

“I can’t wait to actually see him in person,” Anna smiled. “Now, is there anything that we have to do on Christmas Day or New Years Eve or Day?”

“No, not us. Culinary is going to have buffets - like the one they’re having for Thanksgiving - and then the hotel puts out extra televisions and passes out champagne for New Years. We actually have off on those days.”

“Really? I mean, Christmas Day makes sense, but New Years? That’s a little unexpected.”

“Well, we have put most of our energy into planning the ball, and there wouldn’t be enough time to throw three huge parties in a month. So, the holidays are ours.”

“I’m so thankful for the person who made that decision,” Anna laughed. “I may wind up here on those days, anyway, though.”

Holly clicked her tongue. “Don’t do that - enjoy your extra days off.”

“It’s not like I have anywhere better to be,” she shrugged.

“I’d offer for you to come over on Christmas, but I’ll be with my in-laws in the morning, and my parents at night. Baby’s first Christmas, and all.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t trying to invite myself or get you to pity me.”

“I know,” Holly nodded. “I just feel bad that you’ll be all alone.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll call my sister, like I always do when I have time off, and then I’ll come here and see what’s going on.”

“Maybe by then you’ll have a boyfriend and he’ll invite you to spend Christmas with him,” Holly teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

Anna felt her cheeks warm up at the thought. “Christmas is six weeks from today and I think we both know that that’s not going to happen. I’ve been here for two months and the dates I’ve been on haven’t been great.”

“I don’t think you’ve been looking in the right places.”

She rolled her eyes. “To be fair, I came here to work.”

“And now you have enough work for two people,” Holly reminded her. “You should try to have some fun in your free time.”

“I do have fun,” she remarked defensively.

“Oh yeah? Tell me what you do for fun.”

“I just got a Netflix account, so I’ve been trying to catch up on all of the shows that I’ve missed over the years.”

Holly cocked her head. “That’s not fun, that’s pathetic. Also - watch Grey’s Anatomy.”

“I’ll add it to my list. And I don’t think that you should judge what I do in my free time when you spend your free time tending to your infant.”

“Exactly! I don’t have any free time. I’m trying to live vicariously through you.”

“Don’t do that,” Anna laughed. “You’re only setting yourself up for disappointment.”

“What if we set you up on Tinder? Or Bumble?”

“Holly -”

“Ooh, I could set you up on a blind date! My husband works in the high school and he has a ton of young, single coworkers.”

“How about we stop talking about my dating life and finish talking about the rest of the events that are coming up?”

“Fine,” Holly groaned, looking down at the calendar. “January is pretty empty. A few movie nights scattered around, and two make-your-own hot chocolate nights.”

“Hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, the kids get a kick of being able to choose their own toppings and stuff.”

“Gotcha,” Anna nodded.

“And then the rest of our energy goes to the ball. January is crunch time. Making sure that everyone RSVP’d, making sure the menu is finalized, reaching out to the DJ, et cetera. It’s going to be a lot.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.”

“That’s the right attitude! Now for February - obviously, the ball is the first thing that month. There’s going to be a few events for Valentine’s Day - card and cookie decorating and a carnation sale.”

“Carnations? Why not roses?”

“Carnations are the flower of love,” Holly answered. “And they’re cheaper than roses.”

“Yeah, but roses are way more popular,” Anna pointed out. “Maybe we should consider ordering roses this year.”

“I’ll look into it,” Holly said, writing it down on her notepad. “Now for March. Easter is the first weekend in April, so the Easter Bunny will be in the lobby for the month. There will be egg hunts and egg decorating - basically, we’ll have eggs coming out of our ears - in the week leading up to the holiday.”

“Is that it?”

“Well, we hadn’t got that far for this upcoming year, but usually we throw in some cookie decorating, too.”

“Okay, that’s manageable,” Anna commented.

Holly frowned. “And then I believe we’re losing you, after that.”

“Yeah, I’m going home in April,” Anna sighed. “We can plan a few more events for that month, though. I won’t be leaving until late April.”

Holly smiled. “So I get a little more time with you than I thought.”

“Hopefully Bonnie will find her replacements by then. Or else you’ll be doing the work of three people.”

“Don’t remind me,” Holly groaned. “I don’t want to think of that as being a possibility.”

She wiggled the mouse of her computer and it turned back on. She signed onto her email, hoping to see an explanation from Jenny. Instead, she found an email from the manager of the bakery. She spun around to face her coworker. “Liz just emailed me and said that they were able to specially order the cookie kits that Jenny requested.”

“Finally, some good news today,” Holly remarked. “Not that the news of you being promoted was bad. But it was...a lot.”

“Tell me about it,” Anna laughed.

Holly’s phone rang, then, interrupting their conversation. “Hold on just a sec,” she started, before picking it up. “Hello, you’ve reached the event planning office, this is Holly speaking.”

Anna turned back to her computer and scrolled through her inbox, trying not to eavesdrop on Holly’s conversation.

“Oh, hi Bonnie! How can I help you?”

Bonnie? She glanced back at her coworker, who had a puzzled look on her face.

“I’m sorry...what? Are you kidding?...Okay, we’ll be right down,” Holly said, slamming the receiver down and standing up. “Come on, Anna, we have to go.”

“Wait, what happened? Where are we going?”

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #anna #kristoff bjorgman #frozen #frozen fic #my writing

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aelaer · 4 years ago

Note

How about Stephen being infected with a symbiote, but to prevent it from destroying humanity, he merges its existence with the cloak's essence (read: badass venom!stephen)!

This is my oldest prompt - I think over a year now - largely because I knew nothing about Venom or symbiotes; that's one part of the Marvel universe I haven't explored. Some time on Wiki later, I guess this is one of the "corrupted" symbiotes, though I honestly can't figure out how one of them is supposed to destroy a whole planet if it doesn't like, create duplicates of itself to infect millions of beings at once. I guess there's something I missed that I can't find on wiki, but I'll assume it's very dangerous haha. But I threw something together, or tried to, on the off-chance this anon is still around. I don't know if symbiotes all talk disjointed like Venom, but this one really doesn't - sorry if that's not fully accurate. Maybe this one has a better command at English.

Defying the curse that has taken hold

The moment he understood what was happening to him and knew what being had attached itself to him, Stephen threw himself into the Mirror Dimension to isolate himself from all others.

What is this place? said the foreign voice in his head. It is different and yet the same.

"Mirror Dimension," he answered, forcing his voice to a calmness he didn't feel.

The alien parasite—this symbiote—could feel everything, though. Of course. You understand me now, it answered. You know what I am. And you are afraid.

There was little point in trying to deny the accusation with the creature in his body. It could probably sense the subconscious changes that caused shifts in the chemical balances within him, that charged his emotions. "I know that your species has destroyed entire planets with but one host to start." And despite rumors of more benevolent symbiotes, this one certainly was not. He had felt the strange, sudden urges of blood lust several times throughout the week. It was that symptom in particular that had eventually led him to the awful discovery.

It laughed. It is my nature. And yet you still try to fight. That is pointless. I am amongst the eldest. I have eaten many worlds. You will be mine and this world will be like the others.

Like hell he would. "You underestimate me. If I cannot find a solution to neutralize you, I am fully prepared to die."

Again it was amused. And I move to another host.

"You won't be able to from the Mirror Dimension," said Stephen. "This place is inaccessible to most of humanity. If I die, you are forever stuck here."

It scoffed in disbelief. Your pontificating is quaint. I will enjoy consuming you.

Oh, this thing had no idea what it was getting into.

—— —— ——

This is tedious, said the symbiote five weeks later. It had been quiet for a couple days until that point, as if finally realizing that Stephen was more than willing to make good on his threat. The lofty gestures of destruction and grandeur had also fallen away to something a bit more casual.

Stephen couldn't help but smirk. "I've been through worse tedium." Dormammu came to mind. Hell, even parts of med school were worse than this. This alien parasite really had no idea what war it had started with him.

In the beginning, it wasn't at all difficult to create a portal far from his body, then cross the astral plane to visit Wong with his impromptu plan for the foreseeable future. Wong, in turn, left food and books in a designated drop spot twice a day at designated times. It was easy to avoid it during those times, and Stephen effectively kept himself quarantined within the Mirror Dimension as he researched and experimented on getting rid of the symbiote.

The bad news was that nothing was removing it from his person; the symbiote was too strong for what tricks his research had unearthed this far. The good news was that the symbiote was a good deal less patient than Stephen.

There was silence again for a little while, and Stephen thought it would be quiet again for some time. So when it spoke again about an hour later, he was surprised.

I'm not leaving, the symbiote said. Stephen raised his brow; the tone was interesting. It was less haughty. You know I feed off what you call hormones. You normally make much more in one of your days than I see in other mortals. It's very satiating.

"And yet you still wanted more. I felt your attempted encroachment upon my mind and your desire for blood, and I will not allow it."

There was silence for a moment. I… might be convinced to live with your hormones. There was a lot in the beginning. It was delicious. I especially liked what you call adrenaline.

Stephen pressed his lips together. "That might suit, but from all I've read, your species absorb key nutrients that my vital organs need at an unsustainable rate. I'm afraid the human body simply isn't enough to provide for you long-term." He looked back at his book. "Now that you're more agreeable, perhaps I could place you in a dimension with no organic lifeforms for you to kill."

But that's boring! it whined. It actually whined. I want more adrenaline. You've given me so little.

"You're ignoring the fact that I just told you my body physically cannot handle you." He grimaced. "Even if I could make you swear not to harm Earth or its residents, this isn't sustainable."

Stephen felt a grudging admiration that wasn't from himself. I can't do anything you don't want. I've tried. No one's ever stopped me before. You're strong. There was a pause. I like your strength. I want to stay here—even if you'll only give me hormones.

"Did you not listen to a thing I said about my body's ability—"

You're a sorcerer! the parasite argued. You don't have normal mortal inhibitions. I can feed off many things. I can feed off your magic and you can keep your body's nutrients, as you say.

Stephen felt a spike of alarm. "I need my magic. You cannot have it."

I'm not leaving, it said again, stubbornly.

"I'll find a way to remove you," Stephen promised.

—— —— ——

Another two weeks passed. It was nearing the end of their second month quarantined in the Mirror Dimension and they were still at an impasse. The symbiote was in no way going to break through Stephen's mental defenses, and Stephen was having a hell of a time getting the creature either out of him or dead.

And the news that came with Wong's morning drop that day made Stephen realize just how permanent his situation might be.

The Cloak could immediately feel his resignation as he read the letter and tapped at his arm to ask why his mood changed. "Wong says that the Masters need to look into a new Master for the New York Sanctum if this is not resolved soon." Stephen clenched his teeth; he gave an oath to protect the world, and if this was the only way to do it…

Cloak has an idea, said the symbiote unexpectedly, breaking a three day silence.

That caught him off guard. "Beg your pardon?"

Cloak's volunteering to contribute part of its own magic. It has a significant amount.

Stephen blinked as a number of questions were raised by that statement. The first that was vocalized was, "The Cloak talks to you?"

Not exactly, the symbiote said. It is what you call inorganic. I am of the same kind. But what you call free will is powered by other forces that you have no word for, and in that way I can understand its intentions and it, mine. It was very annoying at the beginning, it ended with a light grumble.

Stephen lifted a hand to one of the gold clasps of the Cloak to indicate it to detach itself. While communication was limited, the cloak could do quite a bit with gestures and touches. "Is what it says true? That you can communicate with it?" he asked as the Cloak came to face him.

The Cloak bowed its collar in confirmation and Stephen pursed his lips. "And you are offering to give part of your magic in order for me to survive and leave here?" Another nod in confirmation. Stephen hesitated. "I don't want to see you harmed."

It won't hurt it, the symbiote said as the Cloak shook its collar and reached out for Stephen's hand in reassurance. Its magic is much older than yours. It is better than yours to sustain me.

Stephen frowned. "I cannot let myself out of here if this symbiote's words do not match his intentions. Can you see its intentions, and does it speak the truth?"

The Cloak nodded twice as the symbiote said, Magic tastes interesting. It is an acceptable substitute for blood, and tastes well with your adrenaline.

He thought about it for a moment. This may be an acceptable solution, as he trusted the Cloak with his life and knew it would not lie. "I do not know what magic would accomplish this."

You don't need to do anything, said the symbiote. It's between Cloak and me. So we'll do it, then we can get out of here.

"Wait," he said before they could start anything. "I will need approval from my peers. If they think it too dangerous, I am obligated to stay here."

He felt annoyance from the symbiote. Fine, it grumbled. It at least knew how futile arguing about this would be.

Stephen wrote a note in response and set it back at the drop point, then waited until the evening to leave his body and travel across the astral plane to meet Wong there. He got there just as Wong stepped through, and as he began to read the note, Stephen broke through the barriers of reality to speak with him.

Wong gave him a look. "You think it's safe?"

"I trust the Cloak."

Wong nodded towards the portal as he went towards it. "Still, you'll need to convince the others."

—— —— ——

Let no one say that Stephen Strange was anything but a very, very good debater. The meeting took two hours as they went through everything that could go wrong and Stephen's answers to why that wouldn't happen, or what they could easily do to prevent catastrophe. Part of him was partially convinced that he won them over through sheer stubbornness.

(It probably helped that they really didn't have any great candidates to take over the New York Sanctum, too. They were still spread too thin and no one really wanted to lose him to a threat that he seemed to have now under control.)

When Wong let him back into the Mirror Dimension, he floated his way back to his body and settled within it.

Well? the symbiote asked.

Stephen frowned as he noticed something off. "... did you try to move me while I was gone?"

... possibly. It must have felt Stephen's irritation and continued, I couldn't really do anything. You've blocked your mind even when outside your body. And Cloak got in the way.

He huffed his annoyance. "Well, if we're going to live with each other, that can't happen anymore."

So they agreed?

"They did," Stephen said. "Now promise me you won't try moving my body while I'm elsewhere."

He felt the pang of disappointment. Fine.

He pressed his lips together. "Right. Well, if the Cloak is still in agreement, you two do what you need to do."

The Cloak shifted. It reached forward on the left side so that it was fully covering his heart, and the right side lifted to cover his head, wrapping his face within the folds of the fabric. He blinked in surprise, but otherwise didn't move.

A short moment later, Stephen could feel the threads of magic about him and entering his skin. This magic was an old magic, a very ancient magic that weaved the very fabric of reality, the inherent magic of Earth that helped create a universe that could support the other magics borrowed from other dimensions that they used in various spellwork. He understood that the Cloak was ancient, but he truly did not realize until that moment the sort of power that was interwoven within each of its threads.

The power was breathtaking and exhilarating.

When the process stopped, Stephen had to remind himself to breathe. Slowly he exhaled, and the Cloak lifted itself off him completely to face him.

It had changed in physical appearance. Its checkered interior lining, formerly a faded red and grey, was now streaked with jagged black lines that spilled like ink from the collar downward. On the exterior, the darker solid red checkers were now pitch black, and the embroidered details upon the lining, the collar, and down part of the back were now made of black thread rather than the lighter red.

"How do you feel?" Stephen asked the Cloak. It spun around once in able movement, then settled down upon his shoulders as if to comfort him.

Cloak's fine, said the symbiote. This feels quite interesting. Tastes good with your adrenaline. Give me more.

"Say please," he muttered, even as his heart, already beating fast from the transformation process, kept its steady, fast beat as he created a portal back into the world. "We'll have some more ground rules to establish if you'll be staying for an extended period within my watch."

I look forward to it, the symbiote purred as Stephen stepped through the gateway and to his new chapter in life.

#prompt fill #stephen strange #doctor strange #symbiote #marvel #mcu #fanfic #my writing #my fanfiction #ask #answered #anonymous #mcu fanfiction #the cloak of levitation #doctor strange fanfic

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luvknow · 5 years ago

Text

in another lifetime | kim woojin

genre: ceo/iron man!kim woojin x secretary!reader | ceo au ; superhero au ; alcohol mention ; blood mention summary: you and your boss were inseparable. no one could understand how you could work ungodly hours for such an inexperienced ceo. but your job was to stick by mr. kim for as long as you were getting paid, and that meant being his date to charity balls and helping him turn into the country’s best superhero. wc: 18.9k

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you greeted, walking into his private office at 8:00 am on the dot as normal. With tired eyes, he looked up from his stack of blueprints and gave you a warm smile. You don’t know how he does it, but he always managed to welcome your morning visits with a smile that almost made you consider your resignation. “Iced americano, extra shot.”

“You are a blessing,” he praised graciously. One sip of the liquid gold was enough to wake him up right away.

“Long night?”

“Yeah. You know how it took us hours to decide the wall colors for each floor in our building? Imagine doing that all over again, but for a superhero suit prototype.”

“But it’s just a suit this time, not fifty floors.”

“This isn’t just a suit, _____. It’s the suit of a man who’s going to save the world one day! A suit that everyone will lay their eyes on and judge me for my color choices.”

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

“Yes, two colors actually. Red and gold.”

“Wow, such a loud and loyal color choice.”

“Is it?” Your handsome boss pouted slightly while scanning his designs. “Seungmin said the same thing. Maybe I should change it -”

“No!” you interrupted for the sake of not wanting to look up Pantone’s thousands of shades of ruby and champagne. “Red and gold are perfect for you.”

Woojin’s pouty lips melted into a proud smile. “If you believe so, then I trust you. Come take a look - what do you think of it overall?”

You walked around his ginormous custom-made walnut desk to peer over his shoulder. Woojin could smell the familiar gardenia scent you wore for years and it immediately brought comfort to his panicking soul. Somehow your presence always calmed him down, no matter what stressful situation he was in. Maybe that’s why he wanted to have you around 24/7. How selfish of him.

Your couple minutes of silence were so agonizing that his nervous foot-tapping habit he told you about that he thought he got rid of in college broke through, which was your cue to answer.

“I like it. I like it a lot, actually,” you admitted honestly. “I would definitely feel safe if I saw you come to my rescue, although the helmet is a little concerning.”

“Concerning how?”

“Well, it has such a… A, uh… How do I put this politely? A dead expression?”

“‘Dead’ is a polite adjective to you?”

“I mean come on, Mr. Kim, there are two eyes and a flat line for the mouth where the corners curve downwards just slightly and it looks like you gave him little fangs. There’s not much life in the eyes, either.”

“They light up when the suit is on!”

“Maybe I’ll like it more when I see it in person?”

“The helmet is the only thing I’m confident about, so nothing and no one can change my mind,” he said stubbornly.

“I’m sure everyone will love it,” you reassured while smoothing out the stress wrinkles on his indigo shoulder pads. “When do you plan on starting the build?”

“In half an hour.”

“What!?” Woojin nearly spit out his espresso at your yelping and the frantic way you sifted through your massive planner and scrolling through your emails on your phone at the same time. Oh, so that’s what he forgot to tell you! He knew something felt off. “B-B-But I didn’t get an email that the shipment arrived!”

“I called the company at five in the morning just as they opened and demanded an expedited shipping of all the materials and they’ll be arriving in half an hour.”

“But did the quality department approve of the materials? Or your design at least?”

“You do know I’m the CEO, right?” Woojin smirked teasingly. “That’s business talk for ‘fuck Quality’.”

Woojin stood up from his black velvet Chesterfield chair to escape your nagging and briskly walked away towards God-knows-where. Like an obedient, push-over puppy, you trailed closely behind with a light jog and all you could think about was how it was too early for your feet to be aching this badly.

“I don’t like the idea of this,” you said firmly.

“You never do. Loosen up a little, will ya?”

“I will not! I looked the other way when you decided on signing a contract to collaborate with that ugly luxury car brand, I agreed with the proposal of a new smartphone that totally flopped in the end, and I barely allowed the approval for the development of the new branch in Taiwan! All of those ideas are whatever, arbitrary even, but this? This puts you at the front line of danger, Mr. Kim! What if something goes wrong, or the material is compromised? What if these companies take you for a fool for not checking in with the quality department first? What if you’re setting yourself up to be sabotaged, huh?”

Woojin pressed the down button on the elevator, ignoring your pleas. Even though all you do is nag and play by the rules, he knew you were only doing so because he didn’t bother to. In the end, you were just looking out for him, and he couldn’t appreciate you more.

His gives you what he thought was a reassuring smile. To you, it looked rather mischievous “Lucky for me that you’ll be there the whole time, right?”’

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean you’ll watch the entire suit being built while you work. Then you’ll see how safe it is. I need someone to double check me, anyways.”

“Mr. Kim, I don’t think I’m qualified for that.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

Your engineering experience went as far as Physics I and II classes with a teaspoon’s worth in basic circuitry, so if Woojin thought that qualified you to double check his work, then you might have to question his PhD degree.

The elevator welcomed you both into its vacant container. The lowest level this elevator could reach with a single button was the basement, but if the right person (or the wrong person) were to dial the buttons in the order of 4-4-1-9, they would be taken nine floors below the basement to the rumored ‘Super Office’ (ten was too much because Woojin didn’t like the feel of the heavy pressure and eight was such a silly number).

You walked up to your favorite one, eyes sparkled adoringly at Seungmin’s first Spider-Man suit.

“You always loved the red and blue,” Woojin noted behind you. “Still not a fan of the black one?”

“The black one is scary! No one wants a hero dressed in all black, like that color does not exude the feeling of safe.”

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

Beside Seungmin’s old spidey suit was an empty display case you assumed was meant for this final draft of Woojin’s Iron Man suit. Surrounding the two glass cases were dozens and dozens of wood and plastic demos that didn’t work out in the end, but Woojin didn’t have the heart to take them to the dumpster.

“Looks like the shipment arrived early!” Your mature but easy-going boss jogged up to the piles of wooden crates and packages that were laid out neatly in the center of his work space. Without much patience, he took off his indigo suit jacket, tossed it to the side like it wasn’t worth two thousand dollars (to which you caught before it hit the ground), and took the crowbar on top of the pile to open the cases with ease. Sheets of metals, different tools, and a cool welding and soldering set scattered along the concrete floor. Woojin gave you an excited grin that mimicked a child upon opening gifts on Christmas. “Let the building commence!”

Maybe cool wasn’t the right word. Or watching.

For the next three months, from sunrise to sunset, you spent your day nine floors below the surface for almost twelve hours a day being his little helper. From holding pieces of metal in place while he flame torched them together to feeding him take out because his hands were covered in oil, you did it all and God, if Woojin didn’t give you a raise or at least some meal tickets to the executive cafeteria, you might just quit on the spot.

“Done.” With a heavy and exhausted sigh, Woojin clapped his hands together and marveled at his nearly-finished product. “We’re done!!”

“What about the red and gold paint?”

“I can’t work on this anymore or I’ll implode. I’ll just take this to my car guy and he’ll paint it exactly how I want it.”

“Not really a self-made suit then, is it?” you dared to challenge your boss.

He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Shut your mouth and give me my food.”

You handed a slouching Woojin his box of take-out and wooden chopsticks. While you had a perfectly comfortable ottoman he could have sat on right next to you, he remained on the cold concrete, probably too sore and worn out to even stand up, let alone walk to a cushioned seat. Woojin was a man with personality and many faces, but his face of satisfactory upon completing projects was when he was the most handsome. For a while, you two just sat in silence, taking in every detail of the flawless silver suit while slurping noodles.

“So,” Woojin began nervously. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Kim,” you say immediately.

“You mean it?”

For someone so intelligent and talented, it was a wonder how a man like him could be insecure about any of his creations.

“Absolutely,” you reassured. “Flawless. Is it fully programmed and everything?”

“Yup. I installed the software and artificial intelligence last week.”

“Sounds like the only thing you need to do is take it out for a spin.”

Woojin hummed with approval. “... Can you do it for me?”

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, please suck it up.”

“Isn’t it reasons like this why I hired you?”

“I was hired to be your secretary, not your lab rat.”

“To be fair, the job description was pretty vague.”

Woojin followed suit, who was also able to get his napkin in the can. Then you tossed another napkin, and then him, and this went on until you were left to toss your boxes and chopsticks. The real challenge was tossing the plastic wraps of the fortune cookies.

“Whoever loses has to do whatever the other says,” Woojin proposed.

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement. “Fine, but I will not test that thing out if I lose.”

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

“WOO!” Woojin cheered, getting up from the floor while you were left slumped in the chair filled with defeat. Of course, whatever he wanted, he would get his way. “Man, I am super lucky today.”

“What the hell! Did you wrap it around a stone or something!?”

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

“There’s no use in arguing. Just lay the consequences on me, boss.”

Woojin scooted the ottoman closer - almost a little too close. Then, like a handsome little goldendoodle with his swooshy caramel hair and sparkling eyes, he gazed up at you pleadingly before offering you your punishment.

Fear and flattery tickled your spine. “Spit it out.”

A grin followed. “You will accompany me to the ball next week.”

“The Children’s Charity Ball? The biggest charity ball of the century? The one where all the white-haired big shots attend with their dates who just barely turned eighteen?”

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

Not wanting him to see you blush, you began cleaning up the mess from the takeout. “Lazy as in why not find a real date? You know, someone you’ll have a good time with.”

“Don’t you want to bring someone more suited for this role? Someone with much more finesse and elegance?” you said as you twirled dirty napkins in the air.

“If I’m being honest, I do not have the time nor do I want to put in the effort into bringing someone so bland.”

“Who says they’re bland? What if I pick out one of your supermodel friends or like a professor, or something?”

A moment of silence passed while you shuddered in disgust. You couldn’t believe you were going to say this, but… “So what should I wear?”

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Wear anything besides velvet because that’s my fabric of choice.”

“Can you at least do the picking for me? We should at least match in the slightest.”

Woojin let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine, I’ll do all the work.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Kim.”

“It’s what I do best.”

After cleaning up the mess and a last quick polish on the Iron suit, the two of you took the elevator to the level below the basement where Woojin parked his favorite fancy shmancy foreign sports car you couldn’t pronounce. In its shiny and spotless all-white glory sat his coup in his executive parking spot where no other car or person was in sight.

“Quite showy for you, isn’t it?” you accused your normally toned-down boss.

“I had a hunch that today was going to be the day we finished, and low and behold, we did. Soojung the Spyder always brings me good luck,” he patted and praised his prized roadster.

The distance from the office to your apartment was a solid forty-five minutes away by public transportation, right on the edge of being not TOO far, but not close enough, but by car it was only twenty-five minutes. During your first couple of years with the company, you enjoyed the lonely rides and getting lost with your thoughts, but there were moments you got so lost that you missed your stop a couple too many times and sometimes the winter made waiting outside so unbearable. It wasn’t until you started to clock in tons of overtime that Woojin was nice enough to drive you home from then on.

“C’mon, _____, just get in the car,” Woojin begged for the twelfth time, holding the passenger door open with one hand and an umbrella with the other. He parked his car illegally right in front of the bus stop that so many other employees used. Why did it matter that you were using it while it was thunderstorming and past 10:00 PM? “The heat is escaping the longer we argue.”

“It’s fine! I don’t live too far away,” you lied. “Please go home, Mr. Kim, your puppy must be worried sick.”

“Hazelnut can wait, but I can’t. As your boss, I order you to get in my car!” Though the statement was serious with his booming voice, his pouty lips made it much less intimidating.

“With all due respect, I have clocked out for the day and I don’t have to listen to you until 7:00 am tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me break the law.”

“What do you mean?”

The blinding lights of the bus flashed irregularly, a polite way of telling Woojin to get the fuck out of the way. But he didn’t move in the slightest. He patiently waited for you by the passenger door, not moving a muscle and looking like a car model dressed in his long, warm and tan pea coat.

“Mr. Kim, get out of the way!”

“Not until you’re in my car,” he shook his head stubbornly. “The bus is getting closer ~”

Your anxiousness hiked up exponentially when the driver held the horn long and loudly, not looking like they had much patience in them and indicating that they were very, very annoyed. For the sake of not inconveniencing the butt-load of passengers and the driver and securing your job, you hurried into his car, cursing up a storm that rivaled the one outside. A triumphant and smirking Woojin followed suit and sped away at a dangerous speed, perhaps breaking a second law that night. For those twenty-five minutes (or maybe it was fifteen with Woojin’s driving), the car was silent because your reckless boss focused on cutting every civilian off on the highway and you were too busy covering your eyes in fear.

“You were so dramatic back then,” Woojin snickered at the seemingly-harmless memory.

“Me!? You were the one who parked in front of a bus stop and begged me to get in!”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get in the damn car!”

“How does it look to on-lookers that a secretary is getting into her boss’s car!?”

“It’s not like anyone knows our relationship.”

“I could not give more than zero fucks of what people think.”

“Yes, that much is clear.”

“_____, you can’t always worry about what everyone thinks ~”

You sighed loudly, as if you’d explained this to him a thousand times already. “Worrying is the basis to my entire title, Mr. Kim.”

“And will you drop the ‘Mr. Kim’ once and for all? We’re the same age!”

“Same age, but different titles and a massive pay gap. You and I are not equals.”

Woojin reached over to mess up your hair. “You’re so formal, it’s so cute!”

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

Woojin had dropped you off and walked you up to your apartment more times than you can count, but you don’t think you’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your humble abode. Of course you’ve visited his mansion just as many times, since you participated in the designing of it, and him having to see such a sad home in comparison is, well, terrifying each and every time.

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

“My home doesn’t have marble statues or glass refrigerators and I can’t hire you to redesign the interior.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff!”

“But I do!”

He pouted slightly once more. “What a shame. I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but friends don’t break sensitive boundaries.”

He passively waved you off. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

It was your turn to pout. What could he possibly want this time? “Already? At least let me sleep peacefully.”

“It’s nothing complicated, I promise! In fact, it’ll save you thirty minutes. Don’t bring me my coffee tomorrow.”

“No, not a cleanse. Just come in a bit earlier. Let’s get coffee together.”

“Do you have time for that?” Knowing how packed Woojin’s schedule was in the mornings, you wondered his sanity for making time just so the two of you could grab a cup.

“I’ll make time. Actually, you’ll make time. Can you pencil us in for some coffee?”

“U-Uh, yeah!” With nervous and shaky hands, you pulled out your work phone and squeezed in half an hour of coffee time. “Done.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

Before going into your apartment complex, you watched Woojin wave goodbye before blasting music with a deep bass and speeding off, leaving a smokey trail from burning rubber.

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

“I hate him,” you said to yourself upon walking into Woojin’s office.

Like an artificially intelligent robot that didn’t know of its purpose, Woojin dressed in his Iron suit walked around his office doing regular office things, like dusting the blinds and tidying up loose papers on his desk. It was a little difficult to do smaller tasks with his stiff and massive iron hands, so you’re not entirely sure what your boss was doing.

“G’morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “Just taking this baby out on a test drive.”

You had just noticed the paint job was completed on the suit which meant that it was good to go. However, you didn’t think this was the ideal way to ‘test drive’ a superhero suit.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim. Is this really the right way to test drive?”

“I got too excited when my car guy told me it was done. He did it so quickly and precisely, too. Look, he even engraved it with my signature! She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very shiny. The gold and red are much prettier than I imagined.”

“Right!? Not too Gryffindor-y, is it?”

“Not at all,” you said sincerely. “Do you want to get coffee now? We should hurry, you have a conference call at 8:00.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Woojin followed you to the door with a trail of heavy iron steps. You turned around quickly and gave him an incredulous look, one he’s seen much too often. “I don’t want coffee anymore.”

“Why not!?”

“I’m not going out in public with you wearing that thing! You look ridiculous!”

“That’s so rude of you to say about my pride and joy! This also took me thirty minutes to put on!”

“Mr. Kim, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

It took only five minutes to get your boss stumbling out of the suit because the button for the release was hidden under a metal panel on his wrist, but at least it was painless.

“I thought you didn’t want to reveal Iron Man until you tested it and got your seal of approval?” you asked the child-like man.

“That’s still the plan, but I’m just so excited! I think we should test it tonight.”

“Tonight? Already?”

“Yup, and I need you here with me in case I die, or something.”

“And to think I was gonna relax and take a bubble bath tonight.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

“I’ll believe it when I drop my bath bomb in my tub.”

In your whole time working here, you’ve spent more time together with Woojin at both the office and at his home than working alone. The ratio was about seventy-five percent at the office, fifteen percent at his home, and ten percent miscellaneous, like going to business lunches or simple walks to the coffee shop like today. The long work hours were brutal on your feet and your social life, but the money was way too good to pass. You swore you broke the world record for ‘quickest payment of student debt’ with your hard work.

“Are we going to test it out now?”

“No, silly, it’s still too bright out! We have to test it once the sun sets.”

You knew that sounded too good to be true. You held a light jog in order to keep up with him. “Where are we going then?”

He turned and gave you a suspicious grin. “Shopping!”

“For what!?”

“You and I need matching outfits for the charity ball, remember?”

“We are matching and I am not arguing with you.”

A defeated sigh escaped your lips before entering the backseat of Woojin’s car where his driver would take us anywhere he pleased. He told him a cross section that sounded familiar, but not enough for you to guess where you’re going, so from here on out until you were home taking a hot bath, the rest of today would be a surprise.

The car stopped in front of a glossy black DIOR building. You expected nothing less from Woojin.

“You would pick Dior,” you scoffed, completely amazed at how someone so rich could have so much brand loyalty to one company.

“Hey, they are consistent and beautifully crafted, don’t judge me.”

“Mr. Kim and Lovely _____!” An older, graceful lady came running to greet both of you with a warm smile dressed in a hot red shade of lipstick. You recognized her voice to be the owner from all the times you called to ask about any pieces Woojin could reserve before they hit the runway and were snatched up by the ‘I Have Daddy’s Credit Card and Inheritance’ private-school boys. This was your first time seeing her in person and her calming voice matched her mature appearance perfectly. “This piece has been waiting for you ~”

“I can’t wait, Auntie,” he smiled back graciously like an obedient nephew rewarded with cookies.

She led the two of you to the very back where the private dressing and tailoring area was, where the mirrors went from the floor to the ceiling. The store owner walked in with Woojin’s fabric of choice, a velvet jacket with crisp black pants and a white button-up that had the slightest sheen of silver from metallic strands woven into the shirt fabric. In the shadows, one would think the velvet was black, but in the light or at certain angles, there was the slightest sheen to it that showed the darkest shades of indigo and green, like an oil slick. You couldn’t believe the amount of detail in the velvet that your eyes looked like they were popping out of your sockets.

“M-M-Mr. Kim! At least warn me if you’re going to strip!!”

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

A couple of zips and rustling of fabrics later, Woojin tapped your shoulder to turn around. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets again while looking at your boss dressed in a suit that was clearly made for him and him only. It didn’t look like any tailoring was needed at all! He looked like he walked right off the runway. There had to be some enchantment spell in the fabric because you swear you’ve never seen any man more handsome before this moment.

“I take it you like it?” Woojin teased.

Your cheeks tickled with red when he caught you staring. “You look amazing as usual, Mr. Kim.”

“You think so?” You knew so. “It’s not too flashy, is it?”

“Not at all. I think you have the perfect amount of flash. How does it feel?”

“Like a glove. It’s already perfectly tailored!”

“I know your measurements by heart, my dear,” Auntie bragged. “Of course I had it ready to go already.”

“You’re the best.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. “What would I be without you?”

“Not GQ’s best dressed man under thirty, that’s for sure.”

“Could you do me another favor? Do you perhaps have something for _____ to match? We have a charity ball next weekend.”

“Mr. Kim, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

“I’m not wearing whatever she brings out.”

“You will and you’ll look great and we will buy it, so don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

Both you and Woojin whipped your heads to see Auntie running in with a blacker than black satin and silky outfit that was simple but elegant. Nervous goosebumps spread through your arms and straight to your wallet. You already knew this was going to be the most expensive outfit you’ve ever worn.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped so slightly.

“Try it on!”

Woojin followed Auntie out of the dressing room but not before shooting you a triumphant wink. I mean, who were you to deny your boss and the store owner, right? So with ease, you put on the cooling fabric that clung to your body in all the right spots. The mirror did all justice and perhaps it was a magical mirror that Dior spent millions on to convince their customers to buy everything because damn, you look hot! With your face as red as Woojin’s Corvette, you presented the outfit to the two judges.

“Oh, it fits perfectly!” Auntie gushed with wide eyes.

Woojin stayed silent with his mouth ajar and eyes scanning you up and down like you were a precious gem discovered in a deep cave beyond a waterfall. It was hard to differentiate between feeling flattered and feeling like object, but at least you were a desired object, right?

“You look amazing,” Woojin admitted sincerely, no longer looking at you with awe and rather content.

“Really? I look ok?”

“You look just fine,” he lied, because ‘fine’ didn’t come close to how you looked to him.

“We’ll be the best dressed at the ball, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

The car ride home was quiet other than the trot music playing on the radio from the driver’s playlist. Woojin seemed as cool as a cucumber, but you were at the edge of your seat feeling a bit awkward and ugh, unintentionally sweaty. Compliments from any man was one thing, but coming from your boss? A whole different level of weird, especially if they weren’t work related! What did ‘you look just fine’ even mean!? Was that a good thing? Were you too average-looking? Whatever it was, from now until you fall asleep at ungodly hours, those words were going to circulate your thoughts, perhaps haunt you for days.

At exactly 7:03 pm, just as the sun set below the horizon revealing the indigo night sky, the driver pulled up to the back entrance of the building that led to a secret elevator that would take you straight to the underground office after punching in the code. A giggling and grinning Woojin was the first to hop out of the car and ran towards the door.

“Mr. Kim, hold on!” you whined as you struggled to get out of the tall car.

“Hurry up, _____! Now’s the perfect time to earn that OT!”

“This time-and-a-half pay better be worth it…”

Upon entering the elevator, you were ready to punch in the 4419 code, but Woojin had already pressed the button to the top level, which led to the roof slash helipad.

“Why are we going up?”

“We can’t test the suit inside, silly. Seungmin came by earlier to pick up his suit after I recalibrated it last night and I asked him to take the suit to the roof.”

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

“You let him wear it before you test drove it!? Mr. Kim, that’s extremely reckless!”

“Relax, I trusted he wouldn’t mess anything up, and look! It’s right there!”

The glass elevator made a slow stop to reveal the red and gold suit standing proudly in the center of the helipad. As soon as the doors panned open, Woojin handed you his suitcase before running out and tossing his blazer onto the floor before hastily stepping into the suit.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, running back to your frazzled state. He took the leather suitcase from your hands and popped it open so he could give you a glass tablet. “This is for you.”

You looked at the shiny slab of glass with wonder. “What is it?”

“And what code is that?”

“Not important, we’ll study those later.”

“Later!? What if something happens tonight!?”

“Nothing will happen I promise, I’ll see you in a bit ~!” his cheering faded away the further he ran from you and to his beloved suit.

There was no use in fighting your boss, so you did as you were told and touched the tablet to reveal the control panel. It was black for a few moments before the screen showed your tiny self off in the distance looking down at the tablet which meant that Woojin was able to put on and turn on the suit super quickly without any problems.

“What do you see?” he asked you through the speakers of the tablet from his built-in microphone in the helmet.

“I see me in the distance, the battery level of the suit, and all other weird liquids and commodities at one hundred percent.”

“Perfect!”

“How does it feel?”

“It feels incredible! Totally indescribable now that I’m out in the open. And it’s surprisingly lightweight.”

“How were you able to make it feel light with all that metal?”

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

You rolled your eyes. “The work of a genius, huh?”

“You’ve got that right. Are we ready to take off?”

“I believe so. Are you ready to take off?”

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

In a panic, you ran and took a peak over the edge, hoping the jets or whatever kept the suit flying would operate properly and leave you without any worries. At first, Woojin was but a dark red speck falling beneath the shadows, but a second later, he came flying up at lighting speed doing tricks and flips with ease and whooping loudly, as any normal CEO of a software company slash wannabe superhero would do. You could hear him giggling through your tablet, and like a spectator watching the most spectacular aerial performance, you watched him with a smile on your lips.

After his solo, he glided back down to you and hovered beyond the edge just at your eye level. You couldn’t see any features behind the glass of his eyes so you were left awkwardly staring at his expressionless helmet with those signature weird fangs. After all you and Woojin have been through together, even with an idea like this being so ridiculously obscure, he could always rely on you to support him no matter what. He saw how your eyes sparkled with wonderment and how your cheeks dusted a soft pink and it was then that he knew you would stay by his side for even more ridiculous shenanigans to come.

He would never let you leave, anyways. Even in another lifetime, he’d have you by his side forever.

You raised a brow. “You look kind of… scary?”

“Scary!? Why?”

“I don’t know, if I saw a flying robot come at me at rocket speed, I think I’d be terrified!”

“Well, if I come to your rescue, at least you’ll know it’s me.”

“I suppose. So what are you going to do now? Throw a reveal event? Press conference, perhaps?”

“That, or wait for a Demon-Level threat to pass through our city. I don’t know, whichever comes first.” Woojin shrugged nonchalantly. “Wanna see something cool?”

Before you could agree, Woojin held his palm to the sky before a neon blue blast shot out of it, disappearing into God-knows-where. You could feel the heat from the beam of light radiated around you and fear sparked inside your chest..

“What the hell was that!?” you exclaimed.

“Hey, careful! What if you hit a satellite or something!” In the process of grabbing Woojin’s iron hand so he’d stop being so reckless, you burned yourself upon touching the hot metal opening like a total dumb ass and yanked your hand back. “Ah!!”

“Oh, shit.”

Quickly and haphazardly, Woojin landed back on the helipad and climbed out of the iron suit. In the process of running back to your aid, he untied his black silk necktie to use as a temporary band aid on your scalding palm. Gingerly, his cold hands took yours and ran a thumb over the scarring semicircle.

“Ah ah ah stop!!” you cried with tears of pain and embarrassment streaming down your cheeks.

“Sorry! Here,” Woojin wrapped his tie around your palm and tied it tightly. The pure silk felt cooling against the burn and soon your tears stopped and you couldn’t do anything else besides sniffle. “Let’s go back inside. My office has a first aid kit.”

You sat on his sapphire blue velvet couch with the bronze-gilded frame that looked like it belonged in the Ravenclaw common room trying to alleviate the pain of the burn in Woojin’s ice bucket (for his white wine, of course) while he shifted through his drawers to find the first aid kit you gave him a couple years ago.

“8:00 pm,” you corrected in between sniffles.

Woojin had finished wrapping your palm at the end of his story. Something about his proclamation didn’t sit right with you. Something about staying here forever, clocking in massive amounts of overtime and being subservient to the same men sounded like your own personal hell.

“I can’t be your secretary forever, Mr. Kim.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to think about that for quite some time, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

“I, more than anyone else, know that.”

Your handsome boss chuckled lightly at the heavy subject. His curly caramel hair covered his eyes as he looked down at your hand and traced small shapes on the bandaid. You knew that he knew you didn’t want to stay here forever, and he couldn’t blame you, but it didn’t make the thought of you leaving any less heartbreaking.

“Does it feel any better?”

“Much better,” you said truthfully as the cooling gel felt like a magical potion.

“This first aid kit is the only practical gift I’ve ever received. All others are for the aesthetic.”

“Do you prefer practical gifts, Mr. Kim?”

“Of course! The fuck am I going to do with a VVS diamond-encrusted chain?”

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

“And partake in their pissing contest? No, thank you.”

“You’re telling me you won’t be doing that this weekend at the Charity Ball?”

“When I have you next to me, I don’t need VVS diamonds,” Woojin grinned flirtatiously.

You hit his arm with your good hand and he flinched upon his correct prediction. “I am not an accessory!”

“Of course not! You are my beloved intelligent sidekick that all other big wigs tell me they wished they had! But when you look like that, it’s bonus points ~”

“Ugh, your kind are all the same!” you scoffed, trying to collect your things and storm out the door.

“It’s a compliment!” he teased. Woojin managed to chase after you and grab your things to carry to his car so he could drive you home for the 1106th time.

“Why are you so nervous?” Woojin teased, nudging your arm as you both walked up to the front doors of the venue. “This isn’t the first time you’ve played as my date.”

“I know, but it doesn’t get any easier,” you admitted, shyly covering yourself from the much-more revealing outfit now that it was tailored to fit.

“You and I look fine! Muted colors, minimal diamonds, low key attitudes - we’re perfect! No one will even notice we’re here.”

“Mr. Kim, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Kim, who’s your lovely date?”

“Mr. Kim, what’s the best way to lock in that your date will go home with you?”

Woojin raised his hand slightly and all that could be heard were the cameras clicking. God, the power he has…

“Dior, a close friend, and be so irresistible that they can’t say no.”

Without another word, he gently took your bandaged hand and led you out of the circle of gossipers who were silent in awe. With your free hand, you covered up your ugly laughing.

“You’re such a cornball!” you said in between a fit of giggles.

“An irresistible cornball, at least. Now, walk me through all these people again?”

Woojin was young and when it came to networking, he still had the mentality of being the CEO’s son rather than the CEO. That meant that Woojin didn’t care much in remembering other CEO’s names and relied on you to remind him of all the people he should have remembered three years ago. It was a consistent hour of introductions and small talk about future goals, collaborations, and golfing, all of which you were able to expertly tune out while sipping prosecco and snacking on caviar tarts. Years of experience thankfully made these events easier.

“Did you practice your speech for your donation?” you reminded Woojin after taking a seat at the prestigious Table 2. Since the company was one of the Charity Ball’s biggest sponsors, the CEOs were always invited to say some manufactured speech.

“Yeah. I even practiced it in the shower. Hopefully I get the charity organization correct this time.”

“It’s amazing how you even got this far.”

The Charity Ball should have been named See Who Can Donate the Most Money Ball because every speech given by a CEO of some company tried to out-do each other. Luckily, your company’s speeches were always last and your touch of humanity written on paper always had the audience in awe with the Woojin’s compassion. To pass the time, you and Woojin played rock-paper-scissors and whomever lost had to drink champagne. Let’s just say Woojin ended up having the infamous Asian Glow.

“It is the greatest honor to be here and giving a speech for the third year in a row. Children are the source and future for a better world, and it is our duty to -”

You blanked out for most of it since you wrote it. It was hard to focus anyways when his eyes were so piercing, so you averted his gaze and counted the number of peppercorns on his unfinished steak. At an alarming fifty-three, you glanced around the gallery to see if anyone was actually paying attention. Many, if not all, of the guests around your age were paying attention with dreamy eyes and pouty lips, all wishing they were in your position tonight. Some even dared to make eye contact with you as if to say, ‘how DARE you NOT pay attention to the sexiest man alive!?’ The older, more powerful guests seemed genuinely interested in the amount Woojin was donating and the older dates seemed to care more about their reflection on the back of a spoon.

The fattest check with a bunch of zeros was walked onto the stage. A standing ovation was in order of course, and you conformed with the crowd, even though applause always made Woojin visibly uncomfortable.

“He throws a big, fat check to charity and yet he still doesn’t like the attention, huh?”

You smiled slyly at the man. “If it isn’t GQ’s Bachelor of the Month, Dr. Park Seonghwa.”

The raven-haired man gave you his signature smirk. Then he took your hand and kissed it tenderly like the prince he is. “Lovely _____, pleasure to see you as always.”

“Have you been doing that to all the other guests you frequent at these events?”

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

You let out a loud scoff. “You and your way with words.”

“Are they enough to convince you to finally go out to dinner with me?”

“Not quite.”

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

“What!? Ok, fine, one dance, unless you’re really feeling it and then we’ll dance some more.”

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

Seonghwa let out a tired sigh. “Intelligent, beautiful, loyal, and good at dancing? How are you so good at everything?”

“Stop that.”

“I mean it! Yet no man swept you off your feet.”

“Just because I won’t say yes to you, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting for that special someone.”

Seonghwa held your hand up high and made you do a little twirl. “You might be waiting for a while, beautiful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“With Mr. Woojin by your side twenty-five hours eight days a week, there is no man that has the courage to come in between such a strong relationship.”

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

While engulfed in the heated debate, Woojin was desperately searching for his right hand where he thought you’d be - either at your seat or by the bar, but you were at neither. After receiving his order from the bar, he let the expensive gold liquid over ice flooded through his bloodstream, which led him to a group of gawking gossipers whining and gazing at the dance floor. What was all the hype about?

The sight of you in the arms of the world’s most arrogant doctor didn’t sit too well with him. The scene made him see green.

“You’re such a liar!” Woojin heard you laugh aloud. “I did NOT give you so-called bedroom eyes at Yuta’s house warming!”

“You’re telling me you weren’t eyeing me up and down like a barbecued piece of pork belly dipped in sesame oil?”

“That’s because you had sesame oil on your white shirt!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Woojin took another sip of his golden drink before putting it down haphazardly and waltzing towards the dancing couple. To onlookers, this scene looked like it was straight out of those cheesy love triangle dramas. The gossipy gals wondered - would Woojin punch Seonghwa? Would he grab your hand harshly and drag you away to scold you and tell you how much he cared about you? Would he kiss you!?

You saw your uncharacteristically stern-looking boss approaching, and even though you’re unsure of his intentions, you still smiled brightly, as you always did whenever you saw him. Woojin lightened his heavy, angry steps. Even with another man by your side, you still looked at him. How could he be mad at you?

“Hello, Mr. Woojin,” Seonghwa greeted, holding out a hand for him to shake. You knew your boss wasn’t the biggest fan of Seonghwa, but he politely returned the gesture anyways. Somehow you felt your heart beating in your throat - the tension on the dance floor was too high, too powerful, and you were but an awkward and nervous secretary standing on the side while two powerful men duked it out.

“Dr. Seonghwa, nice to see you again.” Woojin was good at lying, but his lies never passed you. The amount of discomfort knitted in his eyebrows almost made you snicker. “Long nights at the hospital still?”

“As always, but at least it’s rewarding and enjoyable. How are your long nights at the office?”

“Can’t get enough of them, right, _____?”

You shrugged unapologetically. “I love that overtime pay.”

“_____, that’s not good for your health -”

“I tell them that all the time,” Woojin interrupted defensively. He was always like this whenever anyone questioned the amount of work you had. To you, it was not much of a burden at all, but to anyone else, they couldn’t fathom your work hours but if they saw your paycheck, maybe they’d understand. Even your boss felt bad whenever your friends blamed him, but no matter how much he tried to convince you of a normal 40-hour work week, the duties of being his secretary never added up to just that. Therefore, your boss always felt the need to defend you and him for the sake of making sure you weren’t portrayed as his slave. “But you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only because it’s you, Mr. Kim,” you said like you’re reading a script. Somehow that doesn’t translate through the ears of the two powerful men in front of you, as your boss smiled triumphantly and Seonghwa couldn’t help but shake his head.

Park Seonghwa disappeared into the crowd and perhaps left the Charity Ball all together. Until next time.

Your boss turned to face you, whose stern face quickly melted into innocence as he knew what was coming by the look on your annoyed expression. “What?”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and mumbled under your breath, “Ugh, you are unbelievable, Mr. Kim.”

As you tried to escape, the desperate man caught your hand. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you for just five minutes, can you let me do that?” you snapped in a hushed volume. “Or do you need to watch over me and speak on my behalf, since you’re my Father apparently!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like that.”

“You say that every time, especially when I’m talking to another man and even more-so when I’m talking to Dr. Park. When will your sorries mean something?”

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

All of the attention that was once focused on the handsome CEO and his secretary shifted to the glass ceiling that was now shattered to pieces upon the force of some dozens of masked strangers dressed in all black. Woojin instinctively, though harshly, forced you down so he could hover over you so none of the glass hit you. What followed seemed to be too numbing, as all of the stimuli in the banquet hall was too much to handle.

“Get down,” Woojin instructed while pushing you under one of the tables. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Kim!”

Of course, he didn’t listen, as Mr. Kim always did what he wanted, right? Which would normally annoy the fuck out of you, but who has the time to panic about what your boss was up to when you’re stranded under the table and shrouded by cheap table cloth linen?

“Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until all threats have been cleared. Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until -”

For some unknown reason, the voice paused, as if waiting for an answer or a reaction from the people. Nothing was heard besides shrill screaming and crying, which was probably what the wannabe-vigilante wanted. For the first time, you peaked through the slits of the table cloth. At the stage where Woojin gave his speech was a now-broken stage with the foot of a giant robot through it. It was a very top-heavy robot that looked like it had a large cavity in its belly, whose odd shape probably served some weird purpose unknown to everyone.

“Perhaps you’ll be proud of your donations for once when we capture you all and milk you of your every last penny!” The man laughed evilly at the head of the robot. “Down with the rich!”

“Down with the rich!” his people cheered in unison.

“Hey, I found another one!” someone yelled close by. “Under Table 2!”

Shit. “Fuck.”

Perhaps all those years of advance self defense classes that Woojin’s father enrolled you in would come to good use this time.

By your glamorously-strapped heel, one of the masked men dragged you out from under the table. There was no use in struggling, and the man seemed quite satisfied with how you complied.

“Let’s go, darling.”

“Don’t fucking call me darling,” you spat as a farewell.

There were too many men in between you and the emergency exit, so you had to fight your way through like in those cheesy American action movies. A bunch of kicks in the groin here and a couple baton to the knee caps there were enough to get you by half way, but then they started double-teaming on you. Of course, this was much harder, but Senior Mr. Kim didn’t give you the best sensei in the damn nation for no reason. You felt invincible even after defeating multiple double teams, but it was the triple teaming that got you stuck. You can only kick and baton so many groins at one time until two men held each of your arms and the other stole the baton.

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

Woojin’s red and gold helmet swung sharply and the empty eyes were staring into the souls of your captors while at the same time not.

“Who’s next?” Woojin threatened with his super cool and inaccurately deep robotic voice.

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go save your investors.”

A light chuckle came from Iron Man. “My driver’s already waiting outside. Are you able to run?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

“Do not argue with me until you save everyone, Mr. Kim.”

Woojin shook his head tiredly. He knew there was no use arguing with his headstrong secretary. “You’re so stubborn. Just promise you won’t get into any trouble this time.”

“No.”

“I’m cuttin’ down on your work hours!” he yelled, blasting off to fight the giant robot thing so he wouldn’t have to hear you argue back again.

“Kim Woojin, the man of the night,” the man controlling the ship scoffed. “You will look like my childhood favorite action figure once I stuff you in a glass box in my office! A prized treasure is what you’ll be. How does that sound?”

“Sounds kinky.” You could just sense the smirk behind his mask. “Then what will you do to me?”

“Milk you of all your assets, of course! Liquidation of its truest definition! The redistribution of wealth will come easy to the people, especially with your earnings in the mix!”

“Fine, take my money. But let these people go.”

“Absolutely not! I need all the money I can get! How do you expect me to change the distribution of wealth of the entire world with just one CEO’s salary!? Mr. Kim, I thought you knew that, silly.”

“Ok, fine. You take all of our money and then what?”

“Well, kill you, of course.”

A chorus of gasps and crying were heard from the belly of the machine.

Yeah, this guy was bad, but he had his points, so you’ll cheers to that, am I right?

A heavy arm swung to try and snatch up your boss. Though the arm was so large and heavy, Woojin barely managed to escape his grasp. By the silence of the once-chatty leader of the pack, you could tell that he was bothered by the words spat by the youngest CEO in the room. How dare Woojin mock his hard-earned pay when his earnings were given to him on a VVS diamond-encrusted platter!? There were a couple of times where he landed a couple of hits on your boss and you should feel worried, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it. You hated to be on the enemy’s side, but you, too, were one of those five-figure salary paycheck owners that are barely scraping by with their bills. And of course you were all for the redistribution of wealth, but this guy definitely went a little too far…

You would think that the sheer size of this oddly-shaped hunk of metal wouldn’t be able to move so fast, but it managed to capture Woojin by digging its claw to the wall and sandwiching Woojin in between. He couldn’t even wiggle his way out between gaps because the THING was pressing too hard against the wall. Woojin could feel the metal bending from inside.

“Then we die, is that right?”

“Of course! But at least you’ll die a hard-working man, Mr. Kim.”

“I will. But I’ll die a hard-working man with billions in my grave before I let you take a penny!”

The blue beam of light that you once cursed for burning a half circle on your palm you were now thankful for, as that beam of light shot your boss up in the air and freed him, taking a few fingers off of the hunk of metal with him. A couple more shots of incinerator beams later, and both arms of the robot had been severed and half disintegrated. Woojin kicked the glass where the leader sat and pulled out the defenseless lump of flesh that spoke the harsh truth about the wealthy. The leader was a young man who was not much older than either you or your boss, who didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Perhaps he expected, or even wanted, to go out this way - fighting for what he believed in.

The police, who had been waiting outside for all the ruckus to die down, came in and cuffed the leader and a few of his minions who cowardly hid under the tables. Woojin helped all of his investors safely come out and among the crowd you saw Seonghwa, safe and sound.

“_____, wait!”

No, no, no, no, no, what the hell! Really!? Right now!? was how Woojin read your expression as he walked to you with the suit on. When the seven-foot something Iron Man stopped before you, the face of his helmet slid open to reveal an out-of-breath Woojin. The entire banquet hall echoed with gasps.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you? Your bruise is getting worse!”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you said convincingly. “Looks like you have an impromptu press conference to deal with.”

To Woojin’s dismay, all of the cameras and press and the phones of his business friends captured his face inside the Iron suit next to his famous secretary that all his business friends wished they had. He knew you hated press conferences because even though you never said anything, you were always by his side and that meant the cameras were pointed at you also.

“I can deal with them. Go to the car and go home.”

“I can stay with you.”

“I won’t allow it. You need to go home and ice your face.”

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

Woojin never raised his voice at you ever because he never had a reason to. You were always hard-working and loyal and you always did everything correctly and did it with his best interest in mind. He’ll allow small things that might be detrimental to your health, like all the over time you loved to have and the unhealthy amounts of coffee you drown yourself in. But when the arm that’s supporting your body weight was shaking, your left cheek was the color of aubergine, and you had blood splatters on different parts of your body, that’s when he had to draw the line. Worry was knitted into his brows and his lips were a flat line and you only ever saw his face like this whenever he talked with his father. It was terrifying to see him almost mad at you and it made your heart sink a little that you did something wrong.

He softened his expression upon seeing your glossy eyes. “Take Monday off to rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday, ok?”

“But -”

Woojin plastered on his happy television face and returned to the fawning crowd and overly-thankful investors. You were blinded by the flashing camera lights and that was your cue that you didn’t belong there anymore.

As if he planted a tracking device in your phone, Woojin texted you upon locking the front door to your place.

The Money Man [01:03 am]: did you make it home ok?

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

You [01:04 am]: just got home. are you stalking me?

The Money Man [01:04 am]: you didn’t think the phone i gave you was completely harmless and bugless, did you? ;)

You [01:05 am]: i should have known better. how’s the impromptu press conference? are people surprised that it’s you?

The Money Man [01:07am]: they are, but at the same time it’s not. ppl keep asking me questions and won’t let me take the suit off, can you believe that!? it’s hot as balls in this thing!!

The Money Man [01:07am]: shit, gotta go - gotta somehow convince these idiots this is definitely NOT something to invest in.

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

The Money Man [01:08am]: yes, darling.

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

Having Sunday all to yourself was normal and you did what you always did every weekend: cleaned your place, took your time making a nice meal, organizing all of your work papers, and ended the night with a hot shower and an ice pack to your cheek. Monday, on the other hand was a disaster. You were so bored! Your fingers were itching to scribble down your boss’s agenda and you were so tempted to log into your work laptop, but you knew Woojin would chew your ear off for not listening to him and resting as you should. It wasn’t your fault that you were a work-a-holic!

“What are you doing here?” you asked surprised.

Woojin was glad you didn’t seem disgusted by his presence since he was the one who told you to take the day off and you must be tired of seeing his face by now. He whipped out an oily bag from behind his back with a child-like grin on his face. It was an unusual sight to see a man dressed in a several thousand dollar business suit carrying a twenty dollar bag of dinner.

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight - you tell me to take the day off, rest up, ice my bloodshot cheek only for you to come into my home and say I need to work?”

“Yup,” he claimed unapologetically, squeezing past you to get through.

“Yes, please come in, Your Highness,” you rolled your eyes, though he was already setting up at your dinner table.

“Your home is nice. Why are you always so embarrassed whenever I try to come in?”

“I mean, look at it. It’s nowhere near as nice as your home.”

“It’s as more of a home than my place will ever be, no matter how many velvet cushions and arcade games I ask you to buy for the place.” Woojin whipped out two bottles of beer, his favorite chaser to wash down the oiliness of the fried chicken, and poured them into glasses. “How’s your cheek?”

“By the look on your face, I guess not so good?”

“I have, and it’s not as painful as it looks!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Woojin challenged your claim by standing in front of you and lowering his head to see you at eye-level. His face was way too close to be considered appropriate for CEO and Secretary relationship behavior, though you knew he never cared for those formalities. His eyes were always so sparkly per usual and that gave him that dreamy stare all the ladies in the office loved. You never saw the appeal to it until now, with only a few centimeters in between.

He poked your bruised-like-an-apple cheek.

“Ow, what the hell!” you screamed, swatting his hand away.

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

“Well, people don’t go around poking my cheek all day!”

“Do you need pain killers? My doctor can write you a prescription for the best one on AND off market.”

“That’s ok, I only trust Dr. Seonghwa.”

Woojin gave you the same look he gave a former intern who got his breakfast and coffee order incorrect. Let’s just say the intern started crying on the spot. You, on the other hand, could barely hold in your snicker from his death glare. You were never on the receiving end of the infamous death glare and now that you were, it was hard to take it seriously.

“Ha ha,” Woojin fake laughed. “Not funny.”

“What exactly do you have against him, anyways? It’s surprising that you’re threatened by the likes of a doctor and not some other hot shot software company CEO.”

“I don’t have anything against him.”

“You’re such a liar!” you scoffed, taking a swig of the ice-cold beer. “If you didn’t have a problem with him, you wouldn’t have acted so defensive at the charity ball.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he said shamelessly. A vigorous bite of a chicken leg came afterwards. “He looks at you like how I look at chicken legs.”

“Well, maybe I like the way he looks at me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

“You deserve it for acting like my Dad that night.”

“I said I was sorry! I even bought you dinner and cold beer to make up for it!”

“Oh, so this is not because you said that me and you have some business to discuss?”

“Well, that, too.” Woojin wiped his greasy fingers on his silk handkerchief that he kept on the inside of his breast pocket before whipping out his phone to show you multiple news articles on the night of the charity ball. “Watch these videos.”

Your brows furrowed worriedly because you had no idea how Woojin felt. “Are you mad…?

“Mad?” Woojin paused the current video and placed his phone face-down on the table so he could focus on his good chicken and better company. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! What’s the point in showing me these videos?”

“To show you how bad ass you look! Where did you even learn these moves!?”

“Pretty advanced is definitely a misnomer, love. Well, it’s good to hear that Father has made one good decision in his reign.”

“Is this the business you wanted to speak about?” you asked shyly, hoping that the beer was a good enough excuse for your blushing cheeks. You’ll never get used to Woojin praising you.

“Sort of. I have a proposition for you.”

“What, that you want me to be your sidekick?” you scoffed. When Woojin remained silent with only the same sly smirk on his lips, you could see your worst fears coming true. “Oh, God, you’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!? I am not sidekick material!”

“You totally are! You and I are already the perfect duo! Why not take it up a notch!?”

“No, Mr. Kim, I cannot be your sidekick again, but in a different form and outfit!”

“Why not!? It’s not like I’m not going to pay you for it.”

“The pay is not the problem. The pay is never the problem. It’s…”

“It’s a huge commitment, I know,” Woojin admitted. “Too huge to even put a price on it. But can you at least consider it? I can’t imagine anyone else by my side except you.”

Now only if a man who wasn’t your boss said that to you without any underlying superhero context, you might have considered the proposal.

“Mr. Kim, I can’t…”

You hesitated getting the right words out, but Woojin knew why. You’ve been bringing up how you couldn’t stay his secretary forever, and although he knew this was true, he couldn’t help but try to keep you anyways. You’ve been loyal to him for so long that he often forgot how to treat you like a friend and not his subordinate. But the thought of you leaving? Soon, at that? It was something he didn’t want to think about just yet. He wanted to keep you by his side for as long as he could.

Woojin downed the last of his beer before whipping out his phone again. This time a slow song played over the speakers. He stood up and offered you a hand.

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

“You and I never got to dance on Saturday. So dance with me.”

“Here? Right now? In my small ass apartment?”

“The next charity ball isn’t for another month and I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Then your boss pulled you in close enough that it felt like he was hugging you.

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

“Thank you,” he began. “For always being there.”

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

“Not just as my secretary, but as my friend.”

“You think of me as your friend?”

“I do. Don’t tell Vice President Chan this, but I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“Really?”

“By association though. After all these years being by your side, it’s only natural that I came to like you.”

“I like you, too,” he chuckled, tucking some hairs behind your ear. “A little too much, at that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In another lifetime, I feel like you and I would be soulmates.”

“You don’t think we would be in this lifetime?”

Were you hoping to be? “Perhaps. By association though, right?”

You didn’t want to press more about any underlying meaning to his statements, so instead you looked down embarrassed. In another lifetime, in this lifetime, in multiple lifetimes, Woojin thought you and him would be each other’s soulmate no matter what, because a lifetime with you sounded perfect.

A thumb gently ran over the perimeter of your cheek bruise and it tickled rather than burned, so that was a good sign that it was healing. A loud tisk came from your boss.

“God, do I really put you through this much pain!?” he cried aloud.

“Huh? You didn’t cause this - those dumbass followers did!”

“I guess, but I was the one who brought you to that event! And what about the scar on your hand, huh? I definitely caused that one.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s it, I can’t be hurting you like this anymore. I can’t be putting you through all of this danger like you’re my bodyguard. I have to let you go.”

You knew he was joking when he couldn’t hold in his cheeky smile. “That is not probable cause to fire me, Mr. Kim.”

“Really? Dammit.”

“No matter how many times I get hurt, you can’t get rid of me that easily, ok? I go out on my own terms!”

“So strong willed… I almost hate it.” Woojin sighed exaggeratedly before pulling you in for a real hug this time. His arms squeezed your waist tightly, letting you know that he didn’t want to let you go even if he tried. “Just make sure to give me a two weeks notice, all right?”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“I’m going to miss hearing that from you the most when you leave.”

In another lifetime, huh? Too bad you were stuck in this one.

“You’re taking Ryujin…?” you repeated, as you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Yes, so you can go home early if you want,” Woojin said as he fixed his bow tie in the giant mirror in his office. He then turned to present to you with an ignorant grin. “How do I look?”

“Why are you taking her?”

“She’s been working hard this past month, so I thought I’d reward her with tonight and have her practice some networking skills.”

“How generous of you,” you mumbled bitterly to yourself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you help me put on this chain necklace thing? The clasp is so damn tiny…”

“Are you ok?” he asked sincerely. He pressed a firm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You harshly swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged it off, thinking that you probably had a bad week with all of the boring work he’s been having you deal with. A lot of weird and unsettling energy was pent up inside of you for the past month, so before you exited Woojin’s office for the weekend, for some reason you thought this was the appropriate time to speak on it.

“Actually, I’m not fine,” you blurted out. Woojin gave you his full attention for the first time that month. “I… I’m putting in my two weeks.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“No, but I will figure that out later.”

“You don’t have another job lined up but you want to quit? Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t - he was more hurt than anything else that you wanted to leave without a proper explanation. He thought you and him were doing well… What changed so suddenly?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Woojin noted how your voice was shaking. “I was fine when you had me staying ungodly hours, I was fine when you had me get you coffee every morning and your dry cleaning every Monday, and I was fine when you involved with the Iron Man project, but now all you’ve given me lately is paperwork and shit that the new hires should be doing and not myself!”

“_____, language -”

Woojin was silent. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad or surprised at your sudden outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating and his silence even more so, like this was his ideal form of psychological torture. Woojin didn’t seem to care for your feelings anymore as he turned back to face the mirror.

“Your two weeks has been noted,” was all he said.

On days where you couldn’t help yourself - when you felt like torturing yourself - you would look up Woojin on all the tabloid sites. Surprisingly enough, this happened way more than you’d like. Of course, as you speculated, Ryujin had quickly taken your spot as his secretary and God, did you like to shit on how terrible she was! You didn’t have to be at the office to know that Woojin must be frustrated with her by the crookedness of his ties and jackets and how she must have forgotten to schedule a salon appointment by the look of his roots and unruly brows.

Ha! That’s what he fucking gets for not being grateful! That dick!

Perhaps you should have been less carefree, as a stranger snuck up behind you and knocked you out cold.

“Ryujin, where’s my document-signing pen?”

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

Woojin sighed loudly, running a hand through his curly locks and staring intently at the mess of papers that scattered on his desk. His desk hadn’t been this messy since the first day he started when he had to sign all of those official documents that transitioned him to CEO. The same day when he fell for you.

“Take the rest of the night off,” he told his subordinate.

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

Another sign left the young man’s lips. This time it was because he was tired. He couldn’t deal with anymore bullshit tonight.

An anonymous FaceTime call rang his phone. Who could be wanting to FaceTime him at such an odd hour of the weeknight?

When he swiped to answer, all he saw was you tied up roughly to a splintered chair with tape covering your mouth. Woojin nearly dropped his phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Kim,” a familiar voice sang. From the shadows behind you emerged the fake vigilante that led the invasion of the Charity Ball. “I see that you’re doing well.”

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

“I think you know what I want.” A shiny knife drew a line across the other cheek, small drops of blood seeping through and mixing with the dried tears and dirt. Woojin’s heart felt like it was collapsing. “A blank check addressed to little ol’ me.”

“If I see another scar on them, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

The man held his hands up high in defensive mode and took a step away from you. “Fine, I won’t touch them! Just give me what we want near the docs.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and one more thing - come dressed in Iron Man and I’ll slice their throat. Bye!”

The line cut dead and Woojin had no choice but to leave empty-handed with only a blank check in his pocket.

The air inside the enclosed cargo bed was hot and suffocating and your rising panic did not ease your pain or heavy breathing one bit. It didn’t help that the guy and his minions were playing with your hair and playing with their knives, draggin the dull edges on your arms and neck. Normally, you wouldn’t be so weak and crying to the point that the tape around your mouth was loosening up, but life these days was tough and perhaps an event like this, causing Woojin major inconvenience once again, was what you deserved.

Scurrying and uneven footsteps were heard from outside and you really, really hoped it was Woojin not dressed in Iron Man.

“Here already? He must like you,” the leader teased.

Woojin’s shaking hands take hold of your face to try to calm you down. “Hey hey, shh, I’m here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” You shook your head vigorously, whining and trying to break free from the ropes tying you down. “Hold on, I got you.”

Before Woojin could untie your hands, one of the minions hit him on the back of his head the same way they knocked you out. But your boss was stronger than that - his head was harder than his iron helmet. At the failed attempt, Woojin hurled the guy over his shoulder and out the cargo bed. Your bad ass boss got up like it was nothing, but he was breathing heavily.

Not because he was tired or weak, but because he was furious.

Three more guys tried to kick his ass and it was then you realized that your boss wasn’t just some fake hiding behind an iron suit who could program it to fight. He truly was kicking their ass! Like, raw strength and all! If you weren’t scared to death, you might have thought this was kind of hot. But then Woojin punched one of the guys too hard and it sent him flying over to you, to which you fell over and broke the chair. The rope was no longer tied to anything and you were free.

Yet another one of the lame-o sidekicks tried to capture you again, but now you were equally as furious, if not more, than your partner in crime. How dare they sneak up on you and not even give you a chance to fight back!? That was the definition of a weak-ass group of villains! So of course you had to show them a lesson and kick a few balls and some asses. But the number of asses was infinite and you were getting really tired. They had enough people to fight you and Woojin until you couldn’t keep up and then they’d kill you easily.

“Mr. Kim, now would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans!” you begged between kicks and breaths.

“Ten seconds tops. But when I say so, I need you to hold my hand, ok?”

“What!? What are you planning!?”

“Just trust me!” You and Woojin saw the leader direct the last ten of his minions to finish the job. “Ready? Three… two… one!”

A heavy force on the outside pushed the cargo bed off the edge of the pier and into the ocean with the purpose of drowning everyone in it. The only sensation you felt was ice cold water freezing your blood flow and Woojin grasping your hand for dear life while trying to swim up to the surface. Before blacking out from lack of oxygen, you felt the ripples of something entering the ocean and saw a faded red and golden glow of light. Not a second later, a hollowed Iron Man on autopilot rushed you and Woojin to the surface and placed you gently on the sand just under the pier. The silent night was filled with a chorus of ugly coughing fits from you and your boss. What a wonderful CEO slash ex-secretary couples activity this turned out to be.

As soon as your breathing returned to a rhythmic beat, a wet, crying, sand-covered Woojin held your face in his still-trembling hands. He didn’t say a word - he simply held you and pressed his forehead to yours, making sure that yes, this was real, and not some unconscious dream where he was still in the middle of the ocean drowning. Yes, you were there with him and you were alive.

“Why are you crying? I was the one kidnapped,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten up the mood if but a little bit.

Woojin laughed between sniffles and shivers, but couldn’t stop crying. He was smiling, but still crying, and if that didn’t perfectly depict this situation, you’re not sure there’s anything out there that did. Haphazardly, he planted a cold kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? You had nothing to do with this.”

You’re left breathless the moment your lips parted. “I-I, uh, I forgive you…”

“How could you ever think that I could replace you?” he muttered. “I could never. Not in this lifetime.”

“You also said that me and you wouldn’t happen in this lifetime,” you challenged.

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

Iron Man returned to Woojin’s basement as soon as his job was done, so your favorite driver picked you two up in ten minutes with plush hot towels and dry clothes to change into. The pajamas you wore already had your initials monogrammed over your heart.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Woojin began awkwardly on the car ride home. “I was going to gift them to you a couple Christmases ago, but you said that monogrammed clothing was cheesy and stupid, so I abstained…”

“... They’re not so bad,” you admitted truthfully. “Very soft.”

Coming home to Woojin’s felt so wrong, yet so right. You’ve only ever been inside for business reasons, such as redesigning his closets and kitchen pantry, but now that you were here on leisure - well, after almost fucking dying - it was kind of weird. But Woojin holding your hand reassured you that you were wanted here - that he needed you here.

“Take a shower upstairs. I’ll go make some tea.”

You left the shower smelling like orchids and eucalyptus and entered the kitchen that smelled like ginger and honey. Woojin, who had also showered, followed shortly after, stealing a kiss on your cheek that was cut up earlier that evening.

You followed Woojin to his giant marble island while he poured tea into white mugs on the other side. This felt so… domestic. This felt so right. This felt like home.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he smirked slyly.

Well, that ruined the moment. “What, no ‘how have you been the past month since I replaced you with some other chick’?”

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

“Mr. Kim, I already told you, I can’t -”

“As the Head Director of the Iron Man project.”

Your eyes widened at the prestigious title. “Head Director?”

“You stayed by my side through all the criticism and the praise and I can’t imagine a better person for the position.”

“So it’s not just a fancy title for like, super secretary, right…?”

Your handsome man chuckled. “No, I promise.”

“Head Director, huh?” your lips slowly spread into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

“Of course.”

“An extra week of vacation.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Last one. I’m your date to every event from now on.”

Woojin raised his eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? And if I say no?”

“Then I say no.”

“Jeez, I’m kidding! Of course you can, on two conditions.”

“Fine.”

“You call me Woojin from now on. Or boyfriend, or soulmate, or whatever suits your fancy.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” Woojin leaned in and puckered his pink lips. “Kiss me.”

You start your new job next week - after Woojin cashed in one week of vacation to spend with his soulmate.

#kim woojin #woojin #skz #stray kids #skz woojin #stray kids woojin #woojin imagines #woojin scenarios #kim woojin imagines #kim woojin scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #omg ok good night KJADLKJSFL #woojin ily imy omg #i wanted to post this before the chan one but then i signed up for secret santa so that happened LMAO #lemme know what u think HEH

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