#this was like the only part of this chapter that i could post without spoiling anything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winterzsurprise · 8 months ago

Text

Crimson Lovers • KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

SUMMARY: “I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” Jin whispered into your lips like a promise. If it weren't for your lust addled mind, you'd believe him. “You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

Or alternatively, your friend’s only solution to you being a broke college student with a family to feed is to attend a private feeding party where the most affluent vampires are in attendance to drink fresh blood in exchange for money and get yourself in trouble with the infamous Kim Coven.

Tags: Vampire! Seokjin, Half-Faerie! Reader, Mythical Creatures AU!, SMUT, Cunnilingus, Magic slick (Seokjin passed out from it lmao), Blood sucking(obvs), not beta read.

Words: 5.1k

I just found this one collecting dust in the vault so I decided to post it here since it'll be a shame if I don't post a 5k words worth work. Its supposed to be the first chapter for a mythical creatures and reincarnation au bts x reader story but I immediately hit a wall.

I'll prolly pick it up in the future idk.

• MASTERLIST •

__________

Never in your life have you ever thought a single sheet of paper could weigh so heavily in the palm of your hands like it holds the heaviness of your future.

Depending on your answer, it does.

The card was a vibrant crimson with a nice golden design of modest swirls as margins for the text that are colored in silver, the material no doubt expensive. It was an invitation to a private feeding after all, how could it look shabby when only a selected few are given the opportunity to attend?

By selecting a few, you meant people from affluent backgrounds and some unfortunate people desperate for money.

It was obvious what category you’d fall into.

If you were to attend the party.

“Stop staring at it like it offended your ancestors, I'm just suggesting it.”

Soomin, your friend since high school, says.

“Where did you even get this? You don't know any vampires, do you?”

She shrugs, leaning back into her armchair. “Got a few favours. You were complaining about needing money and thought I could use some of them.”

Scratching your head, you read the card's contents with careful apprehension.

“Relax, it's not enchanted to track where it goes. It's just a normal card, you know I wouldn't force you into something if safety wasn't guaranteed.”

Before leaving the herd to pursue college far from the safety of family wards, your mother had enchanted your accessories with aura suppressors and glamours to prevent people from knowing your heritage.

You were told of horrors of the inhabitants outside the plane, both mortals and supernaturals turning over every leaf in the forest just for a whiff of a faerie.

Your blood is as precious as its golden colour, said to restore even the weakest mortal on its deathbed to pristine condition with a mere drop and turn a half vampire’s miniscule powers into a bottomless pit of a royal pureblood.

Faeries live in constant danger and you'd be damned if you weren’t taught to overthink everything.

“It’s anonymous, they’ll have you wear a mask, don't overthink it too much. My aunt used to tell me ‘your body is an emergency fund, every part of you is profitable. You just need to know the right place.’ or in my case, a man.”

She says, wiggling her fingers in front of your face where a gigantic pink diamond glimmered under the light above you, an engagement ring from the werewolf she bagged from dancing haphazardly on a stranger one friday night.

It's her pride, being able to capture the attention of one of the country's most attractive bachelors. It gave her a confidence that soared so high in the skies, she had nudged the space terminal. You couldn't even blame her for thinking so, knowing you'd share the same sentiments if it were you.

But still, daring to wander around without the wards your mother has spent years of creating to keep you safe, it makes your stomach churn.

Placing the card and pushing it as far as you could, you lean back into the chair.

“I don't know… It's really risky.”

“I’m just suggesting here,” she sighs, sliding the paper back in front of you and patting it. “If all goes well, you wouldn't need to work overtime for a year at least.”

“You saying that only makes me overthink it even more.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

You knew she was right and the prospect of not working for a year is tempting. But a part of you frowned at the thought of risking your safety for a couple of zeroes in your bank account. Pride is such a fickle thing, so easily threatened and dragged through the mud when desperation kicks in.

But what is Pride in the face of your mountainous pending bills?

Not to mention, your mother and little brother's living situation back in the province. Soobin needed new shoes for school, you've seen how well-worn it has been—if well-worn meant clumsily glued back soles onto the upper body for the nth time with shoelaces frizzled and pulled taut from being twisted into knots and years of washing.

Your barista and supermarket cashier job nor your mother's job as a saleslady in the wet market doesn't reward you enough to save for his shoe while trying to sustain both you and your family, you need more. Taking on another 9-5 job is far from the solution.

Grabbing the paper with a newfound heaviness in your body, you sighed. The address encrusted in silver stood out in the seas of crimson reds, rooting your eyes onto the text.

“You asked for my help and I offer this–this somewhat long term solution.”

“But what if someone tries to track my blood back to me?”

Your mother and brother are counting on you, her salary from selling in the market aren't enough for the both of them. If you were to disappear they would sink further than you all already are, Soobin would stop attending school in favour of working. The guilt from seeing your mother bend over her back to be able to put food on the table would kill him.

It's a burdening feeling you wouldn't wish upon him. He should only know to have fun, make friends, and experience life in high school like a normal teen would.

You can't afford to put yourself in danger.

“I’ll put my name on the list instead. I promise you that you'll be safe, you just need to find someone to feed on you and then you can go, easy money!”

Seeing the hesitance in your eyes, she continued.

“Sometimes you just need to live a little. There's rewards in risking, you know?”

But then again, nor can you afford new shoes for Soobin with your minimum wage jobs.

With a defeated sigh, you looked up to meet your friend's eyes.

“How should I dress?”

________

He should've known better than attending parties the prehistoric council members had invited him into, you'd think centuries of politics would render him immune to these tricky situations yet here he is, standing awkwardly in the middle of the meeting room while holding said invitation and a cocktail. The old geezer was already gone by the time he realised his mistake.

The envelope was a deep hue of red, a foretelling sign of what the party might be about.

It wasn't a shock when he saw the neatly imprinted silver text on the thick crimson paper telling him of a private feeding gathering for both the fortunate and the unfortunate on Saturday.

While being a vampire himself, he never had to feed on strangers when he had his coven to fill him up for the next month or so. His age has allowed him longer intervals between feeding and at this point, he has grown nonchalant with that aspect of his life.

Obviously, he should've ripped it to shreds and incinerated the damn thing.

But a voice whispered at the back of his, urging him to join the small gathering. A nagging feeling tugging at him and telling him he'd miss something important if he were to dismiss the invitation. Yet when asked why he went, he said it's to oversee the event undercover.

He could still feel the burning curious gaze of his brothers on his skin.

Which brings him to his current predicament, fighting off the urge to yawn from the absolute boredom caused by newbloods breaking their backs to impress potential business partners and blood donors.

He silently thanked whoever thought it was a good idea to have guests wear masks. There would've been heaps upon heaps of scandals if he were to be spotted in a feeding party, not to mention, the newbloods trying to peacock their way to being sponsored by the Kim Coven and from the rising irritation burning his back, he might shave off a huge number off the vampire population.

He couldn't remember the times he had done his route around the hall, trying to avoid people vying for a morsel of attention and trying his best to not stay still in one place for people to recognize him but he did know that if he were to go around once more, he's leaving once and for all.

Downing his last martini, he stood up.

Only for a dizzying scent to knock him back into his seat. It grabbed onto his throat with a tight grip, stuffing his head and demanding his attention. It smelled like the sweetest of sin, honeyed and dripping thick on his tongue.

A faerie’s blood, although from a half, is still as tantalising as a pure blooded one.

He hears the murmurs, could feel multiple spawns’ auras spilling out of their body, their greed relentless and non-discriminating as it lashed out over each other, fighting to be noticed by the woman in the black bodycon dress. Why are they looking at her? How dare they lay their eyes on what's mine—

He immediately shook the thought away, making a note to review it later.

You strode into the middle of the ballroom with a sway to your hips, lips painted in the hue of blood stretching into a coy smile as vampires of all ages take a step towards your direction. The dress didn't leave much to the imagination with its thin fabric clinging onto your form tightly. From the spaghetti straps hanging flimsily on your shoulders to the low dip of its collar between the mounds of your chest and the high slits on one side to reveal the plumpness of your thighs, you were mouth watering in every way possible.

With pouty lips tinted in crimson red and hair loosely curled on the side of your face. You were a sight to behold.

Seeing you stride in with all that skin displayed for everyone to see, a ravenous monster at the back of his mind resurfaces. Greed and possessiveness of the others seeped into his skin, awakening something he had long buried.

A potential mate, his mind had whispered

Fuck, you're driving him insane.

Seokjin didn't notice his feet moving, following the alluring scent beckoning him close as if hypnotised but he did see the flirtatious narrowing of your eyes as he approached. If his power is spilling over the floor and deterring everyone from daring to get in between you both, he ignored it.

In fact, he revelled in their soured faces and shivering bodies.

He wasn't one for claiming territories nor was he the type to flaunt his power but for tonight, he'll make an exception.

No one is to dare interrupt him.

“What's a pretty faerie like you doing outside of their realm?”

He tried so hard not to stare at the delectable view of the mounds of your breast or the unblemished skin of your neck and chest but it's difficult with the view granted by his height. Your heartbeat pulsed nervously despite the flirtatious mask you so perfectly strut with.

He could practically taste your scent being this close and his throat dries up.

Fuck, you're gonna make him religious.

“The same as the other women in pretty dresses in this room, darling. Money.”

“Aren't you scared people might hurt you?” It was a genuine question, if he wasn't here to step over the pining prospects, he didn't want to imagine how they would've killed each other for a glance.

You would've been ravaged, you were bold for strutting into a room full of ravenous vampires. It was impressive as much as it made his blood curl. He pushed the thought away, he wouldn't want to scare you off by decorating the hall in gore.

Seokjin could feel your fear, could hear it from the racing beats of your heart under flesh and bones. You were nervous, no doubt ready to bolt the moment you were approached by the predators surrounding you in all directions yet you faced him head on with a false confidence he started to think is real.

If fear were to ever linger in the corner of your eyes, he had a feeling it wouldn't end well for every supernatural in this room.

No one should ever dare scare you.

“I'm desperate. So, if you aren't trying to take me for the night, I have other guys pining for me so excuse—”

“I didn't say I didn't want you, sweetheart. I'm just trying to get to know you better.”

You stopped, looking up at him through your lashes as you stepped closer.

Lithe fingers boldly reached onto his tie pressed neatly behind his blazer—nails painted in a sinful red hue, he notes— tugging and twirling it between fingers as you stepped closer and closer, further drowning him in your delectable fragrance. Your nervous heart beats echoed in his ears and it sounded like the piper's capturing tune, your scent surrounds him like a haze of amortentia, demanding his attention on your eyes, your lips, your skin and to the dip in your waist. All Seokjin could think about was you.

Your soft flesh flashing up at him, teasing him and urging him to have a taste, to feel the rush of your blood coating his tongue and down his throat, to run his hands over your skin and have his marks littering its unblemished surface.

Suddenly his clothes felt suffocating in the heat of his desire.

Was he seriously this floored for someone whose face he hasn't seen?

“All you need to know is that I need a name to moan, handsome.”

He could feel the thread of his patience running thin, lust leaking in and clouding his judgement. He smirked. “Name’s Jin. What should I call you then, sweet thing?”

Your arms reached around his neck, body pressing flush into his chest as you looked up at him through lidded eyes. The size difference not going unnoticed, if anything, it made him want to drive a stake through his heart.

“Cherry.”

He doesn't know who started it first, nor does he remember how you both ended up in a private room after the feeding contract was signed, doors locked behind you both as he pressed you onto its wooden material, the masks long forgotten on the floor. Seokjin felt your lust in how your scent sweetened further like heaven's nectar, grabbing onto his throat and drowning him.

It almost felt sacrilegious that he gets to know you so intimately like this. Almost unfair how your desires grappled with his patience like a cat with a ball of yarn, temptation lighting his skin alight.

Pulling away, his lips immediately zeroed in on your neck. His fangs ached to be buried onto your precious skin but he knows better than to harvest his rewards early. He sucked bruises and marked your throat yet the greediness in his chest didn't relent, if anything, it rampaged further at the sight of you littered with his marks.

They looked so pretty on you.

“You're driving me insane.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Taking your lips once again with his, you engaged in a wild dance of teeth dragging over his lips and tongue clashing with yours before picking you up and taking you both to the bed at the far corner of the room.

The straps of your dress falling from your shoulders shouldn't have the effect it does to him yet here he is, throat tight and mouth watering as he hovers over your pliant body, full chest spilling on the sides of your body, raising with your laboured breath with cheeks flushed with desire. His hands pushed the offending fabric of your dress to bunch over your inner thighs, eyes greedily drinking in every inch of skin being revealed to him before noticing how the thick flesh managed to look so small under his palms.

His mouth dries.

He can't wait to see how Namjoon feels about the size difference between you. The man would lose every morsel of control.

“Stop staring!”

“Why should I? You look so pretty like this.”

There's something so sinfully divine in how the fabric only seems to cover the necessary parts of your body, trying its best—and failing—to hide you from his gaze, the devil about to corrupt your purity with a bite.

You whined, hand reaching for him as you flush darker at his comment.

You'd turn Yoongi into a devout worshipper who'd dedicate a thousand songs because of this sight alone.

He ran his hands across your thighs, thumb inching closer to your heat under the fabric and every time it neared your breath hitches. Your heartbeat thuds a little faster, a new melody he's grown to love.

Yoongi would've somehow composed a song with it.

“If you stare any longer, I'm going to start charging you.”

He didn't mean to laugh as hard as he did at that.

“Not much of a threat for me, sweetheart. I'm fucking rich.”

Your scent flares as you let out a soft moan and he captures your lips once more before pulling away with a smirk.

“I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.”

You whined and it sounded like the sweetest melody he'd hear once he enters whatever heaven there is for the supernatural.

Seokjin didn't have a kink for spending money on someone nor did he imagine he'd have one, but as he drawled on, he couldn't help but imagine you in the most lavish fabric to pose for him and his coven members, to see your form covered in the softest of silk and the rarest of gems only their money could purchase, his throat tightened.

Taehyung’s designed clothes would fit you perfectly.

“You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

You didn't react to his revelation and he takes it as a win, a silent acceptance of his coven.

“Please just touch me.”

“Where do you want me, princess?”

You take his hand, lithe and small against him, and bring it close to where you wanted him most between legs, nudging his fingers between folds and shocks shoots through his body. He groans, the lacy fabric already drenched with your arousal, doused with your addicting scent.

“I want your fingers inside me, Jinnie. Please?”

If you asked him for the universe with that voice, he would learn how to shrink it and hand it over to you the next day tied with a bowstring.

Are you aware of the power you hold over him?

Instead of moving, he let you move his wrist, watched you with rapt attention as his fingers dipped down your folds, hovering on your clenching hole before rising to nudge your clit, teasing your already sensitive self and moaning from the slightest of touch.

If it wasn't for the unfamiliar signature of a faerie in your scent, he would've thought you were a succubus.

“Look at you grinding on my knuckles so prettily, already so needy for me.”

He pressed light figures of eight on your button and drank in the sight of your desperation with rapt attention. Your hips twisted, eager for more. Tugging the fabric aside with the other hand, he toyed with your clit, using different pressures and motions to figure out what brings you the most pleasure before dipping a finger into you.

Your velvety walls fluttered around him, pulsing with need and tightening oh so deliciously on his finger. His cock stirs in his pants as he adds another digit, he can't wait to bury himself into your warmth.

Seeing you thrash around in pleasure as his fingers drove and curled inside you, got his body crawling with the intense feeling of greed. He wanted to see more of you, to have you on the brink of breaking. Suddenly, the dress flimsily covering you grew offensive. He eyed the material restricting his movements before pulling away from your cunt and reaching up to tug your panties off of you, discreetly tossing it into his spatial storage.

The dress is already halfway off your skin, he could easily tear them apart to replace them with a better, more expensive fabric but decided against it.

He sheds the clothing inch by inch, placing soft kisses and gentle nibbles to newly uncovered skin, leaving you breathless beneath him. Your scent flourished with your magic. It was electrifying. Intoxicating how your power seems to react so well with his.

Like you were meant to be.

Sitting back, he admired the divine artwork before him, embedding the sight into the walls of his brain. Your arms moved to cross over your breasts from his gaze making him reach down to entangle your fingers with his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Don't hide from me. You look so pretty like this.”

With you finally revealed bare beneath him, he wasted no more time, leaning down to your cunt where your scent was stronger and licked.

Your flavour explodes on his tongue and he groans. Whether it was just your scent he’s tasting or your arousal he could care less, mouth latching onto your folds and tongue lolling on your erect bead as he sucked. His head buzzed, intoxicated by the fluctuating aroma surrounding him. He could die happy between your shuddering thighs threatening to close around his face, he didn’t mind it though, he can go on without breathing if only he could taste your sweet nectar.

Tasting you felt blasphemous, like he broke every heavenly rule there is by having you drip on his tongue. Sinful and outright disrespectful, and he loved it.

Heat ravaged his entire being alight, desire running rampant and restless under his skin. His fingers roamed your uncharted skin possessively, digging his fingers onto flesh and dragging them down, cupping and squeezing whatever he could reach while his mouth busied with your clit. Your hands grabbed at his head, fingers threading and entangling themselves onto his hair, confused whether to push him away or to tug him closer as you edged closer to the precipice of your high.

“I'm so close…! Jinnie please!”

With your back arched, hair laid around your head like a halo and chest glistening with sweat stuttering as you come to a close, skin illuminated by the soft lights of the room, Seokjin swore he has never seen a more beautiful sight than this.

His fangs ached once more.

“Fuck..! I’m gonna—”

He pulls away, teeth sinking into the plush of your thigh and your body seizes with pleasure, the ecstasy caused by his bite pushing you over.

Your blood is light and rich on his tongue, syrupy and honeyed, like the sweetest nectar found only in the garden of eden, the flavour heightened by your climax. Seokjin could taste the sugariness of your orgasm as if it was his own and he groaned. It was dizzying, the taste clogging his senses and stuffing cottons inside his mind as he took and took. He has never realised how hungry he was until he’s bitten into your skin.

His head swims, intoxicated by the raw magic in your blood entering his system, intertwining and entangling themselves into his own before boldly integrating with the flow of his power as if they've always been there. Energy buzzed under his fingers now erratically plunging and curling inside your cunt, further sweetening your blood as you edged between pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

Then in the midst of all the pleasure and nirvana, something clicks into place and he jerks awake from the haze.

Forcing himself to pull away, he almost black out as if he’s been taken off of life support—he feels like he did. Head blank and lightheaded, blood drunk. Even in his bleary state, he could feel it. An additional trace of your magic latching onto his own, a bond unconsciously made.

The uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers didn't go unnoticed and he buried his face into your thigh, blushing for no one in particular.

He cursed under his breath before pushing himself up and wishing you both into the comfortable clothing he had stocked up in his pocket dimension before taking his phone out of it, immediately greeted by the onslaught of text on his lock screen, all two hundred of them from his brothers who had no doubt felt the addition and his intense pleasure from feeding on you.

Normally, he'd be embarrassed by the thought of them knowing what he's been up to but there were more pressing matters to attend to.

For example, the bond formed without your consent and his.

There's panic and confusion swirling madly like a hurricane through the six other bonds. He forced calmness down the lines tethered to his magic before turning back to the issue at hand.

He might have to wake you up and inform you of what happened.

But when he looked up and found your eyes closed, most likely blacking out from the intensity of the unprecedented bonding and the overstimulation from a vampire's bite, he figured that he'd deal with it tomorrow. You looked peaceful and he found himself mirroring the same sentiment, exhaustion weighing his bones. He dragged himself up next to you, arms wrapping around your torso as if he has always been doing so.

There's still insistent tugs down the lines of his bond, demanding answers and the constant buzzing from his phone but that's for tomorrow's Seokjin’s problem to solve, for now, he closes his eyes.

For the first time that year, Seokjin sleeps and wakes from the most pleasant rest he's had in centuries only to end it abruptly when he wakes up with the other side of the bed empty and he freaks.

______

“What the fuck do you mean you just left him?!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do then?! If he's as high profile as you think, I don't think he'd appreciate waking up next to a one night stand!”

“Not all of them you—ARGH!”

Soomin groaned exasperatedly and loudly, folding over herself as she facepalms on the other armchair in your dorm's living room. Deeming it not dramatic enough, she grabs the pink throw pillow behind her and screams onto it.

Truth be told, leaving Jin earlier that morning placed a heavy weight on your heart. It felt so wrong to walk away from him, as if there's a string tying you to him and now it's pulled taut—which is a crazy statement to think about, there was no bonding ritual so how could you feel so dejected from closing the door behind you?

You have a couple of spare zeroes in your bank account now with bills paid and an expensive pair of black shoes already in transit for Soobin. Why would you be sad from leaving a one night stand?

You couldn't even believe you managed to bag someone that high in the social hierarchy. That party was a nightmare, walking in knowing all eyes would turn to you, all predatorial and hungry, it almost made you want to run back to your mother's arms. But you're an actress, theatre experience be damned if you weren't going to put on the greatest act of your life.

Fake till you make it, you always think and it led to you having the most earth shattering, blackout worthy orgasm as well as owning heaps of money.

Soomin has a different sentiment though, now standing up to crossover to where you sat across her before promptly hitting your body with the pillow.

“You're. So. Fucking. Stupid!” She screams like you had pissed and disrespected her ancestors’ grave, striking after each word. “That man might be Kim Seokjin from the most elusive clan in the world! Number one most sought bachelor and the country's most powerful sorcerer and you just walked away from him!”

“How could you be so sure it's him? All we got is a nickname.”

“His name is literally Jin which is short for Seokjin and he's a vampire wizard! You said he has a coven with a dragon? Well, guess what?! That dragon is Kim fucking Namjoon, another member of the Kim coven! That man is one of the richest in the fucking world and you just ditched his coven’s eldest!”

She swings for the last time and you weren't so fortunate the last few times—already letting down your guard when she began ranting—and it hits you square in the face. You groaned in pain, the zipper on the side of the pillow scratching your skin.

Soomin’s anger immediately dwindled as she realised her error and gasped, falling to her knees and hands already reaching to cup your face to check for visible marks, pillow left abandoned on the carpet.

“Can't be damaging the face that bagged the Kim coven.”

“No damage here.”

“Just my faith in your decision making skills. I mean,” she stands, now more subdued and more disappointed than angry, still you eyed the pillow warily. “You've been wearing yourself down to death for years not only for you but also your family. If you were taken into the Kim Clan, you wouldn't have to worry about money anymore.”

Despite being one of your closest and longest friends, there's always been a huge difference with how you both perceive money.

You're desperate for it, clawing and digging your hands bloody through the desolate desert for a chance of finding one small nugget to sustain your family while Soomin was familiar with it—she grew comfortably living in her parents’ spoils of years of hard work but never enough to buy the highest of quality items until her fiance came and suddenly, she had more than enough to spend for her luxury and you.

You strived and toiled for a smidge of stability whereas she revelled in anything life throws at her without worry because she has her parents to catch her if everything ever goes wrong.

She thinks of luxury as designer brands and ridiculously highly priced products that don't guarantee the greatest quality but you think of luxury as never having to worry about spending a cent over the designated budget for food shopping.

Even then, you loved her to the bone. Appreciated her like a sister from another mother.

“I can't afford to be distracted right now. I have a course to finish and a family to keep alive, I can't be hanging onto blind hope.”

Soomin's eyes softened, understanding and sighed. Turning around, she licked up the stray pillow before settling back into her chair and crossing her arms.

“I'm just… I just wanted you to be happier. It's a life mission of mine to make sure I won't die before seeing you living without stressing over details.”

“I know.”

“I love you, leaflet.”

You laugh and she smiles. “I love you too, queen.”

#bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader #jin bts #kim seokjin #seokjin smut

434 notes · View notes

bittertasteofhoney · 2 months ago

Text

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 2

The Truth is a Bitter Pill

Summary: After overhearing Joel’s harsh words, you keep to yourself while the older Miller loses part of his mind looking for you.

|| angst, jackson!joel, jackson!tommy, still the slowest burn, joel feeling like a dummy and trying his best ||

Notes: And we’re back! Seriously, thank you so much for the positive response to my very first post on here!!! I can tell we’re about to have the best time. Also, just a heads up, I’m going to omit certain tags in upcoming chapters to avoid spoiling future ones, but I will always give you lovelies a heads up if serious things are coming!

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

Joel didn’t like to admit it, but from the first moment he saw you, he knew you would be trouble for him. It was nothing you did or didn’t do, but that first smile you directed his way shook him off his axis for a brief moment. You were filled with light and youth—everything he was missing.

He didn’t want to be an ass to you. Not at first anyway. Every time he crossed paths with you, it was like his tongue separated from his body and the only thing he could do was grunt or stare like a goddamn caveman. He felt old around you, and the more your smiles met his eyes, the more bitter he got.

He wanted to know you. He wanted to pick your brain about life here in Jackson and know what song was circling your head nonstop. He wanted to know how you liked your coffee in the morning and if you really were that happy all of the time. And if it was all an act, he wanted to know why and what he could do to fix it.

To be perfectly honest, he wanted you. But he knew entertaining any idea of actually having you was laughable. He shouldn’t spoil your youth with his age and hurt. You deserved to be flirted with and shown off by the younger men in town. They at least wouldn’t take your smiles away from you for fear of getting too close.

So he continued to glare, grunt, and treat you less than civilly whenever you came into contact.

And to make it all worse, you still always flashed him that fucking brilliant smile.

The moment he realized you over heard him talking shit in the mess hall, his spine stiffened in a way he felt for days. The tension of his rudeness and his imagined glimpse of your falling face filled his brain like a loop.

He tried catching you around town, but you were nowhere to be seen. Every time he visited the gardens, you were mysteriously always off on deliveries or breaks. The most he saw was a flash of your hair piled under a faded hair scarf as you ran to the greenhouse on a Tuesday afternoon. He tried to follow you but was blocked by the fierce red-headed Roberta, who clearly heard a recount of what he said.

It wasn’t long before the entire commune heard some version of Joel’s idiotic words. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide why he was looking for you, and unfortunately for him, people talked.

He got his fair share of glares from most townsfolk who only felt protective about their little ray of sunshine. And fuck, if that didn’t make him feel worse. Every night, he returned to his home with Ellie and collapsed into the already sunken couch, repeating what he had said in his mind on a loop as he pretended to listen to her recount her day with the local kids.

He didn’t even mean what he’d said, and that was probably the most idiotic thing about it. Airhead. From day one, Tommy told him how you were the backbone of the gardening operation and were one of the key players in making sure everyone in Jackson was fed. You would work from dawn to dusk, delivering rations, picking that season’s produce or canning to guarantee no day went by when someone was hungry.

So not only were you so gorgeous, it almost brought him to his knees, but you were also brilliant and sweet. God, he was so fucked. He hadn’t come across anyone like you since before the outbreak. And even then, no one made the breath leave his body like you did.

The real reason he didn’t want to make the trek to the gardens to pick up his welcome box was that he knew he wouldn’t be able to come up with a single word to say to you that didn’t betray how confused and done-in he felt about you.

After the seventh day of trying to find you around town between picking up patrol shifts, helping with repairs around town and ensuring Ellie was taken care of and relatively tame, he fell onto the couch again, entirely alone. He rarely had the house to himself, without Tommy, Maria or Ellie peeking around the corner, so he took that as another opportunity to sink into his regrets.

He looked out the window facing the faded upholstered seat to see the sun beginning to set. After a moment, he mumbled to himself, “Fuck it.” He stood and took long strides out of the house and down the street to where Tommy pointed out your home. He didn’t think as he went. Just beelined for your front door that was a faded butter yellow because of course your house was as goddamn cheery as you.

He paused before his hand met the splintered wood of the door to knock. He knew he should give you space, and this was crossing a line, but he couldn’t go another day knowing he hurt you without saying something. Fuck it.

He tapped on the door politely the first few times, but after a few minutes of no answer, he pounded more aggressively. Still no answer. He stepped back and examined the front porch, noticing a few sagging pieces of wood and broken rails. He shook his head before stepping off to walk around to your backyard.

The last thing he expected was to see you there, but sure enough, like a beacon, you were curled in a chair with a book splayed open in your lap as you read and soaked up the last of the day’s sunshine. You looked like a mirage to him.

You turned the page before holding the book steady and reaching down to grab a cup of something steaming to take a sip. He caught the cover of the book as you moved—The Outsiders.

You settled back into your seat to continue reading, and he stood there another minute watching you. You looked so at ease. There was no smile on your face—just a contented, soft look about you. He leaned on the fence, but a piece splintered off under his hand, and your head snapped up.

You were up in a flash, gripping your book and drink, which now splashed across your front. You hissed and whimpered in pain, and Joel strode over to you without thinking. You noticed him getting closer and beelined for your back door, nearly tripping on a rotted step at the bottom.

“Careful!” Joel reached out to catch you before your ass met the ground. You huffed, half in anger and half in embarrassment. He barely had a chance to hold you before you pushed him away and continued up the steps, now soaked in steaming tea and cheeks flaming red. He called out your name as your hand met the screen door.

“Please, just let me explain-”

“No, Joel. It’s fine.” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted, but you didn’t have it in you to raise your voice at him. Again, your name spilled out of his mouth, this time in a whisper. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say your name before this. You didn’t even think he knew it. Most people around town called you Sunshine instead of your given name.

You turned to face him slowly. His eyes were soft, punctuated by his stiff stance and arms hanging limply at his side with nothing to occupy them. Most of the time, they were filled with supplies for patrols, lumber for ongoing town projects or occasionally, Ellie’s arm to redirect her away from trouble.

They were rarely empty.

“Please, just go.” You hated how your voice shook. “I don’t really think you and I have a whole lot to say to each other. And that’s fine. We don’t have to be friends, or even acquaintances. I’ll make sure someone else covers your deliveries if you ever miss a pick up again.”

“You don’t have to.” His voice was like honey, rough from life but still so smooth. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you shook your head and, once again, forced a smile.

“I don’t mind.” Without giving him a chance to respond, you open the screen door and retreat into your house, with your tea-stained copy of The Outsiders in hand.

For a suffocating moment, Joel just stood there, the previous moments replaced in his mind, his eyes flitting from rotten wood to broken railings. He exhaled and shook his head as he stepped over the broken part of your stairs and into the yard. He walked past the part of your fence he snapped when leaning on it and continued down the lane back towards home, his mind was already made up.

You didn’t want to talk to him. That was clear and deserved. But he wouldn’t let you continue living in a crumbling house. You should be able to sit in the sun and read without everything breaking around you. That, at least, he could fix.

The next few days were spent negotiating with Tommy to learn your shift schedule and trades with the town’s carpenters to get wood and hardware. Tommy gave him a few days off patrol to settle whatever project had his brother going nuts.

Like clockwork, every day, as soon as you turned the corner towards the community gardens, Joel was rounding it to start repairs on your porch, steps and fence. He was there for a few hours each day, careful never to interrupt your schedule.

At first, you didn’t notice the repairs since Joel never left anything behind for you to spot—no tools or extra wood. Not even a pile of sawdust. His first fix was the fence, but since you always used the front door, it never crossed your eyeline. The thing you finally noticed was the step he fixed leading to your porch.

You asked around town, trying to figure out who the new resident Robin Hood was, but no one had a clue. The most you got was a smirk from Tommy one day when you relayed the mystery repairs to him. However, Tommy almost always had a smirk lining his face, so that told you nothing.

Of course, all Joel’s careful planning came crumbling down one day when he got your schedule wrong. Tommy swore you were off on Friday after working doubles for over a week, and Joel believed him. He had no clue his little brother might fudge your schedule to see what fire might spark.

You were enjoying a much-needed extra hour of sleep when the echoing rhythm of a hammer woke you up. What the hell? Sitting up, you stretched your sore leg muscles and back before rambling down the stairs to your back door. You swung the door and screen open, not caring that you were only in a sleep shirt and panties. Hell, your hair probably resembled a bird’s nest, but all you had on your mind was catching your mystery helper.

The last person you ever expected to see kneeling on your porch and now staring at your red panties and decades-old Atlanta Braves t-shirt was Joel Miller.

“What are you doing here?!”

Next Chapter.

Tag list :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #the last of us #contractor joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #good day sunshine #bitter taste of honey #joel miller being a sorry boi #Spotify

252 notes · View notes

runningincircl3s · 2 months ago

Text

Untitled Bestfriend!Noah x Reader Series

Part 3 (finally) (sorry for the wait!!)

okay i'm sorry for the wait!! it's been almost a month since i posted part two but i've been super busy lately, but i wrote this last night so i'm hoping it doesn't seem too rushed!! the series masterlist is here and you can join the taglist here :) (and i promise i wont make everyone wait another month to post part 4 lmao)

warnings: NSFW!! porn with little plot- each chapter is basically a oneshot, oral (f and m recieving) i don't wanna spoil too much...

You were stood in the middle of Noah’s room, your makeup half-done, your dress still draped across the back of his chair, your curling wand sat unplugged on his desk. You were supposed to be getting ready, but instead, you were pacing with a knot in your stomach.

“I don’t want to go.” You muttered, not really to him, more to yourself.

Noah was sprawled across his bed, wearing his black fall out boy shirt, black jeans and of course his red beanie, scrolling on his phone.

“We’ve been planning this all week,” he reminded you without looking up. “You were excited yesterday!”

“Yeah, well,” you sighed, flopping onto the bed beside him. “That was before I found out who else is gonna be there.”

Now he looked at you.

“Those girls?”

You didn’t say anything, just pulled a face and sighed. Noah knew enough to fill in the blanks.

“You don’t have to talk to them.”

“I know but I don’t even want to see them.”

He set his phone down and turned onto his side, propping his head up on his hand.

“So let’s just go for an hour. We’ll grab a drink, say hey to everyone who isn’t a bitch, and come back here.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle between you two. The room was warm with the heat of the summer, and smelled like him, as always. His playlist played quietly in the background, some new Bring Me the Horizon song you weren’t too familiar with.

“You really don’t want to go, huh?” You could feel him watching you, even without looking at him.

You shook your head.

“Not if I can just stay here with you.”

“What are we gonna do,” he smirked, “Watch Twilight for the fifteenth time?”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head toward him, eyes narrowing. “You wanna go that bad?”

“I kind of do.” He rolled onto his back next to you, his tone playful. “I was looking forward to free beer that tastes like ass and watching dudes try to flirt with you.”

“You’re such a liar.” You snorted.

“Fine,” he said, grin widening. “I was looking forward to watching dudes not flirt with you.”

“Only because they think you’re my boyfriend!”

“So you’re saying I’m the reason guys don’t hit on you?”

“If you saw a guy sat with his arm around a girl, you’d assume they were dating, right?”

“No…” Noah smirked, “I’d go up and ask her first.”

“Well, that’s you, Noah. Not everyone else is so… experienced.”

A silence settled over you two again for a moment, until you turned to face him again.

“Do you really want to go?”

Noah hesitated, thumb grazing the seam of his jeans.

“I mean… I was kinda looking forward to it.”

“Right,” you said quietly.

“But I don’t care that much.” His eyes flicked to you again. “Not if you’re not feeling it.”

You gave him a weak smile.

“I just don’t wanna be around people who make me feel like shit, y’know? It’s not about ruining your night.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, stretching his arms above his head, making his shirt ride up a little. “Staying here with you sounds like a pretty decent trade.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Hey, I mean it.” He turned his head to look at you, something softer in his expression now. “I’ll stay in with you, we could chill, throw on a movie. I’ll even let you pick. I’ll even sit through Twilight again.”

You bit your lip. There it was again, that pull. You didn’t mean to feel it, but it was always there with him. Comfort and heat, tangled up in the same breath.

You sat up a little against the headboard.

“What if I gave you a better reason to stay…”

He raised a brow, intrigued.

“Better than Twilight?” He asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

A small smirk tugged at your lips. You crossed your arms, tilting your head.

“What if I let you eat me out?”

The smirk fell clean off his face.

His mouth parted, eyes widening just slightly like he wasn’t sure if you were joking.

“You’re serious?” He said slowly.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how warm your skin felt.

Noah sat up, legs folding beneath him as he faced you properly. His voice dipped low.

“You know you don’t have to offer sex to keep me here.”

“I know that.” You met his eyes, steady now. “I just… I’ve been thinking about what you said. That night, when we were at my place.”

He stilled, remembering instantly.

“I meant that,” he said, voice getting lower now. “I meant every fucking word.”

You swallowed.

“I know.”

A quiet beat passed between you. Then he leaned forward, hand resting near your thigh on the bed.

“You sure? Really sure?”

You nodded again.

“I want to. I want you to.”

His eyes darkened, his gaze sweeping over your face. Then, softer, more serious, he whispered.

“I'm gonna ruin you for everyone else, y’know?”

You huffed a laugh.

“You’ve already ruined me. This has been all I can think about lately. I want it. I want you..”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you then, slow and hungry, but still careful. You let yourself sink into it, into him, as he shifted you gently beneath him. His hands moved with purpose, but not rushed, he was taking his time, like he was savouring every second.

He pulled your top off with ease, leaving a trail of warm kisses down your sternum, across your stomach. When he got to the waistband of your shorts, he paused, resting his forehead just above them.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice low, his hands gentle on your thighs.

You nodded again, breath shaky.

“Yeah. Just… A little nervous.”

He smiled, lifting his head enough to press a kiss over your navel.

“Just relax,” he murmured. “Let me show you how good it feels- but if you want me to stop at all just say, okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded.

Then he started again, slower this time- teasing kisses on your thighs, nipping gently at the sensitive skin until you were writhing. He took his time easing your shorts down your legs, kissing as he went, not breaking eye contact when he finally pulled your underwear aside.

The first kiss he pressed to your clit made your whole body jolt, and he smiled, the smug bastard, because he knew.

He knew he was about to show you something you’d never forget.

“Yeah?” he murmured against you. “That feel good, baby?”

You could barely form a sound, let alone words, your breath caught between a gasp and a moan.

“Good,” he said, lips brushing you again. “You just lay back and let me take care of you.”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, pausing.

“Okay?” he asked again, voice low, eyes flicking to yours.

You gave a breathless nod, and he smiled gently before pulling them down, watching every inch of skin he uncovered. Once they were off, he let his gaze linger, and you squirmed instinctively under the weight of it.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” He murmured, almost to himself.

Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in and kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, trailing his mouth so close you whimpered. His breath ghosted over you before he gently used his thumbs to part you, inspecting every reaction.

“Look at you,” he whispered, brushing the pad of one thumb over your clit so lightly it made your thighs tremble, “Can’t believe I’m the only one who can play with this.”

You couldn’t even form words, your fingers curled into the sheets, hips twitching when he pressed a kiss right over your center, then your clit again, still teasing, still taking his time.

He looked up again, eyes dark but soft.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded, breathless, and then his tongue met you fully, licking a slow stripe up from your hole to your clit, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. Your back arched instantly, a moan slipping from your lips before you could stop it as his lips wrapped around your clit.

Noah groaned at the sound, hands spreading your thighs a little wider as he settled himself between them.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

You couldn’t believe how good it felt- sure, your friends had talked about it before, and you had heard stories from other girls about what your best friend could do with that mouth, but you never imagined you’d get the chance to experience it. You were feeling dizzy at how overwhelming and warm and intimate it all was. The way he looked up at you, making eye contact while he did it, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world, fuck it made your head spin.

And then he started talking, sending vibrations with every word.

“Sooo soft, so warm” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “So sweet. You’re doing so good, baby. How’s it feel?”

You whimpered, hips lifting against his mouth before you could stop yourself.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice rough as he placed a hand just below your navel, holding you down. “Just like that. Let me feel how much you like it.”

You were already trembling, his hair tickling you as your thighs tightened around his head, and he didn’t even slow down. If anything, he seemed to enjoy how sensitive you were, how new it all was to you, how he knew he was the first to ever touch and feel and see you like this. He was so gentle, but every flick of his tongue made your pulse spike.

And then he took your clit between his lips, looking up at you through his lashes as he gently sucked, and you could’ve sworn you saw god.

“Mmm Noah!” You gasped, hands flying to his hair without thinking.

He grinned against you, clearly loving how wrecked you sounded.

“Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?” He asked between kisses to your cunt, before his tongue circled your clit again.

You nodded quickly, barely able to breathe as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“I… I think so-”

His grip on your hips tightened, his voice dropping even lower.

“That’s it. Let me feel it. Let me feel you cum for me, make a mess, baby.”

Your whole body was trembling, the knot tightening in your belly, ready to snap, every nerve ending lit up like a live wire. You could barely hold on, your hands gripping his hair like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth.

And he didn’t let up.

His tongue moved like he knew exactly what you needed, what would make you come undone completely. And he did. He knew your body even better than you did. Every tiny gasp, every twitch of your thighs, every shaky exhale only made him more focused.

“You’re so close,” he whispered, voice thick and dark with want. “I can feel it.”

You whimpered again, hips rocking against his mouth helplessly.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urged, lips brushing your clit as he spoke. “Let it happen.”

That was all it took.

The orgasm hit so hard it almost had your vision going white, a choked moan spilling from your lips as your body arched off the bed. Noah held you through it, his mouth still working you through every wave of pleasure, until it became too much and you whimpered, tugging gently at his hair to tell him it was too much.

He finally eased back, giving your thigh one last kiss before lifting his head, his face flushed and glistening, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and so fucking smug.

You couldn’t even find your voice, still catching your breath, your limbs boneless.

“Holy shit.” You whispered, blinking at the ceiling.

Noah chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling up beside you to give you a kiss, before lying on his side so he could trace slow circles on your hip.

“You okay?” He murmured, voice soft again.

You turned to face him, cheeks warm, lips parted.

“Fuck, yeah… Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

He shrugged modestly, but the gleam in his eye gave him away.

“Years of being a slut.” At least he was honest.

You burst out laughing, and he leaned in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, pulling you gently against his chest. You didn’t resist.

After a moment, you whispered,

“Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being so… gentle.”

“Always.” He kissed your forehead.

You stayed like this for a moment, your head on his chest, forehead tucked under his jaw as he traced patterns over your back. You shifted a little, trying to get comfy, but then your knee brushed over something hard, and you felt Noah’s breath catch as you did so.

“Is that… Are you…?” You felt your face heat up, pulling back just enough to look at him, eyes wide.

Noah gave a breathy little laugh, cheeks tinged pink.

“Yeah. Uh… sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said quickly, eyes flicking down before meeting his again. “I just… didn’t realise.”

He gave you a lazy smile.

“It’s fine. I can take care of it myself later. That was about you.”

Something about the way he said that made your stomach flip. He meant it. This wasn’t a transactional thing, he genuinely wanted to make you feel good.

But still…

“What if I don’t want you to take care of it yourself?” You asked softly, fingers tracing the ink on his arm.

Noah blinked, eyes searching yours.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You swallowed, nerves fluttering in your throat. “What if I want to do more? I want to… do it again.”

He was quiet for a moment, his gaze sharpening as he searched your face for any hesitation.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded, even as your voice came out small.

“Yeah. I want to.”

His hand came up to cradle your jaw gently.

“You don’t have to, baby. I meant it, I’m good just like this.”

“I know.” You leaned into his touch, your heart thudding. “But I want to.”

Noah watched you for a moment longer, thumb brushing over your cheek. Then, slowly, he kissed you again, soft at first, then deeper, more purposeful, like he was giving you time to change your mind.

You didn’t.

He rolled you gently onto your back, shifting to settle between your legs, kissing you slow and sweet. His hands roamed your body with practiced care, but never rushed, he was so good at this, and even though it made you nervous, given he was far more experienced at this, but it also made you feel safe.

He reached down, guiding himself against your entrance, but paused just before half the tip was was already in.

“We didn’t prep you, not properly,” he murmured, brows drawn together. “I should’ve gotten you ready, you're still so new to this-”

“It’s okay, I can take it,” you whispered, hooking your legs around his hips, even though it already felt like too much. “I want to.”

But when he pushed in just a little more, your whole body tensed.

It burned, it wasn’t painful but it was far from comfortable. You winced, your eyes screwing shut as you drew a sharp breath.

"It's okay..." You tried to reassure him, though you struggled to even convince yourself. "I'll... I'll get used to it."

Noah stopped instantly.

“Hey,” he said gently, kissing your cheek. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend it’s okay if it’s not.”

You blinked up at him, shame prickling at the edges.

“I’m sorry-”

“No! Don’t be sorry,” he said firmly, brushing your hair back. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just-” he swallowed, still hovering over you, “-I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re in pain, okay? I’d rather wait… Make sure we do it properly so it feels great for the both of us, yeah?”

You bit your lip, nodding, even though you hated how disappointed you felt. You wondered if he'd ever had this before, or if this- if you were the first person he had to stop for.

He saw it.

“Look at me,” he whispered, coaxing your chin up so your eyes met. “I want this again, too. So bad it almost hurts. But not if it’s gonna hurt you. I'd never do that.”

You nodded again, your heart melting at the way he said it. He wasn’t frustrated, or impatient. Just… tender.

“But next time?” You whispered.

He smiled then, slow and warm, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Next time, we’ll do it right. I’ll get you all ready, baby. Take my time. Make it feel so good you won’t want to stop.”

Then, he pulled you close again, pressing his forehead to yours as he held you.

You lay there for a little while, tangled up in each other, his hands drawing soft shapes along your spine as your heartbeat settled. Every so often, you'd feel him twitch against your thigh, still hard, still aching, but he didn’t say anything about it. He was too focused on you.

But you noticed. You couldn’t help it.

And after a few moments of silence, you shifted slightly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Noah?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You hesitated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can I… try something?”

His brow lifted slightly, but his gaze stayed soft.

“What kind of something?”

“I wanna try giving you a blowjob, if that’s okay?” Your cheeks flushed.

He blinked, surprised, and for a second you thought maybe you’d overstepped, but then a slow, crooked grin tugged at his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes darkening. “You sure?”

You nodded, heart pounding.

“Yeah. I wanna learn... Will you teach me?”

He exhaled like it physically pained him to hold back, reaching up to cup your cheek and kiss you again, this time deeper, more heated.

“Yes of course, baby,” he said against your lips. “I’ll show you everything.”

He lay back, undressing and then letting you settle between his legs. You glanced down, swallowing hard at the sight of him. He was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. He was definitely bigger than you remembered from the first time, and that little flutter of nerves in your stomach returned.

“Start slow,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Don’t go straight in, use your hand first. Get used to it.”

You reached for him tentatively, wrapping your fingers around his shaft. He let out a low groan the second you touched him, eyes fluttering closed.

“Fuck… Just like that, yeah,” he praised, hips barely twitching up. “You’ve got perfect hands, so fucking soft.”

You stroked him slowly, watching his reactions, learning what made his breath hitch and his thighs tense. When you leaned in, hesitating just before your lips touched him, he opened his eyes again.

“Start with your tongue,” he said gently, brushing a hand over your hair. “You don’t have to take a lot. Just go slow, get it wet first.”

You nodded, licking a shy stripe from the base up to the tip, pressing a little soft kiss to it before doing it again, feeling a little braver when he moaned your name.

“That’s it, baby. Shit… It feels so good. You’re so good.”

You wrapped your lips around the head, letting him in little by little, trying not to gag when you took it a little too far. He was patient, guiding your movements with soft praise and the occasional gentle tug in your hair.

“Don’t go too deep,” he said softly. “Use your hand on what you can’t fit. That’s it, fuck. Just like that. God, you’re such a quick learner.”

You looked up at him through your lashes and the sound he made was almost desperate.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna lose it.”

You hollowed your cheeks, copying what you had seen when you had attempted to watch porn a while ago when you were desperate to get yourself off. You moved your hand in rhythm with your mouth, watching the way his stomach flexed under your touch. He was getting close, you could tell by the way his voice grew rougher, his hips bucking just the slightest.

“Baby- Shit, wait.” He gently pulled your head back just before he was about to cum, even though his body clearly didn’t want to. “Don’t take it in your mouth.”

You blinked up at him, confused, your hand still moving.

He let out a breathy laugh, brushing your hair back from your face.

“It doesn’t taste good. I don’t want that to be your first memory of this.”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, but his tenderness made it melt into something warm and grateful.

“So what do I do?”

“Just your hand,” he said, voice tight. “Finish me off, just like you were doing. Fuck… you’re doing perfect. Best I’ve ever had.”

You stroked him faster, watching his face as his jaw clenched, his chest rising sharply.

“I’m gonna…” he groaned, eyes locked on yours. “Keep going- yeah, baby, fuck- just like that-”

He came with a hoarse moan of your name, spilling across his stomach and your hand, his muscles tight as a bowstring. You watched, completely mesmerised, as his whole body shuddered under you.

When he opened his eyes again, you were still staring, flushed, curious, a little breathless yourself. You reached out, hesitating for just a second, then dipped your finger into the mess on his stomach.

His brows lifted, surprised.

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrugged with a small smirk.

You brought your finger to your lips and tasted it, just a flick of your tongue, your face scrunched a little.

He laughed, low and warm.

“Told you.”

“Yeah,” you said with a wrinkle of your nose. “Not my favourite.”

“But you’re my favourite.” He said, tugging you up toward him, guiding you to straddle his waist again. You lay down on him carefully, bare bodies pressed together, and he kissed your temple, nose, then lips.

“We better clean up.” You suggested, and Noah- still coming down from his orgasm- nodded with a lazy smile.

“Yeah… Good idea.”

You’d both cleaned up quietly, exchanging soft smiles and playful touches as you got dressed again. You were still a little shaky, your heart light and full as Noah grabbed his hoodie from the floor and tugged it over his head, running a hand through his messy hair.

He glanced at you once he was dressed, that gentle, post-orgasm glow still in his eyes.

“You hungry?” he asked, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “I was thinking I could make us something.”

You looked up at him, pleasantly surprised.

“You cook now?”

He chuckled.

“I mean, I can make a sandwich. That counts, right?”

You smiled and nodded, letting him guide you downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet, his friends/roommates left for the party a couple hours ago. And you were definitely not regretting staying in, and you knew Noah wasn’t either.

Noah opened the fridge and started rummaging through ingredients while you leaned against the counter, watching him with fondness in your chest you didn’t quite know what to do with.

“My parents are both away this week,” you said after a moment, your voice a little smaller than before. “Work trips.”

He glanced up, curious.

“Both of them?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. They leave Sunday night. I’ll have the house to myself until Friday.”

Noah froze for a second, then closed the fridge and looked at you fully.

“So you’re gonna be here alone all week?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual even though the truth tugged at your insides.

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. I’m used to it. Just… don’t really like going back to being alone after we’ve spent time together, y’know?”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes softening.

“You don’t have to be alone,” he said. “I can stay.”

Your heart skipped.

“Like, for dinner?”

“No,” he said with a soft chuckle, stepping closer again. “Like… there. With you. I can bring clothes, stay the whole week if you want? Keep you company.”

Your breath caught.

“You’d do that?”

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, of course. You know I’d do anything for you… I mean, if you want me to. We could hang out, watch movies, order takeout. Sleep in the same bed.”

Your lips twitched into a small smile.

“You wanna have sex on every surface in the house?”

“Eventually, yeah.” He smirked, “But I meant I just wanna be there with you. So you don’t feel alone.”

You smiled. There was something so sincere in his voice that it made your heart ache, and the look in his eyes was nothing short of pure love and care.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Stay. Please.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips, lingering there.

“I will,” he murmured. “Now sit your cute ass down and let me make you the best post sex- or… whatever we just did- sandwich you’ll ever have.”

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

i've been doing this shit for years and i STILL cannot proof read my own smut without feeling weird LMAO

@dominuslunae @chey-h @xxkittenkissesxx @theasowle @renegadebirch @super-btstrash-posts @skulla-rxcks @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @ami--gami @h4tef6ck @lilrubles @amelia-acero @uselessperson69 @ichoosetenderomens @dostoievskitty @formula1loversstuff @c0urt-0519 @animal4princess-blog @swissy23

#LOVED writing this part #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian imagine #best friend noah #bestfriend noah #untitled bestfriend!noah series #noahsebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens smut

219 notes · View notes

bratbarzal · 6 months ago

Text

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen

WC: 17k (I've literally been calling this a short filler hahahahaha)

18+ MDNI!!

Chapter Warnings: unbearable amounts of fluff like you're gonna think is this girl okay??? the answer, as you should already know, is no. I honestly think it's just fluff.... and bad smut. oral (fem receiving, very briefly) and p in v. mentions of jealousy I think. cheeto gets a name finally but honestly.... she's cheeto forever let's not forget. discussions around marriage and more babies. yeah - fluffy fluff.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Ten)

A/N: remember the good old days when I uploaded a chapter like every 10 days??? remember me trying to beat the week-ish allegations??? I can’t tell if me struggling to finish this fic is bc I’m worried it’s getting samey and boring or bc I don’t want to let them go but i need to get over myself!!! sorry for the wait on this one!!! I kind of veered off the path that I planned out for the end of this story, I was really adamant I didn’t want something to happen, but it doesn’t really make sense for the relationship and characters I’ve written for it NOT to happen, so pls bear with me while I figure these last couple of chapters out!! I know a few people have discovered this fic recently so thank you for reading!! I promise I do love these two as much as I haven't acted like it the last couple of months!!

BUT ANYWAY!!! MORE IMPORTANTLY!!!!! this chapter is dedicated to my bestie Rory!! it was her birthday on Monday and if I'm honest I don't know if I would have made it this far without her!! she sends me full chapter breakdowns every time I post and she loves Poppy and Nico as much as I do - literally if I perish, she will take the reins!!! she knows everything!!! I accidentally spoiled the gender to her forever ago, and she helped me figure out Cheeto's name (as well as the name cheeto lmao) and we compared lists and literally had the same number one and the same reason we are that connected!! @h1sch13r I love you so much I couldn't possibly put into words how much I appreciate you!! happy belated birthday capricorn queen!!

Nico

Ever since he moved to the states, summers in Switzerland have always been the best part of Nico’s year.

Spending much needed time with his family - staying with his parents for days at a time, back in his childhood home, eating his mother’s cooking and hanging out with his dad, and annual trips with his siblings, where the three of them got to spend a week together pretending like their lives hadn’t taken them away from each other.

Despite the chaos that came as hockey season came to a close, he always looked forward to coming home.

And last year, when he had done so after one of the most heartbreaking moments of his career, he had endured what he now considers the worst summer of his life.

And it was all because of Poppy.

He can see it so much clearer with hindsight, how he had taken himself so far off the beaten path just to avoid his feelings for her, and experiencing a summer with her only makes him regret it more.

Last year, he had come home in a slump, and he had thought, at the time, it was the noise of being knocked out of the playoffs and a brief appearance at the world championships that was lingering. He thought he was exhausted, and remorseful, and that it was the failure of carrying his teams any further that was making him feel so down.

And so he had tried his best to do things that made him feel the opposite.

He bought an apartment, not too far from his family that he felt distant, but enough so that he could be independent when he came back. And he had tried to make it feel like home - furnished nice, with personal belongings from his parent’s house that made the place feel like his, and not some rental he had no place making feel like forever.

He went on more trips with his friends, weekends away, music festivals, sporting events, and made a point of saying yes to things he might usually have turned down.

And that had been what led him to Talia - to being blinded by what probably should have stayed a summer fling, in lieu of sparing a thought to adoring eyes looking back at him from booths in bar corners, and a girl that, in the back of his mind, he had always wanted to be forever, too.

He had missed Poppy more than he ever could have realised at the time - and had fallen victim to abiding by their usual routine of radio silence in the summer, without realising that they had grown way too much since the year before to seriously keep that up.

He wishes he’d have texted her or something, back then. Commented on an instagram post, responded to a story, or called her, even. Her voice might have deterred him from ever trying to move on, and it could have saved the two of them so much time and heartache from what came as a result of that.

But maybe then she wouldn’t be here now, belly round with his child, sat out on the terrace in the back yard of his childhood home, schooling his big brother at Uno. Maybe he wouldn’t come down the stairs in the morning to the sounds of her laughing with his dad, helping him prepare breakfast for the family and asking him questions about what constitutes being offside in soccer when he’d sit down to watch Switzerland play their international games and she’d join him to try get into it, herself.

Maybe she wouldn’t go on shopping trips with his sister, and come back with bagfuls of baby clothes that she holds up to her front as she shows them all to Nico in their room, and make comments about how she can’t believe that something so big can grow from her belly.

Maybe she would still be someone he always wants to keep to himself, instead of sharing her with the people he loves the most in this world, only to have his love grow for her even more - and maybe that’s not how he ever wanted things to be.

So maybe he had to suffer through the facade he put on last summer to get to where he is now, content in every possible aspect of his life, wrapped up under the bedsheets, muttering random stories to Poppy’s belly as she sleeps, the side of his finger caressing the soft skin as he anticipates whatever movement happens inside her that is going to rouse her from whatever sweet dreams he hopes she’s having.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a brief flash of light before Poppy joins him under the covers, pulling the sheet over her head to shield them from the morning sun’s intrusion before she looks down at where he’s resting beside her belly.

Her eyes are narrowed like they’re trying to fight consciousness, and her face is swollen in that adorable way it gets in the mornings, puffy and plump, and he wants to kiss it all over.

She’s so beautiful, and she’s his, and it warms his heart every time he gets to wake up to her.

“Having a private conversation with my daughter, if you don’t mind,” he smiles up to her, soft and teasing, before she kicks him gently and shuffles her way out from under the covers.

“You made her make me want to pee,” she huffs, feet padding across the room to the en suite, where she leaves the door open as she empties her bladder, and he re-situates himself back against the pillows at the top of the bed, one arm behind his head, so he can watch her when she makes her way back.

Her bump is big enough now that she almost waddles, 6 weeks of eating his mother’s cooking, and all the incredible food they have tried in restaurants he has told her about over the years, and she had really popped in no time - and it’s the sexiest Nico thinks she’s ever been. Nose and lips constantly swollen with water retention, her voice changing, Nico witnessing the ever-growing struggle that she refuses to acknowledge - but she does everything so effortlessly, and without much complaint, that he finds it all endearing.

His eyes are drawn to her belly every time he sees her, chest puffing with pride when he takes notice of the speedy growth of it, and he fixates on it for as long as she’ll let him - usually swatting at his chest and telling him to knock it off with a telltale flush to her cheeks whenever they’re around others.

Sharing his part of the world with her these last six weeks have been pure bliss, and as she ambles her way back over to where he lays, he can’t help but be grateful for whatever led him to this - to her crawling back into bed and straight into his arms.

“I want you to teach me your language.” She mumbles into his chest, her body curved into his, legs tangling immediately as his arms circle around her.

“The language of love?” He asks with a wiggle of his brows, leaning in to kiss her lips, laughing against them as he feels them frown,

“Don’t be gross you know what I mean,” she sighs, lips fighting a smile, and he kisses her again, helping her hook her leg properly over his so she can straddle him, her bump settling between the two of them as she relaxes over his hips. “Swiss-German isn’t on Duolingo, I checked. And I can’t have you and Cheeto conspiring against me in words I don’t understand, that’s not fair.”

She looks so cute, all pouty and pleading, and as the gravity of what she’s asking weighs down on him, he breaks out into a dreamy smile, himself.

He can’t think of any other person who had wanted to speak his language. Too complicated for most, with too many dialects to grasp properly, he has always adapted to what the people around him need. English, back in the states, which he likes to think he has mastered by now, but he still trips up on the odd word, here and there.

Some Italian, some French. Odd bits of Czech and Swedish.

And German - he and Talia always spoke in plain German.

It had never really bothered him, until now - until he has a girl on his lap, willing to learn something for him, and so their daughter can learn it too - passing his culture down another generation and sharing it with the love of his life.

“What do you want to know?” He asks, hands on her hips as she runs hers along the broad expanse of his chest, fingers trailing on the little patch of hair on his chest that she’s always drawn too, holding him in place so she can lean in and kiss him, herself.

“Everything,” she whispers against his skin, lips pressing back to the corner of his mouth. “You can teach me, right?”

“Yeah,” he shuffles his hips beneath her so she rests a little more comfortably, “I can teach you.”

He reaches up to move her hair behind her neck, leaning to press a kiss on the bare skin there, edging the strap of her bra down so that he can mutter the word for shoulder against the curve of hers, and she repeats it back to him, breathy and distant.

He does the same along her collarbone, against her neck, nipping at her jaw and her cheek.

He distracts her with his teachings, and she relays each word back almost perfectly as he slowly repositions the two of them, laying her up against the pillows so she isn’t flat on her back, and pressing kisses down her body.

With fingers grasped firmly around her calf, he lifts her leg slowly so that he can perch it over his shoulder, pecking at the side of her knee and barely just making eye contact over the curve of her bump. “You’re a fast learner, Mohn,” he praises, fingers tickling up and down her leg as she straightens her back to try and watch him as his face moves upward. “Can you remember what shoulder was?”

“Not with you between my legs like that,” she huffs, her voice just above a whisper - too used to keeping her responses low whenever the two of them have been staying at his parent’s house instead of his apartment, too used to holding back and releasing frustrated groans into the broad expanse of his chest.

The two of them had gotten creative, most of their time spent around Nico’s friends and family, only a few days here and there alone in his apartment.

Quickies in the car, fumbling hands under tables, rushed kisses whenever they get a second to themselves. There had even been a time where Poppy sought him out in the sauna.

“Should you be in here?” He had asked, straightening on the bench and running a hand through his hair as she came in and shut the door behind her, eyes on his glistening chest as she slowly made her way forward.

“Google says I’m good for 10 minutes,” she shrugged, reaching back to untie the straps of her bikini top. “Figured you’re so riled up you’ll only need 2 anyway.”

He had been training with Luca most of the day, leaving Poppy to hang with his sister, and the two of them had spent the entire time they were apart texting each other teasing messages about how much they missed each other - but were staying with his family again, and so the outdoor sauna he and his brother had built in the garden a couple of years ago was probably their best bet for privacy at that point.

Nico’s eyes flickered to the clock above the door, making a mental note of the time so he could make sure she was out in 8 minutes max, before helping her guide herself onto his lap, giving into both of their frustrations for as long as Poppy’s Googling would allow them.

“You might have to teach me again when you get back from your trip.” She tells him, spreading her legs as much as she can to accommodate his figure. He’d feel guilty for leaving her behind with his family if she hadn’t been the one to push him to go away training for a week - him and Luca accepting after her insistence that she’d be fine in the company of his parents and his sister.

“We can do that,” he chuckles, his voice low, too. “And again the day after,” he kisses a little further up, twisting at her calf to reveal the inside of her thigh, “And the day after that,” and again, even further.

“Nico,” she sighs, face scrunching, eyes fluttering shut as he glances up at her one more time, his face concealed now by the curve of her belly and relying on her subdued sounds to gauge her pleasure.

Poppy’s back arches about as much as it can as Nico closes in on the apex of her thighs, a finger hooked through the bottom of her panties, pulling them to the side as he nips at the top of her thigh, anticipation building until her hand finds purchase on the back of his head.

He lays his tongue flat against her glistening folds, bringing it up to get a taste of the heaven between Poppy’s legs, and relies on her breathy gasps and the buck of her hips to guide him to pleasure her just how she likes, lips around the bundle of nerves that makes her jolt when he sucks a little too hard, moving slowly, teasingly at first before hunger takes over.

He can’t relent until he feels her legs trembling at either side of his head, Poppy’s body slithering beneath him as his tongue works between her folds, and he can taste nothing but her sweet arousal.

He almost loses himself in her before he distantly hears a whisper of his name, ears perking at the tone in her voice - not like the usual pleasured gasp or moan, just slightly off.

“Babe, stop,” Poppy whines, fingers clutched in his hair as he withdraws from her heat, pulling back enough to check on her over her belly.

“You okay?” He frowns, hand gripping her thigh, thumb rubbing soothingly as he takes in her frustrated expression.

“No,” she pouts, “I can’t see you. I don’t like not seeing you.”

Nico pokes his tongue to the side of his cheek to stop himself laughing, feeling her fingers loosen their grip on the strands of hair in their hold enough that he can sit up a little. “Do we need to get a little creative with mirrors, or something?”

“No, I need you to come up here.”

“But I like it down here.” He sighs in faux-protest, leaning his cheek against her knee as their gazes meet.

Poppy narrows her beautiful eyes at him, and there’s no stopping the smile after that. “My back hurts like this,” she huffs, “And I don’t want your mouth right now.”

“Well if you were patient, I would have used my fingers, too,” he chuckles, retreating entirely so he can crawl up the bed.

“Don’t want your fingers either.” She starts making grabby hands when he gets closer, until he follows her guidance, holding himself up to the side of her and letting her pull him in to press their lips together.

“Greedy,” he teases into her mouth, just as one of her hands drops to tug at the waistband of his boxers. He can’t blame her for wanting more, though - not with the way they’ve both been chasing every little pleasure where they can over the past 6 weeks, and not with how he’s set to spend a week away for training with his friends.

Poppy’s hormones are yet to dissipate, and all he wants is to please her, so he lets her pull at his underwear with ease, distracting him with the swipe of her tongue against his, and the soft little moans she lets into his mouth as he works at her underwear, himself.

“You wanna go on your side?” He mumbles between her lips, remembering the position they had ended up the last time, Poppy unable to lay on her back too long, and her bump now getting in the way if she wanted to straddle him. He was too nervous for her to get on all fours, despite her protests that she could handle not collapsing onto her front, and they had ended up spooning. He had enjoyed it way more than he ever thought he would if anyone had told him months ago that being behind her on his side would have become their default position.

“Mmhm,” she hums, nodding frantically as they position themselves, his hands guiding her to comfort as she lays on her side, hair tucked behind her ear so he can press his lips to the curve of her neck before sinking into her from behind, her back arched just right to make it easy for him.

“Fuck,” he groans under his breath as he pushes himself in to the hilt, Poppy squeaking, her arm bent back and nails digging into his shoulder, “You feel so good, baby.”

She feels tight and warm around him, in a way that makes him feel like his head might explode in pure bliss, and he presses his chest straight to her back. Their skin sticks together with perspiration, clamminess building as he starts to move, and her head falls back, baring the elongated slope of her neck for him to bury his nose into.

She smells so good, even after a full night tossing and turning in his arms, and the ever-present scent of his body wash lingers in the depths of her skin, Nico inhaling fully as her hips press back onto his, a slow rhythm building.

He holds himself up with an elbow against the mattress, his other arm curling over her waist, hand reaching between her legs to rub at her clit, slick with arousal and swollen from his previous attention to it, causing her legs to tremble again.

Her arm tangles with his, nails scraping at his skin, pushing to apply more pressure where she needs it the most, and he grunts lowly into her neck, nipping at her skin and lifting his chin every now and then to gauge her response to his ministrations.

He can see her jaw slack, head craned back, lashes fluttering in blissed-out euphoria as she grows closer to her peak - and Nico is so in tune with her now that he feels like he’s there with her. A night pressed against her, and his previous stint between her legs already adding to his pleasure, and he can feel the tell-tale tension in the pit of his stomach, muscles in his thighs growing taut as he kicks up his pace a little, Poppy quietly moaning like music to his ears.

“You gonna come, huh?” He asks in a breathy growl, lips moving against the sensitive skin of her neck, “Can feel you getting close, baby, you’re so good for me.”

Nico can never forget the way such praise had made her cheeks flush all those months ago, the first time they had ever slept together - the night their baby girl had been conceived, and their lives had been set to change forever. He’s always seeking that same reaction, that glint in her eye and the stutter of her hips - and she always gives him just what he wants, walls tightening around him in a mind-numbing pressure, thighs shivering, spine curving, all muscles tensing as she falls apart. And he soon follows, coming inside of her like he’s all too used to now, teeth pressed into her shoulder and chest panting against her back.

The arm she had intertwined with his soon untangles itself to reach back and stroke through his hair as he comes down, scratching at his scalp as she gets her own breath back.

He brings his hand up to his mouth to clean his fingers of her arousal before he goes back to rest his hands against her belly, still inside her until he softens, pressing soft kisses to her skin until she giggles a little when it tickles, and the vibrations of her laughter force him to pull out before he starts to grow hard again.

He does so with a grunt and a hand on her hip, rolling out of the bed and toward the bathroom to get a cloth to clean her up, returning to her blissed out form splayed out on the mattress.

He bites back a smile as their eyes meet, edging her legs apart so he can wipe between them, swiping softly at her sensitive folds and watching her smile sleepily back at him as her chest rises and falls in laboured breaths.

“Thank you,” she sighs, blinking slowly, and he feels his cheeks push into a dimpled grin as he watches her - completely lost in the afterglow.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” he throws the cloth over to the nightstand, crawling up Poppy’s body to press his lips to hers.

“You make me really happy.”

He smiles, slow but big, eyes tracing the way hers crinkle a little in the corners. “You make me happy too.”

“I said really happy.”

“You make me the happiest man in the world.”

“That’s better.” She bumps her nose against his before kissing him again. “You’re a quick learner, too.”

He chuckles against the corner of her mouth, pressing one more sweet kiss there before pushing himself up, looking around the floor for his pants. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll bring you some breakfast? Make you really really happy,”

“Or we could eat together and you could shower with me? We could have some more fun-,”

“I’m not falling for that again, babe, you don’t want to have fun, you want me to wash your hair because your arms ache.”

He’s been lured into the shower one too many times over the past 6 weeks with the promise of a good time, only for Poppy to claim they couldn’t get too frisky and risk slipping, so he may as well put his hands to good use and shampoo her hair - guiding him on where she liked him to apply pressure until he was pretty much giving her a scalp massage.

Poppy pouts, sinking back against the pillows as she watches him hop into his underwear, pulling the briefs until the waistband snaps against his hips, her eyes following them all the way up his legs. “I thought you loved me.”

His laughter bubbles all the way up from the pit of his stomach, swirling with adoration and amusement.

“And now you’re laughing. Unbelievable.” She scoffs, feigning irritation with a telltale quiver at the corner of her lips. “Do I need to remind you that you’re going away for a whole week tomorrow? Living it up with your buddies and leaving me in the dust. I’m owed like 2 more orgasms at least before then.”

“I’ll give you three tonight, I promise.” He leans in again, thinking he’ll never make it out of the room at this point, Poppy having the most kissable lips in the entire universe. “We’ll figure out the mirror thing, so you can see me better between your legs.”

She hums against his mouth as she kisses him once more before asking, “Can you make me avocado toast please?”

“And a smoothie?” He asks, stepping away so that he isn’t drawn back in until mid-day.

She nods, a pretty smile stretching out across her swollen lips, watching as he walks backward towards the door. He keeps his eyes on her until he closes the door behind him, making his way through his family home with a smile that won’t give, feeling confident in his previous sentiment uttered to her.

Nico Hischier might just be the happiest man in the world.

Nico had thought being away from Poppy for a whole week would have been torturous - that he would be counting down the hours until he could get back to her, distant from his friends and hating every second apart - but it had almost been the opposite of that, and he only had her to thank.

He thinks that maybe 6 weeks of living out the dream life with her, and knowing that would be exactly what he was returning to, allowed him to enjoy his week away - even though it wasn’t exactly a break.

His off-season training had kicked up a gear while he was away, and he was thankful that he didn’t have to mope around missing her all the time and could concentrate a little on his gruelling routine.

They FaceTimed every morning, and every night before she went to sleep. Texted throughout the day, sending pictures back and forth of what each other got up to - Poppy spending her days with his parents and his sister, being doted on by his entire family in his absence, in ways that made his heart grow ten-fold, and his days spent training, lifting, running, hiking, doing all sorts of activities that he would send her several videos of and she would respond with some crazy comment that made him laugh out loud.

She never made him feel guilty for being away from her - never made it seem like she felt like second best to his schedule, or his career, or the season looming in the background of their relationship. She never complained about him not being around, only ever gushed about who was back home with her - telling him how much she loved hanging around with Nina, who was back in Switzerland taking her on spa trips and exploring the city with her, teaching her about their hometown and filling in all the blanks that Nico had yet to clue her in on.

And he was getting chirped like hell for walking around with a constant dopey smile on his face - something he should know better by now than to do on a boys trip, but he was long past caring.

He had the girl of his dreams blending in with the family he loved more than anything, and a little girl on the way - his best friend and brother rallying the boys to poke fun at him at the dinner table could do nothing to diminish the flame that was fuelled within him.

“I’m on my own when we get back to Jersey, even Nico’s wifed off, now,” Timo jokes as they sit around a large restaurant table on their last night of their trip, his big arm resting on the back of his chair as he sips on his beer.

“You’re getting married, too?” Their friend Leo asks, brows raised as the influx of new information hits him all at once. “You guys don’t tell me anything!”

“It’s just a saying,” Nico scoffs, his bottle pressed to his lips before he takes a swig, “We’re not engaged.”

“Yet.” Luca adds, “I give him a month before he asks her, though. You should see him around her, he’s obsessed.”

“It won’t be a month,” he denies, ignoring the second half of the sentence, completely - there’s really no point denying that anymore, “I’d have to get her dad’s permission or whatever, and her parents sort of hate me.”

Timo barks out a laugh from across the table, “Oh yeah, he yelled at her dad!”

“You yelled at someone?”

“I didn’t yell,” he frowns, the word starting to lose all meaning with its overuse. “I just called him out over something. And, to be honest, I think he might have liked me more after that.”

Nico doesn’t really like looking back on that first night at the Jensen house - there was probably no preparing him for what he was walking into, and, entirely overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all, he had lost his head. But their family dynamic was difficult.

He had witnessed it only in short bursts, before - had seen Poppy around her mom a few times, had met her dad once before that in passing - and being immersed in it, being looked down on by her mother all day, overshadowed by her brother, ignored by her father, watching the whole conversation around their pregnancy unfold at the dinner table, tensions high and emotions rampant, he had let his frustrations build to the point of boiling over.

When Poppy’s brother had first started berating her, he had tried to write it off in his head as sibling banter of sorts. He and his siblings were never quite as cruel, but he knows sometimes brothers and sisters bicker like Poppy and Oli had - biting remarks and words intended to hurt. Then, it had spiralled.

He’s seen Poppy stick up for herself, before, but he’s never experienced her blow up like that. And he had understood it completely, considering he was reaching the brink of eruption, himself - and that’s not taking into account her heightened pregnancy hormones.

He had felt protective, and even upset, himself, that this thing his family had embraced with open arms, had celebrated at time where he and Poppy needed it the most, that was turning his life around in all the best possible ways, was being rained on by the rest of them, and when Poppy had stormed off, and her mom had followed, he couldn’t sit there in silence and not say something.

What kind of partner would that have made him?

“I think you underestimate her.” He had said, quiet but firm, as silence settled over the table in Poppy’s absence.

The reactions had been slow, a gradual raise of Oli’s head, matching that of his wife, beside him, who pressed her lips together to hide what Nico hoped was a smile, and the prolonged lowering of cutlery from her father.

“Excuse me?” Philip asked, leaning onto his elbows. “What did you say?”

“Poppy,” Nico clarified, “I don’t think that any of you really understand what she’s capable of.”

“That’s my daughter you’re talking about, I think I of all people understand-,”

“She’s really smart,” Nico had interjected before he lost the courage to do so, ignoring the twinge in his gut that told him to calm down, that he shouldn’t be risking his relationship with the future grandfather of his baby like this. “And really independent, and she somehow always knows what to do if you drop her into the middle of a really tough situation. If you could see her at work, you’d get it, people go to Poppy to fix things and for her to help them, and support them, and she always does it because that’s the kind of person she is.”

Neither of them had seemed to react, but had been so far into hyping himself up to let all of his thoughts out that he doesn’t think he would have noticed if they had.

“You guys might not see it because you only see her as your daughter, or your little sister, but she is the strongest person I know. She’s an incredible woman, and she’s going to be an even better mother, and she deserves, more than anybody else, for her family to have her back right now.”

“It was just a joke, man,” Oli had scoffed, “It’s not that serious.”

“It is to her. She spent the entire ride here talking about you guys, about your family and everything you’ve built for yourself in California,” Nico had nodded to her brother, remembering all the ways Poppy had hidden her admiration for him behind sarcastic comments - even before the drive from Jersey City, over the years where she had opened up to him about her family, he had always seen a small dash of affection for her older brother - before turning to her dad, “And everything you’ve achieved, sir, everything you’ve built for yourself, and for your kids. She just wants to be seen as an equal, and I think if either of you actually noticed her, you’d see just what she’s capable of, and you wouldn’t make digs at her,” he had narrowed his eyes at Oli, “Or sit in silence while others make her feel like crap.” He hadn’t quite been able to meet Mr Jensen’s eye, but he felt a little relieved that he had managed to say what he needed. “You’re both supposed to have her back.”

Neither of them had come back to him after that, tensions rising once more in the growing silence, the hammering of his heart and the rush of blood to his head the only thing he could hear before he had excused himself, and had ascended through the house to find Poppy in her room.

He hadn’t told Poppy at the time what he had said - he felt no need to do so, it wouldn’t have changed anything, and might have made her upset or even more stressed, which he never wanted to do. But Philip had changed after - had made more efforts to be there for Poppy, to get to know Nico, and the two of them had even gotten onto texting terms.

So he doesn’t necessarily think that her parents hate him, but it’s definitely too soon to be asking for their daughter’s hand in marriage, even if it feels like the right thing to do.

Even if the thought of it has started to keep him awake at night, as Poppy tosses and turns to get comfortable beside him. Even if he finds himself stroking at the bare surface of her ring finger when they hold hands, and introducing her to others as his wife in a language she doesn’t fully grasp - pretending it’s a joke she isn’t clued in on, when really it feels more like a manifestation.

He twirls the ring she had gifted him on his own ring finger, the weight of it especially present in the midst of this conversation, frowning as Timo levels him with a stern look.

“You know that getting her dad’s permission isn’t like the law or anything right?”

He does know that. If he’s honest, he knows he’s using it as an excuse, too - but admitting to that at dinner with the boys feels like he’s setting himself up for an entire night of chirps.

He and Poppy have only technically been together for a couple months, and most of that time had already been spent apart. When he had asked her to move in, she had taken offence at him only asking due to the convenience of it all, and he half expects the same if he gets down on one knee.

He can hear her already, some muttering of, you only want to marry me because I’m having your baby, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

When Nico pictures his future, he pictures Poppy.

Everything revolves around Poppy.

And yeah, their baby girl plays a big factor in that - seeing Poppy as a mother, raising their daughter together, providing a happy, stable home for her to thrive in. But it’s so much more than that, too.

It’s her being his partner. Waking up to her, tracing over the soft curve of her lips as she rouses from sleep, and knowing, as sure of anything in his heart, that no day can ever be bad if it starts out like that.

Feeling secure in his job, despite all the times in his life he has felt anything but, and knowing that he can succumb to the pressure of it all without having to worry about her bailing. She has his back in ways no body ever has before. She understands the demand of his career, the fact that he isn’t available at all hours of the day to her every need - but she can take care of herself. She would rather do so, and she doesn’t make him feel guilty for the fact that sometimes his schedule takes priority - because the times that he can prioritise her are valued in ways that he never thought he could provide - not if anybody asked any of his exes, at least.

She understands his role as a captain, how he has to be there for the guys, understands his love for doing so, and has never in their entire relationship, made him feel like it’s a burden, or that she feels neglected because of it.

Even before they crossed the boundaries of something more. When they were just friends - as if they were ever just anything - and he could vent all of his worries and stresses to her, and she’d talk him out of ever seeing the negatives.

She has some sort of superpower, he thinks, for turning things around like that, and he wants to bask in the glory of it for the rest of his life.

He wants that warm feeling that floods his chest at the thought of going home to her after a long day to never go away.

And he knows that it isn’t a chunk of metal around her finger, or signatures on paper, that solidifies that.

But he wants it, all the same.

“I don’t know, we haven’t been together that long.”

Timo barks out a laugh, and a couple other guys at the table raise their brows.

“Do you know when I first got to Jersey, Siegs was the one who introduced me to Poppy? You know what he said?”

Nico shakes his head, a crease forming between his brows as he frowns at his friend.

“He points at her from across the room, we were at a bar, the one near his place, he says that’s Poppy, and I look over and I think, whoa, she’s gorgeous, maybe I will like it here,” Nico narrows his eyes as Timo recalls the story, his hands unintentionally balling into fists below the table, “And before I can even get a word out, he goes, Nico’s Poppy. He told me not to even think about it.”

“We weren’t in a relationship, though.” He argues, despite the way his lips twist into an almost-smile, one trying to hide itself from prying eyes. He does quite like the ring of that. Nico’s Poppy.

It reflects that base level possessiveness he feels when he looks at her - the way he’s probably felt since the day they met, sharing a bond he had never really shared with anyone else. Feeling jealous when any of the other guys would talk to her alone, as petty as it might have been, and only ever wanting her attention on him.

“You’ve always been in something with her,” Timo shrugs, “There’s no point delaying the inevitable if it means you get to make sure she’s your Poppy forever.”

“We don’t have to be married for her to be mine.”

He does feel comfortable knowing that - feels sure and safe in their dynamic, now - knowing the life they share, the home they share, the baby they’re so close to bringing into this world together. Knowing how much she loves him, how much she’s willing to be there for him, even when he feels like he isn’t enough for her.

He’s never felt so secure in a relationship in his life, and he doesn’t need to force either of them into marriage when they’ve never really had that conversation - even if the few times he’s attempted to joke about it, she has been receptive.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to talk yourself out of it.” Luca chimes in from the side of Nico, “You’re never gonna find anybody more perfect for you. I think our parents like her more than they even like us at this point,” he tells the rest of the table, swatting at his little brother’s shoulder, before reaching for his beer.

“Yeah,” Nico sighs with a smile, knowing already there’s no one more perfect for him - he’s only been cursing himself all summer for not coming to that conclusion much sooner. “Mom will probably already have asked her for me while she’s been with her this week.”

He knows he’s delaying the inevitable, trying to pretend that marriage isn’t what he wants right now with Poppy - he had pictured it the second she told him she was pregnant, his life flashing before his eyes in home-movie-esque glimpses, babies, and white dresses, and a big house with a nice plot of land in the back for him to build a tree house like in the movies.

He knows, too, deep down, that there is the slimmest possible chance of rejection. She loves him. She shows him every day just how much - and she’s been so willing, so far, to fit herself into his life in whatever way is easiest.

He knows when he sees her, tomorrow, that the thought of dropping to one knee as soon as his eyes lock on her will cross his mind.

And he thinks when he does get back, after a week of chirps about being wifed off, he might just test the waters.

Nico doesn’t think he’s ever had a quicker flight than the one he and Luca took back from Tenerife. From check-in, to boarding, to the plane ride, itself, he felt like he had blinked and landed back on home soil, heart beating that little bit quicker in anticipation of seeing Poppy - of his eyes laying on that perfect bump for the first time in a week and catching the slightest difference, making up for lost time while they can in the privacy of their apartment before they spend the week with his brother and sister.

The train ride from the airport flies by too - Nico feeling excitement akin to when he was younger, and his dad would take him and Luca to go practice at their local rink, and he was at a point in his life that he loved nothing more than hockey, wanted nothing more than to don his skates and play to his heart’s content.

He feels that way about Poppy, now, he thinks.

Like she’s something he can dream toward - push and strive to keep her in his life for as long as he possibly can.

It feels like the blink of an eye before he’s putting his key in the door of the apartment, pushing in with his case following behind him, discarded in the entryway as he steps though the hall in search of her.

“Baby, are you home?” He calls, his heart thumping as he waits to catch his first proper glimpse of her in a week.

“In the kitchen!” She calls back, voice like his favourite song, and when he steps into the room he sees her by the oven, prepping for dinner. When she had first offered to pick him up from the train station, he had joked that he didn’t trust her driving alone on European roads, but the truth of it was that he felt better coming home to her - where she was safe, and he wasn’t putting her out just so that he could selfishly see her sooner.

And seeing her there, in the heart of the apartment he had bought last summer, when the idea of her ever being in it was nothing but a dream, swollen and round and growing their baby, he thinks that reality is more than worth the wait.

“Hey,” he sidles up behind her, arms placed on either side of her body on the counter as she chops at some peppers. Poppy angles her head so that he can press his usual kiss to her cheek, and Nico feels it puff up with a smile.

She smells clean and fresh, like home, like a mixture of the detergent she uses on their sheets, and his body wash that she still likes to steal, and he swipes his nose at her flesh as he takes a prolonged inhale of her skin, filling his lungs with the familiarity of it and making up for the days he spent away.

“Hi,” she turns back enough that he can press a kiss to her swollen lips, slow and sweet, “I figured you’d be beat when you got home so I ran you a bath, I only just shut it off like 2 minutes ago.”

He kind of likes how there isn’t a big fuss about him coming home - likes that she’s welcoming him back like it hasn’t been almost a week, and it diminishes the guilt he had been feeling for leaving her behind at all. It reinforces the thoughts he’s always had - that Poppy makes everything easy.

She puts the knife down and turns in his arms when he kisses her again, and his hand swipes from the curve of her belly to the small of her back, keeping her stomach pressed to his.

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles before his lips touch hers again, nose bumping teasingly at hers when she starts to chase him for more. “There’s room in that tub for 3, you know.”

“It’s supposed to be for you to relax,” she tells him as her hands travel the broad expanse of his chest, sweeping to his shoulders and down the width of his arms that are circled around her. “And I’ll have dinner ready for when you get out.”

“Trust me, Mohn,” he hums, his hands travelling slowly down her sides, “That is my idea of relaxing.” And then he leans down to hook an arm behind her knees, lifting her before she has a chance to protest, all too prepared after a week of training to carry her down the hall toward the bathroom, making sure she isn’t too curled up that it’s uncomfortable with her bump. “Dinner can wait.”

“You missed me that much, huh?” She giggles as he sends a gentle kick to the door, letting it swing open before he steps into the room. “You gonna have me sit on your lap while we eat, too?”

“Yeah, you can feed me if you want,” he laughs as he places her on the counter in the bathroom, her legs parting immediately for him to slot himself between them. “And I missed you more than it might be healthy to admit.”

“I missed you too,” Poppy smiles softly, hands reaching up to tuck the grown out flicks of hair behind his ears as his own hands place themselves on either side of her hips, “Appreciated all those sweaty workout videos you sent me though, definitely made up for you being gone.”

“Thought they might,” Nico chuckles as he starts working at undressing her, sliding her shorts down her legs and throwing them into the hamper. “Appreciated that video you sent me of your belly moving like something out of Alien.”

“She’ll probably start up soon, she likes to move while I’m eating now, she keeps getting the hiccups, it’s quite cute.”

Nico leans down once he’s lifted the big t-shirt that covers Poppy’s torso, and while she works it off, he presses a soft kiss to her bare belly, nudging the curve of it with his nose before he stands to his usual height and starts to work his own clothes off. He can feel the heat of her gaze as he steps out of his underwear, and it prickles at his skin like a lingering longing, like the way his own feelings have lingered over the past week.

A week where he had pushed forward on the sheer thought of Poppy, and now that she’s in front of him, those thoughts swirl into something overwhelming.

He offers her a hand to help her down from the counter, and guides her toward the tub, the water still hot, but not scolding, on it’s way to tepid as he steps in and positions himself toward the back. He holds her steady as she steps over the edge, and sinks down as she lowers herself, her bump making it difficult to do so with ease, but he spreads his legs for her to sink back into him, and he soon feels her relax with her back to his front.

“Does it hurt,” he mutters with his limbs curved around hers, “When she moves a lot?”

He had noticed before he left that things had become a little more difficult for Poppy - sleeping, staying on her feet for extended periods - and when she had sent him a video of movements she could see through her belly, he had thought it seemed uncomfortable, but she just shrugs against him.

“It’s just weird, I guess,” she sighs, muscles seeming to melt against him. “Depends how she’s positioned, she was playing my ribs like a xylophone the other day, that wasn’t fun.”

Nico smiles, hand coming around her front to caress her belly, rubbing gentle circles into her soft skin. “Where is she now?”

“I think her butt is at the front,” her hand rests on top of his, moving it up a little, and a bit more to the side, “She’s gonna give me hell later, I can feel it.”

“Maybe she’ll behave now that her daddy’s home,” he mutters, his lips falling by instinct to kiss at Poppy’s bare shoulder before he hooks his chin over it, “Maybe she missed me too.”

“She definitely missed you. She practically did somersaults every time you came up in conversation.”

“My girl,” he smiles into Poppy’s neck, “Did she kick for Nina yet?”

“Oh yeah,” she laughs, her hand moving to trail up and down Nico’s leg beside her, “She jumped around so much in there that I learned a new word while you were gone.”

“From Nina?”

“Häsli,” she says with perfect, practiced pronunciation.

“Little bunny,” Nico chuckles, both hands patting at the bump where his daughter rests. “I like it.”

“Good, ‘cause your parents have started calling her it, too. No respect for Cheeto around here.”

Nico finds himself melting in ways he didn’t think he needed to - an ache so present in his bones he hadn’t even realised it was there, all of a sudden fading to nothing as he sits in the tepid, soapy water with his girls in front of him. Poppy absentmindedly uses her fingers to trickle droplets down his calves, and makes space for him to rest his head in the space where her neck and shoulder meets.

“Who’s the better teacher?” He asks, looking up and watching as the width of her cheeks puff out into a close-lipped smile.

“Well, you have an automatic advantage, considering I can’t ask your sister to teach me all the dirty stuff.”

“Is that all I’m good for, the dirty stuff?”

“I’m yet to be able to hold a conversation that has nothing to do with body parts, so you tell me.”

“Yeah, well the more you learn, the less I get away with, so we might have to put a pause on the lessons.”

“And what is it you think you’ve been getting away with?” Poppy asks, twisting a little so she can look back at him, and it’s when her eyes meet his that Nico feels some warped sense of security wash over him. He hadn’t planned on bringing this up, especially not so soon after coming back from his trip, but it just feels right.

And it’s better to get it out of the way sooner - where better to test the waters than in the bathtub?

“Whenever we meet someone, I’ve been introducing you as my wife,” he admits, cheek pressed to her shoulder blade as he looks up at her through thick lashes.

Her lips twist in amusement, eyes shimmering in the warm light of the bathroom, and it seems like she’s biting back a smile at the revelation. His heartbeat steadies just a little. “Oh really? How have you been getting around the distinct lack of a ring on my finger?”

“I tell them your hands are too swollen to wear it,” he admits, taking a hand from her belly to pick up her left one.

Her smile fades slowly as she glances down, his fingers squeezing a little at the one closest to her pinky. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Very.”

“What about-,” she starts, and before she can glance back, Nico lifts his own left hand in anticipation of what she’s about to ask, the signet ring she had gifted him when she first came overseas, that she hasn’t even noticed for as long as they’ve been together out here, sitting comfortably on his own ring finger. “Oh.”

“I can get you your own, if you want,” he tries, trying not to hold his breath as he makes the suggestion - makes light of it, even, just to test her reaction. Her face is angled forward as she looks down at his finger, and her own hand twists to fiddle with the ring that sits there, so he can’t exactly see what she’s thinking. “I know you said you already had one, but-,”

“Just to sell the story better?” She asks, still looking at his hand.

“Or because I’m in love with you,” he pouts, his lips moving against her skin as he speaks, anticipating a rejection of sorts - although he still feels the lax press of her spine to his chest. She hasn’t gone rigid, hasn’t recoiled from his touch - their bodies are still merged together in the tight space, and a part of him feels better for it.

She turns, finally, levelling him with a look that has her gaze flickering between his eyes, like she’s trying to read his mind.

“You better not be proposing to me in the bathtub,” she frowns, “You can’t ask someone for their hand in marriage within 6 feet of a toilet, Nico, that’s definitely an unwritten rule.”

He feels something dissolve in his chest as it bubbles with affection, spreading through his bloodstream and directing itself to every corner of his body - joyous laughter rippling up his throat and spilling out into her neck.

“Why are you laughing?” She giggles, her body shaking against his in the most delightful way, “I’m dead serious, anywhere but the bathroom, please.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, wanting nothing more than to lean up and press his lips to her beautiful smile. “I’ll bare that in mind.”

“You do that.”

I will, he thinks, taking that as her confirmation.

Not in the bathtub is a far cry from not ever.

Maybe Timo was right - as much as it pains Nico to think - maybe she has always been his Poppy, and maybe, if he can find the right time and place to ask, she always will be.

Poppy

Last year, Poppy’s summer had felt like the longest of her life.

She had worked all the way through to Mid-July - choosing to work around the summer programmes that were run through the Foundation had taken up most of her time, and she would rather have taken the extra pay than mope around thinking about how everyone else was spending their time off.

Ever since college, she and Nia would spend their weekends together in the summer - and that worked the same last year, with both of them still working in Jersey and having their family nearby. It worked for their other friends too - until their lives away from the group started to take priority, and their group became whittled down to just the two best friends.

Friend group outings had become a rare occurrence, and so when they did happen, they were quite the spectacle - weekend trips down to Atlantic City, or bagging invites to parties the girls really had no business being - like rooftop bars in Manhattan, where a player from the Giants was throwing a party, and their friend Kelsey’s boyfriend, Liam, had somehow secured their names on the list.

Poppy and Nia always got ready together - reminiscent of their teenage years, blasting music through the speakers in Poppy’s bedroom and letting Nia raid her closet while she did her makeup.

“We’re gonna need to prep Els on how to be cool, she can’t be asking for players to sign her napkin so she can frame it for Jensen.” Nia called as she came out of Poppy’s closet, shrugging into the strappy sleeves of a mini dress she had borrowed, pulling her hair from getting tangled beneath the arms.

“Elsie’s not coming,” Poppy replied absentmindedly, a small, soft brush sweeping pigment across her eyelid, “It’s just me, you and Kels,”

“What? Why?” Nia had whined, zipping her dress up behind her back. “Did her sitter bail?”

“This stays between me and you, but she’s pregnant again,” Poppy told her, relaying the cliff-notes version of the hour-long conversation she had had with her cousin earlier that day. “So no more girls nights with her for a while.”

“Poor girl,” Nia huffed, falling back onto Poppy’s bed so that she could put her heels on, “I can’t think of anything worse than being pregnant right now, I’m in my prime, I’m not letting anyone dislodge my organs. Nothing is worth that kind of damage.”

“Gross” Poppy shuddered, the thought of having a baby and her age sending literal shivers down her spine. “But same. I’m so far off of being ready to be a parent, it isn’t even funny.”

She had weirdly enough been thinking a lot about what her life was turning out to be around that time - spearing straight for her 25th birthday and feeling the daunting pressure of a looming quarter-life crisis, she had put some thought at least into the traditional stuff.

But babies hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind.

“Plus, it’s hard enough to find a remotely decent guy to go on one singular date with, never mind raise a child. Elsie got lucky with Jared.”

“Right,” Nia had scoffed half-heartedly, ambling up behind Poppy and finishing off the curls in her hair. There had been a look in her eyes - dismissive and evasive - that had caught Poppy’s attention.

“What’s the look for?”

“Nothing,” Nia shrugged, lips turned down in denial and continuing to work at her best friend’s hair. “Just think that for you of all people, it’s not that hard to find somebody decent.”

Poppy frowned, watching Nia behind her, trying to think of a single guy she had ever dated or spoken to that had garnered her approval.

She had always been supportive of Poppy, knowing that if she were to start something up with a guy, it would be after a lot of thought and meticulous research - Poppy rarely dated, and if she did, it mostly didn’t work because she wasn’t that good at it. She was always so focused on work, and her friends, that trying to make time for anybody outside of all that just felt exhausting.

Guys usually ended up breaking things off with her, telling her they could tell her heart wasn’t in it, and Nia would always curse them whenever Poppy relayed it back to her, but there was always that look - like she knew something Poppy didn’t.

“You’ve literally watched my every attempt at a relationship crash and burn, Ni,” she narrowed her eyes, “I don’t get what part of my dating life seems easy to you.”

“The part where you have a ready made relationship just waiting for you to press the start button.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nico,” Nia said, like it had been the most obvious answer in the world.

The last thing Poppy had wanted to think about - again - was Nico.

She had been trying to think of anything but since he had left Jersey, but everything unfortunately was starting to remind her of him, just as they did every other summer.

Walks in the sun, passing places they would always go together - snapping a picture of a coffee from her favourite shop and thinking of who she could send it to instead of him. Running their shared route, soft breeze running through her hair as she jogged through the park, playing music in her headphones that he had once recommended.

It had been hard to shake him off - but she had grown to be good at it over the years.

Nia bringing him up had been new - unexpected - and wasn’t contributing to the routine of forgetting he existed until he would come back to New Jersey in September.

“The second that one of you makes a move, you’re literally ready to go with the perfect man.”

“I’m not gonna be in a relationship with Nico,” Poppy snickered, trying to find humour in what nonsense her best friend was coming up with.

She didn’t have a ready to go relationship with Nico Hischier. They were friends. That was all they would ever be.

And not only had she told Nia that a hundred times before, she also knew that Nico had said the same - shrugging off jokes made in front of the two of them and smiling awkwardly at Poppy whenever anyone had dared to make a comment on their friendship being anything other than just that.

“We don’t even talk for like 4 months out of the year,” Poppy frowned, referring to the routine Nico had adopted over the years, of returning home to Switzerland for the summers, and leaving his friendship with Poppy behind - only communicating through social media likes and odd messages in the same conversation thread within a wider group chat.

She had never really minded it - not to the point of moping - but she had always wished things could be just a little different on that front.

“I don’t get why you guys don’t just text each other,” Nia rolled her eyes as she ran the barrel of the curling iron down the lengths of Poppy’s hair, eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the mirror. “You act like you’re not allowed to cross his mind all summer, it’s stupid, no offence.”

“He deserves a break, Ni,” Poppy had shrugged, “From everything, especially after how the season ended, I’m just a reminder of his life here, and he probably wants to escape that.”

“I don’t think he means you when he says those sorts of things, babe,” she responded, letting the curl drop into her free hand and scrunching it until it cooled down.

“How did we even get onto this?”

“Because I’ve been looking for an opportunity to bring it up, duh,” Nia jested, “C’mon, just reach out. It doesn’t have to be a text, what was the last thing he posted on his instagram stories? Just reply to that.”

Poppy’s lips twisted, her phone feeling increasingly heavy in her grip as she weighed her options up.

For as long as she had known him, her and Nico would never really talk over the summer. She lived her life, and he lived his, away from the Devils, away from The Rock, and it had worked well, for the most part.

Sure, a part of her always missed him. A part of her would watch his stories over, would think about what his life in Switzerland looked like, and if she could ever possibly fit into it - but another part, a larger part, would suppress all that. Push her feelings back down until they were nothing - shut away behind some barricaded door in the back of her mind.

It was weird, she thought, how much they flourished in his absence - thoughts she wouldn’t usually spare dedicated to him. Especially now that Nia was bringing it up out of nowhere.

Her perceptive best friend suggesting there could ever have been something more was sparking a flame within her she had long tried to put out. But it wasn’t entirely Nia’s doing - there had been embers floating around her subconscious for a while, now.

She blamed that night in Finnegan’s Bar, not long before he had left.

Cuddled up to him in that booth, comfortable in the lingering silence, the steady beat of his heart below her hand. She had thought, at the end of that night, that something might have been different - and she realised that had probably been why she was thinking about him more that summer.

Poppy unlocked her phone and brought up her Instagram, scrolling through the stories on the home page until she saw his picture.

“It’ll probably be some workout video, I can’t reply to that, he’s gonna think I’m thirsty.”

“You are,” Nia had jibed, “Pop, honey, you either gotta put up or shut up. If you’re not gonna reach out, I don’t wanna hear any more of your whining about him for the rest of the month.”

“You brought him up,” Poppy frowned, “Please be kinder to me when you have hot tools in your hands, you’re giving me anxiety.”

“Whatever, I’m gonna get another drink before we go, do you want one?”

“I’m good,” Poppy smiled, watching her best friend put the curling iron down safely on the heat-proof mat on her dresser and make her way out of the bedroom and through to the kitchen.

Her thumb had hovered on her screen for a good minute before she pressed down, biting the bullet and viewing his most recent story with bated breath.

There were a few of them - it seemed like he was out with friends - probably-drunken selfies and videos of a DJ at some club - but the last photo was the one that caught her attention, properly.

Nico with his arms around a girl - a gorgeous girl, sharp features, perfect hair, piercing eyes, a killer smile - and his lips pressed to her temple.

She had let the photo time out before it shrunk away into his private profile, and she had felt like time had stopped in place after that - until the sound of Nia’s heels clicking back down the hallway caught her attention.

“I know you said no but I made mine too strong so I had to pour it out a little and make two,” she had said as she entered the room, Poppy locking her phone and turning it face down before she could see.

“Thanks,” she had accepted the drink with a smile, gulping it down in the hopes that the liquor might have burned through some of the growing ache in her chest.

“Damn girl,” Nia had scoffed, “Thought you were good?”

“I realised I should drink for two, considering Elsie can’t anymore.”

“Good point! We should both do that, show our solidarity for the cause.”

“Exactly. Getting shit-faced is what she’d want us to do in her honour.”

Nia glanced down at Poppy’s downturned phone - a look Poppy wouldn’t have caught if she wasn’t nervously watching her best friend in the hopes that she, for once in her life, wouldn’t be so perceptive.

“I’ll have a baby with you.”

Poppy laughed, right from the depths of her chest, tension easing from her shoulders as she shook her head.

“I don’t want a baby,” she declined, rolling her eyes and standing up, “I want to get drunk on rooftop bars with my friends and NFL players and eat as much deli meat and cheese as my body can handle for as long as it can handle it.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Poppy didn’t know at the time why that picture on Nico's story had felt like a kick to the gut, but she had swallowed down her hurt and smiled, tight lipped, at her best friend.

Getting wasted and forgetting about Nico for the rest of the summer - that had sounded like a plan.

Looking back on last summer, Poppy barely recognises her old life. Rooftop parties with endless cocktails, tiny dresses and high heels and hair that didn’t fall flat and frizzy the second she blinked too hard at it in the mirror.

She can barely remember being able to look down at her thighs without being sat down.

The only thing that remains the same is finding time to lounge around on the beach. Growing up, spending her time on Jersey beaches - her family renting a house in Mantoloking most years, or making the trip down to Ocean City and Cape May with her girls when she was old enough - had become a staple for her, and she has been so thankful that it’s something her and Nico share a love of.

She’s adored her summer in Switzerland, so far - as far away from expectations as it might yet have been.

She hadn’t expected to get such little one-on-one time with Nico, but she can hardly complain - not when his family and friends have all welcomed her with such open arms. It’s something so new to her too, getting to do everything in a group, bonding with more than just Nico, sharing parts of herself and her life beyond what she has only ever shared with him before, and she’s never really felt so at home with such a close-knit family.

She watches sports on the couch with his dad, goes to the grocery store with his mom, plays cards out on the deck with his brother, spends as much time with his sister as she would with Nia back home in Jersey, and she gets Nico to herself at night, or on the rare couple of days in a row they’ll stay in his apartment closer to the city.

But she loves this - being so close with everyone. Loves it so much that she doesn’t really care that it isn’t just her and Nico, she doesn’t really want it to be.

Katja helps her through the rough stages of her pregnancy - sometimes anticipating symptoms before they even come on, sharing tips on how to lessen the constant ache in her stomach, how to sleep easier, what supplements she can take that don’t make her feel nauseous again or bloated and heavy.

Rino helps too, recalling what he can of his wife’s pregnancies, remembering how Katja could get her back pain to go away by relaxing in a rocking chair with a cushion wedged into her arch, and he had dug the exact one chair the depths of the garage, making sure it was safe after years of misuse and placing it out on the deck in the backyard, right beside what had always been Nico’s chair.

Luca is probably the best language teacher of them all, not that she’d tell Nico that - he’s the only one with the nerve to correct her, doing so with an amused glint in her eye until she gets it perfect and offering her a proud nod when she can finally speak a full sentence - a useful one at that, instead of random words and nicknames.

Nina allows Poppy to keep an essence of her independence - of the girl she was before she was pregnant, or had come back to Switzerland as Nico’s girlfriend. She makes sure Poppy keeps doing things for herself - accompanies her to the salon, to the local mall, gives her valued opinion on different outfits Poppy tried, and what makes her look like a frumpy mom and not her usual self. The two of them trade books between each other, get ready with each other when the group all go out, and it fills a gap that Poppy never even realised she had until she met her - this desire for a big sister, a want for something she never even knew had been ripped away from her before she was ever even born.

And Nico.

She has all of this, now, because of him.

He’s given her a life so sweet, and so wonderful, and it’s barely even started yet.

Their little girl is still sat comfortably in her stomach, kicking and moving and causing aches all over, but she’s contributed to a world so beautiful that Poppy doesn’t want to remember life before it.

And he gave it all to her.

He gave her their baby, his family, summer sun in a foreign country, rocking chairs and card games and trips to the mall.

Trips to the beach with his siblings, who don’t let him forget his status as the youngest, doting on Poppy while teasing him the whole time, breaking off from the group in search of gelato for her, and none for him, because he has two hands and two feet and a wallet bigger than anyone’s to go and get his own.

And that leaves her with just him, wading in the gloriously warm shallow sea, the sun glistening against soft waves, and his hands around her, large and safe, happy and secure - and so in love she hasn’t stopped smiling in weeks.

So infatuated by the man in front of her, that she’d let him do anything, take her anywhere he wants.

“It’s a shame it’s not just the two of us, today,” Nico hums, a large hand stroking up Poppy’s back, sliding under the straps of her bikini top and tugging, teasingly, “Bet I could have convinced you to take this off.”

“We’re in public, perv,” she scoffs, her own palms flat against his chest, “Also, you can’t accuse your own family of cockblocking you.”

“I can when they won’t leave you alone,” he pouts, “My brother and sister never waited on me hand and foot, if I want gelato I have to go get it myself.” He mimics his sisters voice, face scrunching adorably.

“My heart bleeds for you,” she groans in feigned pity, “I’m carrying precious cargo, and there’s some serious name stakes up for grabs right now.”

“So you’re pitting them against each other for your own benefit?”

“Exactly, you Hischiers love a little healthy competition,” Poppy smiles, back arching as his hand travels down her spine, the curve of her belly pressing right into his below the water. His skin smooth and hot, making her want to press even harder. “You need to up your game, I’ve got a godparent thing going on with some of the boys, too, you wouldn’t believe how much they’re willing to do for you when they think it puts them ahead in the rankings.”

“We’re not leaving our baby girl in the hands of any of those idiots in the unfortunate event of our deaths, Poppy.” Nico chuckles, lifting her with hands lowered to the backs of her thighs so that he can carry her deeper into the water.

“I know that, and you know that,” she presses a finger to the tip of his nose before her arms curl around his broad shoulders, “But if it means that Timo always brings me madeleines when he’s around, and Jesper and Nic always buy cute baby clothes for us and send me pictures, then who are we to rain on their parade?”

The smile that stretches across Nico’s lips is fond as he asks, “Who’s the front runner?”

“Well, Timo for now, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agrees in good humour.

“But I’ve managed to convince Jonas he’s in with a good chance after we went to visit him, he kept bringing cut up fruit out to me while I was around the pool.”

“Baby, I cut up that fruit for you, don’t let him take the credit.”

“Oh, well then he’s disqualified for being a liar.”

“Why’s Timo the obvious choice?” He asks, now at a point in the water that if he let Poppy go, she would only just be able to keep her chin above the water, and she clutches on a little tighter.

“He’s an October baby, like me.” The hands around the back of his neck start playing with the ends of his hair, scratching softly at the skin as she presses herself entirely against him. “If anyone’s gonna raise our daughter, it’s going to be a Libra, we’re fair people.”

“Makes complete sense,” he jokes, “Written in the stars.”

“You get it,” she smiles, ignoring his sarcasm entirely. “But I’m waiting for the penny to drop when they realise all the boys back home are gonna want to be in the running. I have big plans for when we get back to Jersey, they’ve all got a lot of catching up to do, Luke’s in with a pretty good chance, you know.”

“You and that kid, I swear,”

“He’s very precious to me, Nico.”

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”

“Jack on the other hand has dropped way out of contention. We were talking on the phone the other day while you were training and called me Pop-belly. That’s out of line.”

Nico knows that laughing in any way at that is going to earn him some sort of reaction, but he really can’t help the way his lips quiver of their own volition.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Poppy scoffs, swatting lightly at his shoulder, “I’ll be the only one laughing when he turns into my own personal smoothie butler when we go back. He has no chance of getting back in my good graces, but I won’t be telling him that.”

“You’re an evil genius.”

“It’s your devil spawn communicating through the womb,” Poppy hums, leaning in to press a proud kiss firmly to the dimple that forms in his cheek when he smiles at her. “I was a good girl before you corrupted me.”

“You were never a good girl,” he smirks, with his voice low, one hand travelling up the back of her thigh until he can pinch at her ass.

“Watch it, Hischier,” she warns, feeling steady enough in his hold to take an arm from around his neck and stroke the side of her finger along his slightly stubbled jaw. “You’re on thin ice with me already after shaving again, you don’t want to start being mean.”

“Oh, I’m being mean?” He asks, the hand that had pinched at her flesh now slipping beneath the fabric at the top of the back of her thighs. “You’re the one walking around in this bikini and not letting me touch you.”

“We’re in public, people get arrested for doing the things you want to do to me in places like this.”

“Could be worth it,” he shrugs, “You’re forgetting I’m kind of a national treasure, baby, they’d probably let me go with a warning.”

“Yeah, well, can’t risk it. I kind of need you. Plus, I think you’ve already done enough touching, you’ve literally impregnated me.”

“Way to make it sound romantic.” Nico mumbles, leaning to press a kiss to her bare shoulder, nose nudging once more at the thin straps of her bikini that curve around her slender neck. “Could never touch you enough.”

“You’re touching me right now, aren’t you?”

“Not where I want to.” He repositions where her legs are curled around his hips, just to emphasise his point, pulling her tighter around his torso until he can buck up into her and feel her shudder against him.

“You can touch me wherever you want later,” she promises, her eyes meeting his, speckles of sunlight glistening off the surface of the water and straight into his irises, warming them in a way that shoots heat all the way down her spine.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You better.” She presses a sweet kiss straight to his lips, one hand holding him close as they part, and she kisses him quick again, before saying, “Thank you for cutting up my fruit.”

He smiles, eyes squinting against the sunlight and crinkling in the corners, deep dimples forming in each cheek.

“Thank you for having my baby.”

She giggles, kissing him again, unable to resist muttering, “Thank you for putting a baby in me,” against his lips before he nips at her mouth, moving along her face in a targeted attack as his hands grip firmer at her hips, tickling her until the sound of laughter fills the air around them.

—

Poppy and Nico had made their way out of the water and onto their towels in the shade by the time Nina and Luca had returned with 3 cones of gelato in hand. Luca had already eaten half of his, coffee-flavoured, and Nina had strawberry, handing a cone with a white scoop over to Poppy.

“Fior di latte,” she had smiled sweetly, “Like milk ice, you said that was your favourite.”

“Thank you,” Poppy had blushed, the smallest gesture of her remembering that sending a buzz down her spine. Nico’s putting beside her, and mutterings of how they could have gotten him one, too, soon forgotten when she started to share.

The two of them had gone for a walk to find a bar on the beach front where they could watch soccer, leaving Poppy and Nico cuddled up on their towel, lost in their own world as they shared the cone between them.

She was resting between Nico’s legs, absentmindedly licking at the dessert when a screaming blur had zoomed past them, kicking sand up in their wake as three young children chased each other down to the water.

Poppy thinks that a year ago, she might have pouted about the sand being thrown onto her legs, but she finds herself smiling softly as she reaches back with the cone, waiting for Nico to have a turn taking a bite.

“Do you ever think about having more?” She can tell without looking back at him that he’s speaking around a mouthful of gelato, and even the thought of it makes her chest warm with the rumbles of laughter.

“Kids?” Poppy asks, and he hums affirmatively in response, “We don’t even have this one yet, babe,”

“I know,” he mutters, and she can hear the smile in his tone as his thumb swipes at the curve of the top her bump, “But do you ever think about what our family might look like in a few years?”

Our family still makes her heart skip a beat, and she finds herself relaxing even further into his embrace - melting, almost, into his chest, warmed by the rays of sun he has been bathing under.

“We probably need to see how difficult this one ends up being before I think about having any more.” She licks quickly at the drip travelling down her thumb before offering the cone back to Nico, who shakes his head as he lowers it to her shoulder, nose nudging against her skin.

“Should have put two in you while I had the chance,” he mumbles, lips pressed into the side of her neck, trailing soft, but purposeful kisses.

“Not how that works, babe,” Poppy chuckles, lifting her chin to give him more space for his ministrations. “Although they do run in my family, my dad’s a twin.”

“There’s two of him?”

“Yeah, him and my uncle Peter. That’s where the whole name thing started in my family.”

“Name thing?” He juts his chin when she looks back, asking for another taste.

“We’re all P’s,” she frowns as she focuses on directing the cone back toward his mouth, making sure she doesn’t smush it in his face.

“Oli isn’t a P.” The gelato lines his lips messily as he speaks, and her eyes start to crinkle in the corners as she takes him in. How can he be so stupidly pretty with mint choc chip smearing his upper lip?

“Oli’s a fraud,” Poppy chuckles, swiping a thumb against the soft flesh of his mouth, bringing it to her own to clear it of the cold, sticky substance. “His name’s Philip Jr, but people started calling him Lil Phil and it gave him a complex.”

“Poppy, baby, did you start calling him that?”

“No comment.”

“You get all grumpy when Jack gives you dumb nicknames, and here you are calling your own flesh and blood Lil Phil.”

“I don’t get grumpy,” she pouts, recoiling her hand from his reach when he tries to lean back in for another taste of gelato.

“You threatened to block him the other day.”

“That’s ‘cause he called me Pop-belly,” she grumbles, “That’s not funny, it’s mean.”

“Not funny at all,” Nico concurs, lips twisting in the corner as he bites back a smile, eyes gleaming as he watches Poppy sit up and face him, fully. Her eyes narrow, gaze zeroing in on where he’s trying not to laugh, again, at the horrific moniker, and her own lips twist with mirth as she shuffles, resting back on her heels, limbs half on the towel and half on the warm sand.

“We should stick to your thing, when we’re picking a name for Cheeto,” she hums, meeting his eye as her tongue swipes against the cone, watching his eyelids grow heavier as he focuses on the movement of her lips. “4 letters, no chance of funny nicknames, no chance of people spelling it wrong on birthday cards,” she reaches out for him to get the taste he had been chasing before, and just as his lips press to the frozen substance, she adds, “You all have such pretty names, too. Like Luca.”

Poppy shouldn’t like the darkness that flashes across his eyes when his jealousy flares up, shouldn’t want to push his buttons to make it happen, but she can’t help herself - her favourite pastime all summer has been making Nico think she has a crush on his brother.

It’s so stupid, so childish but so so fun.

It had started off lighthearted enough - her first time meeting Luca, she had been a little knocked back by his presence - ruggedly handsome where she might usually have considered Nico softer, but there were definite similarities. And she wasn’t exactly attracted to him, but she had been flustered - obviously so - and it’s Nico’s own fault for making his notice of that fact so obvious - brows furrowed, his grip on her hand tightening, and a persistent urge to be present whenever Poppy hung around his brother.

She blames the fact that she misses that teasing aspect of their relationship - when their conversations were based off of sarcasm and inescapable charm - for how she continued to press his buttons over the summer. It’s hard to maintain their old snark when her hormones are all out whack, and all she wants is for him to get his clothes off and press her to the nearest surface at any given moment. He constantly has the upper hand, and she’s not exactly used to that being a part of their dynamic.

Teasing him about Luca kills two birds with one stone - she gets her fun, and she elicits that possessive part of him that he somehow locks away every time he gets eyes on her belly, that she can see him restraining in order to handle her with care.

“You’re not funny,” he huffs, swiping the melting gelato from her grip and taking an exasperated lick of the sides, not realising how adorable he looks making little swipes with his tongue when he’s trying to look annoyed.

“I’m dead serious, your brother’s a hunk.”

“Mohn,” he sighs, “I’ll dump this in the sand right now, and I know how much you want to eat this cone.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” she relents as she giggles, reaching to grasp at his arm where he’s holding it away from her, fingertips stroking teasingly to make him give in. “I don’t think your brother is hot.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, offering the gelato back to her.

“Your dad on the other hand.”

“Poppy,” he warns.

“Kidding! I’m kidding,” she laughs, shuffling forward and back between his parted legs, “You’re the only man for me, baby, I swear.”

“I better be,” he pouts, guiding her back into the space he leaves, where she had been cuddled up before, where he misses the press of her body between his thighs. “I booked a table at that Italian place you liked the other week for tonight,” he tells her, voice lowered as one hand falls to her waist, and the other reaches up to push her hair behind her ear and cup at her cheek, “And it’s under my name, so you can’t ditch me for my brother or you get no tiramisu for dessert.”

Her mouth drops at the threat, spare hand reaching up to grip at his shoulder. “I promise I’ll never love another man in my life.”

She says it with a tone so serious that he can’t help but laugh, and her lips tremble too as she watches him, rolling his eyes with affection and looking away so that he doesn’t entirely give him.

She doesn’t really think it’s much of a joke, though.

There isn’t a single person on the planet who could make her feel like this - so happy, so warm, so content.

She might never love anyone like she loves Nico.

Except for maybe their daughter. And whatever other family he wants to give her in a few years.

Poppy can’t quite figure out why the thought of going out for dinner alone with Nico is making her nervous.

They’re in a relationship, have been for around 3 months now, and she’s literally carrying his child, but as he stands behind her in the apartment, hands sliding torturously slow up her spine as he zips up her dress and making eye contact with her in the mirror’s reflection, she starts to feel her heart race.

She’s trying not to be quieter than usual as they walk hand in hand in the warm summer evening air, Nico guiding her down the streets that are comfortingly familiar to him, and that are starting to feel more like home every day to her, too.

It doesn’t help that he looks so good too, hair grown out and pushed back out of his face, a clean shave - as much as she had grumbled about that, she can’t deny how gorgeous he looks - a loose black shirt and baggy linen trousers, fancy watch clutched around his wrist.

And he makes her feel good about how she looks, too, despite flashes of insecurity hitting her over the past few weeks. Their afternoon spent between the sheets when they had returned from the beach, Nico not being able to get enough of her, and whispering sweet nothings and sexy mutterings into her skin as they finally took advantage of some much needed privacy.

He had chosen her dress for her, had strapped her slightly heeled sandals onto her feet with kisses pressed to her calves, and she thinks it’s all the attention he’s given her over the past 24 hours that has her feeling what she can only describe as high.

It’s what has her stopping him at the corner before the restaurant, seeing the perfect place to prop her phone up on a nearby wall so that she can capture the moment - the two of them looking so perfect that she wants her daughter to see, wants to print it out and tape it into her memory book to show her just how in love and happy her mommy and daddy are.

“Can we take a photo?”

“You want me to take one of you?” He asks, stopping as she starts to adjust her camera settings on her phone, adding the timer so she can leave her phone perched at a good angle.

“No, I want one together. So we can show Cheeto how hot her parents were.”

Nico chuckles as she places her phone on the side and pulls him to a good distance, holding her in his arms and smiling down at her as she holds back onto him - the two of them repeating a couple times with different poses before Poppy has a nice little collection of photos, and they can carry on toward the restaurant.

She swipes through and shows them to him as they walk together, and she sends them straight to him so he can have them for himself.

“Is that hard launch material for your instagram?” He asks as she zooms in on one of them, Poppy’s arms circled around his waist, the biggest, toothiest grin on her face and her eyes scrunched shut.

“I’m gonna put them in Cheeto’s pregnancy book,” Poppy hums, not answering him directly. “Remind me to keep a card or something from the restaurant, she loves their pasta. We can come back when she’s older.”

Her nerves have increased tenfold at the mere mention of that godforsaken app.

Her instagram had never been a big deal before - private since the day she started her account, she only really ever had friends from school and work on there. She never posted in search of likes or validation, just to share little updates on her life, but she had to delete it at the start of summer once the requests to follow her started flooding in.

The first barrage had been easy to ignore, but once the zeros started adding up, and the requests went over 10,000, she figured that just getting rid of it would do her a world of good.

Anybody that needed to be updated, she could just text anyway. It wasn’t a big deal, which is why she hasn’t told Nico yet.

She doesn’t want to worry him with the fact that her whole feed had ended up on Twitter somehow anyway - that the thought of posting anything new, and it ending up shared by one of her existing followers to an intrusive gossip account freaks her out. She doesn’t have the energy to whittle down who might be leaking her stuff, so deleting the app entirely and counting the rest of her privacy as a loss had felt like the safest option.

And it’s not like she misses it.

It’s also not like she cares that much about people knowing about her and Nico - she’d scream from the rooftops about him if she could - but the lack of control scares her a little.

It’s all so invasive - seeing herself cropped out of group pictures, with threads of discourse about her, her life, her relationship with Nico and the rest of the team. Everything twisted so far out of context she starts to question her own reality.

She had sought advice from Nina about the whole thing, and the two of them had agreed that between themselves, they could figure things out - documenting their summer just for them, without stressing Nico out about what was happening behind the scenes. And she’s grateful, at least, that she has someone like Nina in her corner - who understands what it feels like, to an extent.

Telling Nico would just make him feel guilty, or, even worse, apologise for something that isn’t his fault, and so all she can really do is avoid it altogether.

She hardly posted on there anyway.

“We should probably figure out her name, soon, you know,”

Poppy snaps out of her thoughts to look up at him, twisting his lips nervously as he checks on her.

“We can’t call her Cheeto forever.”

“We can. That’s her name.”

Nico chuckles as he guides are across the street with a hand on her back, the restaurant now in sight - a small, family business, not too fancy, the kind with the most delicious recipes past down generations and made to perfection.

She loves places like this - much prefers it to fancier joints - where they can sit side by side at a small table and bask in the intimacy of it all.

An older gentleman smiles warmly at the two of them when they walk in hand in hand, and guides them to a table in the outdoor section at the back, a lit candle and a single rose in the middle of the set-up, and the starry night sky twinkling above them.

She knows exactly why she’s nervous.

It’s the first date she’s been on in a long time - her first official date with Nico, period, and it takes her back to being a little younger, when she first started going on dates, first started opening up to the idea of sharing herself with anybody else. It’s daunting, even if he is already the love of her life. Even if she’s pregnant with his child, integrated into his family, and returning to Jersey in a matter of weeks to the apartment they now share.

He helps her into her seat, pulling his around from the opposite side of the table so they can sit together how she likes, his hand immediately finding where her legs cross beneath the table and stroking at her bare skin. The waiter hands the two of them menus, and Nico asks if he can bring water with ice for the table before he nods and departs, leaving them alone.

“This is really nice, baby,” she smiles, gratefully, eyes roaming over how soft his features look out in the dimmed light, chocolate irises twinkling as they reflect the flickering flame in the centre of the table.

“Only the best for my girls,” he says lowly, and the two of them sit and smile dopily at one another and making light conversation until the waiter returns. Nico says something that Poppy hasn’t quite learned yet in his language, only just about making out the word pen before Nico takes one from the man with an appreciative thank you before he leaves again. He reaches across the table for the napkins that sit beneath their cutlery, sliding one in front of her before writing on the one in front of himself behind his other hand, hiding whatever he’s doing until he folds the paper.

“I want you to write down the name that’s on the top of your list. Then we’re gonna close our eyes and shuffle them up and pick one.”

“How do you know I have a list?” She frowns, taking the pen when he offers it over to her.

“Because you make a list for the pros and cons of what takeout we’re ordering, Poppy. Of course you have a list to name our daughter.”

She rolls her eyes, covering her napkin as she pauses with a hovered pen.

She does have a list. And she has a definitive number one.

It hadn’t even been an option before the summer, but she’s found herself imagining the name more and more over the past few weeks. Embroidered on blankets, written into birthday cards for the boys, etched into a personalised wooden bookcase like the kind she had as a little girl.

Nico is right. She isn’t going to be Cheeto forever.

“You know,” Poppy leans back to hide her paper as she writes her name down, her legs angled toward his as his hand strokes softly again up her calf, his napkin clutched tight in his other hand. “Most people don’t pick out baby names on their first date.”

“This isn’t our first date,” he scoffs, eyes narrowing at her as she folds her own. “We’ve been on dates before.”

“Name one.” Her head tilts as she challenges him, eyes meeting his as she waits for him to come up with something.

“All those times we grabbed dinner together back in Jersey,”

“Not dates.”

“There were several candles lit, Poppy.” Nico frowns, and Poppy’s lips twist as the crease between his eyebrows deepens as he thinks back on it. “All those times we got food before or after your scans, and movie nights at your place with takeout-,”

“Not dates. You have to specifically ask for those to have been dates, they were more like hang-outs.” She repeats, a hand reaching out to place itself on his knee, thumb rubbing against the linen of his pants, countering before he can bite back, “But that’s okay, I like this being our first. We’re making our own order.”

“What like getting pregnant before we’re in a relationship?”

“Exactly. Structure is boring. I like the idea of waking up and you deciding today’s the day to put me in your will and tomorrow’s the day to learn my middle name.”

“I thought you didn’t have a middle name.”

Poppy smiles, close-lipped and big, like she’s holding in laughter as she reaches up to caress his face. She kind of doesn’t want to burst his bubble - sweet, naive but well-intentioned Nico, who thinks he knows her like the back of his hand - but she wants to prove her point, more. “Giselle. After my Nanna Gigi.”

“Poppy Giselle Jensen?” He asks, mouth agape as she nods. “You’re telling me I knocked you up before I even knew your full name?”

“Way to make it sound romantic,” she mocks, just as he had, earlier on the beach, tucking his hair behind his ear and shuffling a little in her seat, legs tangling even more with his under the table. “I think it’s cool that we get to learn new things about each other all the time.”

“What have you learned about me?” His voice drops an octave, thumb stroking at her skin in an attempt to distract, but she isn’t giving in to him.

“I spent a week with your mom and sister while you were training out in Tenerife, babe, I know all your secrets from all the photo albums we went through.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah,” she smirks, “Little blonde baby Nico with his big, pretty brown eyes and his bowl cut. I saw everything.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouts, grasping at her ankle, “You have the upper hand.”

“You saw me with my head in a toilet bowl for like 3 months straight, I think we’re even.”

“Speaking of,” he places his folded napkin down onto the table and slides it beside hers, “Close your eyes, I’ll mix them up.”

Poppy closes her eyes, but pouts a little as she hears him shuffle the napkins around. There was no speaking of - she was talking about puking. That wasn’t necessarily speaking of their daughter. He’s just deflecting attention from his bowl cut, she thinks, but she has extensive plans for revisiting that one. Preferably with backup, when their daughter is old enough to join in.

“Alright, now I’m gonna close my eyes, and you mix them up.”

She peeks her eyes open to see his scrunched closed, and smiles to herself as she mixes the two identically folded napkins on the table, nudging him with her knee to let him know when she’s finished.

Her heart starts to pound all of a sudden when his eyes flutter open, those perfect brown eyes darting straight to hers, and she holds her breath in anticipation.

“You pick.” He tells her, sliding the two napkins toward her.

She does so without looking, unfolding it in her lap and holding it against her palm so that he can’t see.

Her lips twist as she eyes the familiar name, a sense of victory swirling in her gut until the reality of it crashes down on her, her eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

That isn’t her handwriting.

“It means ray of sunlight in Persian,” Nico tells her, peeking down at the name written in the palm of her hands, already knowing from her reaction which napkin she had chosen. “Or beautiful girl.”

“Like you know anything in Persian,” she scoffs, “It’s just your brother and sister’s names combined.”

Nico frowns, “What?” He whines in denial, a poor attempt at lying that automatically makes Poppy’s lips turn at the corners, “How would you even think of that? I’ll let you know, I did extensive research, okay, I-,”

Poppy opens the other napkin up where it sits on the surface of the table, the exact same name scrawled in the centre in her handwriting.

Lina.

Nico smiles, slow but big, cheeks dimpling and eyes crinkling, and Poppy feels those nerves in her stomach swirl into something else, entirely. Her hands start to shake and her eyes start to water as soon as his gaze meets hers, pride shining through every pore of his features.

“That’s fate, Mohn,” he breathes, leaning closer, his chair shuffling against the floor as he reaches out to caress her face softly, palms pressed at either side of her jaw. “We wrote the same name.”

“I know,” she whispers, feeling a tear slip out that he catches immediately with the pad of his thumb.

“You wanna name her after my brother and sister?”

“I do.” She nods. Of course she does.

Not only has she seen how much they mean to Nico over the last couple of months, but they’ve started to mean as much to her, too - providing her with a sibling bond she’s never really experienced with Oli, one of unconditional love and support, admiration and affection.

She wants her daughter to embody that too.

To be a beacon of love.

A ray of sunlight.

“Lina Cheeto Hischier.”

Nico’s dimpled smile turns into laughter that erupts from the depths of his belly, and fills Poppy with elation, her body turning to jelly as he pulls her in until their lips press together, giggling against each others mouths until Nico feels the need to part, his head leaning down toward Poppy’s bump, where their daughter lays once again, butt to the front, ready to cause her mother a night of grief.

“Don’t worry Lina-bug,” he whispers, eyes drifting up to meet Poppy’s, her heart soaring at the sweet, definitely pre-meditated nickname. “We’ll work on the middle name.”

“Maybe something Persian,” Poppy scoffs, her own neck craning to speak toward her stomach, her hand falling to stroke it at the side, “Considering your daddy’s such an expert, all of a sudden.”

“I thought you might need convincing,” he chuckles, “I promise I looked it up.”

He leans in to kiss her again.

“I love you,” she whispers against his lips, “So much.”

“I love you more.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk @dasiysthings @belladawnidk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw)

#nico hischier #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fanfiction #nico hischier x oc #nhl fanfiction #*oys #*writing #gang I wish I could bang out 20k words every 10 days like I used to #but thanks for being patient with me!!!!#ONCE AGAIN #NEVER PROOFREAD #I also kind of rushed the ending but 🤷‍♀️ what can you do

149 notes · View notes

djarins-cyare · 8 months ago

Text

WIP Weekend

In my last WIP post, I mentioned I was 18k words into my Secret Relationship fic for the Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge, and it had turned into something much longer than I intended. Sooo, yeah, um… it’s now reached ~40k words!

I’d planned to start posting it next weekend, but my firm got audited so I lost a couple of weeks due to working overtime, and I still have three chapters left to write. So I think it’s gonna be a Christmas release now. Sorry for the wait.

But over the last few weeks, I’ve been tagged in WIP posts by @burntheedges, @papurgaatika, @almostfoxglove, @djarinmuse, and @the-mandawhor1an (thank you, my lovelies! 💚), and with my excuses comes another snippet to tide you over until I can release it…

Please check out my last two WIP posts for additional snippets from earlier in the fic, here and here.

I’m switching it up and giving you one from Din’s POV today; the context is that she’s trying to convince him to come to a show the following night (despite Uncle Karga’s vehement disapproval of them being anywhere near each other)…

Her focus drops to her efforts on his dick as she skilfully adjusts her angle without missing a stroke, but he nudges her chin with his thumb. “Look at me, senaar’ika,” he commands through heavy breaths. When he has her attention again, he breathes, “Tion’jor neliser ni nevore gar?” Her eyes shimmer like starlight whenever he speaks Mando’a to her – like she loves to hear it, even though she doesn’t understand it. It’s why he persists in speaking to her in an almost dead language. Now, though, she answers his question with one of her own. “You gonna come, Mando? Please come….” She could be talking about right now or tomorrow night, but they’re both foregone conclusions. “Yes, fuck,” he gasps, his mouth spilling his agreement about ten seconds before his cock is due to spill his seed. The heat gathering low in his belly flares lower to engulf his balls, and the inferno of his orgasm brightens as it builds. She stokes him for all he’s worth, soft hand on silken skin, eyes still sparkling like the fuse that sizzles inside him… …and it magnifies and spreads, so fiercely thrilling that the alley falls away, and it’s just him and his senaar’ika and the silent symphony of pleasure she’s conducting… …and in an instant, a door swishes, a footstep sounds, and Din is tearing her hand from his pants, drawing his blaster, and moving his body to shield hers. The adrenaline from his impending climax converts into combat readiness, but the low growl that erupts through his vocoder is equal parts anger and anguish. “You two out here?” Yerma’s rich and golden tones dissolve his tension, leaving him with the sullen agony of an orgasm snatched away. The ache in his balls, the sting in his pride, and the regret in his heart all battle for top ranking in his pantheon of displeasure. “What’s up?” his alleyway companion calls out with enviable poise, stepping past him and around the stack of crates to stop Yerma from coming any closer. He takes the cue to hastily rearrange his underwear and zip up his pants, his erection deflating rapidly alongside his hope. This was a bad idea. As if to illustrate his thought, the Twi’lek states six concerning words. “Your uncle’s in the cafe, sweetie.”

Poor Din! 😬

Tion’jor neliser ni nevore gar? – Why can’t I say no to you?

If you don’t already know what his name for her (senaar’ika) means, I won’t spoil it because it’s vaguely plot-relevant.

If you’re interested in being tagged when I release this, please raise your hand or let me know in whatever way you prefer to communicate. You can also join my tag list if you like.

In the interests of making new friends and being sociable, I thought I should make an effort to tag more widely in WIP posts. I know that since I only write for Din and not all of you are particularly Din girlies (gn), some of you may not be interested in my fics, but I read other Pedro boy fics sometimes (Joel, mostly), and if I’ve tagged you below, it means I think you’re a fantastic writer 💚

No pressure to do a WIP post, or if you’d like to but don’t have anything to share or you’ve already posted this week, feel free to hold onto this tag for whenever’s convenient (that’s what I do 😆) or share something non-WIP related.

@ace-turned-confused @ak-vintage @alltheirdamn @alltheotps @almostempty

@alwaysmicado @ameerawrites @arcanefox207 @aurorawritestoescape @avastrasposts

@baronessvonglitter @beardedjoel @beefrobeefcal @bitchesuntitled @bluestar22x

@cas-readsandwrites @chiriwritesstuff @chronically-ghosted @clawdee @covetyou

@din-cognito @draculasfavoritewife @firstofficerwiggles @guiltyasdave @hapan-in-exile

@itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvest @jeewrites @jennaispunk @joelstummy

@justagalwhowrites @luxurychristmaspudding @mermaidgirl30 @milla-frenchy @moeswriting

@mothandpidgeon @mrsmando @murder-wife @novemberrain-writes @orcasoul

@ozarkthedog @pedgito @pedrospatch @perotovar @quinnnfabrgay-writes

@sawymredfox @schnarfer @soft-persephone @sweetpascal @thischarmingmandalorian

I’m also tagging my regular tag list since this is a snippet of an upcoming fic and a posting schedule update. Thank you all for your support 💚

@chiyo13 @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @lilac-boo @lucienofthelakes

@pigeonmama @punkygreeny @syd-djarin @wrathkitty

167 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 6 months ago

Text

The Somerset Affair

Chapter 4: The Duke Who Loved Me

pairing: lsk x fem!reader genre: Bridgerton AU, friends to (?????) to eventual lovers, brother’s best friend, SLOWWWW BURNNN chapter wc: 8.0k warnings: alcohol consumption, societal expectations, eventual smut, more to be added a/n: ok i know this is long overdue but ENJOYYYYY // as always, ENORMOUS thanks to indi @wongyuseokie for this GORGEOUSSSS banner // and to my lovely betas shu @welcometomyoasis lou @tusswrites haneul @chanranghaeys this could not have happened without you // part 5 is in the works rn!

summary: your engagement to Lord Yoon Jeonghan will be nothing short of perfect. You will make sure of it.

comment to be tagged when chapters are posted, or join the my taglist here!

The morning sun filters through the grand windows of the drawing room, casting warm patches of light onto the plush carpets and fine upholstery. The air is filled with the subtle scent of bergamot from your mother’s tea and the quiet rustle of her lace fan as she sits beside you, pleasantly engaged in conversation. Minghao, reclining with a book in one hand, seems content to observe, his eyes flicking up occasionally, assessing with that quiet, perceptive gaze of his.

A servant enters, announcing with a slight bow, “Lord Yoon, for Miss Xu.”

Jeonghan steps in, exuding a refined elegance, his appearance crisp and perfectly polished. In his hands, he carries two bouquets—an artfully arranged bouquet of roses for your mother and a softer bundle of daisies for you.

“Oh, Lord Yoon!” Your mother’s face lights up with delighted surprise as he presents her with the roses. “Such beautiful flowers! You spoil us, my lord,” she coos, taking them with clear admiration.

Jeonghan turns to you next, extending the daisies with a warm, almost conspiratorial smile. “These, Miss Xu, are for you.” His gaze lingers just a moment longer than it should, his eyes holding a silent promise.

You accept them, feeling your pulse quicken despite your best efforts at composure. “Thank you, my lord. They’re lovely,” you reply, your voice steady yet soft.

The light streams through the drawing room, catching on delicate patterns in the wallpaper, illuminating the intricate tapestry of flowers on your mother’s dress. She sits forward, her face lit with excitement, as if this visit from Jeonghan is a personal victory.

Jeonghan’s bouquet fills the room with a faint scent of wildflowers, light and pleasant, yet somehow starkly out of place in this space where every gesture feels rehearsed. The daisies he offered you lie lightly in your lap, their cheerful brightness a contrast to the steady, almost unfeeling exchange that has just unfolded. His eyes meet yours for a brief, knowing second, and there’s a flicker of mutual understanding beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of what this marriage truly is—a carefully crafted arrangement, one that neither of you expects to fill with romance.

As Jeonghan addresses Minghao, his voice is calm, almost clinical. “Lord Xu Minghao, I come to you today with the hope of asking for your sister’s hand in marriage.” There is no impassioned plea, no pretense of romantic affection—only a polite tone as he lays out his intentions, as though presenting a proposition in a business deal.

Minghao’s gaze sharpens as he turns to you, his eyebrows raised slightly in silent question. He knows you better than anyone; he knows why Jeonghan’s proposal isn’t shocking, why you don’t hesitate. The room is quiet, and your mother leans forward in her seat, her excitement radiating out in delicate bursts like the sweet scent of her tea, oblivious to the subtleties of the exchange.

Clearing his throat, Minghao shifts in his seat and addresses Jeonghan with his usual calm. “Lord Yoon, I know better than to answer for my sister.”

All eyes turn to you, and the room feels suspended, like the world itself has paused to witness your response. “Yes, my lord,” you say, the words escaping your lips in a careful, measured tone. “I shall.” And there it is—final, as much a confirmation of acceptance as a concession.

Jeonghan’s faint smile returns, polite but distant, as if his mind is already on other matters. He is not the lover you dreamed of, and you are not the woman he once allowed himself to yearn for; you both know this, and perhaps that is why it works so well. The arrangement is neat, efficient, each of you choosing the practical over the sentimental, the future over desire.

Your mother, however, cannot contain her delight. “Oh, this is wonderful! A fine match indeed!” she exclaims, her fan fluttering excitedly in her hand. She glows with pride as if this alliance were a personal triumph, her dreams for you fulfilled without understanding the true weight of the moment.

The silence that follows feels heavy, like an agreement quietly sealed, and as you look down at the daisies in your lap, the cheerful white petals suddenly seem out of place in the drawing room, a reminder of a life that might have been. Jeonghan, still standing beside you, inclines his head just slightly. His glance is fleeting, but there’s something in it—a flicker of empathy, perhaps. Just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by the calm, composed mask that both of you have agreed to wear.

Jeonghan turns to you as he prepares to leave, his gaze softening ever so slightly. For a moment, the polite distance in his eyes fades, replaced by a warmth you hadn’t anticipated. He takes your hand, his fingers cool but steady as he lifts it gently to his lips.

“Until next we meet,” he says, his voice low but warm, carrying a sincerity that feels entirely unfeigned. He brushes his lips softly against your knuckles, the gesture tender enough to feel both comforting and bittersweet. As he looks up, a gentle smile graces his face, one that holds neither expectation nor demand—only a quiet understanding, a rare kindness beneath the formalities.

The touch lingers even after he releases your hand, and in the hush that follows, you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, despite the arrangement you’ve agreed upon, Jeonghan will bring a certain gentleness to the role he has taken on.

As he steps back and bids your family farewell, your mother practically glows, her happiness radiating through the room like sunlight through lace. Jeonghan’s parting glance catches yours, a hint of reassurance in his gaze, as if to say he’ll uphold his part of the pact with grace, that this arrangement—though devoid of romance—will be one rooted in quiet respect.

Minghao finds you beneath the old swing, nestled among the twisting garden vines and the soft crunch of autumn leaves. You hardly hear him approach, lost in thought as you watch smoke curl from the cigarette you’d pilfered from his room yet again. Each puff you take burns slightly in your lungs, though the familiar sting feels oddly soothing tonight.

“Nicked another one, have you?” he teases as he sits down at your feet, stretching his legs out lazily on the grass. Without waiting, he holds his hand out, gesturing for you to pass the cigarette. “If this becomes a habit, I’ll have to report you to Mother. Thievery wasn’t exactly on your lesson plan.”

“Oh, hush,” you mutter, flicking a stray leaf toward him in mock annoyance. But the tension in your body gives you away, your shoulders stiff beneath his watchful gaze.

He watches you closely, his gaze quiet and discerning as he brings the cigarette to his lips. The glow of the ember casts a brief, warm light across his face, highlighting the concern in his expression. Minghao inhales, then exhales a plume of smoke that drifts around the both of you in wisps, curling lazily into the air. The scent mingles with the earthy richness of the garden, settling between you like an unspoken question.

For a moment, there’s only the soft creak of the swing and the distant hum of cicadas, the two of you wrapped in a fragile peace.

“You know,” he says at last, breaking the silence. “It isn’t too late to change your mind. Mother may be overjoyed, but I know you. You would only say yes if…” He trails off, letting the implication hang in the still air.

You scoff, but it’s softer than usual. “What are you implying?”

Minghao studies you, his gaze level and piercing, then asks plainly, “Do you love him?”

You pause, watching the glow of the cigarette dim between your fingers. “I… respect him. And he respects me.”

Minghao’s eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s turning your answer over, searching for the truth beneath it. “But you don’t love him,” he says softly. “Not like you love Seokmin.”

Your breath catches, and you quickly look away, the sting of his words more potent than the cigarette’s burn. The thought of Seokmin’s name hanging in the air between you is almost unbearable. “How long have you known?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I am your brother, Y/N. I’m not blind, no matter how oblivious some of the company I keep may be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks in a wry smile, but his gaze is tender. You find a slight comfort in it, and for a moment, you feel the urge to tell him everything—to let yourself be held by the simple warmth of his understanding. But you hold back, your jaw set in a familiar, resolute line.

“Does he know?” you ask finally.

“No,” Minghao replies after a moment. “At least, I don’t think so.”

The words settle heavily between you, and the silence stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the faint crackle of the cigarette as Minghao takes another slow drag. He hands it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange, grounding you. The faint tremor in your hands feels all too telling, but you steady yourself, forcing composure.

“You truly want to marry Yoon Jeonghan?” he asks quietly, almost like a plea. “Even though you’ll never love him?”

“Love isn’t in the cards for me,” you reply, each word measured and calm. “Besides, brother, what else would you have me do?”

His brow knits together, and he leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “Stay,” he says, voice thick with urgency. “Stay here, with me and Mother.”

You let out a breath, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “Please, brother. You know that would send our dear mama to an early grave. A loveless marriage is better than none at all.” You draw in a deep breath, the smoky tendrils filling your lungs. “What happens when you can no longer provide for me?”

He bristles, his voice fierce. “I’ll always provide for you.”

“I know. That’s not what I meant,” you say, your voice softening as you look at him. His expression shifts, and he nods, understanding passing between you in the quiet.

A heavy silence falls, interrupted only by the soft crackling of the cigarette as you pass it back and forth, each drag punctuating the night air with a faint, bitter tang. The smoke lingers around you, a hazy veil that cloaks the unsaid words, the hidden fears, the ache of dreams surrendered.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his voice a mere whisper, carrying the weight of resignation. “So you are to be married.”

You nod, your fingers grazing the cigarette one last time before you extinguish it in the grass, grinding the last ember beneath your thumb. “So I am,” you say, a finality settling over the words as you both gaze into the dark, each lost in the flickering embers of what could have been.

The church’s thick stone walls seem to press in, trapping every sound, every movement, as though the weight of centuries hangs in the air. The fragrance of lilies and incense mingles into something heady, almost suffocating, filling your lungs with every breath. From the stained-glass windows, slanted bands of sunlight cut through the space, spilling ruby, sapphire, and amber hues across the dark wood of the pews. You keep your gaze fixed ahead, forcing yourself to breathe slowly, to project nothing but composure.

Then the cardinal’s voice cuts through the silence.

“I publish the banns of marriage between Lord Yoon Jeonghan, and Miss Xu Y/N. They are to be married in three weeks. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these persons should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. ”

The words land heavy, echoing through the cathedral and settling over you like a thick veil. For a moment, it feels as though the world has been carved in two, time splintering around that proclamation.

Across the aisle, there’s a sharp intake of breath. Seokmin’s entire frame goes rigid, his back snapping straight as if he’s been struck. He turns to look at you, his movement quick and desperate, and his eyes find yours, wide with shock and something far deeper, something close to despair. His mouth opens, but no words come. You feel his gaze drilling into you, intense and searching, as though he’s willing you to look away—to give him anything but the confirmation of what’s just been read aloud.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, and your throat tightens with the urge to cry out, to take it all back. But you force the tremor down, and at that moment, you feel Minghao’s hand slide over yours, his steady, grounding warmth the only thing keeping you from breaking. His grip is strong, his fingers curling over yours in silent reassurance, and you clutch onto him as though he’s a lifeline.

Across the aisle, Jeonghan meets your gaze, a calm confidence emanating from his gaze, like the unwavering stone of the church itself. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation of the pact between you—a pact that is anything but romantic, but unbreakable all the same.

When the service ends, and the congregation rises, their whispers a growing swell of murmurs, Jeonghan strides toward you with that same unruffled grace, his every step measured and unhurried. But before he can reach you, Seokmin is there, his hand outstretched, his face a mask of disbelief.

Jeonghan glances at him, his eyes flicking to you, reading your expression before he steps back, giving the two of you a semblance of privacy.

“Are you marrying Yoon Jeonghan?” Seokmin’s voice is low, tight, his face a mix of anger and pleading. The words come out hoarse, as if he’s forcing them past a stone lodged in his throat.

“Yes, Seokmin,” you reply quietly, your voice controlled but aching. “The cardinal just read the banns.”

He stares, and you see him search your face, looking for any trace of the girl he once knew, perhaps hoping for a flash of hesitation that would betray you. Instead, you lift your chin, steeling yourself against the helplessness etched into his features.

“But he’s a scoundrel!” he insists, his voice thick with desperation.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, though it feels hollow. “You have much audacity to speak of scoundrels before me, my lord.” You pause, letting the words settle. “Lord Yoon is kind to me, and he has always respected me. His attention has never been out of pity, nor at the behest of another.”

A flicker of pain crosses Seokmin’s face, and he drops his gaze, your words striking a chord that silences him. His fingers flex, grasping at air as though there’s something he wishes he could say, something he wishes he could fix, but the moment has already passed. You turn, letting the silence grow between you, feeling the weight of his unspoken words fall away.

As you make your way to the back of the church, Jeonghan stands waiting, his posture relaxed, as though he has been waiting patiently his entire life. He offers you his arm, the small smile on his lips almost kind, and you accept, feeling his warmth against you as you step together into the sunlight outside.

The murmurs rise from the crowd that’s gathered, their gazes a mixture of awe and curiosity as they watch the newest couple of the season descend the church steps. The sun casts a golden glow over the stone path, illuminating the two of you as you walk together, each step echoing in the stillness. Just as you reach the final stair, Jeonghan glances over at you, his eyes softening as he reaches into his pocket.

Without a word, he holds out a handkerchief, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he passes it to you.

“You’re crying,” he says softly, his voice gentle, his eyes searching yours with something that might almost be tenderness.

The dampness at the corners of your eyes betrays you. You take the handkerchief, feeling the cool linen against your fingertips as you bring it to your face, dabbing away the tears that have slipped past your defenses. A small, appreciative nod is all you manage, and Jeonghan’s hand remains extended, waiting patiently for you to accept the support he offers in silence.

You take his arm once more, and together you walk toward the waiting carriages, leaving behind the whispers, the stares, and the man you love, your steps a steady beat against the uncertainties that lie ahead.

The air is electric with anticipation, and you can feel the weight of every gaze in the room before you even step into the lavish ballroom. The future Viscountess of Hastings, they will say, the supposedly hopeless spinster who somehow captured the heart of one of Mayfair’s most eligible bachelors. Perhaps that's why your mother is a whirlwind of excitement, her chatter endless as she flits around the room, adjusting the last few details of your appearance while your lady's maid fusses with your hair and gown.

Your dress tonight is a ravishing turquoise, its fabric flowing like water around you, hugging your figure before cascading into a graceful skirt that swirls with every step. The neckline is artfully crafted, a delicate off-the-shoulder design that highlights your collarbones and frames your face, drawing attention to the soft curve of your neck. The fabric shimmers in the candlelight, the color reflecting hues of the deep sea, rich and vibrant, evoking the image of sunlit waves. A hint of silver thread weaves through the gown, catching the light as you move, creating an illusion of movement, as though the ocean itself were swirling around you. Your mother’s excited chatter fills the air, but you find yourself lost in your own thoughts, momentarily detached from the flurry of activity.

You catch a glimpse of the ring Jeonghan slid onto your finger during the carriage ride home, its beauty undeniable as it glistens under the soft glow of the lamps in your room. The polished rose gold band curves gently, embracing a single, lustrous pearl at its center. The pearl shines with a soft luminescence, hints of ivory and blush swirling within, exuding a quiet elegance as if it held whispers of its own secrets. It’s exquisite and understated, a piece that commands attention without being ostentatious. Jeonghan had presented it to you with little flourish, his fingers pushing the ring onto your finger as you stared out the window, deep in thought.

“Jeonghan,” you gasped, the words slipping from your lips as the reality of its beauty settled in. “It’s beautiful.”

His lips quirked at that, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth before something deeper flickered in his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured, fingers pulling at his too-tight cravat, a hint of discomfort crossing his features. “I had it made some years ago.”

“For—”

“Yes,” he cut you off gently, his tone firm yet soft. “For Lady Choi.”

The weight of those words hung between you, thick and heavy, silencing the room as he gazed out the window, his expression closing off. You chose not to pry, twisting the ring around your finger, feeling the coolness of the pearl against your skin as your thoughts drifted to the man you had left behind in the chapel.

“Oh, darling,” your mother’s voice pierces through the haze of your reverie, snapping you back to the present. “You look beautiful. A true viscountess.”

You hummed in agreement, your eyes drawn to your reflection in the mirror. Your ladies' maids had truly outdone themselves. The intricate braids of your hair were artfully woven together, sparkling gems and pearls interspersed throughout, echoing the beauty of your ring. The delicate tendrils framing your face were styled to perfection, soft curls cascading down your shoulders like a waterfall of silk. In the soft glow of the lamp light, your complexion looked radiant, enhanced by the glow of the pearls nestled in your hair. You twist the pearl again, adjusting it until it feels right, then straighten your back, donning the façade of a viscountess—a true leader of society.

Jeonghan is a good man, you remind yourself, forcing a smile as you repeat the mantra. He shall be a good friend.

As the carriage rolls to a halt at the FitzWilliam estate, the sounds of the ball waft through the air, laughter and music melding into a sweet symphony that invites you into its depths. You step out, and Jeonghan is already waiting, his demeanor calm and collected as he extends an arm for you to grasp.

The main hall is alive with opulence, chandeliers casting golden light that dances off polished marble floors. The scent of rich perfumes and expensive colognes mingle in the air, thick with the promise of high society and whispered secrets. Impeccably dressed couples twirl across the dance floor, their laughter echoing like a soft refrain, while clusters of guests gather, engaged in hushed conversations punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

You take a deep breath, feeling a pang in your chest as you remember the last time you stood in this very room, the night Seokmin broke your heart. The echo of his laughter, the way he moved so effortlessly through the crowd—memories flood back, bittersweet and sharp, threatening to steal your composure.

Sensing your unease, Jeonghan nudges you gently, his presence a steadying force. “Look,” he murmurs, gesturing to his cravat, which matches the deep turquoise of your dress perfectly. “We match.”

That’s enough to elicit a light laugh from you, a sound that feels foreign and welcome at once. Jeonghan’s grin broadens, and the warmth of his gaze brings you a measure of comfort as you allow yourself to relax in his arms.

Your hopes for an uneventful night are dashed almost immediately when Seokmin catches your eye. The moment his gaze lands on you, something flickers across his face—an emotion you can’t quite place, his brows furrowing slightly before he glances down at your arm linked with Jeonghan's. His eyes trail from the vibrant turquoise of your dress, down to your arm in Jeonghan’s, and finally to the gleaming pearl ring on your finger. Then, without warning, he turns away, his shoulders tightening and a slight movement that lodges itself in your throat like a stone, heavy and uncomfortable.

Your mother, oblivious to the tension, all but shoves you and Jeonghan toward the dance floor as the next waltz begins, her voice bright with excitement as she declares, “The next bride and groom of the ton must have their moment to shine!” Jeonghan chuckles at her enthusiasm, a warm, carefree sound that dances in the air, as he gently tugs you into the throng of swirling gowns and polished shoes. The orchestra strikes up a lively quadrille, and you quickly lose yourself in the rhythm, the world narrowing down to the two of you, grinning up at Jeonghan every time you find yourselves partnered again.

In your breathless excitement, you barely notice the whispers of the ton, a familiar backdrop to your existence as they observe your every misstep with keen interest. But Seokmin’s gaze remains like a hot brand against your skin, intense and unyielding, making it hard to breathe. You feel the weight of his eyes like an anchor, and it draws your attention back to him against your will.

“Do not look at him,” Jeonghan murmurs, his voice low and steady as he twirls you beneath his arm, his grip firm yet gentle. His eyes search yours for a moment, grounding you, before he adds, “Look only at me, Y/N.”

You nod, your heart racing, and it's easy to follow his command, to lose yourself in the warmth of his smile and the way his eyes light up with every turn. Jeonghan moves gracefully, the two of you swirling together, his laughter mingling with the music. But just as quickly, his cool facade slips—he trips slightly on your flowing dress, and for a brief moment, his expression falters. His eyes dart toward the edge of the dance floor, tension radiating from his frame. When you follow his line of sight, your heart sinks.

The ever-enigmatic Lady Choi has graced the ball with her presence, and her gaze is locked on your fiancé, unwavering and knowing. When she catches Jeonghan staring, a slow, deliberate smile spreads across her lips, and she subtly nods her head toward the door. Jeonghan falters again, his brow creasing with worry as he shifts his weight, uncertain.

“You should go,” you urge gently, your voice barely above a whisper, and you lean in closer to him, the warmth of his body reassuring yet electric. He looks down at you, surprise etched across his features, his grip on your hand tightening involuntarily.

“No, I… I shouldn’t—I shan’t—” he stutters, attempting to regain his composure as he starts the next sequence of steps with an uncharacteristic bravado, but the confidence doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jeonghan,” you murmur, your grip on his hand tightening as you lean in closer, your heart aching for him. “Go.”

“In the middle of a dance? What will the ton say about the viscount who leaves his new fiancée? What will become of you?” His concern is genuine, but it only adds to the pressure building within you, and you can see his throat bob as he swallows hard.

“It is nothing I have not handled before, my lord,” you tease lightly, a playful smile curving your lips as you step back and curtsy with a playful flourish. Jeonghan bows in return, though you can see the conflict in his eyes, and in that moment, you watch him leave you alone on the dance floor, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Your mother gasps from the edge of the dance floor, her shock palpable, and you can feel the heat rise to your cheeks at the attention. Minghao quickly attempts to soothe her, sharing a knowing glance with you that promises support as you excuse yourself for a refreshment.

Seokmin finds you at the drink table, his expression taut and focused, as though he’s been waiting for you. “He left you,” he states, his voice low but firm, eyebrows drawing together in disapproval.

“Good evening to you as well, Lord Lee. Quite hot, isn’t it?” You reply, your tone light as you feign nonchalance, but your heart races beneath his scrutinizing gaze.

“Y/N, he left you. His fiancée,” he presses, the weight of his words heavy in the air, and he leans closer, the intensity of his focus making it hard to hold his gaze.

“Yes, Seokmin, I do have fully functioning sight. I saw him leave.” You can’t help the bite in your tone as you straighten, the defiance rising within you.

“And what was so important that he had to abandon you in your first night out as a couple?” His voice sharpens, laced with an urgency that makes your heart clench.

“I do not need you to defend my honor, my lord. Nor do I need to explain my fiancé to you.” Your eyes flash, and you can feel the heat of your anger boiling beneath the surface.

With a huff, he turns away, frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw, leaving you alone at the table. You sip your lemonade, trying to ignore the murmurs that swirl around you, the familiar buzz of speculation and gossip that seems to cling to your skin like a second layer. Just then, Minghao finds you, his expression serious yet concerned.

“Walk with me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument, and you can see the protective glint in his eye.

As you begin to move through the crowd, he squeezes your hand reassuringly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Are you alright?” he asks, concern lacing his voice as he studies your face.

“Quite, brother,” you assure him, though your heart feels heavy.

“Seokmin is quite upset. I would have been as well, had I not known what is happening between you and Lord Yoon.” His gaze softens slightly, but it’s clear he’s trying to gauge your emotions.

“Thank you for your understanding,” you reply, your heart swelling with gratitude.

“Was she here? The woman he loves?” Minghao’s question is gentle but probing, his concern evident as he meets your eyes.

“Yes,” you whisper softly, the admission tasting bitter on your tongue, and you can feel a weight settling in your chest.

“I see.” He nods slowly, processing the gravity of your words. “Are you truly alright with this?” His voice is steady, but there’s a hint of uncertainty beneath it.

“Yes,” you affirm, though your voice shakes slightly, a part of you longing for reassurance.

“Then I shan’t bother you about it any longer. I must tend to Mother—if you need me, we shall be at the edges of the dance floor.”

“Brother?” You call after him as he turns away, the crowd shifting around you. “Thank you.”

His only response is a gentle smile before the crowd swallows him whole. The ballroom thrums with the sound of laughter and music, a whirl of colors and movements that feel distant and dreamlike. Your heart is heavy, and each beat echoes louder than the chatter around you. As you stand alone, the weight of unspoken words presses down on your shoulders like a cloak, and your thoughts swirl like the skirts of the dancers gliding across the floor.

Suddenly, Seokmin strides toward you, his figure slicing through the crowd with a sense of urgency. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, a spark ignites—a mix of anger and something deeper. You can see the tension in his jaw, the way his brow furrows as he approaches, and you brace yourself for confrontation.

“Come with me,” he demands, his voice low but unmistakably firm, carrying an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the heat radiating from him, a force you can’t ignore.

“Seokmin, please, I truly cannot fight with you any longer on this subject—” you start, your voice trembling slightly, but he interrupts, his frustration spilling over like a tide.

“I said come with me!” He grabs your wrist, his grip tight and insistent, forcing you to follow him through the thrumming crowd. The sound of your footsteps reverberates off the marble floors, each echo punctuating the space between you and the safety of the ballroom. The laughter and music fade, replaced by the heavy thrum of your heart and the frantic rustle of your gown.

“Seokmin, you’re hurting me!” you protest, panic creeping into your voice. You feel the pressure of his fingers, warmth mingling with the discomfort. As he glances back at you, anger flickers in his eyes before it softens, just for a moment, revealing a vulnerability that pulls at your heart.

He loosens his grip, but the air between you crackles with tension, a silent battle of wills that feels palpable. “Where are we going?” you ask, concern bleeding into your tone. “My mama will worry, and Minghao, and Jeonghan—”

“Damn Jeonghan!” he snaps, his voice rising, shattering the fragile silence around you. The heat of his words lingers in the air, mixing with the coolness of the corridor.

“Seokmin!” Your cheeks flush with indignation, a mixture of anger and hurt blooming in your chest.

“I told you,” he hisses, urgency fueling his movements as he pulls you further into the shadows of the hallway. The flickering candlelight casts ghostly shadows that dance along the walls, an eerie backdrop to your escalating emotions. “I told you he’s a scoundrel. And you wouldn’t listen—”

“Enough! I will not have you sully his good name. What in God’s name are you trying to accomplish?” you fire back, desperation tinging your words. The air feels thick, heavy with unresolved feelings that twist like vines around your heart.

“Will you listen?” He halts abruptly, spinning to face you, his expression a tempest of frustration. The tension radiates between you, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clench as he gestures toward a small window that overlooks the private gardens. “This is the man you wish to marry?”

He pushes the window open, and moonlight spills into the dim room, illuminating his features with a ghostly glow. Outside, you see Jeonghan, silhouetted against the soft glow of the moon, entangled in a passionate embrace with Lady Choi. A sickening twist of emotion churns in your stomach, a cocktail of heartbreak and unexpected relief; at least one of you gets a taste of the one they love.

“He is a SCOUNDREL,” Seokmin roars, his voice rising with indignation, the words dripping with disdain as he steps closer, his presence a whirlwind of intensity. “I shall duel him for your honor. I must tell Minghao of the grave error you have made—”

“Seokmin—” you start, your voice rising with urgency, but he interrupts again, the fervor in his tone igniting a fire within you.

“We must duel tonight, before the sun rises—”

“SEOKMIN! I knew.” The words escape you, a rush of truth that bursts forth like a dam breaking, raw and unfiltered.

“You—you knew?” His eyes widen, disbelief crashing over him like a wave, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The silence that follows is suffocating, filled only with the quickened rhythm of your breaths and the pounding of your heart. The weight of your confession hangs heavy in the air, thick as smoke.

“Yes.”

His expression contorts, shifting from shock to outrage, and you can feel the air crackling with tension. “You knew he was sinning with a married lady, no less, and you still agreed to marry him? My God, Y/N, I knew you wished to marry, but I didn’t know you would abandon all sense for that!” His hands are balled into fists at his sides, frustration radiating from him like heat from a flame.

Your chest constricts, the familiar ache of longing and sorrow spiraling within you. “Oh, you dolt, it was an arrangement! I knew he loved another, just as he knew I loved another!” You can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, the weight of your heartache spilling over into your voice, echoing off the cold walls.

A heavy silence envelops you both, every breath echoing with unspoken truths. The air feels charged, electric, as the reality of your situation sinks in.

“You love…someone?” he asks, the vulnerability in his voice slicing through the tension like a knife.

“I must go, my mama—” You attempt to break free, but he grasps your wrist again, his fingers warm yet insistent, the touch igniting a spark of something more profound within you. You can't meet his gaze, the shame of your feelings swirling with fear and longing.

“Y/N.” His voice is a soft plea, low and raw, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. The way he says your name sends a shiver through you, and for a moment, you feel as though you are on the brink of something monumental.

“Please, Seokmin.” Your voice trembles, a mixture of desperation and desire, the air thick with unspoken confessions.

“Who? I shall make him pay for everything he has done to you, my dear friend—how dare he—”

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s you!” The words tumble out before you can stop them, the truth bursting forth like a firework exploding in the night sky.

You attempt to retreat, to escape the intensity of the moment, but his grip is unyielding, a tether binding you to him. With a swift motion, he yanks you back, and before you can even process what’s happening, his lips crash onto yours, fierce and unrelenting. You can taste the warmth of his breath, the desperation in his touch, and it wraps around you like a cocoon. For that brief, intoxicating moment, everything else fades away—the hurt, the confusion, the chaotic world outside—leaving only the two of you.

You melt into him, the kiss a torrent of everything unspoken: the longing, the frustration, the fear of what lies ahead. It’s passionate and fierce, as if the very fabric of your souls is interwoven in that moment, a confession without words. His hands cup your face, grounding you as the world blurs around you, leaving just the warmth of his body and the desperate connection that binds you both.

He groans, muttering a curse under his breath, and it ignites something deep in the pit of your stomach. You know this is a terrible position – if anyone were to see you, your reputation, your future, your engagement would be ruined – but when his lips find your pulse point in your throat, all you can do is arch your back with a low keen.

His teeth graze your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, desperate for purchase in this whirlwind of sensation. The rational part of your mind screams at you to stop, to push him away, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch with a hunger you've never known before.

"Seokmin," you gasp, his name a prayer on your lips. He responds with a low growl, pressing you against the wall, his body flush against yours. The heat between you is palpable, electric, threatening to consume you both.

His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You're dizzy with desire, drunk on his touch, on the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingling with the musk of his skin. You know you should stop this, end it before it ruins you.

But you can't bring yourself to end it. Not when his touch feels like salvation, like coming home after years of wandering lost.

"We shouldn't," you manage to whisper between kisses, your words contradicting the wayyour fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

Seokmin pauses, his breath hot against your neck. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, his voice husky and strained.

Before you can even fathom an answer, the sound of footsteps down the corridor sends your mind into a panic. You shove him off, urgently trying to right your dress.

Seokmin stumbles back, his eyes wild and still clouded with the raw emotion of your kiss. His gaze locks onto yours, both of you caught between passion and the creeping dread of what you’ve just done. The footsteps draw nearer, each one a reminder of how close you are to ruin.

The door swings open, and Minghao strides in, his eyes narrowing the instant he takes in the sight of you both—flushed cheeks, disheveled attire, the undeniable aura of something forbidden and unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

“What is the meaning of this?” Minghao’s voice is a blade, slicing through the room with cold fury.

Seokmin straightens, trying to regain his composure, but the guilt is written all over his face. You feel your heart slam against your ribcage, panic curling like smoke in your chest. But Minghao’s gaze stays sharp, unforgiving as he looks between the two of you.

“Seokmin,” he starts, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve dishonored my sister—this is unforgivable. You must either make amends or answer me on the dueling ground at dawn.”

You cast a desperate look toward Seokmin, but his face is tense, unreadable, his own turmoil barely held at bay. He takes a deep breath, then steps forward, addressing Minghao with a steady resolve you didn’t know he possessed.

“Minghao,” Seokmin says, his voice low, respectful. “Please understand. I would never wish harm or shame upon your sister. I care for her deeply—more than I can put into words.”

The air in the room thickens, dense and electric, as if even the walls are holding their breath, waiting for the decision that will shape your fate. Minghao’s stance is rigid, his eyes flashing with anger and something else—concern, maybe fear. It sends a cold wave through you, underscoring the gravity of what he’s demanding. The faint scent of candle wax mingles with the night air creeping through the open window, casting a ghostly glow across the floor.

Your heart races, each beat echoing like a drum in the silence. Your skin still hums with the memory of Seokmin’s touch, the heat of his kiss lingering on your lips like a forbidden brand. You swallow hard, the taste of that moment bittersweet, and glance toward Seokmin. His face is caught between shock and something else—determination, maybe defiance. He’s breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, and his gaze flits between you and Minghao as if assessing the weight of his next words.

“Then prove it,” Minghao says, voice low and slicing through the haze that surrounds you, “or I’ll demand satisfaction for my sister’s honor.”

The word honor hangs heavy in the air, and a slow burn of anger coils in your chest. Your fingers curl into your palms, nails pressing into the skin, grounding you against the urge to scream. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. You never wanted to be caught like this, not in a moment of vulnerability twisted by the presence of an audience. Minghao’s protective stare feels like a chain around your neck, while Seokmin’s gaze—a mixture of apology and restraint—only intensifies the confusion swirling inside you.

“Brother,” you say, forcing your voice steady, though your heart feels as if it’s beating in your throat, “this is unnecessary. I am engaged to another. You know this. To demand a marriage over one moment is—”

Minghao cuts you off, shaking his head. “We both know that arrangement is nothing more than an exchange of power, not a bond of love. But this?” His eyes narrow as he looks at Seokmin, his expression hardening. “This is no mere arrangement. I won’t allow this… this recklessness to tarnish your future. Not if I can prevent it.”

His words twist around your heart, anger simmering as he speaks as though you’re not even here, as if you’re some fragile creature incapable of understanding the consequences of your own actions. You tighten your hands into fists, the fire in your chest blazing hotter, burning through your lingering shame and leaving only fury in its wake.

“Brother, this is my choice,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. You refuse to let him dictate your fate, no matter how well-intentioned he may be. “I won’t be forced into anything, not by you, and not by—”

“Fine,” Seokmin interrupts, his voice low, but the intensity behind it makes your breath hitch. His gaze shifts to Minghao, defiant yet respectful, a calm resolve settling over him that you’ve never seen before. “I’ll marry her.”

The words strike like a thunderclap, sudden and irrevocable, and the room feels smaller, suffocating in the aftermath. You gape at him, heart pounding, pulse roaring in your ears as the weight of what he’s said crashes over you.

“You’ll… what?” Your voice is little more than a whisper, confusion and anger tangling together, leaving you breathless. It’s as if the ground beneath you has tilted, your life, your future, shifting without your consent, controlled by the decisions of two men who seem to think they know what’s best for you.

Seokmin meets your gaze, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his eyes betrays the mask of resolve he wears. But then his expression steels, his jaw set as if he’s made peace with something.

“Fine,” he repeats, his tone unwavering. “I’ll do what’s necessary.”

The finality of his words ignites a fury in you, fierce and hot. How dare they decide your fate like this, without so much as a thought for your own desires, your own choices? Your fists clench, knuckles white as you stare between them, your breaths coming short, uneven.

Minghao nods approvingly, his gaze flicking back to you, as if expecting gratitude, as if this was what you wanted all along. But you feel trapped, as though walls are closing in, boxing you into a life decided for you, a future crafted by others’ expectations.

“Is that it, then?” you ask, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you. “You two decide, and that’s that? No thought for what I might want?”

Seokmin’s gaze wavers, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But he doesn’t answer, and neither does Minghao. The silence stretches, heavy and charged, and you realize with a sharp pang that neither of them truly understands—that perhaps they never will.

The weight of their silence drives you to turn on your heel, striding down the corridor in a rush to escape. You don’t care about decorum anymore. All you want is space, a moment to process the shock, the hurt, the sheer indignity of having your future decided without so much as a word from you.

But the sound of hurried footsteps behind you keeps pace. You don’t need to look back to know who’s following.

“Wait!” Seokmin’s voice is laced with desperation, and you feel the words tug at you despite yourself. “Please, Y/N—just… please, stay. Let’s talk this out.”

You quicken your steps, but his voice drags you back, its gentle earnestness slicing through your anger like a double-edged blade. You stop, shoulders tensing as you draw in a shaky breath, trying to steel yourself against him. But when you turn around, his expression—pleading, open, raw—almost undoes you.

“Talk about what, Seokmin?” you say, voice barely concealing the tremble. “There’s nothing left to discuss. Decisions have already been made, haven’t they?”

“Not like this,” he says, his voice soft, an ache threading through his words. His hand reaches out toward you, hesitating in the space between you both. “Not without you. I’m sorry. I should have… I should have thought—”

“No,” Minghao interrupts, stepping up beside Seokmin, his jaw set and his gaze unyielding. His hand wraps firmly around your elbow, his voice edged with protective steel. “It’s done for tonight. She’s had enough. We’re going home.”

Minghao’s grip is gentle yet firm, and before you can protest, he begins to lead you down the dimly lit corridor, each step echoing louder than the last. You glance back, catching the hurt etched into Seokmin’s face, his hand outstretched as though still reaching for you. But he doesn’t follow; he stays rooted in place, watching you disappear.

The carriage ride back is filled with silence so thick you could cut it. Minghao says nothing, and you’re grateful. You can barely keep your thoughts in line, let alone handle a conversation. You close your eyes, leaning back, but the image of Seokmin’s pleading face and the desperate, furious embrace you shared lingers like an imprint on your skin.

When you arrive home, you stumble up the stairs, trying to erase the chaos of the evening, but it follows you like a ghost. You catch your reflection in the hallway mirror, and the sight stops you cold. Your hair is in complete disarray, a few strands falling loose from your intricately pinned style, and your face is flushed, cheeks streaked with faint traces of dried tears. Your chest rises and falls, still heaving from the intensity of everything that has happened.

You barely recognize yourself. The wildness in your eyes, the raw emotion painted on your face—it’s as if the person staring back at you is a stranger, a part of you that you’d never thought you’d see.

Hours pass, but sleep evades you, each tick of the clock an insistent reminder of the turmoil simmering inside. Every time you close your eyes, you’re back in that dim room, tasting the fire of his kiss, feeling the weight of Minghao’s words, and wondering if you’ll ever be free from the choices that were made for you tonight.

Tagging: @kibs-and-bits @moondustmemories @shinwonderful @ivehypnosis @gwend0lyne @thestoryofana13 @mellowamour @blissedjoon @begentlewithme-please @xabsolutelynothingx @reiofsuns2001 @mngyulvrs @mooniewrld

@archivistworld @lexyraeworld @ateez-atiny380 @walkinganxiety01 @lovecleastrange

@uriguyeok @nenojaems @carefully325 @meowmeowminnie @ts19009 @flickhurstyles

@spookyeomgoose @princelingperfect @tinkerbell460 @xueisaaa17

@deekaykaykay @ottersmind @sungbeam @blvenote @kyeomsworld

134 notes · View notes

hello-vampire-kitty · 5 months ago

Text

Servamp Complete guidebook questions and answers about the Alicein household.

The guidebook has many questions and it will take a while to translate them, so, here's just a fewand I chose the ones that are about the Alicein family.

To avoid spoilers, I'm not translating them in order and I wrote the ones I consider spoilers towards the end of the post, mentioning what chapter you should know before reading them.

In regard to the majority of questions, you should be familiar with volumes 3-4.

Let me know if the way I'm writing these translations is okay because I don't want people to get spoiled.

Q1: Will Misono grow taller?

A: He will.

Q2: How old was Misono when he made the contract with Lily?

A: He was 9 years old.

Q3: What was the name given to Lily by Mikage?

A: When Mikage passed away, the name was lost.

Q4: Did Mikado-san ever thought of inheriting the vampire of lust?

A: He probably did when he was a child, but it seems like he lost the desire for it around the time he got married.

Q5: What did Mikado feel about Mikuni while he was cast out of his home? It feels a bit sad to think that his love was only directed towards Misono…

A: It’s not that he didn’t have love for Mikuni, but I think, deep down, he was somewhat afraid of Mikuni, who had the eyes of a child that could see right through people.

Q6: I personally think Mikado-san is quite a terrible person, but what did the members of the Alicein family think of him?

A: They see him as a weak-minded person. However, since they also know that he has been a hard worker since childhood, they can’t bring themselves to speak too badly of him.

Q7: Did Mikado-san know that Mikuni was part of C3? Also, how many years was Mikuni in C3?

A: Yes, he knew and had even requested protection for Mikuni. Mikuni was in C3 for about three years.

Q8 is at the end of the post.

Q9: What was the name that Mikuni's mother gave Doubt Doubt?

A: When she died, that name was lost forever.

Q10: Does Mikuni's mother's family know about the Alicein family incident and Misono?

A: They’ve been informed to some extent.

Q11: Did Mitsuki-chan and Dodo go to school?

A: Dodo went up to high school and Mitsuki went all the way to college.

Q12 is at the end of the post.

Q13: What kind of business does the Alicein family publicly run? A: They are involved in the trade industry.

Q14: How many servants are there in the Alicein family’s mansion? A: Currently, there are about 20 people.

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 125 and 127!

Q8: I thought everything had a reason and that I understood it all, but as someone without a musical ear, the only thing that kept bothering me was, what song Mikuni's mother's music box was playing.

A: "Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring" by Bach. It's a piece often played around Christmas, featuring a series of triplets.

(Note, in Japanese it says "3"を連符の続く. The number 3 is emphasized most likely because Jeje is the third Servamp.)

Q12: It seems that Mikuni's mother was betrothed, but are marriages between magicians common?

A: Yes, they are quite common.

#servamp #servamp complete guidebook #alicein family #alicein misono #alicein mikuni #alicein mikado

123 notes · View notes

shrimpfriedlice · 4 days ago

Text

Shut Up, Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Y’all, I can’t believe this is my first post on tumblr but here u go. I haven’t written fanfic since middle school so forgive me if my rustiness gives u tetanus. First two chapters are posted bc I spoil y’all.

Tags: SLOWWWW BURN (im sorry, I know the pain), grumpy x grumpier, hurt/comfort, it’s the first chapter so it’s mostly set up, THERE WILL BE SMUT IN THE FUTURE SO MDNI, reader has a brother, minor character death but ur not gonna even care, no beta we die like Joel

Chapter two

You woke up to bright fluorescent lights. You had been in surgery for the better part of the day. You could feel the tightness of your stitches as you tried to sit up.

“Ay, ay, ay,” your brother barked at you, “the fuck you tryna do sitting up like that. You just got out of surgery dumbass, cool it for a second”

You begrudgingly laid back down.

“Ah, you’re awake,” you turned to look at the voice. “I’m Maria.”

“You’re the one that decides whether or not we stay”

“That I am,” she nodded. “But luckily for you, I talked to your brother while you were out and the two of you were deemed safe to bring in.”

You looked excitedly at your brother who nodded at you.

“This one here is a stubborn one,” Maria chuckled as she gestured to Bear. “Refused to leave your side, even to check out your new house.”

You perked up and your eyes grew big.

“We have a house?”

******

It’s been a couple weeks since the two of you had settled in. You’d only seen glimpses of Joel since the day you came. Him sitting in the back of the mess hall, him carrying his tools, him on his way back from patrol. You had asked Maria about Joel and it so happened that she was married to his brother, Tommy.

When you met Tommy, you were shocked by how different the two brothers were. Tommy was very charismatic, a people person at heart. He said not to worry about his brother, Joel had a tendency to be a recluse.

Though you didn’t see much of Joel, Ellie was far from shy. Everyday she approached the two of you in the mess hall. She’d ask you how you were doing and pepper the two of you with questions about your past. “Where are you from?” “How many years are between the two of you?” “What is it like having a sibling?”

She always made you giggle. Ellie was feisty and strongly loyal. More than once you saw her picking a fight with the older teenage boys on behalf of her friends. Though, not all fights were started by the young girl.

You and your brother were sitting eating breakfast one morning when Ellie came in to talk to you both.

“Soooo, I heard it’s gonna be your guys’ first day workin’. What’d Maria stick you with?” Ellie asked without introduction, flopping into the chair directly across from you.

“Bear ‘n I are good with electronics, so Maria’s got us working to make the power grid more efficient,” you responded and your brother nodded in agreement.

“Woahh, you guys know how to do that?”

“Yup,” Bear confirmed.

"Where'd you guys learn how to do that kinda thing? Weren’t you kids when Cordyceps happened?”

“Our dad,” you explained. “He was a big tech guy before all this, started teaching us pretty young. When everything happened, skills like that were scarce. It made him important in the QZ, which meant he was safe, so he taught us everything he knew so we’d be safe too.”

“Thats pretty cool”

I gave her a soft smile, “yeah, he was pretty cool.”

“Do you think you cou-“

“Look who the fuck it is.” A young man interrupted Ellie which made her scowl.

“Fuck off, Fernando.”

“Oooo, not very ladylike, Ellie. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?” You narrowed your eyes at the teen. Ellie stood up suddenly and got into Fernando’s face.

“I’ll fucking show you ladylike, cocksucker.”

“Whatchu gonna do, dike?”

You saw Ellie curl her hand into a fist. You had grown fond of the girl and your protectiveness had grown along with it.

“Excuse me, boy,” you interrupted, staring into Fernando’s eyes. “We’re having a fucking conversation here, so if we’re talking about etiquette, I suggest you fuck the fuck off.”

The teen scoffed, “what did you say to me?”

“Let me repeat myself,” you stood, bracing your hands on the table. “And I’ll do it slowly this time, ‘cause I know that's how your brain works.”

You leaned forward in emphasis, “fuck. The fuck. Off. You heard me that time, cunt?”

Fernando’s face turned red, “what? You a fucking dike too?”

“Yeah, and I fucked your dead mom, you wanna know what she sounded like screaming my name?”

“You motherfucker,” He balled his fists and approached you, clearly looking to fight. Your brother moved swiftly to stand between the two of you. Bear’s towering height and broad shoulders were quick to intimidate the boy. There’s a reason his name was Bear.

“I think it’s time you leave.”

Fernando’s eyes darted between you, Ellie, and your brother.

He scoffed, “whatever.” He turned around and walked angrily out the door.

“You good, el?” You check in on the girl. She started to grin widely.

“Good? Im fucking awesome, that was so fucking cool guys, thanks!”

You all sat back down and your brother grunted softly.

“He give you a lot of trouble?”

“Yeah, he’s just a fucking asshole.” She gestured to the two of you, “but not anymore! You two scared the shit out of him.” Ellie looked down at her watch, “aw fuck, I’m late for stable duty.” She scurried out of her seat and the two of you waved her off as she went out the door. You smiled to yourself and shook your head. She’s a little troublemaker, alright.

*******

You absentmindedly chewed on your lip as you and your brother arrived at the gates of Jackson. Maria told the two of you that somebody was going to take you both to the dam to show you how everything worked. You heard the sound of horse’s hooves approaching the both of you. You turned around. Joel.

He grunted by way of greeting as he pulled his horse closer.

“Change of plans.” He jerked his chin in your brother's direction. “Old man Ted won’t get off of my ass about fixing his goddamn heater so you’ve gotta go fix his shit.” He looked toward you apologetically, “he’s, uh, not very fond of women.” You huffed in sardonic amusement.

Your brother nodded, “I can do that. Where’s he at?”

“Tommy’ll show ya to it, he’ll give ya whatever tools ya need,” Joel offered you a hand. “Git on up, we got work to do. You took his help and let yourself savor the warmth of his hand. Just for a second. You told yourself. imaginewhathishandsfeellikeonyourbody Oh my god, Doe, you need to stop, you horny bitch. You cleared your throat awkwardly as he got onto the horse behind you.

“Allllright, girl, steady,” Joel drawled as the horse started pacing. “That’s a good girl”

You were very thankful that Joel couldn’t see your face. It didn’t make it any better that he was wrapping his arms around you to hold the reins. You glanced down at your brother who had a shit eating grin on his face. Shut the fuck up. You said with your eyes which just made your brother wriggle his brows. You rolled your eyes in exasperation. You knew you weren’t going to hear the end of it.

“Gon’ be bout a twenty minute ride, we’ll be back before nightfall”

“Be careful, Doe,” your brother turned to look Joel in the eye. “You keep her safe.” Joel gave him a solemn nod and rode towards the gate. As you passed through the borders you couldn’t help but think about the fact that you and Joel would be alone for hours. Your cheeks heated up just at the thought. You knew you didn’t know him, but goddammit, you were gonna find out.

*****

Joel didn’t know why he said that. It was true, old man Ted nearly bit off his ear that morning complaining about his broken heater and he didn’t have the best opinions on women, but Joel knew that there were plenty other people that were capable of fixing it. The words came out of his mouth before he could stop the impulse. He inwardly scolded himself for being so weak. This is why he’d been avoiding you. Well, sort of. Joel didn’t want to admit that he’d been watching you from a distance over the last couple weeks. Just to check in on your healing. He told himself. He saw the way you were with Ellie and it warmed his heart.

Joel cleared his throat, “uh, I wanted to thank you for what y’all did for Ellie earlier.”

“Huh?” You turned your head to look at him, “oh! She told you about that? Yeah, that kid Fernando is a dickhead, it was my pleasure.” You huffed a short breath of amusement. You took a pause before adding, “Ellie’s a good kid, you should be proud, girl’s got quite a bite to her.”

That made Joel chuckle, “don’t I know it.” You smiled in return. That goddamn smile. He knew that when he saw you in that house that you’d be trouble for him. It was your eyes, they were sweet, scared. He hated himself for making you feel that way. As soon as he saw the tremble in your hands, Joel felt the need to protect you. He didn’t know why, he just did. Maybe it was because you were hurt, maybe it’s because of your kindness to Ellie. That's what he wanted to believe and sure, it was part of it, but he knew that it was you that got him like this. Your expression was strong, resilient, borderline stubborn. There was still a spark in you, you weren’t just a survivor, there was something… more. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, it puzzled him.

As the weeks passed, your face began to gain color, the hollows of your cheeks filled out, your eye bags faded, and Joel couldn’t help but notice. You were beautiful and utterly unattainable. Joel scolded himself every time he looked at you. Stupid perverted old man. She thinks you’re a creep. Stay out of her way. And so he did, but he didn’t stop looking.

#joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller/reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #joel x reader #tlou fic #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #the last of us #smut

40 notes · View notes

ivysprophecy · 5 months ago

Text

Am I Okay? Chapter Three

summary: in part twelve rafe mentions a work party and i took that as an invitation to dive into how they interact and think about each other a bit more from rafes perspective!

word count: 1295

a/n: I KNOW I POSTED THIS CHAPTER PREVIOUSLY, it had some mistakes i wanted to fix that i just relaized. also im not saying this is the most accurate portrayal of rafe however its how im using it for the story and i really hope this doesnt suck as much as i think it does! also im so sorry for how long its been since ive written, i shouldve put out a hiatus notice but tbh im not entirely sure im back. well see how it goes lol. thank you for reading!

this shouldnt feel as daunting as it does right now. shes just a friend. its just a dinner party, theres no commitments attached or technicalities to worry over. its just me and her making a boring evening more exciting.

thats all.

i knock on the door and wait patiently for her to answer. i did come a bit early so i wouldnt be surprised if she was still getting ready. she has a tendency to get swept up in the music shes listening to when shes at her vanity.

but as soon as she opens that door and i turn to see her... i suddenly forgot all the convincing i was doing, cause i know after tonight theres gonna be no more hiding just how into her i am. she looks incredible.

it does something to me knowing its the dress i bought her.

"hi," thats all she says and i swear i forgot how to breathe. how does she do this to me?

"hey," my smile widens, "you look... gorgeous. really, you look great."

"cant take all the credit, the dress was all your doing. im just wearing it."

"and you wear it beautifully," just like that, a natural blush replaces the artificial pink on her cheeks "we should get going, are you ready or do you need more time? i can wait."

"i think im ready..." she searches through her purse, going over its contents making sure she has everything. "yep, im ready."

"perfect," i close the door behind her as she walks out, "its a little jarring to see you without your boots."

she chuckles as i open the car door for her, "i tried to clean up as nice as i could."

"you clean up just fine cowgirl," i cant hide my smile.

the drive to the event was that comfortable kind of quiet. i always let her take aux when we drive together. country music definitely isnt my favorite but she could play a lot worse. besides she throws in the occasional kid cudi or metro boomin for me.

shes thoughtful like that.

"oh theres valet? how fancy," the valet opens her door for her before i can even get out of the car. i suppose thats his job.

"thats kinda how these things go. theyre a bit much."

"well i think its refreshing being so spoiled. dads done a lot of fancy business but nothing like this. its fun."

taking her hand, i lead her up the stairs into the building, "ill spoil you as much as you want cowgirl. all you have to do is ask."

"youre such a sweet talker city boy. for someone who, supposedly, is a serial bachelor youre an absolute flirt."

"nah, i only flirt with you," i tell her, truthfully. part of me said it to see her all flustered but really there isnt a point in lying about it.

i know everyones got me figured out already, the guys and their girls are better gossipers than the real housewives. not that id know anything about the real housewives. i definitely dont watch that shit.

"thats exactly what im talking about," shes giggling as we walk into the giant room filled to the brim with investors, partners, staff, clients, a bunch of people i really want to avoid. i was about to lead her over to the bar when we run into someone conveniently.

her father. that i work with. awesome. i knew hed be here, but i thought it might be possible to avoid him.

"cameron! thought i wouldnt be able to catch you tonig- y/n? pumpkin what are you doing here?"

"dad! were in public could you maybe not call me that-"

i let a smile peak through, "pumpkin?" its just too easy to tease her.

"rafe," she sends me a warning, and you know she means business when she uses my ‘government name’ as she likes to call it. i throw my hands up in defense jokingly.

"its good to see you y/l/n," i reach out to shake her dads hand, "i invited her, hoping a friendly face would make the night more barrable. i hope thats alright with you."

"nah its good for her. she needs to get out more. i trust youll take care of her."

"dad!" she raises her tone while keeping a hushed voice, "dont talk about me like im not here. please."

"you kids have fun tonight," her dad wraps an arm around her before pressing a small kiss to her temple before shaking my hand again, "good to see you rafe. take care of my little girl."

i nod with a smile as he walks away, heading over to a table of some other clients i recognize.

"unbelievable! rafe im so sorry that was embarrassing. he doesnt know how to act normal. i shouldnt let him out of the house. i need to put him in a home."

"cowgirl, youre rambling. its fine, i get it. hes a dad its his job to embarrass you a little. besides, pumpkin, i thought it was endearing," theres a smirk on my face as i mention the nickname.

she rolls her eyes leading the way back to the bar like we intended in the first place. leaning against the bar she tells the bartender her order and mine, already knowing id like a whiskey.

how am i not supposed to like this girl so much when she knows me so well? i dont care if we come from two completely different backgrounds. a part of me knows this is the girl for me. if im deserving? thats a different conversation…

taking our drinks off the counter i lead her over to our table for the night, pulling out her seat for her to sit when suddenly i see some investors walking my way.

i knew id have to work a little tonight but it doesnt stop me being disappointed from being pulled away from her.

the night goes on, i introduce her to a few of the people i know better than others, but i give her the chance to mingle when she wants too. shes so well spoken and holds her own well.

shes mesmerizing.

at one point, i return from the restroom, and when i come back i see that one of the investors sons is making conversation with her. a particularly annoying one at that. hes far too close to her for my liking, touching her arm subtly, desperately trying to make her laugh. but i can see shes only doing it to be polite.

i step up right beside her, my hand naturally falling to the small of her back, innocently of course.

"jared! good to see you man, your dad let you come?"

theres nothing i love to see more than his confidence falter. he needed to be put in his place, what can i say? im just happy i was the one to get to do it.

"something like that. it was good seeing you rafe. nice meeting you...?" he smiled in her direction, asking for one more chance silently, i couldnt contain my laughter.

"have a nice night jared. tell your dad ill see him at mondays meeting," and with that i lead her away in the direction of our table.

"you didnt have to be so rude to him you know?"

"cowgirl, that was hardly rude of me. i was doing him a favor."

she plasters on an offended face, pretending to clutch her pearls, "how dare you, im a catch. hed be so lucky to have me, and so would you."

god, shes such a tease.

believe me gorgeous girl, i know id be so lucky to have you. its all i think about nowadays.

[ masterlist ]

#rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe x reader #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron ruin me challenge #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #fic recs <3 #my writing <3 #my stuff!

48 notes · View notes

usagi-chwan · 2 months ago

Text

Ouch!! It stings!!

🌸 Characters in this chapter: Ranpo, Atsushi, Chuuya, Dazai and Poe.

🌸 Spoils: none!

A request from AO3, completed and delivered! I had been asked to imagine the characters' reactions to an injection, and without spoiling you.... Some of them are braver than me :)

For those who fear this sort of thing, I think you can read regardless; I have not detailed anything about the injection itself, so it should be fine!

Happy reading ~

Ranpo

- Did you expect him to be the one who struggled the most? No way!

- Against all odds, he remains totally stoic, completely out of character... He is a grownup, after all, is he not?

- But is he really? And... Ranpo, accepting an injection without saying a word? How odd!

- And yes, you are right to want to dig a little deeper to discover the hidden truth. After the injection, Ranpo simply extends his hand to Fukuzawa or Yosano, who place a HUGE packet of sweets in his hand.

- Yes, you are not dreaming; our best detective is being bribed. Like the child he is deep down inside.

Atsushi

- Before arriving at the nurse's office where he is to receive his injection, he tells himself over and over again that it is nothing at all, and that it will only last a few seconds.

- However, before he even gets the injection, he nearly faints in his seat, shakes and sweats profusely, so much so that the nurse cannot even do her job.

- And then... Even before the fateful moment, Atsushi's unintentional puppy (tiger) eyes makes the nurse feel guilty, and she no longer dares to give the injection.

- In the end, one of his colleagues always ends up accompanying him and holding his hand, and this is most often Dazai.

- Why Dazai? Quite simply because, this way, he at least does something with his day... But also because it prevents Atsushi from turning into a tiger and running away :)

Chuuya

- This is one of his biggest, best-kept secrets: he is scared to death of needles.

- So, if he could bite the nurse's head off while the latter was giving him his injection, he would do it without hesitation; but, nevertheless, the last traces of his reason (those not yet lost amidst a sea of intense stress and the desire to give a few kicks) are screaming at him that the poor nurse had nothing to do with it, and that this injection is essential to keep him healthy... But Chuuya could do without it, that is for sure!

- Still, the scream he utters as the nurse pricks him is bloodcurdling.

- And we are lucky that our Chuuya refrains from using his power...

Dazai

- He is not the least bit afraid of injections (in fact, it is almost the opposite: it is the nurse who is afraid of him); for Dazai, it is just another part of the day. But which also means he misses a few precious hours of work... Oh noooo :(

- The only downside is that he is beginning to be unable to find a facility that will accept to welcome him; in fact, he has already been blacklisted from several hospitals where he has been for injections...

- And why? Quite simply because constantly flirting with the nurses and repeatedly asking them to strangle him with their dainty little hands was not to everyone's taste...

- Nor was trying to steal a few dangerous products when everyone (or almost everyone) had their backs turned.

Poe

- With him, the adventure begins long before the D-day.

- A bit like Atsushi, he starts stressing even before he enters the nurse's office, but to the power of a thousand. And, more importantly... Weeks before. For a moment that will only last a minute at most.

- He is bound to faint at some point during the "event", no matter how hard the nurse tries to keep her patient conscious. But at least, this way... All the nurse has to do is do her job and wait for the patient to wake up!

- The most unusual part of the story... Poe, before he even arrives at the nurse's office, took the habit of grabbing the first thing he can reach (often a tree or a post), while Karl, with all his meagre strength, desperately tries to pull his master in the direction of his injection.

- Moral: beware of anyone, even your own pets. Treason is never far away.

And that's it for this chapter, hope you enjoyed it! Have a nice day/evening, and see you next time~

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #anime #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bsd headcanons #atsushi nakajima #edgar allan poe #ranpo edogawa

29 notes · View notes

dcocca · 4 months ago

Text

Hello everyone! Finally, I bring you the post in which you will find a complete list of the literary works I mention in my fic “Pages About You, Pages About Me”!

At the moment, it mentions ALL the book titles referenced from the beginning to the current chapter, and I will update it as we go.

Here you will find the books and comic books mentioned as they were introduced in the fic, following the chapter order. So, for example, if you’re currently on Chapter 8, you can go straight to the part of the list dedicated to that Chapter and see which works were mentioned, without spoiling yourself anything that could pop up on later chapters.

The list includes both works that are explicitly quoted and works that are only briefly mentioned, or are referenced as passing thoughts. Wherever an author is mentioned without any of their specific works being brought up, I will put a book title that might represent them or that I particularly love. If the same author is mentioned in more than one chapter, you will find them added more than once, in each chapter they appear on, but perhaps with a different book title mentioned (we like variety, don’t we?).

Books are blue, comics are red. The titles of Aziraphale and Crowley’s two-person book club, the ones that are the bone and marrow of the story, are also written in bold (and listed only in the chapter in which they make their first appearance).

Chapter 1:

“On a Sunbeam”, Tillie Walden

Chapter 3:

“Persuasion”, Jane Austen

Chapter 4:

“The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage: The (Mostly) True Story of the First Computer”, Sydney Padua

“Robinson Crusoe”, Daniel Defoe

“Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ’s Childhood Pal”, Christopher Moore

“Practical Demonkeeping”, Christopher Moore

“The Stupidest Angel”, Christopher Moore

“Scott Pilgrim & The Infinite Sadness”, Bryan Lee O’Malley

Chapter 5:

“The Sad Fortunes of the Reverend Amos Barton”, George Eliot

“The French Revolution: A History”, Thomas Carlyle

“Alice in Wonderland”, Lewis Carroll

Chapter 6:

“David Copperfield”, Charles Dickens

“A Scandal in Bohemia”, Arthur Conan Doyle

“Little Women”, Louisa May Alcott

“The Happy Prince”, Oscar Wilde

“The Lord of the Rings”, J.R.R. Tolkien

“Bone”, Jeff Smith

Chapter 8:

“Miles Morales: Ultimate Spider-Man”, David Marquez, Brian M. Bendis, Mark Bagley, Sara Pichelli

“Bone: Out from Boneville”, Jeff Smith

“The Secret of the Unicorn”, Hergé

Chapter 10:

“I, Robot”, Isaac Asimov

“The Left Hand of Darkness”, Ursula K. Le Guin

“The Dispossessed”, Ursula K. Le Guin

“Mary Poppins”, P.L. Travers

“Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind”, Hayao Miyazaki

Chapter 11:

“Genderqueer”, Maya Kobabe

Chapter 13:

“Big Questions”, Nilsen Anders

Chapters 14:

“Letters from Father Christmas”, J.R.R. Tolkien

“A Christmas Carol”, Charles Dickens

“Christmas Days: 12 Stories and 12 Feasts for 12 Days”, Jeanette Winterson

“A Redbird Christmas”, Fannie Flagg

“Celebrations, Rituals of Peace and Prayer”, Maya Angelou

Chapter 15:

“Black Clover”, Yūki Tabata

“Drifting Dragons”, Taku Kuwabara

“Dungeon Food”, Ryoko Kui

“This Is How You Lose the Time War”, Amal El-Mohtar, Max Gladstone

“Asterios Polyp”, David Mazzucchelli

Chapter 16:

“The Happy Prince”, Oscar Wilde

“Persuasion”, Jane Austen

“Recognize Yourself”, Guillaume Apollinaire

“Leaves of Grass”, Walt Whitman

“The Park Bench”, Christophe Chabouté

Chapter 17:

“Dover Beach and Other Poems”, Matthew Arnold

“The Dispossessed”, Ursula K. Le Guin

“The Chronicles of Narnia”, C.S. Lewis

Chapter 18:

“The Major Works”, Percy Bysshe Shelley (Oxford World’s Classics)

“Collected Poems 1934-1952”, Dylan Thomas

“A Book of Verses”, William Ernest Henley

“Romeo and Juliet”, William Shakespeare

“The Walking Man”, Jiro Taniguchi

“Tales from Moominvalley”, Tove Jansson

“Le Souffle du Vent Dans Les Pins”, Zao Dao

“The Shining”, Stephen King

Chapter 19:

“Four Quartets”, T.S. Eliot

“Gitanjali”, Rabindranath Tagore

“Emma”, Jane Austen

“Watership Down”, Richard Adams

“The Hobbit”, J.R.R. Tolkien

“Maurice”, E. M. Forster

“Opened Ground. Poems 1966-1996”, Seamus Heaney

“Wise Blood”, Flannery O’Connor

“The Remains of the Day”, Kazuo Ishiguro

Chapter 20:

“Pride and Prejudice”, Jane Austen

“Superman. The Mysterious Mr. Mxyztplk”, Jerry Siegel, Ira Yarborough

“Oliver Twist”, Charles Dickens

“Batman. The Killing Joke”, Alan Moore, Brian Bolland

“On the Devil, and Devils”, Percy Bysshe Shelley

Chapter 21:

“The New Avengers. Breakout!”, Brian Michael Bendis, David Finch, Danny Miki

“Saga”, Brian K. Vaughan, Fiona Staples

“Tank Girl”, Jamie Hewlett, Alan Martin

“Deadpool”, Joe Kelly, Ed McGuinness

“X-Men: God Loves, Man Kills”, Christopher Claremont, Brent Eric Anderson, Steve Oliff

“My Favorite Thing Is Monsters”, Emil Ferris

“The Hunting Accident”, David L. Carlson, Landis Blair

“Divine Comedy”, Dante Alighieri

“V for Vendetta”, Alan Moore, David Lloyd

“Macbeth”, William Shakespeare

“My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness”, Kabi Nagata

“Blankets”, Craig Thompson

Chapter 22:

“Martin Eden”, Jack London

“Teleny”, (attributed to) Oscar Wilde

“Gabrieliad”, Alexander Pushkin

“The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty”, Anne Rice

“Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda”, Becky Albertalli

“Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe”, Benjamin Alire Sáenz

“The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue”, Mackenzi Lee

“1000 Nudes. A History of Erotic Photography from 1839-1939”, Hans-Michael Koetzle, Uwe Scheid

Chapter 24:

“The Double”, José Saramago

“Fables. Legends in Exile”, Bill Willingham

Chapter 26:

“Lumberjanes”, Shannon Watters, Grace Ellis, Gus Allen, ND Stevenson

Chapter 28:

“Action Comics #1”, Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster

“Maus”, Art Spiegelman

“The Incal”, Alejandro Jodorowsky

“Persepolis”, Marjane Satrapi

“California Dreamin’”, Pénélope Bagieu

“Rooftop Soliloquy”, Roman Payne

“The Brothers Karamazov”, Fyodor Dostoevsky

“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”, Mark Twain

“One Hundred Years of Solitude”, Gabriel García Márquez

“A Tale of Two Cities”, Charles Dickens

“Mary Poppins”, P.L. Travers

“Dazzler”, Tom DeFalco, John Romita Jr.

“Jessica Jones: Alias”, Brian Michael Bendis, Michael Gaydos

“The Rocketeer”, Dave Stevens

“Wonder Woman: The True Amazon”, Jill Thompson, William Moulton Marston

“The Park Bench”, Christophe Chabouté

“The Tale of Peter Rabbit”, Beatrix Potter

“Goodnight Punpun”, Inio Asano

“Memoirs of Hadrian”, Marguerite Yourcenar

“The Perks of Being a Wallflower”, Stephen Chbosky

“My Brilliant Friend”, Elena Ferrante

“Crime and Punishment”, Fyodor Dostoevsky

“Ulysses”, James Joyce

“Watership Down”, Richard Adams

“Paradise Lost”, John Milton

“Pride and Prejudice”, Jane Austen

“Martin Eden”, Jack London

“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”, Stieg Larsson

“Tank Girl”, Jamie Hewlett, Alan Martin

“Jane Eyre”, Charlotte Brontë

“The Divine Comedy”, Dante Alighieri

“Hamlet”, William Shakespeare

Chapter 29:

“Watership Down”, Richard Adams

“Alice in Wonderland”, Lewis Carroll

“Rat-Man”, Leo Ortolani

“Venom – Deathtrap: The Vault”, Danny Fingeroth, Ron Lim

“Miles Morales: Ultimate Spider-Man”, David Marquez, Brian M. Bendis, Mark Bagley, Sara Pichelli

Chapter 31:

“Are You Listening?”, Tillie Walden

“Fun Home”, Alison Bechdel

“The Magic Fish”, Trung Le Nguyen

“Forget Me Not”, Alix Garin

“I Kill Giants”, Joe Kelly

“Daytripper”, Fábio Moon e Gabriel Bá

“Wrinkles”, Paco Roca

“Always Never”, Jordi Lafebre

“Heartstopper”, Alice Oseman

“Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up with Me”, Mariko Tamaki

“Snotgirl”, Bryan Lee O’Malley

“The Summit of the Gods”, Jirō Taniguchi

“Venice”, Jirō Taniguchi

“Safari Honeymoon”, Jesse Jacobs

“Perdido Street Station”, China Miéville

“Blue In Green”, Ram V, Anand RK

“The Arrival”, Shaun Tan

“Red Rackham's Treasure”, Hergé

“Berlin”, Jason Lutes

“Corto Maltese: The Ballad of the Salty Sea”, Hugo Pratt

“On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”, Ocean Vuong

“The Divine Comedy”, Dante Alighieri

“Dante Shinkyoku”, Gō Nagai

“The Road”, Cormac McCarthy

“The Road”, Manu Larcenet

After the Ending:

“The Lantern Maker and the Wind”, Anthony Crowley, Aziraphale Fell 💚

I hope this list will be useful to you. I hope you find something new to read, too. ❤️

Tagging @goodomensafterdark ? This could be useful to some who follow my fic. 💙❤️

#pages about you pages about me #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanart #good omens 2 #fanfic #books and reading #comic books #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #good omens fic

35 notes · View notes

biffhofosho · 10 months ago

Text

What's Wrong with Director Ortega? | Part One

Fandom: Monsta X

Genre: Smut, natch

Word Count: uh, 18k this part

Pairing: OT7 x OC

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

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

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

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

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

Cvr | 01 |

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

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

“You won’t be joining?”

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

“You always join.”

“I know, sir, but not this time.”

“Chairman Matsuda expects it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room erupted in polite applause as smiles abounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which department is hers?” Intern Wong wondered.

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

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

“Of course, sir.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

“She’s American?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you serious?” blurted the female purchaser.

“I am.”

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

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

“I thought you were leaving,” he said.

“In a moment,” she replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Know?”

“Know what!”

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

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

“Director Ortega handed in her resignation yesterday.”

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

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

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

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

“You know that isn’t true, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like you,” retorted the accountant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone leaned toward him like plants straining for sunlight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There is not.”

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

“If you’re sure, sir.”

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

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

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

“I’m sorry, but not today, sir.”

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

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

The older employees broke into quiet laughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What don’t you understand?”

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

“Director Ortega?”

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

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

“You can’t be trusted.”

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

“You know exactly what I mean.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jooheon scowled and shook his head.

“Some say she’s pregnant.”

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

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

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

Jackson just glowered at his friend.

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

“Are you sure? Did you ever ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t know. Didn’t read it yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, unless she sparing your feelings.”

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

“Is that what you really think?”

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

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

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

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

“You pissed me off is what you did.”

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

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

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

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

“Good. That’s good then.”

“Why?” Jooheon asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“Terrific…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seven vice chairmen traded appraisals, but none spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…is it that you just don’t want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch it,” Kihyun warned.

Jackson shrugged. “You asked what I thought—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Remind me to fire him,” huffed Minhyuk.

“Not before I clobber him,” growled Jooheon.

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

“What are we going to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

More silence, this one infinitely darker and deeper.

“So it is us…” conceded Minhyuk.

“Looks that way,” said Hyunwoo.

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

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

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

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

“You both are,” Changkyun groaned.

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

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

"Am not."

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

“Enough,” Hyunwoo said brusquely.

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

“Obviously,” Jooheon snapped.

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

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

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

“We should apologize,” Hyungwon volunteered.

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

“Well, they can’t fucking hurt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not much of a strategy,” Minhyuk observed.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” Jooheon agreed.

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

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

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

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

“Eating,” answered Hyunwoo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! I was here first!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s got it,” Hyunwoo assured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunwoo narrowed his already thin eyes.

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

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

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

The blonde started, “You never waste—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I should ask you the same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t think about that…”

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

“Okay, but if something does go wrong—”

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

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

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

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

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

"Holy. Shit."

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

“They actually showed up,” Secretary Ahn gasped.

“Who?” said Secretary Kim.

“Who do you think?”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t believe it...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We said we would,” he replied.

"Yes. Yes, you did…”

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

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

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

“Ah…”

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

Secretary Guk simply stood there with her mouth open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she wasn’t alone.

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

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

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

The COO’s eye twitched.

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

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

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

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

The vice chairman glowered, and the secretary crumbled.

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

“Immediately,” he insisted.

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

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

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

“Now, Secretary Guk!” Jooheon called back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was a party, so I was.”

“Was a party?” questioned Hoseok.

“Until seven wet blankets dampened the mood.”

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

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

“How the hell did they find me!”

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

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

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

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

They didn’t have to wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We just got here,” insisted Hyungwon.

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

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

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

“Brats?” said Hyungwon.

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

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

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

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

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

“Because we care about you,” Hyungwon added.

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

A beat passed. Then another.

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

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

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

“Your Excellencies?” Hyungwon said flatly.

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

“Internships run their course,” agreed Hyungwon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Actually, we own 51 percent of this—”

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

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

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

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

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

They did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyunwoo cleared his throat and started, “Director—”

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

“Okay,” said Minhyuk with a lopsided smile.

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

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

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

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

“Why are you so loud?”

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

“Not loud enough!” she shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What does that mean?” asked Minhyuk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is until everyone got the surprise of their lives.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s more?” said one guest.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re embarrassing yourself, Haeun!”

“Probably,” Secretary Kwon whimpered, entranced.

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

“I told you,” Hyeongseo sing-songed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I asked you a question!”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” Maria warned her friend.

Hyeongseo grinned as cartoonishly as an emoji.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you?” asked Kihyun.

“We did it for you,” added Hoseok.

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

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

“No,” said Hyunwoo.

“Yes,” said Minhyuk.

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

“Maria!” Kihyun said. “Wait.”

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

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

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

“Yes, sir!” came the universal cheer.

“Great, and did you have fun?”

“Yes!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All of you,” Kihyun promised.

“Except you,” Hyungwon said solemnly.

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

“You walk home,” Jooheon agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is if the Vice Chairmen say it is,” Supervisor Qian answered and picked up his intern by the collar.

“Hey, wait!” Kunghang objected, feet skidding beneath him as he was compelled forward. “I wanted to say goodnight to the Director!”

“I’m sure you did. Come on, our free ride is waiting, Intern Wong.”

Kunhang’s puppy eyes pleaded forgiveness of Maria as he waved and shouted goodnights even as his supervisor dragged him bodily out of the room. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Don’t forget to text me when you get home so I know you got there safely!”

Hyungwon and Jooheon rolled their eyes as the rest of the guests began to leave while the secretaries started reining in the wake of chaos in the room. For her part, Maria cleaned up one of the bottles of soju by downing it straight from the mouth. No booze had ever tasted more satisfying.

“I can’t believe you threw out all my guests,” she said bitterly.

Minhyuk shrugged. “I just followed your lead, Maria. You were the one who said the night was over.”

The director grunted and thumped the empty bottle back on the table. “I was throwing you out, not them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we misunderstood something.”

Maria narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but I get the feeling that was intentional rather than accidental.”

“Feelings are not enough for a court of law,” Kihyun interjected with a hooked grin, and she sighed.

“There are forty-some people here. How are you going to get them all home?”

Jooheon beamed at her. “Limos seat eight. It’ll be fine.”

“You brought seven limos to a noraebang?” she exclaimed.

“Well, we weren’t going to ride together,” Hyungwon informed matter-of-factly.

The director sighed and collapsed onto a couch, her head lolling back as she closed her eyes. “You have no idea how much I miss your grandfather. He was mature. He was respectful. He was grateful.”

“We’re not grateful?” Hoseok said with a protruding bottom lip.

“No! You’re none of those things.”

“I resent that,” said Kihyun.

“I don’t care. What else am I supposed to think? You’re the same people made me leave family events half a world away to wait on you.”

“That was Hyungwon!”

The silver-haired vice chairman went to bite back, but the director did it for him. She squared up to Kihyun and, tongue loosened by alcohol, blurted, “You’re better? Really? I was seconds away from getting laid for the first time since the Ice Age when you texted me, what was it, 17 times? The guy thought I was married and bolted.”

A bottle clattered to the floor, and everyone turned to find President Wang standing there sheepishly with eyes big as marbles just as the rest of the secretaries were.

“Jackson? I thought we kicked you out, too,” growled Jooheon. “You are definitely walking home.”

“Aw, come on, man. You owe me for—”

“Out!” the CMO snapped.

The president hurried out with all seven secretaries in tow, each one giving Maria their own version of an embarrassed grimace, and once the procession of mortification was gone, she was left to stew in the horror of her last admission. She had to divert attention immediately.

“There’s no point in asking me to stay, sirs,” she said as assertively and professionally as her tipsy state would allow.

“You already took another job?” Hoseok said, the disappointment in his voice clear as glass.

Maria shook her head. “No. No, I need time away from an office. I need somewhere to clear my head.”

Hyunwoo raised both eyebrows. “You're taking a vacation?”

The director remained silent.

Kihyun pressed his sharply bowed lips together as he narrowed his eyes. “You're moving back home?”

More silence.

“To America!” The other six shouted in unison.

“You can’t,” Hoseok insisted.

“Of course I can. You don’t own me, contrary to what you seven seem to believe.”

“That’s not it!” protested Jooheon. “Give us a chance to prove it to you. We’ll lighten your workload. We’ll give you more time off. We won’t spring meetings on you. Just don’t leave, please.”

“Dios mío, dame fuerzas! Listen, sirs, it’s nice of you to come and show your sincerity, I mean it, and I appreciate your generosity, I really do, but my resignation is about so much more than that.” Maria took a deep breath then said, “Working for your family, I’ve accomplished more than most in my life, and I’m proud of that, but there’s one thing that my career has kept me from accomplishing, and that’s become absurdly clear since my sister’s wedding.”

“The wedding Hyungwon kept you from enjoying?” Kihyun needled, but before Hyungwon could volley back, Maria slapped her hands down on the booth as effectively as across their faces.

“Why can’t you boys just get along? It would have made my job so much easier if I didn’t have to spend as much time translating foreign languages for you as I did translating messages between you. Some days, it’s more like running a daycare than it is a multibillion-dollar company.”

“Ouch,” mumbled Hoseok.

“On that trip… What did you learn, Maria?” Hyunwoo redirected gently.

Her head lolled to the side. “What’s the point of explaining? You’re all just going to argue and lob blame at one another. I’d rather we just end it here, sirs, and you can all blame each other without me having to embarrass myself.”

“We can’t fix things if we don’t know what the problem is,” the COO insisted.

“You can’t fix them even if you do.”

“You don’t know that,” said Changkyun softly.

The director shook her head. “I do, sir. This isn’t something that can be fixed by seven executives.”

“We have resources,” Minhyuk insisted, his finger stabbing a table with every word. “We have a whole company at your disposal. There’s nothing that we can’t get you.”

“You can’t get me a husband, and you sure as hell can’t get me laid.”

Maria covered her mouth, but it was too late. The damage was done, and this time, there was no one there to distract from it.

“So it’s true…” murmured Hyungwon.

“No! Oh no… See! I knew it!” she bellowed and covered her face with her hands. “Everyone in the company knows the sad fate of poor, pathetic Maria Ortega. How humiliating. Over a decade of professionalism, and I’ve cannonballed it in a few days.”

“That's not true,” Kihyun reassured.

“Obviously it is. No wonder everyone was so eager to congratulate me on quitting. Maria Ortega, the cautionary tale for career driven women. She thought success was enough, but the moment she finds out she has no one to share it with, she realizes that the world now cruelly thinks she’s too old for love.”

“Horseshit,” Hyunwoo bit with uncharacteristic ferocity.

The director slumped over, forearms on her knees. “It doesn’t matter if it is or it isn’t. Spinster is still a word in people’s vocabulary. I’ve aged out of most of my prospects. Men aren’t looking to start a life with a woman at 38.”

“I saw that line of admirers this morning,” the honey-haired COO reminded. “You were turning down offers right and left.”

“It’s not at all what you think, sir.”

“It was,” Hoseok asserted. “Those hopeful, lovestruck looks are unmistakable.”

She closed her eyes and grimaced as she flashed back through the last couple years of disasters. “You all should know better than anyone that a salesman knows just what to do to close a deal before he moves to the next more profitable town.”

“That can’t be true,” insisted Minhyuk. “No one could say no to you.”

Maria belted out a bitter laugh, then another, until it suddenly became a strand of ironic giggles over the persistent hum of the speaker static. “Are you kidding me? It’s your favorite word for me and my personal life. You are the seven kings of the word. It’s the only other thing you have in common.”

“Impossible,” asserted Kihyun.

“When have I ever told you no?” Minhyuk challenged.

“That’s not—” began Hyungwon, but he was cut off by Maria.

“‘Vice Chairman Yoo, please keep me off the schedule Friday evening.’” In a gravelly voice, she continued, “‘Director Ortega, you know I need you to assist me with all acquisitions. It’s expected. We’re finalizing the Usagi Electronics deal. This is the most vital time. It can’t be completed without you.’”

“Hey—” said Kihyun, but again, she cut him off.

“‘Vice Chairman Im, I have important plans this Saturday, so please—'

“‘Director Ortega, please take this job more seriously. You know this morning we were invited to dine with President Park. You don’t say no to President Park.’

In a deeper mimic, she continued, “‘See you on Sunday, Director Ortega.’

“‘But, Vice Chairman Son, I told you I have—'

“‘See you Sunday.’” She closed her little play with Hyunwoo’s trademark tight-lipped, cheeky bear smile before she returned to herself with an exhausted sigh. “You have no idea how difficult it is to live a real life when you have seven superiors who demand your full attention all the time. In all the years I’ve served you, I’ve never seen Gyeongbokgung Palace, I haven’t visited the top of N Seoul Tower, I haven’t hiked Inwangsan. Hell, I haven’t seen a movie since your grandfather retired! Do you know how much I love movies? Now, I can’t even watch them at home because I pass out before they reach the halfway point. You tell me if that’s fair, sirs.”

“We didn’t think of it like that,” mumbled Hyungwon.

“I know. You didn’t think of me at all. It’s always the job first—the title first—and that goes for me, too. My career was the most important thing to me for the longest time. Now that I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted for myself, I found I’m missing more than I realized. And I can’t even make it to one measly blind date.”

“What’s so great about a blind date anyway?” Hoseok challenged. “They’re all out-of-shape bald guys who make you pay for your own coffee.”

Despite herself, Maria couldn’t stifle her chuckle. “What’s wrong with bald guys? You keep bleaching your hair platinum, and you might be bald soon, too, sir.”

The Chief Security Officer groped his own head as he floundered, “Back me up, guys.”

Though he’d been quiet most of the evening, save for his devastating performance on stage, Changkyun propped both elbows on the table, leaned forward, his sly eyes hiding innumerable secrets, and said, “Maybe it’s time to consider alternative avenues.”

“What do you mean…” she asked warily.

“The shortest distance between two points. Have you ever considered that, while you may not know what you’re walking into on a blind date, you do know each of us… Better than anyone, I imagine..”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, so this is how you pitch me to keep my job?”

Changkyun shook his head. “Not at all. My suggestion is simple. Why don’t you date us instead?”

Everyone’s heads whipped toward the youngest vice chairman along with a chorus of “What!”

It didn’t seem to faze him.

“Forgive my brother, Maria,” Jooheon bumbled as he nudged the chocolate-haired vice chairman hard in the ribs. “He uses his status as youngest too liberally.”

“That’s not it,” Changkyun insisted. “I’m serious.”

The director’s hands raced through her rapidly frizzing bob as her eyes searched the shadows for spot to steady her mental tailspin. “Okay. Okay, so it’s just Vice Chairman Im who’s clearly wasted then.”

“Well…” Hyunwoo said slowly. “Maybe my youngest cousin has a point.”

Maria threw her hands up. “Vice Chairman Son, too?”

“Ugh,” groused Jooheon, “you’ve asked us to drop the honorifics but you won’t? Since we’re not coworkers anymore, it’s not necessary.”

“It feels weird not to,” she said.

“Just because it feels weird doesn’t mean it is,” Changkyun countered.

Something in the youngest’s tone warned her not to trust the dark cast in his eyes.

Hyungwon caught her gaze next, and Maria froze, feeling every bit the startled rabbit she imagined she looked to be. The man always had the unique ability to stun her despite how often he managed to look like a person five minutes shy of a cozy nap. He dipped his head down, his lips jutting with his chin, as he asked, “You've never once thought about what it would be like to be with us?”

Maria scrambled to find her bearings, but it was pointless, especially with all the liquor still burning holes in her defenses. As assertively as she could, she said, “It wouldn't matter even if I had.”

“Does that mean you have?” Jooheon said, shooting forward.

The director frantically waved him back. She longed for another shot, but like so much else in her life, it seemed out of reach. She mumbled, “Did you all plan this blindside?”

“I swear to you this is the first we’re hearing it,” said Kihyun with his hand up, “but that doesn’t mean we haven’t been thinking it for a long time.”

The director shook her head. “Not possible. You have to have an angle. You’re businessmen; you always do. You think I'm so desperate and hopeless that I need to date my bosses?”

“Yes?” wondered Minhyuk.

“No!” interjected Changkyun while he glared at his cousin as his other cousin, Hoseok, whacked the blonde on the back of the head. “I’m not suggesting you stay and work for us. I’m suggesting you give us each a chance to prove to you that we’re all like you. We’re all struggling to catch up to our feelings.”

“Feelings?” she said incredulously. “You can’t have feelings for a hammer or a wrench.”

Suddenly, Hyungwon reached across the table and grasped her fingers. Her eyes shot to the often solemn man and found his just as steady and serious as she found them in a boardroom. His thick lips were pressed together into a hard line as his brow furrowed. “You’ve never once—not ever—been a tool in our eyes, Maria, and I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel that way.”

The director yanked her hand away and stared at her skin as though it were burning. All these years, and she’d never touched them save for a jolt in a shared limo or straightening a tie. Maybe it wouldn’t have felt so momentous if they hadn’t all just proposed to date her.

She cradled her hand as she said, “There's not enough soju in this world to make me accept pity dates as severance from my company.”

“You've got it all wrong,” said Hoseok. “You would be the one taking pity on us.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve filled our lives with so many distractions that it’s distracted us from something we've known all along.”

“And what's that?” she asked, and she realized she was holding her breath.

Now it was Hyunwoo who studied the director with an intensity she’d never seen from him. Normally, he gave the appearance of constant wonder or surprise, almost like he wasn’t taking things seriously, but usually that was a ruse to throw his professional opponent off-balance. But here, Maria was practically on the floor from tonight’s whiplash, yet there were no hints of that trickery. He was looking at her with everything he had.

His eyes hooded. His voice dropped another octave. “You don't find it odd that seven men who haven't been able to agree on anything in thirty years can all agree that we can't be without you?”

“I do! Exactly,” Maria agreed wholeheartedly. “I do find that odd. But I think the conclusion I've drawn is a lot different than the one you have. Honestly, sirs, I really think you're confusing two separate issues. You don't want the person who's been doing everything for you—short of actually spoon-feeding you—to leave, but need doesn't equal love.”

Hyunwoo’s intensity didn’t let up, even at the barb. Voice as even as ever, he continued, “And I think you're afraid of the possibility that your future has always been with us.”

“Or maybe,” she said, keenly aware of how much her own voice was now shaking, “I'm afraid of the far more likely possibility that this is all some game you seven have concocted to trick me into staying. For a bunch of guys who said they didn’t plan this, with all these pretty things to say, you sure sound rehearsed.”

Kihyun, who’d been sitting closest to her, leaned in, his voice unusually deep. “Maybe that’s because we’ve each been rehearsing this for longer than you think.”

To fight the shiver racing down her spine, Maria chewed her lip aggressively.

“At least let us have the chance to prove we’re serious,” said Jooheon.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“For starters,” Changkyun answered, “we respect your resignation. We won't pressure you to stay on as our director anymore. We’ll start interviewing candidates as soon as you find them.”

Maria popped an eyebrow. “What if I want to recommend Secretary Kim for the position?”

They all looked to Hoseok. Worry flashed across the CSO’s face for a second before he nodded slowly. “She’s an excellent assistant. I’m sure she’d be up to it.”

“She would,” Maria agreed, a relieved smile brightening her face for the first time since they’d arrived. “If she says yes, I can start training her on Monday.”

The vice chairmen couldn’t hide their shock and hesitation, but nobody dared argue it.

Again, the director found her lip between her teeth, this time coupling it with a worrying of her top button. “So, um, how would this all work? I mean, if I believed you for one second…”

“Well,” Jooheon said as she scooted a little closer on her other side, “if you believed us, we’d each like a chance to take you out.”

“There won't be any work involved,” Hoseok promised. “We're talking about dates, so we’ll keep everything out of the office.”

“You, I’m not worried about,” Maria admitted. “I can barely keep you at your desk as it is. But a few of you…”

She glared at Minhyuk, Kihyun, and Changkyun before the first butted in, “Not this time. And you won't have to plan a thing. We'll be responsible for you for a change.”

“Despite what you may think, we’ve managed to pick up a few things over the years,” Hyungwon said.

She glared sternly at them. “I’m 38. I don’t have time for boys.”

“Director Ortega—Maria,” Kihyun corrected, “we run a multibillion-dollar company. We’re not children anymore.”

“Didn’t I just put you all in time-out?” she recapped. They pouted across the board, seven undeniably handsome faces as defeated as the director had ever seen, and Maria let out a sigh. “Ugh, this conversation is making me feel uncomfortably sober. How serious are you all planning to take this charade?”

“At least as serious as you do,” said Minhyuk.

“As serious as we’ve ever taken anything,” amended Changkyun.

Maria groaned and said, “There’s no way you can play nicely with each other. How am I supposed to come out alive from this?”

“If there’s one thing to convince us to get along, it’s you, Maria,” said Hyungwon. She clutched her temples at this sound of her name in his gravelly rumble and winced.

“This is such a bad idea. What happens when it doesn’t work out with any of you? Or worse, it does work? What happens if it works really well with one of you? You can’t get along as is. Something like this… it could makes things irreconcilable.”

Minhyuk shrugged. “If you’re leaving anyway, at least you won’t have to stay for the fallout.”

“I still care,” she insisted, hands gripping the table edge. “I love Xtra Mile. I don’t want to be the reason something happens to it. You can’t promise that you’ll be okay with this.”

“You’re right,” said Hyunwoo, “we can’t, but if it isn’t already clear, we’ll do just about anything for you.”

“Even act like family,” Jooheon said with a clap on his little brother’s back beside him.

Maria glanced between her bosses, finding a thousand different reasons why this was a stupid, terrible idea, yet she found herself resisting all of those. Time stretched between the group. One minute morphed into two and then five, but it didn’t make a difference. It wasn’t changing her fate or her answer.

She chewed her lip again, but finally, she said, “I don’t know…”

“Jackson said we needed to show you our sincerity,” said Kihyun. “Please, Maria, let us.”

“You spoke to President Wang about this?” she shouted, her whole body darkening a shade. “Oh god, I can’t show my face back at the office ever again.”

“We didn’t talk to him about this!” Jooheon was quick to swear. “No one knows about this but us.”

“Hell,” said Minhyuk, “we didn’t even know before right now.”

Maria whimpered. “You better pray no one finds out or I won’t be putting you in timeout. I’ll be putting you in prison.”

The vice chairmen shared a laugh and a nod, which was more than they’d really ever shared, and the director relented to them as she had for years. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do considering where that bad habit had led her, but curiosity—and so much more—had gotten the better of her.

Come Monday, with the booze burned out of her system and her power suit back on, maybe her misgivings would get the better of her, but as Hyunwoo’s limo driver returned from dropping off the last of her guests and offered to take them all home, she didn’t refuse.

And she didn’t refuse when they insisted on piling out on her sidewalk to see her safely into her building.

She didn’t refuse when they promised to make the next month all about her.

With one final look through the glass entryway at the seven troublesome men who’d strategically commandeered her whole life for the past five years, she muttered to herself once more, “Dios mío, dame fuerzas…”

#monsta x smut #shownu smut #wonho smut #minhyuk smut #kihyun smut #hyungwon smut #jooheon smut #changkyun smut #wwwdo #reverse harem #miniseries #original character #ot7 #coworkers to lovers

54 notes · View notes