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#there isn’t a particular Point to this post really but

m-aximumjoy · 1 year

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Some interesting similarities between the forms of Falling Devil and Darkness Devil.

There’s the use of multiple bodies to create a singular form, the angular shapes, the mantis-leg-like appendages, the sheer height.

These two also share very strong hand motifs, which makes sense for both of them: when it’s dark, you have to feel your way around, usually with your hands; when you’re falling, you try to grab onto something with your hands.

I’m curious to see if the other Primals look anything like these two.

#chainsaw man #csm 123 #csm meta #darkness devil #falling devil #csm spoilers #csm manga spoilers #csm part 2 spoilers #csm 123 spoilers #there isn’t a particular Point to this post really but #I just enjoy the symbolism Fujimoto has in his designs #like. how the fuck do you physicalize the fear of darkness. or falling. they’re both concepts characterized by absence.#also the fact that darkness and falling are both metaphors for despair/depression #saying you’re in a dark place or your heart dropped/sank or that you’re in a deep dark hole #Fujimoto you’ve done it again!!!#body horror cw #oryginals #ACK forgot alt text sorry y’all I fixed it

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volitioncheck · 8 months

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does near every single post-canon DE fic out there need to be tagged ‘Sober Harry Du Bois’? i’m getting so tired of it.

do i expect every single piece of fan content to have to fully delve into the often-depressing always-complex topic of addiction? not really. sometimes you just want to write/read a silly fluffy romance one-shot, whatever. i get it. but i think my issue is specifically with the fact that for nearly every sillyfluffy au out there, there almost must be a ‘sober harry du bois’ tag. and it does feel very slapped-on more often than not.

i think to me it is an unconscious statement that nothing *good* can ever happen to harry du bois until he is completely and permanently sober. before solving the next big case, he has to be sober. before quitting the force, he has to be sober. before falling in love with kim, he has to be sober. before accomplishing anything, starting any sort of recovery, making any life improvement, he must first be sober.

sobriety as a goal, as a journey, and honestly as a concept in of itself is not as cut and dry as so many people think it is. and i think it would serve a lot of people well if they did some introspection on the implications of how nearly every single post-canon fic that isn’t dealing directly with harry’s addiction have him as completely sober instead.

if the plot of the fic isn’t going to touch directly on harry’s substance use (and again, i’m not demanding that every single fic should), why does that mean that sober!harry must be the default?

i think i am just tired of reading a casefic, a smutty one-shot, a fantasy au, whatever, where it almost seems that before getting on with the plot, the author feels obligated to first assure us that the harry we’re reading about is a Sober Harry. it’s established with a couple lines in the exposition, probably about his improved appearance, a tag up top, and then never brought up again; a checkmarked box. like the societal image of An Addict has completely prevented people from being able to imagine a person just, continuing to live life, while still struggling with addiction.

life happens, with all of its backslides and achievements, mundanity and changes, to people with drug addictions just as much as people who don’t. is a post-canon harry who isn’t sober not worth writing about?

i think so. i think the game we all played thinks so too. in fact i think that sentiment is woven into the game’s very core. i just wish i saw that reflected in our fan content more.

#i really hope my point is understandable in that it isn’t that i think that stories where harry *does* become sober aren’t also valuable.#or that i want every post-canon harry to *not* be sober.#but rather questioning why there seems to be a subconcious necessity for harry to be sober to have kind things happen to him.#disco elysium #harry du bois #also obligatory because i am putting this in the main tag:#this isn’t a callout or vague on any one person/creator/group of people in particular #it’s more of a prompt to discussion on a very broad trend #one informed by insidious biases that live in all of us because we live in a society etc #that none of us are immune to but all of us have a responsibility to acknowledge #if there is goal to this post it’s to provoke introspection. not individual attacks #anyways i love quietly consuming fan content until something annoys me enough to make my own post about it #i do wish i Participated in fan communities more tbh especially this one i’m just shy lol #most of the time.#me talking

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desperatecheesecubes · 11 months

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Thinking about how in The Hunger Games the management team was dressing and presenting Katniss and Peeta as a set from the start, even before Peeta told anyone he was in love with Katniss and that became then going strategy. It becomes clear throughout the series that all of them were or become active in the rebellion so it seems clear to me that the intention was just to be subversive. ‘Just the perfect touch of rebellion’ as Haymitch says.

And then of course it all helps them sell the love story.The prep teams would have probably mentioned how Katniss and Peeta reassured each other after the opening ceremonies, how Katniss kissed Peeta on the cheek. Any of the trainers could have spoken about how they were always together for all three days of instruction. There were almost certainly guards watching the two of them on the roof, talking to each other, Peeta giving Katniss his jacket when she’s cold. And there’s no way none of their classmates noticed the two of them watching each other in school through the years. Hell Peetas whole family probably knew about his crush, we know they all knew Katniss.

‘Peeta must have been playing that angle all along’ ‘mostly Peeta really, there’s no question he’s carrying this romance thing on his shoulders.’ Katniss just didn’t get to see all the interviews they did that were telling her side of the love story.

#mine #hunger games meta #the hunger games #literature #I feel like I’m making two seperate points here but fuck it this isn’t an essay they’re going in one single post #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #anyway you can’t really tell but this is part of my ‘Effie was a rebel’ propaganda #I forgot about how Haymitch could have talked about how the both of them IMMEDIATELY started bragging about each other accomplishments #completely normal behavior for two people who don’t feel any particular way about each other and are definitely totally strangers #nailed it you guys!!!

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ldknightshade · 1 month

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morality: a character creation guide

creating and understanding your oc’s personal moral code! no, i cannot tell you whether they’re gonna come out good or bad or grey; that part is up to you.

anyway, let’s rock.

i. politics

politics are a good way to indicate things your character values, especially when it comes to large-scale concepts such as government, community, and humanity as a whole.

say what you will about either image; i’d argue for the unintiated, the right image is a good introduction to some lesser discussed ideologies… some of which your oc may or may not fall under.

either way, taking a good look at your character’s values on the economic + social side of things is a good place to start, as politics are something that, well… we all have ‘em, you can’t avoid ‘em.

clearly, this will have to be adjusted for settings that utilize other schools of thought (such as fantasy + historical fiction and the divine right of kings), but again, economic/social scale plotting will be a good start for most.

ii. religion + philosophy

is your oc religious? do they believe in a form of higher power? do they follow some sort of philosophy?

are they devout? yes, this applies to non-religious theist and atheist characters as well; in the former’s case… is their belief in a higher power something that guides many of their actions or is their belief in a higher power something that only informs a few of their actions? for the atheists; do they militant anti-theists who believe atheism is the only way and that religion is harmful? or do they not care about religion, so long as it’s thrust upon them?

for the religious: what is your oc’s relationship with the higher power in question? are they very progressive by their religion’s standards or more orthodox? how well informed of their own religion are they?

does your oc follow a particular school of philosophical thought? how does that interact with their religious identification?

iii. values

by taking their political stance and their religious + philosophical stance, you have a fairly good grasp on the things your character values.

is there anything they value - due to backstory, or what they do, or what they love - that isn’t explained by political stance and religious and/or philosophical identification? some big players here will likely be your oc’s culture and past.

of everything you’ve determined they value, what do they value the most?

iv. “the line”

everyone draws it somewhere. we all have a line we won’t cross, no matter the lengths we go for what we believe is a noble cause. where does your character draw it? how far will they go for something they truly believe is a noble cause? as discussed in part iii of my tips for morally grey characters,

would they lie? cheat? steal? manipulate? maim? what about commit acts of vandalism? arson? would they kill?

but even when we have a line, sometimes we make exceptions for a variety of reasons. additionally, there are limits to some of the lengths we’d go to.

find your character’s line, their limits and their exceptions.

v. objectivism/relativism

objectivism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “an ethical theory that moral good is objectively real or that moral precepts are objectively valid.”

relativism, as defined by the merriam-webster dictionary, is “a view that ethical truths depend on the individuals and groups holding them.”

what take on morality, as a concept, does your character have? is morality objective? is morality subjective?

we could really delve deep into this one, but this post is long enough that i don’t think we need to get into philosophical rambling… so this is a good starting point.

either way, exploring morality as a concept and how your character views it will allow for better application of their personal moral code.

vi. application

so, now you know what they believe and have a deep understanding of your character’s moral code, all that’s left is to apply it and understand how it informs their actions while taking their personality into account.

and interesting thing to note is that we are all hypocrites; you don’t have to do this, but it might be fun to play around with the concept of their moral code and add a little bit of hypocrisy to their actions as a treat.

either way, how do your character’s various beliefs interact? how does it make them interact with the world? with others? with their friends, family, and community? with their government? with their employment? with their studies? with the earth and environment itself?

in conclusion:

there’s a lot of things that inform one’s moral compass and i will never be able to touch on them all; however, this should hopefully serve as at least a basic guide.

#ldknightshade.txt #writing #writing tips #creative writing #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing advice #writing help #how to write #writing tumblr #writeblr

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austinbutlerslovers · 9 days

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Fight Training

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin has been practicing non stop to learn the art of Kali stick fighting for his upcoming role as Feyd Rautha for Dune Part Two.

Austin is so invested in his craft he comes home physically exhausted and begins a cycle of only cuddles, showers, and sleep with you.

Without sex you begin to lust for him. Your cravings for his body reach fever pitch when he returns home after a training session still sweaty.

This time you refuse to let him shower and sleep instead you make him submit and satisfy both of your sexual urges.

Established relationship girlfriend

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Female in heat• unsuspecting Austin•female sexual aggression• sub Austin•coercive edging on Austin• dirty talk •Oral sex on Austin• breast play•nipple play•clit play•P in V• simultaneous orgasms• cream pie •aftercare

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Thank you for this request. I have a glitch where I can’t post the story with it! But please enjoy 💝

Fight Training

Austin finishes his training with Roger Yuan for the day. It is in preparation for his latest film Dune Part Two. He has been cast to play the villain Feyd Rautha. A bald and menacing character who is a psychotic swordsman.

Austin has learned the art of Kali stick fighting with Roger over the last few months and is in near perfection of the skill. When they practice now instead of sticks they have upgraded to stunt blades.

Austin as usual has been intensely focused and highly determined to get every aspect right. The fighting team of the film began to take notice of Austin’s natural ability within the first week.

Now at the final stage even Roger compliments him “You pick up on the skill masterfully as if you have been doing this for years Austin” He affirms making Austin beam with pride.

On this day in particular Austin perfectly completed the choreography and flawlessly swept kicked his stunt stand in for Timothee Chalamet, who will play the hero Paul Atreides.

Roger stepped in to test his command of the routine for the film and Austin matched his pace perfectly once again.

At the end of the training session Austin still isn’t done practicing. He wants to go over a section with Roger where he presses the blade inches from his own eye.

They get into stance Roger kneeling forward pushing the blade towards Austin’s eye as Austin holds the handle with him and tries to resist being stabbed.

The stunt team gathers around because of how dangerous the move is even with a stunt blade. “You’re controlling how close the blade is going” Roger warns seeing how Austin is allowing the sharp point closer than necessary to his eye.

“Well let me see …” Austin says cutting himself short as the blade tip actually pierces lightly into his orbital socket. The stunt team begins panicked murmuring.

“Okay there it is” Austin says calmly knowing exactly how close the blade can get and corrects himself pressing it away from his eye.

Everyone is on pins and needles that Austin would take such a risk but Austin just laughs looking over at their worried faces “ I was just trying to see” he says through a smile setting them at ease.

The training session concludes after Austin’s last minute request and everyone begins to say their farewells to leave the fight studio.

Roger pats Austin on the back. “You have been non stop training Austin and it shows, even at home you are practicing?” Roger asks to confirm.

“Yes” Austin confirms . “Even at home, every minute I can. My girlfriend really enjoys the show” Austin admits grinning. Roger smiles back to him “Go home to her now, we start filming next week. Soon everyone who watches the movie will enjoy your skill” He says proudly.

Austin gets into his black Audi covered in sweat. He wears a black shirt and matching sweats. His shirt has white and green lettering on it which reads “Tad’s Chicken & dumplings” a restaurant popular in Oregon.

He blasts the AC as he drives home playing death metal to stay in focus for the inherent evil nature of his movie character.

When he arrives to his Los Angeles hills estate he looks forward to rinsing off in his elaborate shower before crashing in exhaustion with you on the couch or the king size bed to rest.

Pheromones

Austin enters the front door as usual but this time you come to hug him which you haven’t done before. He likes to hug you after he’s showered and clean and tries to stop you from getting covered in his sweat. “Baby I’m soaked I worked out so hard today look at me.” He says tugging his damp shirt.

The pheromones emitting from him drive you wild today. All of his muscles are bulging and he is glistening in sweat. His blue eyes flash with excitement to see you and his full lips and cheeks remain flushed pink which is his tell-tale sign he’s worked out too hard.

He finally sees your sexual desire for him as you continue to advance. He tries to avert your intentions away, he wants to shower first and be clean for you. “Baby…” he says with a wary tone as he places his hands out in a gesture to calm you.

“Come here Austin !” You command him smiling at each other as he makes you give chase. He quickly walks backwards through the living room with his arms outstretched keeping you at a distance. “Baby calm down” he says playfully.

He makes quick glances at the path behind him ensuring it’s clear as he walks backwards trying to keep you at bay.

Deep down you know you are going to pounce on him. You can see he is in a weakened state after his extreme training and you can easily over power his physical strength at the opportune moment.

You crave him, he has been busy and tired for days on end. The night before last he cuddled you to sleep. Last night he didn’t have sex with you due to his exhaustion from training. This morning he left you in bed because he woke up too tired. You’ve been without him for far too long.

Now seeing him wet with sweat as he smiles playfully staring into your eyes makes a surge of your pent up sexual desire rise for him. You lunge him just as he backs to the couch making him fall onto it.

You climb his body and attack his mouth first. He whimpers not wanting to give in but he can’t resist you and surrenders into your kisses clutching your head in his hands kissing you in return.

He breaks the kiss and grins staring into your eyes. “Did you miss me baby?” He asks knowingly and you smile in return. “Yes I missed you and I want to reward your for all the hard work you've been doing. I see you fight training in our courtyard everyday and it drives me wild Austin you look so good.” You admit and trail your hand down his shirt to lift the hem. You plunge your hand under the band of his sweats and begin massaging the head of his softened cock.

“Fuck baby!” He chokes out as his body tenses trying to stop the mixed signals of exhaustion and arousal surging through his body.

His head finally falls back into submission for arousal and he relaxes as your hand slowly rubs up and down his thick long soft cock. “I know you’re tired Austin but you deserve a reward.” You say peering down into his softened blue eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he nods yes and gives in to you.

His panting increases as you gently squeeze and stroke his cock until he is semi hard.

You climb on top of him straddling his hips and slowly grind your pussy on his length. “Baby you’re so…hot for me…-you must need my cock in you…badly” he pants out as he grabs your waist.

“Yes Austin I need you so badly you look so good. Im aching to have you inside of me” you respond as you work your hips in a rhythm pressing your pussy against his large cock as it hardens solid.

“Thats it baby …fuck -you’re getting me so hard…I-I’m gonna satisfy you completely… I..I’m gonna make you cum…I’m sorry I’ve ….been so busy.” He pants out.

“That’s exactly…what I want Austin.. I want you to make me cum.” You confess nearly breathless. You place your hands on his chest for leverage and feel the friction of his hardened cock rubbing against your folds intensify beginning to satisfy your pent up sexual urges.

You lightly moan using him to get yourself off and he stares up at you continuing to pant and groan as you grind harder on his cock edging you both.

You stand from his lap when his cock is rock hard. His eyes follow your movements as you kneel between his legs and tug at the band of his sweats. “Baby please let me shower.” He begs worried that he will taste like sweat, he wants his cock clean for you, he wants it to have no taste at all.

But you are persistent, his pheromones smell so sweet it’s driving you insane with lust.

“I want you like this Austin, I want to know what your cock tastes like.” You admit as you lift his shirt trailing your finger tips down his abs.

His six pack tenses showing every muscle as your finger tips reach his pelvic line. You see his hard cock twitch in anticipation through his tenting sweats and you softly squeeze the tip making him grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Beg me to suck your sweaty cock Austin” you command and he looks down at you while he lays flat, his eyes are pleading for you not to make him say it.

Your lips curve into a smile you love that he is so clean and perfect he is unable to even say the words.

You trail your hands down to his testis giving them a soft squeeze making his cock twitch a second time as he gasps “…baby please don’t make me say it.“ he begs.

You pull his sweat band lower releasing his large cock. His shaft sways and you hold it straight making him gasp again sensitive from your touch.

You form a fist around his cock and place your mouth above it “beg me” You command him looking into his eyes. He feels the heat of your words on his sensitive tip and restrains from bucking his hips up into your mouth.

You lick your thumb for saliva and swirl it around the tiny hole of his sensitive cock head making him lose his mind. His abs tense and his legs spasm as his hips buck up. “ Please suck my sweaty cock baby please !” he begs loudly making you smile. “As you wish” you tease him.

You lower your mouth on him as much as you can take and moan on his cock from the flavor. He tastes sweet and salty at the same time driving you insane with lust as you begin to drool.

“Do you…...- like it baby?” He pants struggling to form words as you suck him. “Mmhmm” you moan on his cock as your lock eyes with his. He becomes more aroused knowing you enjoy it.

You savor his cock as you suck all the way up releasing your mouth from his tip with a wet pop before diving back down on him and licking your tongue against his shaft in a repeated cycle.

He lays flat just panting and moaning in pleasure at the feeling of your mouth. The way your tongue explores his cock is different from anything you’ve done before and it sends shocks through his entire body feeling like your are trying to suck the flavor right off of him.

His cock twitches already wanting to cum in your mouth. “ fuck baby” he breaths out, and sits up on his elbows to watch what you do that pleasures him so much.

You guide your mouth on his cock bobbing up and down sucking him non stop. His body tenses as his cock pulses ready to cum. “P-please let me…-cum in your pussy baby…” he begs already at his climax. “Please..-let me …-s..satisfy you… I know you need me….” He says breathlessly.

You hold his thighs and lift your mouth from his cock “I need you Austin I want you to cum in me” you admit standing up preparing to ride him.

He sits up on the couch breathing heavier as he shivers from almost cumming in your mouth. He removes his socks and sneakers first then pulls off his damp shirt. He is extremely fit from his strength training for his role as Feyd.

His chest and abs are chiseled to perfection with his once defined arms now fully bulked. He lifts up his hips to pull his sweats and boxers off revealing his muscular legs. His nice thick cock is fully erect in between his toned thighs. Once completely naked he looks up at you to show he is ready.

You smile in satisfaction studying his pretty face and body. His full lips are parted and panting. The pupils in his blue eyes are expanded so wide from arousal they are almost all black.

You step closer standing between his spread muscular thighs and run your hands through his sweaty hair. You press the wet strands on his forehead back into his hairline as he smiles up at you with admiration in his eyes. He is so beautiful.

You plant a kiss on his smiling lips and step back to pull off your top and shorts with your panties. You climb on top of him a second time straddling his hips, this time you are both naked. He holds you around your waist and slowly kisses your mouth. He tastes himself on your tongue and he smiles that you like it.

As you begin to kiss heavier his hands wander up from your waist to cup your full breasts squeezing them together as he flicks your nipples with his thumbs.

He lowers you onto his cock and you both moan in unison as you settle on his base. “Austin you feel so good” you confess having been denied him so long due to his training schedule.

“Baby…you feel so good too… but -I-Im not gonna last long …you sucked me too good” he confesses panting against your neck with his hands on your waist. Feeling your tight pussy on him already pushes him to the verge of an orgasm.

”Make me cum then baby” you command and he immediately latches his mouth on your throat sucking hard and flicking his tongue to mark you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and moan against his ear as you ride his cock. You work your mid back with your hips to feel him even deeper and he praises you with kisses across your neck as you climax.

He parts his legs wider and holds you firm to him as he begins powerfully thrusting his cock back into you. “A-Austin YES!” You moan out loud.

He releases one arm from you and reaches between your bodies as he thrusts. His thumb finds your swollen clit and swirls circles into it as you moan and orgasm hugging him tightly around his neck. “I-I’mcumming Austin!” You cry out. “Yea?.. Me too.” he confirms.

Moans emit from both of your mouths as his cock pulses his warm cum into you. “Fuck!” Austin cries out thrusting faster bouncing you on his cock. He empties all of his cum into you, painting your walls and filling you up before he slows to a stop.

You both breathe heavily and are covered in a light sheen of sweat staring into each others eyes. “I love you” he declares feeling the rush of endorphins from sex. “I love too” you say breathlessly as you rest your forehead to his. You come down together in the intimate moment.

He holds the nape of your neck planting kisses on your lips as he guides his other hand to your waist. He helps you lift from his lap, sliding his cock out of you.

He holds you close as you stand in front of him while he sits on the couch. His ear is pressed to your chest as his hands caress your back. “I missed us having sex, thank you for making me realize” he says as you lovingly stroke through his wet sweaty hair. “You work so hard Austin you forget to take care of yourself sometimes” you say lovingly.

After a moment of him affectionately holding you close you break the silence “We should shower together Austin” you say smiling knowing what he wants to do next.

He looks up at you grinning with his eyes full of elation. He presses a firm kiss between your breasts and responds “finally”making you both laugh.

💙🩵End 🩵💙

Mr. Butlers Baby Sitter Part 3 TBA (next sorry for the delay) Mr.Butlers Babysitter

🏷️ The Always Tag List ♥️ (for the new smut fics)

@faegoddessog @purejasmine @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @star017 @buckysteveloki-me @cauliflowercounty @elvismylove04 @burnthheparaphilia @emeraldsgirl @fallofthedamned @lindszeppelin @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @feydsociety @phil2135561 @softboo

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quin-ns · 1 year

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Invisible String (Joel Miller x Reader)

Word count: 3K

Summary: bill and frank host. tess is jealous. joel is confronted with his feelings. you cry over a shower

Tags: 2007 (as seen in ep3), age gap, protective!joel, jealousy, tess isn’t painted in a bad light but she gets her feelings hurt a lil, angst, joel being emotionally suppressed, everyone hiding their emotions actually no one copes normally, emotional hurt/comfort, hugs, pining!joel, hugs, fluff

Request: anon: “hello! i am totally obsessed with your work! i was womdering, if you still take requests, if you can write a joel x reader fic where the reader has a tough exterior with everyone, including Joel, but he knows how sensitive and delicate she is on the inside and behind closed doors. picture this for reference: she had warm water at bill and frank's and she started sobbing uncontrollably, but in front of joel she will always deny she doesn't feel depressed and emotional, but he knows better that this and they both help each other to open up.”

Request: anon: “loved your first joel fic!! if you’re okay with requests can you do another joel fic where maybe tess is jealous of how joel softens around the reader? like he’s not really an affectionate guy but with her he is and tess realizes how he feels about the reader? maybe they’re at frank and bills house and she knows joel doesn’t want to stay but for the reader he will? or something like that it’s up to you- you’re the writer after all”

A/N: so since both of these requests included joel being soft for the reader and them being at bill and franks, I decided to combine them. I liked both concepts and I thought mixing them would lead to something interesting. I feel like there’s more to this story so if y’all want a part two lmk

Cross-posted to ao3 • tlou masterlist • writing masterlist

When you, Joel, and Tess first met Bill and Frank, none of you had any idea how you’d end up feeling about the two men.

Frank had allowed the three of you to enter their isolated town and introduced them both (okay, nice enough), and then Bill had pointed a gun at you (not so nice). Why you? No particular reason other than that you were his closest target. From that moment Joel wasn’t a fan.

“If you’re gonna point that thing at someone, point it at me. Not at her,” Joel said sternly, his hardened gaze fixed on Bill. The two stared one another down for a moment as Bill quickly identified Joel’s weakness. Tess looked at Joel, working hard to hide the frustration on her face.

He obliged, turning the gun onto Joel.

“Bill,” Frank said softly yet firmly.

Bill glanced at Frank, who was silently asking him to relent. Bill lowered the gun with a huff.

With the hostility out of the way, or at least set aside for the moment, Frank offered you an apologetic smile.

“Would you like to see our home?” he asked as a peace offering.

“We’d love to,” Tess answered at the same time as Joel, who said—

“We actually should be going.”

You didn’t say anything, which caused them both to look at you. Tie breaker.

Tess had a feeling you’d agree with her, but what happened next still bothered her.

You and Joel exchanged a look, having a silent conversation. Joel registered that despite the gun incident, you weren’t fearful. It was only because of that that Joel looked at Frank and nodded.

“Alright,” he changed his answer.

Tess wanted to scream.

Frank seemed relieved and his smile grew. He led the three of you to the large white house that the two men called their home.

“You’re welcome to anything in the house,” Frank said kindly, ignoring the disapproving grunt that came from Bill. “Clothes, medicine, water, food—although Bill will be starting dinner soon—and of course the shower,” he listed off.

Your ears perked up at “shower.” Joel could tell by the way you actually lifted your head. Just a day ago you had been reminiscing on how long it had been since you felt clean. Like, really clean. Hot water, soap, soft towel—you longed for it and Joel knew that.

Frank noticed too. “Shower it is.”

“Thank you,” you said immediately. “For being so kind and sharing your home with us.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ve been bugging Bill for us to find some friends,” Frank admitted to you quietly. “Speaking of which,” he started. “Bill? Maybe you could get our other guests some drinks? I’m going to show—“ he looked back at you.

“Y/N,” you filled in.

“—Y/N to the shower,” Frank finished.

You didn’t hear what Bill had to say, but that was the least of your concern as Frank gestured for you to follow him.

Joel watched as you followed Frank away. He itched to go after you, not comfortable with you being apart from him. He felt incredibly protective over you and maybe it wasn’t the healthiest reaction, but he didn’t like to let you out of his sight. It scared him—not that he’d ever admit it.

“Don’t worry, I think she’ll survive without you,” Tess said sarcastically, smothering the genuine bitterness she felt at the man’s reaction. Joel was never like this before. Well, before you.

Joel threw her a glance, but didn’t say anything. Bill was approaching them and grumpily suggested they follow him into the kitchen.

They all made casual conversation, Tess doing most of the talking.

Upstairs, Frank was showing you to the shower. He’d given you a towel and found you soap, shampoo, and conditioner.

“Thank you so much,” you said yet again. Frank just laughed it off and told you no worries, and that if you needed anything you could just call for him.

You closed the door, isolating yourself in the bathroom. You turned on the water and held your hand under it until it was warm. A smile spread across your face. You quickly stripped and stepped under the water, longing for the feel of a hot shower.

It was everything you had hoped for. You relished in the hot water rushing over your tired body.

You prided yourself on being tough—like not even flinching when Bill pulled his gun on you—but something about the comfort that reminded you of the old world brought tears to your eyes. Their house was so normal. Nothing like the wilderness, the destroyed towns, or even the QZ. You were only a child when the pandemic happened, but you held onto a few fond memories. You never felt at home in the QZ.

The only thing that made it feel comfortable and safe was Joel, but this was still so much better than the QZ. It was overwhelming.

Next thing you knew, a sob of happiness broke free. And once it started you couldn’t stop.

In the kitchen, Bill was standing at the stove cooking. Joel didn’t know what it was—but it smelled delicious. Frank had excused himself to set up a table outside so everyone could eat together in the nice weather.

“Sorry, by the way,” Bill announced, off topic from the previous discussion. He didn’t look up from his task of sautéing onions as he spoke. “For the uh, gun thing. Can’t be too careful.”

Tess and Joel looked at one another. They both suspected Frank must’ve said something to convince him to apologize. But beyond that, they both thought back to the incident. A flash of anger shot through Joel at the memory of the weapon being targeted at you. Tess remembered how reckless Joel had been, asking Bill to turn the gun on him. Would he really trade his life for yours? Once Tess started thinking about that, she couldn’t stop.

She started to become quiet during the conversation, which was pretty much when the talking fizzled out. Joel wasn’t very talkative, and clearly neither was Bill.

“I’m gonna go see if Frank needs help,” Bill decided after a few minutes. Joel and Tess exchanged a look. Obviously he just wanted away from them for a moment of relief—he wasn’t anticipating having to be social and wasn’t too happy with it.

Once they had a moment alone, Joel had a feeling Tess was going to unleash. It had been building up, Joel could tell her mood had turned sour.

“What was that?” she asked vaguely. Joel furrowed his brows. “Earlier,” she clarified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Joel stated. He had an inclination, but he was hoping Tess would drop it.

She didn’t. “You asked him to point a gun at you!” Tess said in a hushed yell, frustration seeping out in her scolding tone.

“He wasn’t going to shoot me,” Joel deadpanned.

“He wasn’t going to shoot at all,” Tess confirmed. “So then why did you tell him to turn it on you?”

She was pushing for an answer she didn’t want, but now that she had started Tess wasn’t going to let up. She was stubborn like that.

“I didn’t like him pointing a gun at Y/N,” Joel admitted. The memory of it made him clench his fist. Tess didn’t see that, but she saw the way Joel wouldn’t hold her gaze.

Her jaw clenched. “You’re too soft on her.”

At that, Joel scoffed. The sound came out before he could stop it. “How is that being too soft on her?”

Tess was quiet for a moment, contemplating her next words. “It’s not just that,” she said, quieter, almost distant. It was a contrast to how loud she’d been getting.

Joel took a deep breath through his nose, then let out a heavy sigh. He finally looked Tess dead in the eye. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

If it wasn’t for the desperate look on Tess’s face, he would’ve gotten up and walked away. She wasn’t done. She was struggling to say what she wanted to say, and Joel didn’t want her to.

“The moment she came into our lives, that was it,” Tess told herself just as much as she was saying it to Joel.

She was backing Joel into a corner. “Where is this coming from?” he questioned.

Tess let out a humorless laugh. “This has been a long time coming,” she confessed. “I see the way you look at her, how you act around her. She’s just about half your age and yet you always seem to find something in common. You cut me out, Joel.”

Joel was at a loss of words. He couldn’t seem to find the words to defend himself. Tess continued.

“We’ve been in that scenario before, do you remember? When you and I were making a trade and the punk pointed a gun at me?” Tess recalled. Joel recovered the memory quickly, and he began to zero in on exactly why this meant so much to Tess. “You never would’ve considered trading yourself for me. I know because you didn’t.”

“That was different,” was all Joel could come up with.

“I never would’ve made you choose between me and her, but you did on your own,” Tess held firm. Her jaw clenched as she fought to not let herself get any more emotional. “And you chose her. I see that now.”

“Tess,” Joel started, but she shook her head.

“Don’t try to lie to me. Please.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Joel said. He wasn’t even sure what he was planning on saying before. This had all come out of nowhere. At least for him, Tess had clearly had this on her mind for a long while and today just happened to be the final straw. “I’m sorry,” he decided, but it was too little too late.

Tess liked you. She really did. And you hadn’t done anything on purpose. You probably didn’t even know the effect you had on Joel. That’s what made being jealous of you so hard. She wanted to not like you, to blame you for stealing any ounce of affection Joel allowed himself to have, but she couldn’t.

She cleared her throat. “I’m going to go check and see if they need any help setting up outside.” The sudden calmness was eerie. Joel looked at her cautiously. “We’re going to just… drop this,” Tess decided. “And we can all try and have a nice time together, eat a real meal, take hot showers, and relax for the night before we head out in the morning.”

Suppression. Tess was going to bottle everything up. Ignore it and move on. It was something her and Joel had in common.

She left him then, and Joel felt no desire to go after her. He felt guilty about that, but he had nothing left to say to Tess about that and she’d concluded her piece.

Instead, Joel found himself leaving the kitchen table. He followed the sound of running water upstairs. You’d been in the shower for a while and there was a nagging feeling in Joel’s chest that longed to find you.

His feet carried him to the bathroom door, where he knew you still were.

Joel heard a sad, gasping sound from you. It was nearly drowned out, but he heard it. Concern overwhelmed him in an instant.

Joel pressed his ear to the door. He almost busted in, but wanted to take a moment. And it was good he did. What he had first thought were sounds of distress, was actually you muffling cries of relief. He could tell. He wasn’t sure how—maybe it was the tone, or the softness to the sounds, or he just knew you too well—but he could tell.

His hand reached for the doorknob. Joel grasped it and contemplated turning it. He leaned the side of his head against the door.

“Y/N?” Joel called through the door. He went blank over what else to say. Should he ask if you were alright? Would you be weirded out if he asked to come in? You were showering after all. Instead he said nothing.

You went silent. Joel felt bad now. You were never emotional around anyone, you tried to hide it from him. Joel wished you wouldn’t. But he supposed you were just following by example.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Um,” Joel stalled. “I was just checking on you.”

“Oh, um, I'm alright,” you replied. A few seconds of quiet passed. “Thank you, though.”

Joel listened to the sound of water rushing from the shower. You’d stopped your tears it seemed, but Joel could hear the quiver in your voice when you’d spoken.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Joel told you carefully.

“I’m fine, Joel,” you assured.

When Joel first met you, you were innocent despite the dark world and wore your heart on your sleeve. You used to express yourself emotionally, but now Joel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you let yourself break.

You’d gotten better about hiding it. He wanted to help you open up, but that was something even he struggled to do.

Joel went down the stairs and to the living room. No one else was in the house, he could see out the window that Frank was showing Tess around their garden while Bill was setting up the food.

Joel sat on the couch and thought over your interaction through the door. He wished he would have waited for you to come out of the bathroom to talk to you, to make sure you were okay, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Because then he’d have to explain himself as to why and after the conversation with Tess, he feared how you’d react to the knowledge of his feelings.

As if on cue, there were light steps descending down the stairs. Joel turned to look at you.

Your hair was damp, and you were wearing an oversized clean shirt that must’ve come from one of the hosts (Frank was the nicer one, so Joel guessed it was him who lent you it) and a pair of jeans that you’d packed that you hadn’t worn yet.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“Hey,” Joel said, watching you as you moved over to him. “Everyone else is outside.”

“I see that,” you said lightly. “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Joel asked.

You shrugged. “I thought I heard arguing earlier. You and Tess,” you explained. “Bathroom is right above the kitchen…”

A brief moment of unease filled Joel. “What all did you hear?”

“No words clearly, just Tess raising her voice,” you revealed. Joel just gave you a slight nod. He had a feeling that wasn’t the only thing you had to say. “Did you, um… hear me earlier?”

Joel knew instantly what you meant. “No.” He hated lying to you. “Yes.”

“I thought so. I just”—you searched for your words—“I’m fine. That was just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You swallowed and took a breath. “I’m not weak.”

Joel let out a small huff. “I know that.” That fact that you thought you had to tell him was amusing in an odd way. He was well aware.

“Well, alright then,” you said decidedly. “It’s just been so long since we’ve had hot water and—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to feel,” Joel reminded. “I know you. You’re strong. But you’re also a good, sweet, caring person and I just”—Joel sighed, struggling for his words even as they were tumbling out—“I don’t want to see you go numb to the world. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

You looked at him curiously. He stood for some reason, it felt more natural for him. Your eyes held his on his way up. “You’re not numb, Joel,” you told him, sounding so sure of yourself. “I don’t think that. I think you put on a brave face just like I do. Although I guess I’m not as good at hiding it as I thought.”

A small laugh left you as you shook your head.

“What?”

“It’s just been so long since I talked about… feelings,” you admitted.

“Same here,” Joel agreed.

“It’s weird, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be, but it is.”

Joel got an idea. He hoped it wasn’t a bad one. “Maybe we can… help each other with that. Y’know, find a way to talk about it.”

You gave him a gentle smile. Before Joel could process, you were wrapping your arms around him and clinging to him in a hug. It was a sudden, unfamiliar movement. Joel held you against his body, resting his chin on your head.

“That’s a good idea,” you told him, your voice muffled against him.

Joel hadn’t touched, let alone held, someone in so long. It was nice. Mostly because it was you.

The sound of a door opening and heavy steps alerted you, causing you and Joel to part from one another. Frank approached the two of you with a welcoming smile on his face.

“Dinners ready,” he informed, looking between the both of you.

“Seriously, we cannot thank you enough, Frank,” you said kindly. He gestured towards the door in an “after you” manner. You gave him a smile and headed outside. Before you stepped out, you gave Joel one last grateful look.

There was a slight smile on Frank’s face as he looked at Joel, who hadn’t moved yet.

“It’s nice to have someone in a world like this, isn’t it?” Frank asked in a sincere tone.

Joel looked out the window towards the garden where you joined the table. You smiled at the sight of the food and took a seat.

After having a whole conversation about allowing feelings, Joel decided that he didn’t want to suppress the small smile of appreciation that crossed his own face.

“Yeah, it is,” Joel answered.

starting a joel taglist, if you’d like to be on it lmk through an ask or message!

joel taglist: @the-ice-frozen-ground-red-rose

#quin-ns writing #request #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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transmascissues · 3 months

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next time someone tries to tell me people don’t demonize and act violently toward trans men and transmascs, i’m just going to make them read this reply i got to a positivity post that was specifically about trans manhood and transmasculinity. this is basically just every negative thing people say no one says about us rolled into one message that’s aimed directly at us.

and as if this isn’t enough on its own, their whole blog is full of this disgusting shit. it seems to be dedicated to it, actually. (fair warning, don’t look at the next two screenshots if you don’t want to see even more genuinely awful transphobia.)

you can say what you want about how they’re probably just a troll or baiting or doing this for attention but the fact remains that, regardless of their true intentions, these are real things that a real person is saying about trans men&mascs, publicly and proudly and to our faces because they want it to do damage.

i’ve dealt with people like this before, on a much closer level. when i was a teenager, i had a grown woman come into my dms just to send me very graphic and detailed instructions on how to kill myself. literally entire paragraphs with all of the steps she wanted me to take. before i blocked her, i told her she was lucky she sent it to me and not someone more vulnerable, because otherwise she might have real blood on her hands. she just sent the whole thing again.

we can argue all day about infantilization versus demonization, erasure versus hypervisibility, what counts as violence, what words we use to talk about our oppression, and so on. but the reality is, whether you believe people want us dead or not, they clearly do, and a lot of them really aren’t making any effort to hide it. at this point, if you can’t see it, it’s because you don’t care about our lives enough to look at the reality that’s right in front of your face.

before you do anything else, block this person. don’t engage with them directly, don’t give them the satisfaction of the attention they might be fishing for, just block them. but don’t forget that they exist either, especially if you’re not a trans man or transmasc yourself. don’t just block them and move on and forget that there are real people out there who will say these things about us, who genuinely enjoy the thought that their actions might have deadly consequences.

because these are the people you empower to come out of hiding and start being blatant about their hatred when you insist that no one wants us dead, when you openly mock us and demonize us and try to cast us out from the community that we were supposed to share. when even our own people decide we’re an acceptable target, these bigots throw a fucking party because you’ve just told them they can get away with murder as long as it’s our blood on their hands. this particular blog was started recently, and i guarantee it’s not a coincidence that they started it in the midst of a rise in online anti-transmasculinity.

it really is telling, how much hate a positivity post has incited. y’all can’t stand when we talk about the bad things that happen to us, but you hate our happiness even more.

#i feel like i haven’t made a properly angry post in a while. so here’s this #tw suicide #tw suicide baiting #tw transphobic violence #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilphobia #virilmisia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #normally i add more general tags but i don’t feel right putting these screenshots in those tags

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rallamajoop · 2 months

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That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

#Karl Heisenberg #Ethan Winters #RE meta #winterberg #Resident Evil Village #Resident Evil #RE assets #not to soapbox but that's also why the popularity of AO3's 'soft' Heisenberg tag makes me roll my eyes so hard #this dude is 'soft' like a fencepost to the gut

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

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love on the floor - i. | njm

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

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

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

At least this job gets you free medical.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll see about that.”

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

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

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

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

So, that becomes your master plan.

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

“Are you sure about this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I won’t talk to them for you, sir.”

“Why not?”

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

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

“Something’s different.”

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

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

“Something like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I say something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want me to beg for my job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going, sir?”

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

“Are you… coming back?”

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

“A little bit.”

“Ask a little more nicely, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tense. You said so yesterday, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but…”

“But?”

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

“Thank you, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I— I just—”

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

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

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

“Sir, I—”

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

“What else would I call you?”

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

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

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

“Sir, I work for you.”

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

“To get you ready for work.”

“— walked into my bedroom—”

“Only whenever necessary—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t.”

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

“I really wasn’t, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s she doing it for, then?”

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

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

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

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

“I never said it like that.”

“You might as well have.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only if you stop calling me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s going to fire me?”

“I can think of one person.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir—”

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

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

“You’re not tense.”

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

“No, I’m not.”

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

“What? Not tense?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Be mine, miss secretary.”

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

His smile slowly mirrors yours as it grows.

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

1K notes · View notes

joelsgreys · 1 year

Text

to do the right thing l part iii

Post Outbreak!Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: You go into labor earlier than expected in the QZ; Joel and Tess help you deliver the baby; after giving birth, you and Joel follow through with a heartbreaking decision.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA. ((TW)) PREGNANCY, mentions and references to adoption. mentions of dead bodies, child death (not what you think), descriptions of childbirth. angst. soft, protective Joel.

word count: 7.9k

a/n: Please do not hate me. That is all. (:

June, 2020

Disposing of the infected was a shity job.

But then again, most of the civilian jobs in the Boston QZ were pretty fucking shitty.

Still. This particular one had to be the absolute shittiest of the shitty.

Having to haul dozens upon dozens of dead bodies, the accidental inhale of soot and smoke even through your makeshift mask, not to mention, the nauseating smell of burning human flesh—you’d hated getting assigned to this work detail before, but now that you were only just a few weeks shy of being nine months pregnant, it felt like actual fucking hell on earth. And, to make matters even worse, Joel had been asked by one of the officials to head over to a different site and work a different job at the very last minute. He wasn’t by your side to lend you a hand like he usually did. Before being forced by authorities to leave the site, Joel instructed you to find a familiar face and do whatever you could do to get someone to help you when you needed it.

Luckily, on the other side of the open fire pit, you’d spotted Kevin. A younger man in his early twenties, you knew Kevin was something of an avid pill popper and one of Joel’s secret regulars. In exchange for a couple of oxycodone pills that you produced from the pockets of Joel’s jacket you were wearing, he had agreed to help you haul the heavier bodies and toss them in the fire pit.

“You know, you used to be real strong,” Kevin mused out loud as he took the shoulders of a heftier male body. Through a labored grunt, he continued, “You never needed anybody's help.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you took the lower half of the body into your arms, taking subtle care not to strain yourself to the point of hurting yourself—or the baby. “Shut up and move, Kevin.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Seriously, Kevin,” You managed to say to him through gritted teeth as you helped him carry the body. “I’ll throw in another fucking pill if you just shut the fuck up, how about that?”

“Never used to be so cranky, either. Jesus, Miller’s really rubbing off on you, isn’t he?”

Ignoring him, you inhaled a deep breath, exhaling it as you two lifted the body and flung it into the pit. As you turned back towards the canopied pickup truck for the next one, your eyes fell on the tiniest little body that you had ever seen and you simply froze, a chill running up the length of your spine.

While it wasn’t the first time that you’d ever had to dump the body of an infected child, this one had to be the smallest—the youngest. Though his head had been covered with a brown, burlap sack just like the rest of the bodies, anyone with two fucking eyes and half of one brain cell could guess that he was, at most, around the age of a toddler.

“Jesus,” You whispered, noticing the dirty, bloodied white bandage around his teeny little arm. That’s where he’d been infected.

Kevin’s voice came from behind you. “Oh come on, this can’t be your first time seeing a kid, right?”

Your mouth had gone as dry as sandpaper. “I—I’ve never seen one this young,” You told him, feeling your heart sink into your stomach. “He couldn’t have been older than three or something.” Unable to fathom what had to come next, you turned to Kevin and shook your head. “I’ll need you to do this one. I just can’t.”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks.” He raised an eyebrow and looked around before lowering his voice. “Just as long as you go back home tonight and let that guarddog boyfriend of yours know how much I helped you out, you know, since he wasn’t around to do it himself.” He paused, his beady, dark little eyes twinkling in sheer delight. “Maybe a two for the price of one discount during our next business transaction would be an appropriate way for him to show me some gratitude?”

If Joel could see the smirk on Kevin’s face, he’d knock it right off with his fist.

“Greedy motherfucker, aren’t you?” You muttered under your breath, before finally nodding your head in agreement. “Fine. I’ll make sure Joel hooks it up on your next deal.” Fat chance of that happening.

Satisfied, Kevin grinned and pushed past you, picking up the child’s body.

Unable to bring yourself to watch him toss it into the roaring flames, you hurriedly walked around to the side of the pickup truck, yanking down the red bandana you used as a mask down from over your nose and mouth. Placing a hand on the side of the truck, you hunched over and closed your eyes for a brief second. “Jesus Christ,” You groaned in a whisper to yourself. “I think I’m going to be fucking sick.”

You half expected to toss your afternoon crackers right there onto the pavement in front of you. However, instead, just a split second later, you felt a sudden cramp in the middle of your pelvis—subtle, but still enough to make you wince. It was immediately followed by a feeling of intense pressure between your legs. Before your mind could even wrap itself around what was happening, there was a gush between your thighs, and warm liquid started trickling down the sides of your legs.

Shit.

Terrified, you glanced down.

Though they were dirty, you could distinctly see the wet patches on your faded, dark blue jeans. “No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It’s too fucking early—”

“Hey! What the hell are you doing over here? Who the fuck said you could stop and take a break?” One of the FEDRA officials who had been assigned to stand guard at the work site came up behind you, his weapon gripped tightly in his hands. When you whirled around to face him, his eyes fell and instantly noticed your soaked jeans. A look of disgust crossed his face. “Jesus. Did you just fucking piss yourself?”

“No—” You stopped yourself, realizing this could be your ticket out of there. “Yeah,” You replied, nodding your head, causing him to let out a repulsed noise. “Sorry. I just saw a little kid, must have made me—”

He held up one of his hands, stopping you. “Save it. I don’t give two shits,” he told you with a shake of his head. “Get your ass home right now and change your clothes, then come back. Make it quick. There’s still a lot of work to be done around here. Understood?”

You nodded again. The muscles in your pelvic area tightened and the feeling drew the tiniest of sharp breaths from you—your contractions were starting. “Yeah,” You managed to say to the official, keeping a straight face. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

He dismissively waved you away with his weapon and then stalked off back over to his post.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, you turned on your heel and started to make your way back to the apartment as quickly as possible.

Although the building was about a mile and a half up the road, it felt like you were trekking your way across the fucking country. You felt two more contractions along the way, and while their intensity was still pretty low in such an early stage of your labor, they still hurt like hell. They started around your lower back and gradually moved around to the front of your pelvis. You tried to push past the discomfort in order to get home as quick as possible, but every now and again, you found yourself having to stop in the middle of the sidewalk for just a brief second or two, only long enough to recollect and remind yourself that you needed to get a goddamn grip before someone noticed your strange behavior. Once the building finally came into your view, all you could do was silently pray that by some fucking miracle, Joel would be up there in that apartment, home from work detail.

Your prayer went unanswered.

When you opened the door to your quarters and walked inside, you’d found Tess home by herself. She was sitting at the table, sipping on a glass of whiskey and mindlessly flipping through a decades old newspaper.

“Tess,” You said her name, causing her to look up. “Where’s Joel?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s fucking happening.”

Tess stared at you, her eyes widening slightly. “Wait, what?”

“The baby’s coming,” You informed her, pointing down to your damp jeans. Though you were panicking on the inside, you tried your best to remain as calm as humanly possible. “Where the fuck is Joel?”

Tess tossed aside her newspaper and stood up from the table. “I told you, I don’t know. I know he was reassigned but I’m not sure where—he sure as hell wasn’t with me.” She walked over to you, taking you by the elbow. She pulled you over towards the couch and helped you sit down. “I thought you said it would be at least a few more weeks before the baby came.”

You couldn’t help but shoot her an annoyed look. “Well, he’s coming now, Tess. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

“How long ago did it start?”

“About half an hour ago, maybe. I was at the pits and my water broke after I saw—” You trailed off, deciding the details of what you had seen back at the work site weren’t necessary to disclose to her. “I’ve had a couple of contractions, but they’re pretty far apart.”

“It could be several hours before the baby comes, but there’s still no fucking way that we’ll be able to get you over to Bill and Frank’s in time.” Tess chewed anxiously on her bottom lip as she wracked her brain for any other possible options—it took her mere seconds to realize that there weren’t any other options. “You’re going to have to give birth here.”

“Fantastic,” You deadpanned, leaning back into the couch.

“Okay, here’s the deal. You stay put and I’m going to go out and find Joel. I know there’s a couple of places where he might have been assigned and if I’m right, I can be back with him quickly.” Tess pulled off her watch from her wrist. It was old and cracked, but otherwise, it still worked fine. “I need you to time your contractions. Try and be as accurate as possible.” She then reached into the back pocket of her jeans, producing a red handkerchief. She handed it to you along with the watch. “Listen. I know it’s going to hurt like hell, but you need to be as quiet as possible. Last thing we need is for someone to hear you and come running in here, especially while I’m gone. If you need to, you bite down on this to keep quiet, alright?”

You swallowed harshly, taking both of the items with nearly trembling fingers. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to find Joel and we’ll be back,” she promised you. “You stay right here, okay?”

“Because I’m such a fucking flight risk right now?”

“Even during labor, you’re still a fucking smartass, huh?” Tess rolled her eyes and reached for her jacket.

You watched her as she readied herself to take off. “Tess?”

“Yeah?”

“Hurry. Please.”

“Fuck,” You hissed, both of your hands planted on your lower back as you paced back and forth in the kitchen, trying your best to breathe your way through another contraction.

It had been over an hour and a half and Tess still hadn’t returned with Joel.

Your labor was progressing a lot quicker than you’d anticipated and while it could still be at least a couple more hours before the baby was born, you were still terrified at the mere thought of having to deliver him alone. You needed Joel—you didn’t want to have to do this without him.

“Jesus, fuck,” You cursed through clenched teeth. The waves of pain that were coming at you were almost enough to physically knock you off of your feet and right onto your ass. Tess had been smart to give you her handkerchief. During one particularly painful contraction, you’d shoved it into your mouth, muffling your cries of agony.

Another hour had passed and you were genuinely starting to believe that you were indeed going to have to give birth to the baby all alone in that apartment. “Where the fuck are you guys?” You mumbled to yourself. Perhaps something had happened to them—Joel and Tess had spent ample amounts of time in FEDRA lockup for the stunts that they pulled and it wouldn’t surprise you if they had gone and done something stupid, putting themselves behind bars for the night.

In an attempt to keep your mind from continuously wandering to worst case scenarios, you walked over to the kitchen sink and quickly filled up a large, chipped porcelain bowl with water. You rummaged around for the cleanest washcloth that you could find and then picked up the bowl in your hands, taking care not to spill as you hastily made your way around the single wall that divided the kitchen from the bedroom. You placed the bowl of water on top of the old, cherrywood dresser that separated yours and Joel’s bed from Tess’s bed and immediately started peeling off your dirty clothes. Wanting to hurry before another contraction came along, you dipped the cloth into the water and started running it all over your body, wiping away any soot and dirt that you’d brought home from the work site.

After you had finished cleaning yourself off as best as you possibly could under the circumstances, you searched through the drawers and grabbed one of Joel’s cleaner t-shirts, tugging it over your head. Even with the size of your swollen midsection, his shirt still fit you loosely enough, the hem of it falling to the top of your thighs. You’d finished just in time—another contraction starting coming on and you dropped down onto the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as you hunched over in a world of hurt. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

As it subsided, the sound of the front door opening caused your head to snap up and your heart to skip a beat. Had you been too loud? Or perhaps a neighbor had walked by and heard you?

“Baby?” Joel’s deep voice filled the small apartment. When he appeared around the wall and saw you, a look of utter relief crossed his face and he rushed over to you, Tess following behind him. He crouched down in front of you, both of his hands flying up to the sides of your face. “M’sorry darlin’, I got here as fast I could—”

Though you could have nearly cried from happiness that he was right there in front of you, you found yourself snapping at him, “What took you so fucking long? It’s been fucking hours!”

Tess jumped to Joel’s defense. “I’m sorry, it’s on me! It’s my fault. It took me forever just to fucking find his ass and then we had to find a way to sneak him away from the work site without anyone noticing,” she explained, holding her hands up. “Not to mention, he was on the other end of the fucking QZ. We got here as fast as we could—how far apart are they coming?”

You winced. The truth was, you’d been so busy trying to get through the contractions that you hadn’t been timing them at all. “About that.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I gave you one fucking job—”

“Look, they’re still decently far apart by a few minutes.” You placed a hand on your stomach, suddenly admitting, “But I do feel the urge to push already.”

Joel’s hands slowly dropped from your face and he glanced over his shoulder and up at Tess, looking confused. “Think it’s time?”

She shook her head. “I know it’s going to feel like you need to push as you get closer, but don’t,” she warned you, firmly. “Not yet. They need to come closer together, about a minute to thirty seconds apart. If you start to push too early, you could hurt the baby. Or tear yourself apart.” Tess took off her jacket, tossing it on a nearby chair. “Joel, keep her as comfortable as you can. I’m going to start gathering some supplies. She may not be ready to push now, but I’m thinking within the hour, it’ll be time.”

“Within the hour?” You nearly squeaked.

Joel turned back to you and cupped your face again. The familiarity of his rough, calloused hands on your skin brought some calmness, not enough to completely take your fears away, but just enough that you were able to stay somewhat level headed, even through every single emotion that you were feeling. “Baby, I know you're scared,” he said, his thumb grazing against your cheek. “But I promise you, everythin’ is gonna be just fine, alright? Look at me, right here, look at me,” he urged as he held your face firmly in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re gonna be fine. I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Joel, it’s childbirth,” You reminded him, smiling wearily. “Don’t make a promise you don’t know if you can actually keep.”

Though he knew deep down inside that you had a point, he repeated himself. “I won’t let anythin’ happen to you. Okay?”

You offered him a small, meek nod. “Okay.”

Joel lifted himself, pressing his lips gently to yours. He pulled away, murmuring against your lips, “That’s my girl.”

The hour that followed had been nothing short of horrific—the pain had become almost unbearable by this point. There wasn’t a single inch of your entire body that wasn’t drenched, soaked in perspiration. Your hair was an absolute mess, plastered to your forehead and to the sides of your face. Tess sat on her bed, waiting on standby for when it was time to deliver. Meanwhile, Joel, could only hold your hand in his and watch helplessly as you tried not to cry out too loudly.

“Joel,” You nearly pleaded his name, as if pleading for him to take his gun and put you out of your misery.

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, squeezing your hand in both of his. “I know it hurts.”

“What if I can’t do this?”

“Sorry, sweet darlin’ but you don’t have much of a choice,” he reminded you. He looked and sounded so fucking tired, so fucking exhausted—and he was. He was exhausted from having to sit there and witness you hurt while there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

Once the contractions started coming in at less than a minute apart, Tess checked you. “I can feel the head. It’s time to start pushing,” she announced. Rolling up the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows, she started giving you instructions. “You’re going to bear all the way down into your bottom as hard as you can. We’ll do ten second counts with short, quick rests in between each push until he comes out. Alright?”

You just about panicked. “Joel—”

“M’right here,” he quickly assured you. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

During the process, Joel had decided to sit behind you, his long legs on either side of you as he held you up at just a couple degrees shy of a ninety degree angle. Tess kneeled on the mattress between your legs, holding your knees apart as she counted through each push out loud for you.

You sank your front teeth hard into your bottom lip, the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth as you tried your hardest from screaming out.

“One, two, three, four—” Tess counted the numbers aloud until she reached the number ten. She watched you as you released a breath, and tapped your knee gently. “Come on, we’re almost there. He’s right there, you’re so fucking close. The harder you push, the quicker this will all be over. So give me one more big, strong push, alright?”

Joel squeezed your shoulders, his lips at your ear as he whispered to you over and over again, “C’mon baby, we’re almost there. It’s almost over.”

You were completely spent, exhausted both physically and mentally beyond what mere words could even explain. Close or not, you simply didn’t have it in you to keep going.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” You moaned, shaking your head as you slumped back against his chest, your head falling into his shoulder. Your body felt like it was just moments away from giving out on you. “I can’t do it, Joel. I just can’t fucking do this—”

“You can and you fucking will,” Tess all but snapped at you, forcing your knees further apart. “Come on, all I need is one more push. Just one fucking more.”

“But—”

“Baby, please,” Joel begged into your neck. “You have to do this.”

You whimpered. They were right—you didn’t have a choice.

“Okay. One more.” You gave a small, weak nod of your head.

Joel helped you sit back up into the previous position, using his body to help support yours. He kissed the back of your head, his hands on your shoulders again. “Good girl,” he praised, bracing himself to help you through the tail end of the delivery.

“Alright, let’s do this.” Tess positioned herself, her hands ready to receive the baby once he was born. “On the count of three. One, two, three—and push. Come on, that’s it. Come on.” Squeezing your eyes shut, you followed her encouraging words, bearing down as hard as you could muster while Joel counted you through that last strenuous push. “Baby’s out!” Tess nearly cried, and you quickly opened your eyes to see her holding the baby in her arms.

“Is he okay?” You panted, your chest heaving as you fought to catch your breath. Only mere seconds had passed, but already you found yourself in a state of anxiety over the fact that the baby hadn’t made a single sound yet. “He hasn’t cried—why hasn’t he cried?”

“She,” Tess corrected you, her eyes fixed on the newborn as she worked to clean her off with a damp washcloth. She rubbed her chest in quick, firm circles in an attempt to get her to take her first breath.

Your heart skipped a beat—you’d had a girl?

Behind you, Joel inhaled sharply, his body stiffening.

You watched in concern, your lips parted slightly at the sight before you. Not having the proper tools to clear the child’s airway, Tess tried everything and anything that she could think of to help the baby breathe. As the seconds turned into a minute, and then into two, your heart had all but climbed its way up your throat—never had you heard a silence so deafening.

“Tess,” Joel said her name, his tone dangerously low.

“Fuck Joel, I’m trying here!” Tess snapped at him. She let out a small, frustrated sigh and then turned the baby over onto her forearm. She started patting the infant’s back with her opposite hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Come on, you’re alright. Please breathe. Please—”

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the baby sputtered and let out a wet cough before a small, quick cry filled the entire apartment.

“Fuck,” You breathed out in complete and utter relief. You sagged back against Joel, who’d also released the breath he’d been holding.

“Shh,” Tess soothed her, flipping the baby back over and bouncing her in her arms in an attempt to quiet her.

Joel carefully climbed out from behind you, helping you to lean back, up against the wall. “You alright?”

“Better now that I know she’s okay.”

“She’s small, definitely at least a couple of weeks premature, but she looks healthy,” Tess observed. She single handedly clamped the cord, cutting it with a pair of sharp shears before she finished cleaning her off. She reached for the flannel throw blanket next to her, however upon picking it up, she had realized it wasn’t a blanket at all. It was Joel’s flannel jacket, the very same one that you’d worn for most of your pregnancy. But it had been washed the day before and it would do for the time being. Tess wrapped the baby in the jacket before easing her into your arms. Knowing that you’d never held a baby before, Tess reached out and maneuvered your arms, making sure that you were holding her properly, supporting her head and neck. “That’s it. There you go.”

Your heart swelled to twice its normal size inside of your chest and an inexplicable warmth radiated throughout every fiber of your being the moment you laid your eyes on her sweet, tiny little face. “Hi, there,” You cooed gently to her. “Welcome to the shitshow.”

Tess chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Son of a bitch. We fucking did it.”

“What the hell do you mean we?” You rolled your eyes in a joking manner. The truth of the matter was that you would forever be in her debt for all that she had done to help you, not just through childbirth—through everything.

You then glanced over at Joel, who stood silently behind her, hands planted on his hips.

He said nothing, but his dark brown eyes were glued to the newborn.

Tess cleared her throat lightly, breaking the momentary silence that had suddenly fallen over the three of you. “I’ll give you a minute to take a breather while I go clean myself up. I’ll be back to show you how to feed her.”

She excused herself, heading off towards the kitchen.

Joel shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. “You—uh, you sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm,” You replied with a nod, unable to contain the small smile that crossed your lips as you drank in the sight of the beautiful baby girl in your arms. She had been born with a head full of dark hair—instantly, she reminded you of Joel. “She’s so little.”

Joel said nothing.

Looking up, you noticed the way his eyes took her in—the same way yours did.

Part of you almost wanted to ask him if he wanted to hold her.

But you knew better.

“We’ll radio Bill and Frank tomorrow in the morning to let them know she’s here ,” Tess said, coming back into the room. She used a damp cloth to wipe away the blood and other fluids from her forearms. “As soon as you’re able to move, you’ll have to get her over to them.”

Your face fell slightly. “Wait, how soon are we talking?”

“Thinking maybe in a couple days—soon as you can walk.”

Your heart sank deeply into your chest.

Just a couple of days?

That’s all you would get with her?

Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel nodded. “Tess is right,” he agreed. “We can’t hide a cryin’ baby in this apartment for too long without someone catchin’ on. The sooner we get her over to Bill and Frank’s, the better.”

You somehow managed to swallow the lump of emotion that had risen in your throat as you looked back down at her tiny face—your daughter’s tiny face.

“Think of a name for her yet?” Tess asked you, tossing her dirty cloth aside.

Joel quickly stepped in and answered for you. “Best you don’t.”

“What?” You stared at him in disbelief. Although neither of you had discussed it, you’d thought that at the very least Joel would allow you to name your child—his child.

“The less attached you are to her, the better.” His tone was short, almost curt. “Less harder it’ll be.”

Even Tess was taken by surprise. “Joel, come on. Are you fucking seri—?”

He held up a hand to stop her. Whirling around on the hell of his boot, Joel said over his shoulder as he left the room, “I’ll be outside. Need some air.”

Your lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. “I guess he’s right.”

The mattress squeaked, shifting slightly as Tess took a seat right next to you on the bed. “You know it’s going to hurt him too,” she told you, quietly. “He’ll never admit it. But when the time comes, it’ll hurt him too.”

“I know,” You whispered, grazing the baby’s cheek lightly with the tip of your index finger.

“Joel loves you, you know.”

Tess’s words caught you by surprise. “Tess—don’t. You don’t need to do this.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You know, I never thought that man could be capable of loving anyone else ever again, not in this life. Hell, I tried for fucking years just to get him to feel a fraction of what I felt for him and nothing.” Her voice became thick with the emotions that she’d undoubtedly been suppressing for the last few years. “I don’t know what is about you, what drew him to you. But he does love you. More than fucking anything.”

“He’ll probably never admit that either.”

Tess smiled sadly. “I know.”

The five hour trip on foot from the Boston QZ to Lincoln was one that you had gotten used to over the last couple of years, but this trip had been something of a struggle for you, to say the very least.

Between being only a couple of days postpartum, having to make frequent stops to feed the baby, and having her strapped tightly to your chest in a makeshift baby carrier—which in reality was actually just a bedsheet that wrapped around your upper body—you felt quite worn out by the time you and Joel finally made it to Bill and Frank’s.

“Come in, come in,” Frank placed a hand gently on your back as he ushered you inside of the house. “How are you doing? Are you okay?” He tossed a little glare over his shoulder at Joel. “Shame on you for making her walk three days after giving birth! Surely you could have waited at least a few more days before making the trip?”

Joel let out a small, impatient huff and rolled his eyes in response.

“We didn’t wanna risk being caught with her,” You quickly explained as he led you both into the living room. “Our walls are paper thin and she cries real loud. We didn’t wanna risk having the neighbors reporting us to FEDRA.”

“She’s a crier?” Bill, who kept his distance, scoffed. “Great.”

“Oh, stop it, Bill. I’m sure she’ll be a very good baby,” Frank waved his hand dismissively at him.

“Can you guys help me unwrap?” You asked, lightly tugging at the sheet. “This thing is so uncomfortable.”

Both Joel and Frank helped untie and remove it from around your body.

“Oh my word.” Frank’s hand flew to his mouth and tears instantly welled in his eyes as soon as saw her. “I never thought I’d see—” He trailed off, but you knew what he meant. He never thought he’d see another child ever again, much less a newborn baby. Frank knew better than to overstep or to push you too quickly, and despite his immediate urge to ask you if he could hold her already, he simply settled for lightly touching his fingertips to her tufts of soft, dark hair. “Oh, she’s so beautiful! Isn’t she beautiful, Bill?”

“Looks like an ordinary baby to me,” he grumbled, though as he eyed the child, there was a strange little glint in his eye. Bill, like Frank, also never thought that he’d ever see something like her again.

Frank sniffed, dabbing his tears away with the back of his hand. “Oh! I have some onesies from the boutique, let me grab one for you,” he stated, realizing that the baby was naked, with the exception of the improvised diaper you had her in. “She’s kind of small, even for a newborn. Do you think she came early?” He asked over his shoulder as he walked over to the other side of the room towards a pile of cardboard boxes. “I know it’s hard to tell what week you reached gestation.”

“We think so,” You said, carefully taking a seat on the couch. “She’s small, but she’s healthy. She eats well, she mostly sleeps through the night unless she wakes up hungry or needing to be changed.”

“Here.” Frank walked back over to you and handed you a cream colored onesie printed with yellow sunflowers. He also handed you a matching cloth diaper. “They’re preemie size, but I have a box of newborn sizes too if they’re too snug on her. You let me know what you think is best, alright?”

It didn’t take you very long to realize that Frank was allowing you just a taste of what it was like to properly and normally care for your baby, just like any mother would in a pre-outbreak world.

Part of you wished that he wouldn’t bother, but you still appreciated his kindness nonetheless.

Frank laid a soft, pink blanket on the couch for you to lay her on.

As you changed her, you felt Joel watching almost intently.

Since she’d been born, he still hadn’t held her. You didn’t take offense to it, nor did it hurt your feelings that he refused to touch her, because you knew how he was feeling—what he was feeling. You would often catch him stealing long, lingering glances at her whenever he’d think you weren’t paying attention. Deep down in your heart, you knew he ached to interact with her, that he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and give into his paternal instincts. But he was simply trying to make this process as painless for himself as possible. Joel didn’t want to risk developing any kind of attachment to her.

“Does she have a name?” Frank asked, holding his hands behind his back as he watched you button up the onesie. At this point, he was itching to hold her for the first time, but he wanted to respect what little time you had left to interact with her.

Sure, you would be able to see her every now and again, but Joel was adamant of keeping visits to a minimum.

“She doesn’t,” You replied in a soft voice. “We didn’t name her.”

Joel, who had taken a seat in the rocking chair next to the couch, raked a hand through his hair as Frank shot him glare, as if he knew whose idea it had been to not give her a name. “S’only right for you two to choose a name. We ain’t got no business givin’ her a name.”

“He’s right,” You said, before Frank could protest. “It’s best we leave that to you and Bill.”

Frank touched your shoulder. The sympathy in his eyes nearly made you burst into tears on the spot. Wanting to allow for a brief change of subject, he offered, “How about we all have a bite to eat? Hmm? Surely you must be starving after that long walk.”

You forced a small smile. Food was the last thing on your mind. “That would be nice,” you fibbed.

For the rest of the afternoon, you refused to put the baby down.

Your arms ached from holding her for so long—but you couldn’t care less. It was one ache that you would happily deal with for the rest of your natural born life if it meant never having to let her go.

Frank had been completely understanding of your desire to keep her with you for as long as you possibly could. Being the incredibly sweet, kind soul that he was, he showed you nothing but patience and didn’t question you, nor did he push you or grill you on whether or not you had changed your mind about leaving her in their care. Bill, being Bill, had muttered a few, passive aggressive incoherencies towards you under his breath over lunch—something about how for someone who claimed they wouldn’t have a problem giving up their baby, you sure as hell seemed to have a hard time letting her out of your grasp.

However, once the late afternoon finally rolled around, you knew that the time for you to say goodbye was on the horizon. As much as you fucking wished you could, there was no changing your mind, not if you wanted your daughter to live safely, happily.

“Bill? Frank? Do you think we can have a minute with her, just the two of us?” You asked them. You had all moved back into the living room after lunch. Knowing time was running out, you hoped that you and Joel could have one last moment alone with her before it was time to leave.

“Of course.” Frank nodded and tugged on Bill’s arm. “We’ll be out in the front yard—the plants need some watering.”

You shot him a tiny, grateful smile. As they disappeared, you leaned back into the couch and made yourself comfortable with the baby.

Joel, who sat over in the rocking chair as he had earlier, pursed his lips. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he said, shaking his head at you. “We really should just hand her over and go home.”

“It’s going to be hard no matter what, Joel. May as well enjoy her for a while longer.” You glanced down at her just as she started fussing herself awake. She looked up at you with her dark eyes. “Hello, sweet girl,” You greeted her in a soothing voice as she cooed.

Joel watched with a heaviness in his heart as you kissed the infant’s cheek delicately. How he wished you would just fucking listen to him.

“You’re going to be safe here,” You told her, lifting your hand to her hair; the ends were beginning to curl slightly. “I know you might grow up and have questions one day, and who knows, maybe when you’re all grown up, you’ll know the truth about everything and you’ll understand why we did what we did.” You paused. “This is the right thing to do, sweet girl. It's the best thing for you. Frank is going to make a great dad, and Bill—well, Bill is Bill. But I know you’ll have him wrapped around your little finger in no time. I promise there’s a softie underneath that grumpy exterior, just have to bring it out of him, is all.” Despite it all, you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

Joel craned his neck ever so slightly to get a better look at her. “She’s so alert,” he observed. “Y’know, for bein’ a couple days old and all.”

You glanced up at him. Somehow, you mustered up the courage to ask, “Joel? Do you want to hold her?”

Joel hesitated. But you were shocked he didn’t immediately decline.

That meant that he did.

You carefully stood up from the couch and slowly walked over to him. Giving her another kiss on the cheek, you held her out towards him.

Joel looked at her reluctantly, but then gave in and took her into his arms. He leaned his weight back into the chair and started rocking, knowing the movement would be soothing for the baby. “She’s got your nose,” he murmured, watching as the motion started luring her into another slumber.

“That head of hair is all you, though,” You told him with a tiny, sad smile. “I’m going to go get a glass of water from the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, when you’d returned, you stopped in your tracks out in the hallway when you heard Joel speaking. Furrowing your brows, you leaned your back against the wall and listened in to what he was saying.

“Hi babygirl,” he started, his voice low but gentle. “Everythin’ your mama just told you, well, she’s right. We’re doin’ this to keep you safe. We wanna give you a chance at a decent life. She doesn’t wanna give you up. Neither do I,” he confessed. “But we can’t—I can’t keep you safe. I can barely keep your mama safe most of the time, y’know.”

You hung your head, willing yourself to hold back the tears.

“I didn’t want you, at least not at first,” Joel continued to say, an ever so slight tremble to his voice. “Thought you were the biggest mistake we ever could’ve made. But now that you’re here and I’m holdin’ you in my arms, I realize I was wrong. I’m glad you’re here, babygirl. This world is ugly, but you remind me that there’s still beauty in it. Not a whole lot, but just enough to shine a little light in the darkness.”

Joel paused and as you peeked around into the living room, you saw him press his lips carefully to her cheek, right where you’d kissed her too. “You won’t be ours after today, but that doesn’t really matter. At the end of the day, you’re always gonna hold a place in my heart. Right next to your big sister. Alright?”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away with the back of your free hand. As soon as you were certain that he’d said all he had needed to say, you walked into the living room and offered him a sip of your water, behaving as if you hadn’t just heard him pour his heart out to his baby daughter. Joel moved over onto the couch with you and for the next couple of hours, the two of you took turns holding her. By the time early evening arrived, you realized that you and Joel were really pushing it. And knowing Bill, you were absolutely overstaying your welcome.

“So, we just wanted to check in with you two,” Frank said tentatively, nervously wringing his hands together as walked into the room with a very unhappy Bill trailing behind him. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

You and Joel stood from the couch; he handed the baby over to you.

Your heart lodged in your throat, you walked over to Frank and eased her into his arms. “Here you are.”

Taking a step backwards, you watched as he looked down at her, his face beaming.

“Fatherhood looks good on you,” You couldn’t help but tell him. And you meant it.

Frank was going to make the most incredible, loving father.

“Does it?” Although he was smiling, he sounded nervous.

“You’re going to be a natural,” You touched his arm lightly. “We know she’s going to be in the best possible care.” Dropping your hand back down to your side, you glanced over at Joel, who stood there silently, his jaw clenched. “We’d better be going.”

“You know you’re more than welcome to come and see her whenever you’d like,” Frank offered. “We really wouldn’t mind that.”

“Don’t take that too literally,” Bill gruffed behind him. “The less visits, the better.”

You nodded, your voice cracking slightly as you said, “We know.”

“Let’s get a move on.” Joel nudged you lightly with his elbow. Did you just hear his voice break a little too?

After one final goodbye, about five minutes later, you and Joel found yourselves on the other side of the fence.

Joel noticed the expression on your face. He could see you crumbling right in front of his very own eyes like a pastry. He didn’t know what to say or do to make it better—hell, he knew nothing was going to make it better. He wanted so badly to reach out and put his arms around you, but he was afraid that one touch would cause you to come undone. “C’mon, we need to get movin’ before it gets too late or we’ll freeze our asses off,” he reminded you quietly. He started leading the way, but turned around when he realized you weren’t following behind him. “Baby—”

And just like that, the sob you’d been fighting finally escaped you.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” You quickly shook your head, trying desperately to stop the tears, but it was too late.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s alright—”

Before Joel could reach out for you, you sank down to your knees on the gravel. You placed your hands over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your cries. You knew it would be hard, but nothing could have prepared you for the god awful feeling of leaving Bill and Frank’s empty handed, without your baby daughter in your arms.

Joel sighed softly and crouched down beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Shh, baby. I know,” he tried soothing you, one hand around your shoulders and the other gingerly stroking your hair. “I know.”

Though nightfall was fast approaching, he didn’t push you. He simply held you until you eventually ran out of tears and little hiccups were all that was left. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop fuckin’ sayin’ you’re sorry,” Joel said, squeezing your body against his to keep you warm against the chilly, evening breeze. “You have nothin’ to be sorry for, alright?”

“It hurts. I know we did the right thing, but it hurts so fucking bad.”

Joel pulled away and looked down at you. The sadness was evident in his gaze. “We did do the right thing. She’s going to be safer here than she could ever be with us in the QZ,” he reminded you, as if you didn’t already know that. “At least here, she’ll be well fed. She’ll have running water. She’ll get to enjoy fresh, clean air. She’ll get to run around the front yard and play in the grass. She won’t have to walk home from fuckin’ FEDRA school past a fire pit full of burnin’ bodies every goddamn day.”

“Maybe it’s just me being selfish, but that doesn’t make it hurt any fucking less, Joel,” You confessed, the guilt causing a fresh batch of tears to brim your eyes. “I know we’ll still get the chance to see her every now and again, but it’s not enough. It won’t ever be enough for me.”

He leaned down, leaning his forehead against yours. “I know. Won’t ever be enough for me either.”

You closed your eyes, another tear finding its way down your cheek. “How the fuck are you supposed to go on when you feel like a part of your heart is missing?”

“You just do,” Joel whispered. “You just move on. Try to, anyway.” He rose to his feet and pulled you up with him. “When I lost Sarah, I had nothing. Nobody. Tommy wasn’t someone I could count on, he was too busy thinkin’ he could save the fuckin’ world.” He chuckled bitterly. “So I carried that grief with me for years, all on my own. Like the weight of a thousand bricks strapped to my fuckin’ back.”

“Joel…” You opened your eyes, your gazes meeting together.

He lightly brushed his lips against forehead. “You ain’t alone, darlin’. You have me and I ain’t gonna let you carry this pain alone. You understand me? Never.”

“I know that,” You choked out.

Joel pulled you against him once again, his arms wrapping themselves around you.

“I love you.”

It was just above a whisper, barely audible but you’d heard him.

Clutching fistfuls of his jacket, you buried your face into his chest, uttering, “I love you too.”

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tw pregnancy #fic: tdtrt

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yongbokology · 1 year

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eren finding out he’s been beating his dick to his best friend of ten years

part two

black coded reader <3

warnings; self explanatory, not proof read

this happened on a random friday night. eren had gotten home from one of the worst shifts he’s ever endured and needed to relieve some stress. for the past few months eren found himself frequently visiting one particular nsfw twitter account.

he found it a few months ago, same scenario, needed to relieve some stress yada yada.

after scrolling endlessly for the perfect video to get off to, his thumb comes to a complete stop once he sees you riding your pink dildo like your life depended on it. his volume was on max and the sounds that escaped your lips hit him like a freight train.

your ass faced him as you let out a string of obscenities. “f-fuck.” “ngh, shit!”

he found himself instantly tightening his grip on his cock and stroking himself to the rhythm of your hips working against your hot pink toy, covered in your orgasm.

your face was nowhere in sight but eren didn’t really give a fuck about what you looked like. he needed a quick fix and you were giving it to him.

before he knows it, he finds himself getting off to your videos almost every day.. abandoning pornhub completely and not checking for other nsfw accounts he was familiar with.

he doesn’t think about it in moment but one day your phone is perched in a way where he can see a little more than what you normally show. he sees the full canvas of your back but what really catches his eyes is the small birthmark on your shoulder. his eyes linger on it for a split second before putting all his focus back to getting his nut off.

…

“it’s hot as fucking balls, we should’ve came at like nighttime or some shit.” connie complains, fanning himself while being consumed by the scorching sun that peered down at the beach.

“relax it’s not supposed to be like this all day, con,” you reassure him, shrugging off your clothes in the process. you were for sure gonna get tan lines. “historia can you get my back with the sun screen please?”

eren was busying himself with helping reiner set up the beach tent but spared a quick glance at you while reiner was trying to fix the side he was holding. his brows knit together when he catches a glimpse of your birthmark. in the moment he doesn’t know why it throws him off. you’ve known each other for so long that it wasn’t his first time seeing it but something about it in that particular moments left him puzzled.

…

it’s another night, eren is once again in his lonesome with nothing better to cope with than fucking himself.

of course, he goes to your account and sees that you posted something two hours ago. he licks his lips in anticipation as he clicks on the video.

at this point he’s a minute in and already close to cumming. eren found himself cumming faster to you than he normally did with other partners he’s been with and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. (he chalks it up to him being involuntarily celibate for months)

but during the 60 second mark he glances behind you and catches a glimpse of something just mere centimeters away from you. the checkered logo that eren saw literally almost everyday for the last two years.

it’s the hoodie of the autobody shop he worked at. he stops pumping his dick, panting heavily, on the brink of a beyond satisfactory orgasm. his eyes are nearly bulging out his head when you take the hoodie up to your nose and a soft moan flowing out your plush lips as you take a sniff of the fabric.

you stop riding your dildo, laying hoodie on a pillow, mounting said pillow and eren can’t even bring himself to fathom what happens next.

you begin grinding your wet cunt against the hoodie he’d lent to only one person.

in that moment eren just realized he’d been pleasuring himself for several months to his best friend that he’d known since forever and the worst part is? he nutted all over his phone without even finishing pumping his dick.

#eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren smut #aot x black reader #aot fanfiction #aot smut #levi aot #levi ackerman #reiner x reader #smut #attack on titan #levi smut #armin smut #jean smut

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threadbaresweater · 8 months

Text

in between | megumi fushiguro

You're not his girlfriend, but it's hard to deny the ache in your chest when you think of him. You're always there when he calls, but at what cost?

The details: female reader; fwb, sex with feelings, no curse au, megumi being distant and unemotional (for the most part). Aged-up Megumi (he and reader are both in their 20's). Previously posted under a different username. 3.1k words. Divider by @/cafekitsune

It’s late when Megumi calls.

The buzz of your phone against the nightstand lulls you from a dreamless sleep. You rub your eyes and squint at the screen, taking a deep breath as you decide whether or not you want to answer. You’re tired– it’s been a long week, and if you pick up the phone, you’ll be cutting into your precious sleep time. The other side of this coin is that if you don’t pick up, you’re not sure when you’ll see him or talk to him again. He’s not exactly been a predictable presence in your life, and you really do enjoy the fleeting moments he gives to you. So you accept the call, squeezing your eyes shut and yawning against the back of your hand.

“I woke you up, didn’t I?” His voice makes your spine tingle; it's hushed and raspy, and you know he’s trying not to wake his roommate by talking too loud.

“Well, yeah. It’s…” you pull your phone away and squint at the time. “... ‘s past midnight, Megumi. What else would I be doing?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’ll let you go.”

“No, wait!” Damn it, you curse yourself. It’s clear you sound desperate, but the more you hear his breath, the more you want to feel it on your skin. You sit up and pull a pillow into your lap. “I’m up. I can’t sleep now, anyway.”

His laugh is quiet– a little bashful, a little incredulous. “You sure?”

“Totally.” I don’t know when I’ll see you again. “Give me a minute. Ten. Twenty.” You giggle and blush, swinging your feet over the side of the bed so you can shuffle to the bathroom. “Is it cold outside?”

“Not too bad, really. I’ll see you, then.”

“Yeah, see ya.” You end the call and find something comfortable to wear– nothing showy or dressy. It isn’t like you’re going anywhere public, anyway. Hair fixed into a sensible style, you spritz a little of the perfume that he’s told you he loves and grab your purse, deciding to take the stairs down to the lobby of your building.

He’s waiting in his little black car, windows down, music thumping– though not too loud. He reaches across and opens the door for you and you slip in, breathless, your heart already pounding.

“Hi,” he offers, nonchalant, almost bored. His lips curve into a little grin, and your stomach does a flip.

“Hi.” Your smile is a little more eager, but he thinks it’s cute, and he lets you know so by shaking his head, turning his eyes toward the road. “It’s nice out tonight.”

For a moment, you tune into the music on the stereo and murmur a few bars, laughing to yourself because the lyrics are so Megumi. He has a knack for choosing music that speaks to him while speaking about him at the same time, and you're always struck by how poignant the words are. There's not a particular genre that he sticks to– he's not picky. It just depends on the message of the song. The two of you have had several long discussions about what music means to you, and you always come away from them feeling like you don't know him as well as you thought you did.

Megumi is an enigma. He doesn't talk about his family or his past before you came into the picture. He tells you about all the crazy shit he does with his friends, all of his near-death experiences and places he's traveled and famous people he's met. There's a new story every time you meet up, and at some point you begin to wonder if he's telling the truth or if his life really is as insane as he makes it out to be. At just barely twenty-three, Megumi has seen and done more things than the average person will experience in an entire lifetime.

He's never met anyone like you, though. No one cuts through his defenses the way you do. No one clouds his thoughts the way you do, day in and day out. It's why he has to limit himself to only seeing you once a week, give or take. If he were to see you more often than that, he'd never be able to focus on anything else.

"You're quiet tonight," he says, reaching across to lay his hand on your thigh and give it a subtle squeeze. You roll down your window and suck in some of the fragrant, early summer air, thankful to see that he's driving further away from town tonight. There's a good amount of countryside that you've explored together, and you hope he's driving to your favorite spot. The sky is clear, temperature mild. It's the perfect night to lay a blanket out in your favorite field and stare at the stars.

"Been a long week," you say. "Work has been hell."

"Tell me about it," he encourages, making a gentle left turn onto the road you'd hoped. This one is gravel; he slows the car to avoid jostling you too much, but you don't mind. In the rear view mirror, you see a cloud of dust stirring in your path and it awakens a memory of the last time you came to this spot. You squeeze your legs together and stare out of the open window, hoping that tonight will be another for the memory books.

You tell him about work, about your shitty coworker who got caught stealing money from the bank deposits and threw a giant tantrum on her way out the door. About the lawsuit she threatened and the line of customers that was more concerned with the time they'd waited than the resulting drama from the discovery. By the time you're finished, he hasn't said a word, but he slows the car once he crests the top of a familiar hill and comes to a stop, shifting into park. The rumble of the gravel road stops, and the resulting silence feels too loud for a few seconds. The song changes, and he hums the melody, his arm hanging loosely out the window, fingers drumming on the side of the car.

"I remembered you liked it up here." He's quiet tonight, too. There's something on his mind, but you don't want to pry. Megumi will talk when he wants to and not a second before. So you nod and hum in agreement, hopping out of the car. You circle around to the back and knock on the trunk; he opens it with the press of a button and kills the engine but leaves the radio playing. The music is an important part of his night with you.

You pull the blanket from the trunk and toss it over your shoulder. Megumi meets you and steps close, fingertips grazing your hips while his eyes adjust to the darkness. Your heart jumps when his scent surrounds you, and you find yourself stepping closer as if you're somehow magnetized to him, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

"Hi," you breathe, lips slightly parted, anticipating his next move.

"Let's walk," he says, threading his fingers between yours and stepping off into the tall grass. You don't move far from the car before you stop, declaring that this is the perfect spot, your head tilted back toward the sky as you drink in the stars. Away from the city, they're brilliant and sparkling, and you aren't really able to fathom just how many there actually are.

Megumi thinks your eyes shine brighter than any of them, but he'd never say that out loud. He'd never forgive himself for being so unbelievably dorky by saying something romantic like that. Instead, he lifts the blanket from your shoulders and spreads it out on the dewy grass, then sits down with his long legs crossed, tugging at your hand until you crumple to the ground beside him and kick off your shoes.

"You have a knack for finding good scenery," he admits, gliding his hand back and forth over your knee, your calf, then back up to your thigh. "I like this spot a lot."

"You like small talk tonight, too," you counter, poking his shoulder, feeling impatient for his touch somewhere other than your leg. "What's going on with you? You're acting weird."

He shrugs and grabs your hand before you can reclaim it, lifting it to his lips for a kiss to the back. "I'm not allowed to miss you?"

You laugh a little, short and exasperated. "Well yeah, but just say it instead of trying to make small talk. This isn't like you."

He leans into you then, fingers trailing over your cheek, his breath cool and peppermint-scented. Your eyes flutter closed and you curl your own fingers just under the collar of his shirt, giving him a subtle tug to bring him even closer. "Fine. I missed you. But I don't now." He kisses you then, soft and pliant and achingly tender. It leaves you wanting more, but you could also kiss him just like this for the rest of your life.

"I missed you, too," you whisper when his lips fall to your neck and his tongue traces a path back upward to your jawline. His hands cup your face, fingers fanned behind your ears, guiding you so that more of your neck is exposed to his mouth.

He whispers your name and guides you to lie back just as a breeze blows through the field. It stirs his hair and he pushes it back away from his eyes before leaning against you to kiss you differently now- a little harder, a little more insistent. It's instinct for you to arch your back, hands pressing into his back to hold him in place. You find yourself at ease with Megumi more often than not– you're not afraid to give into your desires, most of which have been discovered and explored thoroughly by (and with) his hand. You've not been with many men, but Megumi has been your favorite.

It's not just about the sex, though anyone looking from the outside in might think that. It's convenient for both of you– no strings, no feelings beyond a deep friendship. Your best friend calls him your fuck-buddy, but you know it's more. Just…not as much as it takes for a full-fledged relationship. Megumi has told you that time and time again. He's satisfied with your arrangement. You are too, for the most part. You're free to date other people, free to live your own life, to finish your degree and keep your apartment tidy and keep your own hours without worrying about accommodating someone else.

When he lifts your shirt away and unclasps your bra, you wonder fleetingly what it might be like to wake up next to him. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and all coherent thought floats away on the night breeze, and you bury your fingers in his hair, crying out his name. You scramble to pull his own shirt away, claiming an unfair playing field, then drag your nails down his back as he moves over top of you, grinding his half-hard self against your thigh. You suck a mark into his neck and hear him hiss, muttering something about his roommate.

You freeze. "What?"

Nonplussed, he devours the soft skin between your breasts, one hand grabbing and pulling while the other parts your thighs, fingers pressing against the heat beneath your jeans. "They're gonna ask about the hickey."

"So?" Try as you might, you can't fight the roll of your hips when he touches you through your pants. He's good. Too good.

"They don't know about us." He kisses downward over your abdomen, nibbling at the soft flesh of your belly before biting the waist of your jeans, pulling them away from your body and nudging his nose against your hip.

"Whose fault is that?" you ask, unable to resist pushing your fingers through his hair again. "Why is it a big deal if you're sleeping with me?"

He unfastens your jeans. You let him. "'S not. Just not their business, that's all."

He's right, but it gnaws at you anyway. You grab fistfuls of his hair and tug when you feel his breath on the part of you that needs him most, and he peels your jeans away fully, dropping them into the pile of clothes at the foot of your blanket. You're completely nude and entirely vulnerable to him now. He kneels over you, bangs hanging in his face, a small smile on his kiss-swollen lips. "You alright?"

You lie. You nod, using the ball of your foot to nudge the bulge in his pants. "Need you," you say, sitting up to help him take off his pants.

Months of this, and you know exactly what he likes– how he wants to be with you, where he likes to be kissed (his neck, just below his ear) and how he likes to be touched (a heavy, reassuring hand, kneading his muscles, pulling at flesh). You know he doesn't care to receive, but he loves to give. Megumi is a generous lover, thorough and deliberate and intentional with every move, each kiss. He wasn't always; the first few times you hooked up were less than incredible, but you couldn't stay away from him. It wasn't always about the sex at first, anyway. He was easy to talk to because he didn't say much. He let you ramble without judgment and without making you feel as if you were burdening him somehow. Though he'd offer little in the way of advice or encouragement, you appreciated his quiet candor, his way of absorbing without getting emotionally involved in your woes.

You connected in a physical way, too. It was obvious the first time he kissed you, and with how fast things escalated, you knew he wouldn't be someone you could easily give up. He made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want a relationship beyond a friendship, and you agreed. You didn't need the drama of a romantic relationship, either.

When he moves inside you, you'd swear you're lifted clean off the ground. He's a perfect fit, and it never fails to take your breath away. Week after week, he brings you the most satisfying pleasure, taking his time to make sure there's not one inch of your body left untouched, un-kissed, unloved. He worships you, the way you make him feel, the way your body seems made for his. He likes to do it outside, though the car has proved hot in more ways than one when the weather isn't cooperative. You've done it in the rain though, all giggles and slippery skin and soaked hair. There's a certain trust you've built, but because you're not a regular thing, it feels special every time he calls you to meet up.

When he feels you begin to quiver, your breath fast and hot against the sharp line of his jaw, he pulls you up, away from the blanket, arms wrapped securely around your back. He shifts just enough so that he's sitting with you straddled across his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you, just at a different angle now. He pushes his thumbs under your chin and cups your cheeks, staring into your eyes with intimidating intensity. He's close– you see it in the way his jaw twitches, his eyes shine with something deep and concentrated. His lips hover close to yours, parted just slightly while you roll your hips against his, fingers knotted together at the base of his neck. You start to tell him you're coming but he licks the words out of your mouth, muffling your whimpers when you start to pulse and fall apart around him.

Megumi curses and bites down on your bottom lip, sharing his breath with you while he tugs at your hair, his other hand splayed across your lower back to push you in at just the right angle so he feels all of you. It spurns his release, too, and his typically quiet nature is betrayed with a surprised shout as he comes faster than he'd known he could. Each breath you take is punctuated with your cries, and you cling desperately to him, your entire body coursing with the aftershock of your release.

For a long time, you hold each other. You wait until your heart steadies, Megumi regulates his breathing, and he kisses your shoulder, then rubs his cheek against the sweat-slick skin of your neck. He kisses your ear, then pushes his nose against your cheek, cradling you as close as you can possibly get.

"It's hard for me…to admit that I need someone," he confesses.

You kiss the crown of his head and tug him against your chest. Though your legs still quiver, you try your best to stay like this for him. He's almost always more likely to talk after you've had sex– he feels raw and vulnerable, and he knows he can bury his secrets in your skin. You're good at giving him that, too.

"I know…I know." You stroke his back and feel him relax further until he's heavy enough to push you down onto your back.

He hovers over you, eyes searching your face. "Why do you always answer when I call?"

"I never know when I'll see you again if I don't," you admit, feeling oddly embarrassed.

"You can call me too, you know," he says, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.

You know better than to fall for it, though. He's said it before, and you've called. You've texted. You've waited and waited for him to call back, and he'll only do it on his time. So, you've learned to save yourself the embarrassment and wait for him to make a move. Is it wrong? Your best friend seems to think so.

Do you care? Nah. It makes sense for you right now. And when Megumi whispers to you how soft you are, and how right you feel, you find you can't argue with him about who calls who and who is more available at the drop of a hat.

It's not love…at least not yet. But you'll enjoy the in-between for a while.

#megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #cleaning up the google docs and found this old gem

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ot3 · 1 year

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What Is ORV?

The number one question I get asked on this blog, now answered better than ever. Today I am going to formally introduce you to Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

To start off this recommendation: ORV might very well be my favorite thing I've read. Ever. If I could only reread one thing for the rest of my life it'd be this webnovel.

My elevator pitch is this: something with the cosmic-scale goofy video game nonsense and intricate setting comparable to Homestuck in its prime, paired with the deft emotional poignancy and emotionally-driven fights of Mob Psycho 100, topped off with the sort of compassionate and heartwrenching metanarrative of Undertale.

ORV is a love letter to it's own readers. ORV revels in the joy of losing yourself in fiction, even when it's the kind of fiction that tends to be considered lowbrow or worthless. It's something that dances the delicate line between recognizing the difficult nature of using media as escapism without condemning it. I've rarely seen anything else that accomplishes everything it sets out to do in its narrative with such remarkable precision. Frankly if you're reading a tumblr media recommendation post in 2023, I can almost guarantee ORV has the kind of meat you're looking for in a narrative, whatever that may be.

The story follow the antics of protagonist Kim Dokja, a 28 year old office worker on an expiring contract, whose only real joy in life is reading his favorite massively long and massively boring webnovel. One day, the novel’s events - worldwide deathmatches aired for the entertainment of mysterious higher beings called ‘constellations’ - begin playing out in reality in a sort of reverse-isekai. Kim Dokja, the only longterm reader of this webnovel, finds himself uniquely poised to succeed based on the advantages given to him by his knowledge of future events, but the webnovel’s actual protagonist, Yoo Jonghyuk, is a violent monster who will stop at absolutely nothing to complete his goals, no matter the cost to anyone else. Kim Dokja finds himself in a delicate dance of guiding the events of the story to play out more favorably than the version he read while trying to avoid being massacred in the fallout, all while trying to see it through to the story’s end.

Below the cut I'll go into a more in-depth (but non-spoilery) explanation of what exactly makes ORV so unique and worthwhile, and what you're in for if you choose to read it.

Clocking in at 550 chapters, and over 1.3 million words in English, ORV may seem incredibly daunting to dip your toes into, but I assure you it's worth every moment. I would read 1.3 million more words if they had them for me. Here are some things about ORV I consider to be selling points, not necessarily in any particular order:

The tone. Its funny, for starters. It is extremely funny, which is very high up on my media priority list. In ORV, there will be incredibly grim things that make you laugh, and incredibly cringe and silly anime bullshit that will hurt you as heavily as any other media you’ve seen. I always love this kind of tonal whiplash when it's well executed, and ORV probably executes it better than anything else I've seen to date.

It’s got fun and fascinating worldbuilding mechanics. the core concept being ‘reality now operates on the rules of a shitty novel’ means that the worldbuilding doesn’t have to function logically, it functions thematically. It’s explicitly stated in ORV canon that some of the internal rules governing this new reality are objectively really stupid and illogical, but they just have to roll with it because that’s what was in the book, and i think it’s a really enjoyable way to do it. This may at first sound like a copout to excuse bad worldbuilding, but I promise it isn’t. The worldbuilding is actually incredibly deeply thought out, but it doesn’t exist for the sake of rational function, it exists for the sake of furthering orv’s thematic arcs. The rules by which this universe operate do a magnificent job of strengthening the core concepts the authors are exploring.

It plays with the trappings of isekai/litrpg in a really thoughtful way. These are genres I'm not super familiar with, so I can't comment on this point too heavily, but with my limited knowledge ORV feels a lot less of a deconstruction of it's genre and more of a celebration/interrogation of it. Despite that, it's still accessible to readers such as myself who are not super familiar with these genre conventions.

It deals with morality in a really wonderful and nuanced way. there are almost no characters in ORV’s extremely large cast who are just explicitly morally condemnable, and almost every conflict allows you to understand exactly why the antagonists believe they’re in the right by opposing the actions of our protagonists. The central conflicts are never pure right and pure wrong; they’re always about contrasting goals, conflicting worldviews, and different priorities between ends and means. this makes the conflicts all feel so much more dynamic and engaging than those where the only stakes are physical harm.

The characters interpersonal relationships are some of the most interesting I've ever seen. ORV is very slow burn and it takes a long time for a lot of these to come out of the woodwork, by design, but by god once they do they fucking hit. Similar to the plot conflicts, the interpersonal conflicts also almost never occur where there’s one side clearly in the wrong. The characters are almost all genuinely attempting to do their best by each other, and the tension comes from the ways in which human communication is fundamentally imperfect and part of our feelings and intentions get lost in translation. it’s very heartwrenching and heartwarming to see unfold, in equal measure.

Following from that, it’s a narrative that really meaningfully prioritizes non-romantic relationships over romantic ones as the central focus. Orv is about love, but not about romance. Obviously there’s shipbait and the ot3 is real and good and my friend but if you’re looking for deep complex platonic, (found or otherwise) familial, and antagonistic relationships that never get ruined with forced romantic arcs, we got em baby!

The pacing is unlike anything i’ve ever seen before. from a purely technical standpoint, it is genuinely a fascinating case study in how to execute a narrative that is almost constantly escalating without exception. there is very little downtime or breathing room in orv, which is insane for something that clocks in at over a million words, and somehow, it still works. i’ve never felt more like a frog in a pot of slowly boiling water than i did when i was reading orv and i can’t believe they pulled it off. it’s so interesting to read something like that.

It is a tragedy without resorting to cynicism and a very adult narrative that’s really steeped in childlike wonder. I’m a big fan of cartoons made for children. Cartoons made for children are some of my favorite things to watch, but of course children’s media will always be simplified and not very relatable to an adult audience. ORV is very much a serious and heavy adult narrative, and a deeply tragic one at that, but it never delves into torture porn. It’s a very compassionate piece of media overall, that holds a lot of reverence and sympathy for the ‘naive’ optimism of children that gets stripped down over time. if you, like me, feel more like a grown up child than an adult some days, I think it’ll hit for you.

It is extremely cathartic and meaningful. I am not exaggerating at all when I say that reading it gave me the closest thing I have ever felt to any sort of spiritual breakthrough. It helped unfuck my head a ton during some very grim times and i think the perspective it offers on the value of human life and our relationship to storytelling is a really really good one.

And if my word isn't enough, here's some reviews from satisfied customers. With that, I'll leave the rest to you, and hope you one day reach the end of the story.

#media recs #orv

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naturecalls111 · 14 days

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CYOA: Zoro's Guide To Romance [ZOSAN]

PART 1

I wanted to try out a Choose Your Own Adventure fic, as some of my favourite fics have followed this sort of format, and it helps me write with lower-stakes in this short, Tumblr post format :) I will create a master post for this once I have enough parts to collate.

The simple premise is that Zoro attempts to be more romantic with Sanji – whatever that means, by whatever means.

~~~

Zoro’s still trying to get used to it.

It’s hard not to react so violently, at first. Touches and verbiage that are inclined to be antagonistic. Mean. And with Sanji, that sort of instinct comes naturally. Shout, so he can shout back; bite, so he can bite back, and so forth. They’re used to that. It’s what suits them. The only thing they’ve really ever known to expect from each other.

But at some point – and Zoro has no clue when this point came and permeated so seamlessly through the iron walls the both of them had put up – the shouts fizzled into low, private groans, and the biting became intentional – literal – and now they’re here. Zoro taking a nap on the deck, and Sanji waking him up by tapping at his thigh with the sharp toe of his shoe instead of blatantly kicking at him as if he were a—forget it, no comparison needed. Instead of kicking at him as if he were Zoro as he is, in the flesh.

Sanji’s nonchalant. Hands in his pockets and voice in a low mutter when he speaks.

“Come help me put the groceries away.”

“I already did,” Zoro clears his throat, blinking away his bleary vision and focusing them on Sanji. “Did it this morning, remember?”

“I meant arranging them into the pantry,” Sanji says with little inflection, and almost as an afterthought, “And the cupboards. It’s busy work, so come on. Don’t be lazy.”

Zoro’s eyebrows furrow, confused. Sanji had always been vocal about Zoro doing the opposite: staying away from the kitchen, not spreading his germs on the consumables, preventing his ‘unwashed reek’ from overwhelming the room. The usuals. Eye-roll worthy insults that Zoro isn’t even instigated by anymore.

“Why? I don’t know where shit goes. It’s your kitchen.”

It’s almost impressive how quickly Sanji’s expression morphs into something impatient, the cigarette in his mouth bobbing up and down as he grinds his jaw and narrows his eyes, reproaching.

“Whatever,” he huffs, and drops his cigarette before clicking his tongue, turning away. “Don’t help, then.”

No, wait, come back—ah, well. Sanji’s already too far to reach, so Zoro resigns to closing his eyes again, arms crossed in the perfect nap position and prepared to fall into a comfortable sleep once more. And when he wakes up, Sanji will have likely already prepared second lunch, or first dinner. Zoro smiles at the thought. His favourite things, food, booze, and Sanji, all in one place.

And if Sanji’s up for it, after eating he might even be able to sneak in his other favourite thing. Fighting. And then oral sex. In no particular order.

“You know, Zoro,” Robin’s voice chimes softly, and Zoro cracks an eye open in her direction. She’s tanning on the sunlounger, completely at ease. “Sanji’s romanticism isn’t always so performative.”

Whatever that means. As if Zoro doesn’t know who he’s dating.

“Yeah, I know, thanks.” He closes his eyes and shuffles, letting the conversation rest.

“Are you sure?”

Zoro’s head whips towards Robin. “What? Yeah, ‘course I know,” he says. “We’re together. Obviously, I know. Who do you think bears the brunt of every time he goes gaga over some random girl? Over you and Nami.”

“Going gaga and anticipating sentiment from a partner are two separate things,” Robin says. There’s something implicit in her tone, despite her physical indifference. It puts Zoro on the defensive; none of this is Robin’s business, really. Him and Sanji are fine the way they are.

“Right,” Zoro snorts, hoping he comes across offhanded. “Guess you can go and tell him that, then.”

There’s a moment of silence, peaceful silence that Zoro can finally close his eyes to, before Robin decides to speak again.

“I think he already knows.”

Pfft. Yeah.

Whatever.

~~~

(Happy to consider things in tags/replies if it seems people (or me, lol) take a liking to the suggestion!)

#one piece #cyoa #cyoa: zgtr #zosan #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro

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