#ALTHOUGH THE RESULTS SEEM TO LEAVE MUCH TO BE DESIRED IF HE IS GOING TO REACT LIKE THAT

[soul-controller]

Selfish Top Bottom

When it came to distinguishing whether a man was a top or a bottom, there was no way that anyone could look at Ryan Thompson and know that he was an absolute top. With the bulky and imposing physique of a powerlifter and an obscenely large cock that was instantly noticeable that no matter how loose or tight his pants were, the man could absolutely be the perfect individual to represent what a power top was.

Due to living in a relatively small urban town (at least in comparison to a huge city like Los Angeles or New York City), word seemed to travel fast around queer circles to the point where if you didn’t know who Ryan was, you at least knew of his reputation. He was a perpetual manwhore, constantly hooking up with anyone he wanted and discarding them immediately after they fulfilled his needs. Although most people understood that that was just the way that things worked in their community, the same could not be said about Mitchell. Although he had never actually met Ryan or been intimate with him, the young twink knew that it was someone he had no desire of ever interacting with. 

However, all of that changed once Mitchell found out that the hunk had hooked up with his best friend Shane and mistreated him once Ryan had came. As Shane recollected how the stud ridiculed the “pale” and “pathetic” man and told him to leave his apartment as soon as possible before threatening to beat his “weak pansy ass” up, Mitchell could only see red at the other man’s behavior. There was certainly no problem with hookup culture if that was how Ryan wanted to live his life, but Mitchell drew the line at blatant disrespect and homophobic rhetoric. So with that in mind, he decided to put a plan into action – one of complete revenge to teach a lesson to the asshole meathead. 

To Mitchell’s amusement, it didn’t take much for him to catch Ryan’s eye. All he had to do was show up to the same club where Ryan had met Shane and sneak peeks at the ginger-haired hunk’s beefy body and playfully avert his gaze once Ryan realized that someone was staring. After a good 30 minutes of this back and forth, the beefy stud and twink finally met before heading off to Ryan’s place to “have some fun”.

Once they were walking up the stairs to the apartment, Mitchell wasted no time giving a performance of a lifetime by pretending to be fully infatuated as he felt up the man’s thick muscles and remarked about how hot and sexy the stud was. As a result, the duo couldn’t even make it into the bedroom before they ducked into the first bathroom they saw to get more intimate. Upon undressing himself and helping Ryan take off his clothes as well, Mitchell’s right hand began to traverse down the man’s pectoral shelf and cobblestone abs as he quietly whispered under his breath. As the twink’s dainty fingers finally began to graze along Ryan’s impressive and girthy manhood, Mitchell then grit his teeth and smirked as he forcefully wrapped around the man’s cock and balls and tugged.

The immediate tension caused Ryan to gasp and scream in shock, but rather than intense pain, the tugging was soundtracked by a resounding POP that echoed through the spacious bathroom. As he looked down at himself, a guttural scream escaped his lips as he noticed two things – his crotch was completely flat reminiscent of a Ken doll and Mitchell’s frail hand was still holding onto his real cock and balls.

As Ryan desperately asked what was going on, he watched in pure horror as he watched the man whisper more words under his breath which led to a chain reaction onto his detached genitalia. Before his eyes, his cock and balls were losing its realistic organic composition and shifting to gain an artificial shimmer – his cock was turning into a rubber dildo (with a suction cup even added onto the end to fully seal the deal).

While the hunk was acting absolutely manic at the transformation that had befallen him, Mitchell was completely calm and even joyful as he savored the other’s utter helplessness. Revenge felt oh so sweet… and he still had one more thing planned to make it even sweeter! As he continued to recite the words underneath his breath, the young warlock couldn’t help but smirk as he watched his magic going to work immediately. In an instant, the man’s firm muscular butt had been replaced with an insanely large and flabby ass that would wobble with every step he took. 

Despite wanting to wring out the pathetic twink’s neck, Ryan realized that there was something preventing him from either speaking to the man or physically attacking him. So instead, he could only watch in disbelief as the twink cockily stared at the man before turning and exiting the apartment.

Now alone with his new body and desires, Ryan stood at the sink and looked back at the dildo that still hung from a nearby wall. Despite how eager his mind was in regards to getting fucked, the perpetual top had no practice bottoming and thus knew what he needed to do before he got on Grindr and searched for a man to fill his needy hole…

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#male transformation #top to bottom #mini-story #toy transformation

[lucyandthepen]

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.” 

#jaemin imagines #jaemin scenario #jaemin drabbles #jaemin drabble #jaemin scenarios #jaemin x reader #jaemin x you #nct x you #nct dream x you #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct dream drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct smut #jaemin smut #nct x reader #nct x y/n

[yanderes-galore]

Angeldust with a prudish darling? :33 (Platonic/Romantic)🪲 [Shiny Bug Anon]

According to the dictionary, a Prude is;

"A person who is or claims to be easily shocked by matters relating to sex or nudity."

I'll see what I can do :) Definition is here for those who don't know what "Prude" meant like me. Please read Trigger Warnings THOROUGHLY.

Yandere! Angel Dust with Prude! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Flirty behavior, Mature language/Themes, Intimate/Sexual behavior mentioned (he doesn't really do anything to you, just teases you), Drinking/Intoxication, Thoughts of violence/murder, Jealousy, Manipulation, Dubious companionship/relationship.

I feel a little bad for darling because you have the, for lack of a better term, Pornstar obsessed with you.

For a Sinner you seem awfully... tight lipped about sex.

The moment Angel says some innuendo or flirty comment, he notices you grimace or try to ignore it.

You practically run out of the room when he puts in one of his... "tapes".

At first he's confused, but honestly...?

He does find your nature a bit cute.

You just know Angel's going to tease you relentlessly.

After all, Angel's whole thing is about the intimate nature in Sinners.

Angel would definitely flirt and tease you just to see your reaction.

Afterwards he'd playfully laugh with a grin.

"No need to be such a prude around me, darling~ Such a carnal desire is nothing to be too ashamed about down here."

Despite this, I doubt Angel has any malicious intentions towards you.

He cares for you, be it as a close friend or some sort of genuine partner.

Him teasing you about nudity and intimacy is his form of showing affection since you're just so cute.

I mean, seriously... a Sinner who isn't promiscuous in the slightest?

It's a surprise to Angel... Although... Perhaps it's a welcome one?

Definitely makes comments about nudity around you, if he has romantic interest towards you it's no doubt about you or himself.

Honestly? He lives for the blush on your face.

You try to tell him off, telling him to stop teasing you...

However, how could he?

Again, you're adorable...

Plus, messing with you takes away his stress.

If he went too far, especially if Husk gave him a little too much to drink, he feels horrible.

Which results in him chasing you down, apologizing profusely and clinging to you.

He really does care about you, to the point that if anyone touched you... especially Val... Angel may just snap.

Angel would kill for you, if he can't he'll get someone who can...!

So while he may be playful and likes to see you blush or freak out, he hates making you upset.

It makes him feel like shit, really.

If Angel goes too far, he'll comfort you.

If someone else was teasing you, you can hear the growl that leaves the Spider-Demon's throat.

Teasing you is just you and him thing.

If anyone else messed with you, he'd immediately be protective.

He'd pick you up and glare daggers at the demon who dared to upset you like that.

"Hey. They don't like what you're doing, asshole. It's best you leave before things get ugly, scum...!"

Overall, Angel is teasing towards a darling who's prude.

He means well and is still affectionate, never intentionally trying to hurt you or make you upset.

Teasing you is his favorite thing to do with you...

The moment anyone else tries to take advantage of your nature, however?

They'll be gotten rid of and you'll be firmly placed in Angel's arms.

"Come on... you aren't at least a little bit curious?"

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere angel dust #yandere hazbin hotel x reader

[simplyxsinned]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR LOVE??

summary | how much they love you

genre | fluff, suggestive (making out)

characters | dottore, Childe x gn!reader

✧ DOTTORE — 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣?

You could tell, by the way he roughly grabs your waist, the way he practically shoves his tongue inside your mouth entangling it with yours resulting in a heated session, the thought of detaching from each other almost never crossed either of your minds until you started to feel dizzy from the lack of air along with the buckle of your legs

Noticing your struggle, his sharp teeth sinked into your bottom lip before pulling away, drawing a bit of blood, the metallic aftertaste lingers in your mouth, his hand slowly leaving your waist, creeping it's way to caress your delicate features, his cold thumb making small circles on your cheek, the way he touches you makes you get goosebumps

"hmm you're really one of a kind darling" licking his lips

Leaning back, the sight of his adams apple bobbed up then down as the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead fail to escape your attentive gaze, indicating that the cruel bloodlusting madman—Dottore was agitated

How amusing, it seems like the rumors of him being cold to other was a mere facade to intimidate them, as soon as he catches a glance of his oh so called darling, he turns into a pile of goo, going as far as letting you chain him up, tease him with your flirtatious words all the while stepping on him although..that's a story for another day

✧ CHILDE — as deep as the abyss..

Never doubt his undying love for you, once childe gets attached— its unviable for him to ever let go. Days with him are mostly spent with you in his arms, clutching onto you tight, oh no don’t be mistaken though, it’s not him that has you wrapped around his dainty fingers, it’s quite the opposite

With just your single innocent peck on his skin, he yearns for more, he’s a greedy man with an unfulfilling desire towards your affection, he can even sacrifice his dignity to signify his devotion to you, he is utterly whipped…down bad even

Due to his working schedule, you hardly ever got the chance to see Childe this week, fatui agents who are unfortunate enough to bump into him reported that he looked grimmer than usual, his cheerful and lighthearted demeanour evaporated into the cold thin air, hearing that made you even more concerned for his well being

Before you could buy time to visit him, he bursts through the doors snapping you out of your thoughts, panting he managed to keep himself sturdy, the dark circles under his eyes growing extremely evident under the warm lighting

As soon as his eyes laid on your figure, he waddled his way into your warm embrace, practically throwing himself onto your body, the comforting way your arms tighten around him as he digs his face deeper into your chest, hearing your steady heartbeat he felt as if the falling snowflakes outside stopped, would you just let him be for a few more moments please?

#— bubblegum wrappers [🍵] #astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia #childe #tartaglia x reader #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #dottore #dottore x reader #genshin dottore #dottore x y/n #childe x y/n

[haru-natsuka]

Second Male Leads Are all Yanderes but I Won't Rest Until I Win My Love Back (Female Reader x OCs)

CHAPTER 2

Story will start after synopsis

Every second male lead who appeared in this world had a hidden yandere side that can emerge at any moment and turn them into a twisted and obsessive villain.

As someone with a severe case of the "second male lead syndrome", you are determined to pursue your love for the second male lead, leaving the original male lead to become the second.

While you were busy chasing after the second male lead, the original male lead kept on bothering you and trying to get you to choose him instead.

"Don't you dare to come any closer!" You snap at the original male lead, your tone sharp and firm.

"Oh, and who's going to stop me? You?" The yandere stares at you, a menacing look in their eyes, as their body slowly moves closer.

"Too close! Step back!"

"Your words mean nothing to me. You can't control me. I will come as close as I please, you can't stop me."

As if a yandere was not enough, when you chose to ignore the original male lead, another second male lead suddenly entered your life, further complicating the situation.

The yandere and the upcoming second male lead both seem determined to have you for themselves, and they were both very possessive and pushy in their approaches to you.

You just wanted to be happy with your true love. Yandere or not, you would stick with your crush!

CHAPTER 1 <<

CHAPTER 2: THE REJECTION

"It's alright Adrian. My love is only for you" His eyes widened as you wiped his tears away, your unexpected gesture making him feel even more loved and cherished.

"I know and that's the reason that I love you too, Y/N. Your love is the only one I desire"

Although his tone had cracked slightly due to his tear and emotion, he spoke with sincerity and genuine heartfelt affection toward you, as he acknowledged and accepted your feelings towards him. His words carried a gentle and caring presence but also a sense of affection and love as he held your chin, gently drawing your face closer towards him and gave you a sweet kiss and!-

... If only Adrian would reply with such a kind and accepting response, you would had screamed in joy. You would welcome death out of happiness. It had been countless time since you confess your love to him but his reply had always remained the same...

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Adrian replied, his tones were gentle and empathetic as he smile apologetically. "But... I appreciate your confession" He continued, only replying out of courtesy.

A tissue would not be enough to amend your broken heart. Where was the bucket for your tears to collect all of your pain and sorrow? This harsh reality was too much to bear. You wanted to weep due to this rejection!

You wiped the crocodile tears at the corner of your eyes with your handkerchief. Whenever, there was involvement of Adrian, you would be this extra dramatic. It was not like you did not know the result, but it hurts too much to face your real emotion.

"I figure you will reject me, Adrian," You hide the lower half of your face with the handkerchief as you stared at the ground in pretend despair. "What to do... fate do this awful things to us but I will not succumb to such awful setup! That's why please be patient in receiving my confession again. I'm confident with my endless dedication, you will eventually accept me."

You took Adrian's hands in yours and shook them excitedly up and down. It was a little rude but your crush was too kind to reject your action. Instead of being mad at you, he simply smiled and lightly let his fingers the back of your hands as a soft chuckle escaped from his lips. It was so melodic with the "ha ha ha" rhyme. A true masterpiece!

'My man is a true angel! No, angels are existed because of him!'

He understood you were simply trying to cheer him up after the unfortunate event of earlier. He could heard his close friend and crush were still engaging in a conversation that he never wanted to hear.

Why they did it when he was with them? Should he be happy for his best friends happiness? Then, what about his happiness? Squeezing your hands in response to his sadness as he looked back at you, still maintaining the soft smile that never reached his eyes.

"Thank you, Y/N, for being by my side" Adrian sincerely said from the bottom of his heart but still, you dislike the look of his that about to cry. Your lips formed a smirk as you decided to tease Adrian, a hint of mischief in your tone as you chose to brighten your crush's mood.

"Is that an invitation for me to be by your side 24/7 per hour?" You asked playfully, eyes twinkling with delight as you pull his hands closer to you.

"Not that long though." He chuckled, "You cannot enter the boy's dormitory."

"I can disguise as one!" You giggled as you imagined the possibilities. "We can even share a room and spend the night together! Just thinking about getting to talk with you till night make my blood rush..." His cheeks reddened slightly at the words you had just said without much thought.

He released your hold on his hands, gently running his fingers through your dark brown hair as he removed some leaves that stuck from your hiding early. His gestures were gentle and caring, as if he was handling a delicate porcelain doll. This was the guy you always loved, gentle, considerate and kind. Happiness and affection welling within you as he continued to run his fingers through your hair.

"A young lady like yourself should not spend the night with a man alone, and you will immediately get caught by the guard, Y/N. A pretty lady like you would be too radiant for a person to ignore" Adrian warm warning and compliment made you blush more. You could not help but to stare at his beautiful pair of blue eyes.

'Did Adrian just call me pretty? I can feel flowers blooming in my heart! Is that even possible?'

Instead of spending time with his close friends like usual, that day, Adrian spent his entire day with you. He even drew a portrait of you beautifully, depicting the rich dark brown of your hair. The portrait was so lifelike that it looked as if it had been taken from a photo.

However, you were born with dark brown eyes, just bit lighter from your hair colour. It was not hard to get the colour right given Adrian dedication for his paintings.

'But why, Adrian? My eyes are not purple like Liesel...'

You tempted to rip the painting apart but it was a gift by Adrian. He consciously rejected you and even he subconscious mind did the same. You still kept the painting carefully in your diary... only after you poke holes at the eyes area. The painting look creepy with hollow pair of eyes, but it was better than having those purple things staring into your soul.

>> CHAPTER 3

#yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #romance #isekai #yandere stories #yandere writing #crush #crush x reader #male yandere #reverse harem #original character #yandere series #new project #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #manipulation #possessive #possesive love #novel #novel writing #romance novels #readers

[gabessquishytum]

Morpheus Endless has never had much expectations from his life: he is a third child, so he has always known he'd never ascend his father's throne. Besides, he's an omega, which makes him merely a commodity. He has never been fond of his life at home, his parents ignoring him and his siblings too lost in their own misery and shenanigans, but he was cautious of his prospects, for he has always realized how much he'd be dependent on his future spouse. For once, gods seem to smile at him because Morpheus gets suddenly betrothed to King Robert Gadling, ruler of the neighboring lands. Robert has a reputation as a fair king, although Morpheus finds it very alarming and disappointing that he keeps slaves and that slavery is a norm in his kingdom in general. Still, everyone knows that Robert treated his wife Eleanor with respect despite the fact that she was an omega, and this gives Morpheus hope. What Morpheus doesn't know is that his future alpha has no desire to get married again. He simply has to. His beloved queen died as a result of ectopic pregnancy, and he still needs an heir. And better an heir and a spare. Robert agrees to the union with the Endless dynasty: in fact, that's an incredibly fortunate deal for his kingdom because his neighbors are way more powerful and rich. But for him, it's nothing but a business agreement. That's why Robert is taken aback when he finally meets his fiancé at the wedding: Prince Morpheus is ethereally beautiful. Robert falls in love at first sight and hates himself for it because it feels like he's betraying the memory of Eleanor. He's perfectly polite to his new husband, albeit cold and neglectful, and Morpheus can't figure out what he has done to displease his alpha: he is well aware of many faults of his character, but he really tried to be on his best behavior, and besides, they barely interacted at all. Robert gets drunk at the wedding. Morpheus waits for him till dawn, but he doesn't come to consummate the marriage. He continues to ignore Morpheus' existence till his omega goes into heat, and that's when Robert can no longer deny the pull and longing. And he does need an heir. Morpheus' heat is everything they both ever wanted, days and nights spent in tender lovemaking, and Morpheus dares to hope that from now on, it is going to be different...but once his heat has run its course, he wakes up alone and heartbroken. Shortly after, they find out that Morpheus is pregnant. Robert is excited and torn apart between his feelings for his mate and his love for the memory of Eleanor. He doesn't know what to do, so he does nothing. He only realizes what a fool he has been when Morpheus goes into labor, and it turns out that the baby is not well positioned. Morpheus spends two days in labor, and there are serious fears that neither he nor the baby would make it. Morpheus is barely alive by the end of the ordeal, but he miraculously gives birth to a healthy baby boy - Robyn. He himself is seriously ill, though, and in fever. Robert never leaves his side and prays to every god that his mate will survive so they can have a second chance. He is ready to do anything to make Morpheus happy, from abolishing slavery that his mate resents so much to pandering to his every whim.

OOO this is such a great outline for a story!! You can definitely see both perspectives here. Hob didn't want to remarry, he's traumatised, he feels so many things and everything is moving so quickly. Meanwhile Morpheus is in a completely new place with new people, knowing that he has a duty to fulfil, trying his best... only to find that nothing he does is enough for his new husband.

Morpheus even understands that his pregnancy must be a huge trigger for Hob, so he does his best not to mention it at all. He even hides the bump under draping clothes so his husband won't be reminded of his condition. Hob wavers between spending time with Morpheus and ignoring him for days. He forgets that Morpheus is going through this for the first time, essentially alone.

The traumatic labour does at least snap Hob out of his selfishness. He refuses to leave Morpheus even during the worst, when they think the omega might die. After Robyn is born, Hob takes care of him personally, feeding him and holding him as much as possible, and spending the rest of his time at Morpheus’s bedside. He doesn't deserve his omega, he's well aware of that - but Morpheus deserves to live! And Hob wants a chance to love him, at the very least. He wants Morpheus so much he can hardly breathe. He'd thought it was silly that his omega cared so much about slavery - it's just what Hob’s kingdom has always done. But now Hob would give anything to talk to be Morpheus about it. To be guided by his mate's principles. They could build a better realm together.

When Morpheus wakes up, he's surprised to see his mate beside him, with their newborn baby snuggled up in the crook of his arm. Morpheus hardly recognises Hob. He looks tired and soft and his eyes are full of tenderness. Morpheus wearily asks for water and Hob personally helps him to drink, slow and careful.

Morpheus is sort of expecting a grovelling apology that he'll have to listen to and then he'll have to be the bigger person, to give Hob the balm of forgiveness... but that doesn't happen. Hob just. Does stuff. Instead of making promises. He nurses Morpheus through his recovery, and supports him as he starts to care for Robyn more each day. He brings matters of state and ideas to Morpheus’s attention and asks for his opinions. He sleeps beside Morpheus each night (not in the same bed, but in the same room) until he's finally invited to join his omega. He doesn't even mention sex until Morpheus brings it up. And it's only much later that Morpheus finds out that slavery was outlawed while he was sick.

It doesn't mean that Hob didn't make mistakes. But it does mean that he won't be repeating them. And that Morpheus can finally learn to trust him. He's happy to invite Hob to share his first heat after giving birth. There's no alpha he'd rather have.

And Eleanor's spirit is finally smiling down on them, instead of repeatedly smacking Hob around the head for his behaviour <33

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw mpreg #cw birth

[moonlightdreamzz]

kill bill

part one part two

you return back to korea one year after you and hyunjin broke up, only to find out he has replaced you. how could he replace you?

→ g: all of it. the pain, the sexy, the happiness. angstsmutfluff! &lt;3

🎧 ➤ kill bill by sza

warning! you’re a heartbroken bitter ex girlfriend here, although for a valid reason. party environment! mentions of (w**d) and alcohol, language, and infidelity!

Everyone who is partying seems to be having a great time thanks to the Migos music that is playing. Together with the sound of feet leaping up and down, you can also hear recognizable voices trying to shout over the music. Everyone is singing together, but you can't help but scrunch up your face

You're stopped on the toilet, your heart racing as you rest your face in your palms, emulating Hyunjin's pose before interfering with his moment. You're not sure who will break the hush. You want to snort because this is all too familiar. This petty quiet game had devoured your relationship in the latter days of your and Hyunjin's relationship—you not speaking out owing to your misunderstanding over when the two of you became this pair, and Hyunjin always preferring the silent treatment over voicing what was troubling him.

Hyunjin takes a big breath before swiftly exhaling. He stands up and hands you the toilet paper from the top of their marble-topped sink. "Take it," he says quietly, and you quickly comply, wiping your sensitive parts freely as he faces the door.

All you can see is his muscular back, which appears to have become leaner from what you can see, and his blonde hair, which he opted to be down today. He was usually complaining about the headaches he had from wearing his hair up for an extended period of time.

Right now, you don't feel like yourself, but perhaps that's for the best. You quickly flush the toilet and then proceed to the sink to wash your hands. There wasn't much room to maneuver in this bathroom because it isn't particularly big. You are compelled to rest your left hip on Hyunjin's thin waist since he is still standing still.

You have no idea why he hasn't exited the restroom. A number of delusions were racing through your disordered mind, your major idea being that he must still be as madly in love with you as you are with him, and that this would be the scene in the film where you both declare how much you need each other. You can almost taste it: the two of you weeping your eyes out while making love in this restroom. It wouldn't be the first time this happened.

You pause for a split second after wiping your hands on the beautiful towel before speaking.

"Are you sure you're not going to talk to me? I had no idea you were so afraid to approach people.” Although it is a falsehood, you are aware that doing the right thing will not result in the solutions you need.

This time, you weren't very adept at guessing what was going through Hyunjin's mind. His body language is the only glance you get, and it doesn't reveal much. You start to look for his typical signs of annoyance, such as disordered breathing, shaking heads, and fidgeting with the hem of his jeans to pass the time, but none of those things are happening. He is simply standing.

He whispers, "Shut up," and doesn't turn around. It's strange since his tone is the furthest thing from sharp, despite the fact that his words are. It may best be described as defeated. but not in the manner you desire. Not in a manner that would force him to leave the party holding your hand, disregarding what anyone else has to say. no…Guilt is the cause. It's unfortunate. It's embarrassing. You're at a loss for words.

“What?”

He continues, "Shut up."

“I'll stop talking when you look at me.” He ignores your threat and stands still. "Wow, you guys are all big and bad now, huh? Wow, Hyunjin. Have you got that feeling from your new bitch? Huh!” You start to speak louder.

You don't typically lose your cool in this way, but you can't help it. The level of scorn you are currently experiencing can only be fully understood by those whose hearts have been utterly broken. The man who once pledged to sacrifice his life for you will not even meet your eyes. Devastation has now replaced the blood that was previously rushing through your veins, and when devastation is the only thing keeping your heart beating, you completely lose control. You care not who hears. You pray that she is listening in on the conflict that you know is about to blow out inside these four walls from behind the door.

you usually never lose your temper like this, but you can’t control yourself. only the people who have gotten their hearts completely shattered can understand how scorned you feel right now. the man who used to say he would die for you won’t even look you in the eye. the blood running through your veins has now become devastation, and when devastation is the only thing keeping your heart pumping, you fucking lose control. you don’t care who hears. you hope she’s behind the door eavesdropping on the argument you know is about to explode behind these four walls.

“Answer me!" You yell. The music is loud, and the guests are still singing, but you can tell that folks nearby are starting to wonder who is in here. "What is it about her? Is she more beautiful than I am? Smarter? Lighter? You don't get to do this to me and then ignore—

Hyunjin has seized you with his thin hands and pushed you against the door before you can finish your sentence. Even though it is unplanned, your body thumps into it loudly, ruining what you know is supposed to be a covert reunion.

His eyes are moist and crimson, eyes you haven't been able to lose yourself in for a year. He is sobbing silently while his eyes are streaming with tears as they look directly into your soul. His eyes should have softened like they did when you first entered this room, but they don't.

Despite the fact that you two have always maintained that such things do not exist, perhaps he truly is your twin flame. Suddenly, the anguish, disappointment, and rage overwhelm you, making it difficult for you to breathe and causing your tears to fall exactly like his. But you can't just let them fall silently. You can't stop crying, even when Hyunjin's arms slink around your waist. Your sobbing is loud and unrestrained.

You are despised. "I hate you." You sob. How much you adore him, you detest. You hate that he broke your heart, and when you saw him on the floor, instead of going the restroom and running away, you couldn't keep it together and ended up in his arms as you always do.

Hyunjin is not feeling well. Seeing you sob like this makes him sick to his stomach. He can only blame himself. He wishes to tell you that he despises himself, but that would be too simple. He thought he'd finally found more than two words to say to you, but it's as if your anguish is flowing from you to him skin to skin.

But he has to hold it together.

“You hate me, huh?” He chuckles through he tears. “You know, Y/N? I hate you too.” He lies. You always act like you’re the only one hurt. Like you’re the only one who felt shit during this!”

“Because that’s what it feels like you asshole! Do you hear yourself right now? You broke up with me! You said all of these sweet loads of bullshit to me! You are the one who tried to make me feel like maybe we could be together again, just for you to move on! The one thing you swore you could never do! How do you think that’s made me feel!”

“Everybody says that during a breakup!” He finally screams back.

Never once had he ever yelled at you. All of this seemed like a terrifying nightmare. Was the whole thing a lie? Months prior, you had been asking yourself that question, but you dismissed it as a fiction of your insecure mind. Why did his tears match yours if he actually despised you and if all of his promises had been empty gestures?

He can tell you're having trouble breathing right now because of how violently you're hiccupping from weeping. Seeing you acting so sensitively on his behalf is such an unusual sight. You were great at demonstrating your compassion for others, but it never happened in situations like this. Even after the breakup, the way you handled it gave the impression that you didn't give a damn if he didn't know you inside and out.

Your remarks and the way you viewed him as your sensitive spot—what he was to you—were what made them profound. You currently have the same expression in your eyes, but it's mingled with terrible perplexity and grief. He made two promises to himself that he would never carry out. Didn't you go through enough already? However, there he was.

Tell her the truth.

“Baby…” he finally mutters. Your wet eyes immediately soften at the sound of your favorite name to be called by him. His gentle hand caresses your soft, brown skin. “Let me expla—

Knock knock knock!

“Hyunjin.” From behind the door, a small voice can be heard. Hyunjin and you both recognize the voice as coming from her, however neither of you can explain how you were able to hear her. You don't need to know how she appears because you don't know. She was the kind of woman that all the men in this place coveted.

You chuckle, a sole tear running down your eye.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

Hyunjin seems to have frozen over once more. He is now wondering if this is how God intended it since he keeps getting cut off when he starts to explain why he left you, the love of his life.

All of the late nights where he was having anxiety attacks only you could soothe and went to call you, his service would go out, or he would be summoned to a late night practice.

Everytime he was in the midst of writing you a letter, Bang Chan would come in, demanding him to “let it go” as it was “for the betterment of the group”

Leah, who was madly in love with him and on the other side of the door was shameful. The fact that it was brutally evident that his heart was somewhere else, yet she ignored it, was the final straw. She is literally a hired girlfriend from the company. She is aware. Bangchan is aware. Everyone is aware. You are the owner of Hyunjin. Every part of him. You were the only thing left in his heart. Without you in his life to fuel him up and pick up on all of the subtle intricacies he put into his actions, even dancing no longer brought him much joy.

Hyunjin was tired of running. But he was willing to do it one more time.

“Do you trust me?” He questions. He knows what you’re answer will be.

You have no idea what is going on right now. Hyunjin moved from being apologetic to declaring his hatred for you, to pretending he had a reason for his conduct, to now this. What exactly is going on? What was he going to say?

He doesn't have time to wait for a response from you. He is aware that your mind is concocting bizarre interpretations about his acts. He would lose all confidence if another 30 seconds passed.

“This is all fake.”

It’s as if the weight of the world dropped off of his body.

“What?” You utter.

“Her, our break up, I never wanted any of it.” He didn’t know his honesty would cause him to feel so weak inside.

You can feel the way his body is shaking. You know it’s only a mere couple of seconds before he collapses on the ground. Your hands are now cupping his face into your hands, holding him afloat just as you always did. In this moment, nothing makes sense except for the fact that you two were finally on the same page again after months of being lost without eachother.

You've noticed that the music has started to shout into Hyunjin's ear. This is what happened when he became overwhelmed by his surroundings. He's trying to concentrate by blocking his ears.

“We need to run.” He utters. “Take my hand. I love you, Y/N. I know none of this makes sense but if we can just get out of here I’ll explain everything. You just have to trust me. And I know that’s a hard thing to ask—

You ultimately decide to stop questioning him and start doing as he says since you can tell he's becoming anxious. Leah is in agonizing astonishment when she finds you and Hyunjin holding hands next to each other as Hyunjin suddenly regains control of his body and swings open the door.

“What the fuck, Hyunjin.” She squeals.

“Don’t what the fuck him.” You speak firmly

“What she said.” Is all Hyunjin mutters before squeezing your hand tightly and pulling you through the drunken dazed crowd, pushing her out of the way in the process.

The way everything is unfolding makes you feel as though you are watching a movie. Hyunjin is passionate as he shoves people aside to rush to the entrance, and you're moving so quickly that you can't even stop to look at their expressions.

The music is still blaring, and a song from earlier begins to play, causing you to practically black out.

I'm still a fan even though I was salty

Hate to see you with some other broad, know you happy

Hate to see you happy if I'm not the one driving

Finally, you and Hyunjin exit through the door to the empty outside. The music, which once more seems to be absent, gives the impression that nobody else is present. You eventually lock eyes with one other for the first time without any pain involved, like if there is no one else on the globe save the two of you.

Hyunjin is helpless to stop. As soon as he pulls you up, you instantly wrap your legs around his waist, allowing him to kiss you on the lips. The emotions that are coursing through his body are so intense that he feels as though his entire body wants to give way. At the same time, he feels joy, hurt, and remorse. He has no idea how he survived without your love for even a day.

You don't either, and it doesn't really matter right now. The fact that you are back in his arms is all that matters. Later, you'll have to kick yourself for not being more critical of him.

“I’m sorry. I’ll explain it all. I swear.” He says in between kisses.

You and Hyunjin make out as heavier thunder rumbles through the area. He again grabs your hand and pulls you to the parking lot as you both giggle together. Both of you don't seem to mind that your boots and his sneakers are drenched in water from the puddles as you run together.

He starts the car from a distance, opens the door for you like the gentleman you knew him to be, then clambers onto the driver's side and quickly accelerates away. He pulls quickly, giving the rest of the perplexed group a swerving decipher from as he can't help but touch you with his lips and an empty hand.

Hyunjin switches on the radio as the two of you drive down the freeway, and you quickly realize that it is the same station that was playing during the party. The two of you are still traveling to your favorite park in the midst of the storm, singing along to SZA's sly but true words as Hyunjin's lips are pressed against your own.

I did it all for love (love)

I did it all of this on no drugs (drugs)

I did all of this sober

Don't you know I did it all for us?

Who would’ve known this would be Hyunjin’s line to sing by the end of the night.

authors note: I know I took forever to get this out. i don’t even know if this is still wanted. if you guys want the full truth in another part, let me know!

© 2023 moonlightdreamzz. no one has permission to steal my work in any way, shape, or form.

taglist

@https-skzology

@multeciahucho

@hyujinnie1

@xh-josii

@itszerotwoo

#hyunjin imagines #kpop black reader #hyunjin imagine #stray kids imagines #stray kids #stray kids x black reader #kpop x black reader #hyunjin angst #Hyunjin fluff #skz hyunjin #skz fluff #skz scenarios #hwang hyujin imagines #kpop x poc reader

[sneezeplease]

Angel Undone

Hello fellow queers or Haz/bin enjoyers, and welcome to the results of my poll!! I had a ton of people choose option 2, and while I'm such a sucker for Huskerdust this fic kind of got away from me and this is mostly Angel whump.

Tw: Cannon-compliant Valentino Abuse, slight mess, references to ep. 4

Enjoy 2k words of Angel with a bad cold, although he does get some help in the end//

“Amorcito! Dressing room, now!" Despite how lightheaded he felt, Angel struggled to get up out of the bed, grateful that he was just doing a simple gangbang. His hands were shaking far too much to be able to untie anything, and he doubted the other “actors” were anything but disgusted with him right now. The spider tried his best to seem unafflicted, but it was rather hard when even standing up caused the room to spin. He ran a hand through his hair, and must have looked pitiful enough that some new actor helped him to stand. 

“Are you okay?” the guys voice was deep, and although he had long since made an effort to forget the name and face of the dozens of people he worked with daily, he remembered starkly where the guy was from, his breath catching in his throat and causing him to cough weakly. 

Charlie getting yelled at, looking so apologetic and teary-eyed. Valentino turned back to Angel, Angel knowing he had caused her so much pain for no reason, that he had led another one of his friends to be hurt by the cruel man who used to be so kind to him. That was when Angel really knew he couldn’t stay like this anymore, that he needed to fight back in the smallest ways so Val could lose interest. 

“Not really, can you- help me to the wall?” His voice was quieter than it ever was while he was performing, but he really didn’t want to get the man sick after he had been at least decent to Angel. He knew that the only person in the industry who really liked him was Valentino, and he was fucking fine with that. He had to be, there was no way he could change that when Val was so fucking controlling. 

[in the back of his fever-addled mind, Anthony was able to recognize that he had never wanted this life. The sinner was manipulated into it, and his feeling of helplessness is what caused his deeply rooted desire to forget everything, to numb the pain of his bleeding heart for even just a moment]

"Here… you look way… out of it. Did ya start using again?” Despite his aching throat, Angel scoffed loudly. 

“Of course I didn’t! It’s just- some cold I picked off from the prin— from where I live, alright? it’s nothing else!” He didn’t bother to say that he had sworn to his best friend that he could stay away from drugs and didn't feel the need to explain something like that in such an open environment. Instead, Angel tried to stumble forward to the door. He was so- so close, when that terrible tickle got even worse in his head. His stuffiness switched to a twitching, lingering itch, and despite rubbing it slowly, it did nothing to help. 

The spider felt his breath catch, almost like a moan, as he began to sneeze? No, he wasn’t sneezing yet, but it felt like he had to sneeze so much that it was making him gasp and whine, teasing him much worse than an orgasm ever had. “Uhhhhh’kSHIEEwww!! Uhhhh’PTChhh!! Ehhhhh’Tshihhh!” he managed to bring an arm up to sneeze into, only moving it down to grab the doorknob. “It doesn’t sound like any cold, but if that's what you want it to be it can-” the man shrugged before walking away from Angel, leaving the spider sinner to take a deep breath in. he knew what was waiting in the dressing room, but he also knew that he had to face Valentino. Hopefully, it would be quickly over with, but Angel Dust wasn’t going to count on it. 

He opened the door nearly silently, then winced as he saw Valentino sitting down on his chaise lounge, smoking like he always did. “Angel Dust, someone isn’t looking too good. Tell me, did you finally come to your senses? Or is this just the consequence of being around such filth at that damned hotel?” Before Angel could even speak, Valentino’s face twisted into something sinister and angry, the rage he usually concealed displayed as he stood up and walked closer to the other. 

“Perhaps… you’ve gotten terribly close to Lucifer’s bimbo daughter, haven’t you? Or the old-timey overlord that Vox can’t stand? You probably got sick from whoring yourself out again, without my permission!” Angel winced at the accusations, his arms crossing over his body to defend himself. Despite how much progress he ever thought he had made, it always faded away in this forsaken dressing room, where his confidence and self-esteem had been destroyed so many times before. 

Still, Angel knew the repercussions of not filling the silence, knew the blows he would be getting for being cowardly if he didn’t even attempt an excuse. Between the fever and the panicking, all Angel could manage was a shitty, overused excuse: 

 “Val, I didn’t mean to get sick, I swear!”

“Really? You didn’t leave me just so you could find some other bitch to control you? To make you feel good?” His leash materialized suddenly as Valentino yanked him closer. The pressure from the collar on Angel's throat caused him to cough harshly, whining as he finally got his breathing under control. 

“I haven’t! I just help out at the hotel, that’s all! Someone probably wandered in while— while!!” He tried every trick he could think of to stop himself, even putting his tongue to the roof of his mouth. constrained as he was, he knew he was too close to Valentino to not sneeze on him. 

“While?” Valentino blew a puff of smoke in his face, and that was what did it. Any control Angel had fought for was quickly taken away from him, the usually clingy scent from his cigarette now invading his nostrils and causing him to lose his breathing. 

“HEhhhHHH’GSHUEWWWW!!! EHHHHHH’TCHuhhhh!!! HAhhhhh’CHIEWWWWW!!! AHhhhhh”PSHOOOO!! Uhhhhhh’TSHUEWWWWW!!! IHHHHHH’KSHIEHHHH!!” The sneezes caused him to pull against the restraints with each one, and they were definitely loud enough to hear from outside the room. Valentino first looked intrigued when Angel seemed to be moaning, but now he looked nothing short of disgusting.  

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to Snehhhh-EIhhhhh’TCHIEHHHH!! HIHHHHHH’KSHUHHHH! EHHH’PTSHUEWWWW!!” The tickle was far too overwhelming for Angel to even attempt to cover or hide them, and all he could really do was sneeze, the perfume from the smoke setting his nose aflame. 

“Fine!” The chains released as Valentino threw them aside. That caused Angel to stumble and fall, barely being able to shift and fall on the couch, even if it was face first. “I’ll call off the team for today, but you only get three fucking days Angel! Three days to get rid of that disgusting illness.” The door slamming shut only made Angel's headache worse, but at least he could get dressed now, right?

He tried to get dressed for fifteen minutes, having to pause between his skirt and shirt to muffle another wrenching fit. Each sneeze was taking away energy Angel Dust simply didn’t have and caused him to cough afterwards. The usually high-spirited spider was barely functioning, and he grabbed a black robe to cover himself with, as an added layer of heat (not that he could keep warmth well anyways).

Angel dust isn't quite sure how he got back to the hotel, but the spider was close to tears when he finally opened the door. His entire body felt like it was freezing and overheating at the same time, the fever that had given his fur a notable pink flush getting worse as he pushed his body to the -

"Angel? What happened? Charlie came up to him, her hand hovering like she waited to support him but waiting for his consent, and Angel only pulled himself together long enough to give her a plastic smile. 

“Nothing Toots. It was just a long day at work-" his second set of arms appeared again to steady himself as he tried to hold off the sneeze long enough to make sure he wouldn’t get Charlie-

“hhh’EhhhhhhTch’ieWwwww!!” The one time he had wanted not to make an entrance, and his body couldn’t even listen to him. his sneezes were typically over the top, and while he didn’t find the sensation good or bad, he wished that just once he could sneeze quietly. 

“Damn you! Are you feeling alright?” And now Charlie sounded way too sympathetic. Angel had to resist the desire to bang his head against one of his arms, he knew there was no way to hide his sickness now. 

So he did what came most easy to him when feeling his shittiest: put on a good performance. “I feel great Tootz! Just amazing, ya know?” he racked his brain to think of something, anything, that could make him sneeze like this, but besides one that could get him kicked out of the hotel, nothing else came to mind. 

“You look ill, my effeminate fellow!” Alastor was smiling like usual, even though Charlie was currently attempting to help Angel to the foyer couch. He fell on it dramatically, batting his eyelashes a couple of times. 

“I’m not sick, just had an extra-long day of work. Val’s going on some “honeymooning” weekend with that TV head and the other one, so he made me work for my time off. Nothing I can’t handle, I’ll be fine with some rest–” his voice cut off at the end of his perfect performance, the tones and inflections making his piss poor excuses actually believable.  Angel couldn’t even remember the last time he felt this sick and miserable from something other than trying to quit cold turkey.  The spider couldn’t even turn his head before coughing his lungs out, and it must have sounded bad enough that Al slipped back into the shadows, leaving just the two of them.

“Here you go Angel,” Charlie gently placed a cup of water into his hands, which the sinner gulped down eagerly. 

“Thanks Toots.” Angel couldn’t keep up any sort of act anymore, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Charlie hesitating to run a hand through his hair. “You are a lifesaver, I tell ya.” he drank the water as fast as he could, gulping it down. It barely did anything for his nose, but at least now he could actually say a few words. 

“I could get you some medicine, or an ice pack, or a heating pack but Nifty took that somewhere so it might take awhile, and actually-a-thermometer-would-” Angel laughed softly, but he appreciated how much care Charlie showed to him. Right now, after he had just been belittled and mocked by Val, most of his cares flew out of the window, including any personal touch.

Charlie had just felt his forehead and compared it to her own when Angel felt his nose twitching once again. He wished that it would just stop, that he could force all of these aches to go away and just be able to sleep. “Toots, ya should try to m-move…” Charlie pulled back quickly, although she seemed confused as to the reason. “Is something wrong? I can get you an ice pack or more water–” Charlie’s worried ramblings were cut by Angel lifting a finger, his breath catching a couple of times. It sounded ragged and desperate, but he couldn’t control it. “Ahhhhh’Kihhh’SCHOOooo!! Hahhhh’TCHIewww!! Iehhhh’KCHUHHHH!! HeHHH’SHuHhhhh!!” The fit even sounded tired, and Angel groaned lightly as he did so. “Angel, are you sure you don’t want some help to your room? I could see if Vaggie or-” Charlie stopped talking, looking over Angel's head. All the sinner could do was grumble, hiding his face in the pillow. 

“It’s fine toots, I’ll just fall asleep right here. No need to mess with that room stuff,” A deeper chuckle came from behind Angel's back, and he didn’t need to look back to tell Husker was there. He hid further into the pillow, determined to keep another person from seeing him like this, especially one that Angel had gotten so close to. 

#snz #snz kink #snzblr #haz/bin hot/el #angel/dust #snez #snzfic

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Okay, your OC is a love interest, what does their first romance cutscene look like?

sassy i am gonna steal this ask so hard it was so good.

Silke (he/him)

Silke is aromantic, ultimately, but would still have relationship building cut scenes. He would have an initial companionship arc somewhat similar to Astarion's, although for very different reasons and with very different motivations. From the outset, he would be very intense, motivated - although private about the exactitudes of that motivation - and yet still companionable. He would make the PC feel heard and understood, sharing enough to seem just as open while simultaneously sharing little of true meaning.

An initial scene would require the PC's initiation - Silke would not make the offer himself. If asked about spending some time alone together, to "get to know one another better", Silke would blink, then shrug and toss a brilliant grin to the PC, gesturing with a hand for them to lead on. "By all means."

It would be up to the PC whether that talk turned to something more. Depending on dialogue options, the PC might come away with hints that there was more under the surface of this affable, yet reserved man. They also might, if desired, have the opportunity for a casual romp that would leave both parties mutually satisfied - provided the PC did not expect true love to follow.

Kelis (they/she)

Kelis's past would be a mystery to themself and the PC both, but they would spend the most time of any scouting party at any given location, souring through the letters, notes, and books for any clue that might speak to their missing memories - and the bloodthirsty urges within them. This would lead to a slight misconception that they were simply someone who loved books for their own sake, which - while not entirely inaccurate - would not convey the entire situation.

If the game had a system of gift-giving for companions, astute PCs would likely default to books and letters for Kelis, with a confusing assortment of approval levels seemingly based on nothing notable.

Kelis's first relationship-building scene would likely come fairly late into Act 1, and would be based on a high enough level of aforementioned engagement in their quest for knowledge, as well as a baseline threshold of approval. The PC would have an opportunity prior to a Long Rest to note that Kelis seemed to be missing from the camp, and either go search for them, or leave them be.

If the PC chose to search, they would have the opportunity to make one or two low-level checks to track Kelis, and be given several opportunities to return to camp and leave it be. After several successful checks, they would emerge into a clearing - of a corresponding environment to the current location in Act 1 - to find a an owlbear, seemingly at rest, but upon closer inspection merely gazing pensively into the middle distance.

The PC would have several options to choose from to attempt to break through Kelis's malaise, and the result of most would be Kelis changing forms back into their usual Dragonborn apearance. They would begin a halting conversation with the PC, ostensibly about several random aspects of the world they had come to learn recently, and asking the PC's opinion on several matters of religion, philosophy, and morality.

The conversation would end without appearing of much significance, but the PC's answers would determine in large part the path(s) forward for their relationship.

#voidling speaks #asked and answered #bg3 #my ocs #oc: silke #oc: kelis #dragonborn #kelis #durge

[silver-pieces]

mandalorian’s mercy part nine

Previously ‘Are You Cold?’

Pairing: Alpha!Din x (afab) omega!fem!reader

Word Count: 7k

Synopsis: Yearning, desire, and consequences.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, smut (MF, masturbation, dirty talk, omegaverse heats & ruts, breeding kink, sub/dom dynamic) a/b/o dynamics, tw: food

A/N: I just want to say again, thankyou to everyone for all of the love & support on this fic, it has made me so so happy 💕. I’m planning to post part 10, the finale, soon. As always, if you like my writing, please reblog. I hope you enjoy...

Divider ❊ Masterlist ❊ More Din ❊ Taglist

Part Eight < Series Masterlist > Part Ten

You’re thinking about him again.

In your hand sits the communicator Din gave you, the smooth curved shape now so familiar it’s etched in your brain. Your thumb runs over the buttons as you let your mind wander, drifting off to memories of him, of your Alpha, the attractive sound of his deep laughter and the warm secure grip of his hand around your waist.

A soft nudge to your side takes you out of it. “Hey.”

You blink. “Sorry, Anuma.” Shit. You run your hand over your face and stifle a groan. There’s still so much work to be done.

The Twi’lek sitting next to you knows better than to touch you again, but she peers at you with those sharp, discerning eyes, and although most of her features are masked, somehow you know she’s frowning. “You need to nest.”

A pang of fear goes through you. That word. You shake your head. “No, no, I’m not there yet.”

“Fine.” She sighs. “Take the water out then, you’re clearly of no use in here anymore.”

Heat rushes to your face. You look down at the table; the large pile of coin that should have already been counted up and stashed away still untouched. You stand and back away from the corner desk. “Sorry. I’ll - water...”

She regards you with a disapproving look, then turns back to the task, shaking her head and muttering to herself in Twi’leki.

You step up to the kitchen sink, the sound of clicking credits filling the room as she takes over your job.

Her office is still nothing but a small corner desk and a safe tucked into the nook of the kitchen. It’s makeshift, but there’s so many other things in this den that take priority when it comes to upgrades.

The kitchen itself has been a massive project, a job that took you most of the month to complete. Now, setting your eyes on the results of your hard work, you feel hopeful. It’s not great, but it’s a lot better than before.

The tap water is luxuriously cool. You splash some on your face to cool down, providing a brief respite from the heat clawing beneath your skin. You stare at your flushed reflection in the water and try not to burst into tears, or laughter.

The mood-swings that accompany your heat seem worse than last time. It’s incredibly draining, helping out with the den, one minute feeling happy and flirty and lighter than air, and the next, yearning for your Alpha hitting you like a punch to the gut until you feel like sinking to the floor and crying your eyes out.

No, it wasn’t like this last time. Last time, you were freshly off the blockers. This time, you’ve had a whole month without them.

As you go to leave the room with the tray in hand, Anuma blocks your path, a bottle of pills in her hand. “Please, take one.”

You brush her aside. “We’ve had this conversation.”

“There’s no need to torture yourself without an Alpha.”

You grit your teeth, hand on the doorknob, wishing she wouldn’t call it torture. “Save it for someone in need.” You open the door and step out.

“And what will your Alpha think?”

You halt midstep, some of the water spilling over the edges of the cups. Stars dammit, why did you ever tell her about what happened with Din?

She rounds you, arms crossed. The cloying scent of incense fills your lungs. “You already lied to him about your location, what do you think he’s going to do when he - ”

“It’s not about him,” you protest.

She gives you a look.

You sigh, gripping the tray a little tighter. “When I see those blockers, I see myself a month ago, completely unprepared to go into heat and desperate for blockers which you didn’t have. Sure, I had a trustworthy Alpha in the end, but what about the next Omega who walks through those doors?”

She casts her gaze down to the floor and sighs.

“I came here to help,” you continue. “So, please, stop tempting me with them. We only have a limited supply.”

She hesitates, before pocketing them. “I just... don’t want to see you in pain.” Flicking her eyes back up to you, you see a vulnerable side of her she rarely allows anyone to see.

You force the part of you that’s afraid deep down, and square your shoulders. “We set up the nests for this very situation. I promise, I’ll be fine.”

You already lied to him about your location - 

You push her voice out of your head. You can’t think about that, not without being sucked into a downward spiral of anxiety and guilt and hormones.

People take water from the tray as you make the rounds through the den. Though the room itself is fairly big, it’s overflowing with Betas and Omegas seeking refuge every night. Still, the place has been improved a lot over the past few weeks.

For one, it smells a lot nicer now. Where there was once a dirt floor and simple fabric partitions, there’s now clean beds and privacy screens.

Your tray is light as you reach one of the employees, an Omega woman who showed up a few days ago and has been working here since. She never gave anyone her name, but you feel like you can trust her, like her eyes convey an air of strength and certainty.

She’s folding sheets and humming when you find her.

“Hey you, thirsty?” you say as you approach with the tray.

She stiffens, then turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “It’s you.”

“What?”

“That tangy scent,” she says, approaching to take a drink. “Normally we’ve relocated any Omega that smells like that into one of the nests. Are you sure you should be here, boss?”

“Not the boss,” you insist.

She shrugs, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a long drink.

You shift on your feet. “I don’t want to nest,” you confess. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Finishing the water, she sets the empty cup back on the tray and wipes her mouth. “You want my advice, boss?”

You nod.

She looks at you straight. “Stop waiting for it to feel right. Omegas cannot afford to be picky, and a nest is never going to feel right without an Alpha to make it for.”

An Alpha to make it for. Your knees go a little weak, and you can’t help the way your thoughts flick to him again. That’s it, little Omega. Make me another nest. His voice, clear as day.

A bolt of heat lunges through your veins. It’s sudden and brutal, and you gasp in pain. “Oh - stars!” The scent of your slick permeates the air.

“Shhhit,” the Omega curses, lifting the tray from your hands. “I think it’s here, boss. Come on and we’ll get you to a nest.”

Your stomach turns. She leads you away from the den, towards the back door which used to be a storage room. Now cleared and divided into private nesting spaces, it serves as a place for Omegas in heat to retreat to. Maker willing, the den would always have enough blockers to prevent anyone from going into heat, but there are always situations outside of your control.

The makeshift nests are designed to be scentless and comfortable, but also practical and cost-efficient. The intention behind it was to ease the pain of an untended Omega in heat, but now, all you feel is insulted as you’re lowered into one by the girl who calls you boss.

Nests are instinctual - special. You never made one before Din.

“No, it’s not right,” you gasp, sweating with heat and aching to your core. “Not without him here.”

“Try and sleep through it,” she says, fixing the sheets of the nest in a way which annoys you.

“Won’t help,” you murmur, curling in on yourself as a cramp hits you, and already you feel your eyes pricking with tears. “I’ll just dream about him.” Like you’ve been doing every night since you left him.

She narrows her eyes at you, standing up. “Who is ‘he’?”

Tears wet your cheeks. “Just an Alpha.”

“Ah.” Pity flashes in her eyes.

“What, no advice on how to get through this without him?”

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know.”

You nod and curl back in on yourself. Her scent isn’t offensive, but like most Omega scents, it doesn’t appeal to you, and you find having her here both irritates you and distracts you from your heat.

“You know the drill,” she says from the doorway. “Meals will be delivered through the hatch. There’ll be morning checkups, so try to cover up after breakfast. And try and keep the noise down if you can.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Leave me alone now.

She shuts the door.

You bury your face into the stiff, odourless pillow and let out a whine. Heat floods between your legs. Your channel contracts around nothing, and your muscles tense and groan in dissatisfaction.

You’ve been through your heat without an Alpha before, but this time is different. This time, you know what you’re missing. You have memories to torture yourself with.

It’s too late to go on blockers now. You chose this. But you didn’t expect this level of desperation and pain so soon, so brutal. Fuck.

Soon, the heat gets too much, so you divest yourself of your clothes and dig yourself further into the nest, rubbing your needy scent on the sheets as much as possible.

Time loses meaning.

The room is dark and bare and silent.

The memory of his scent calls to you - a phantom scent that you remember well now that it’s missing.

It hurts.

It hurts so much that you feel paralysed by the pain and the discomfort, unable to move until there’s a knock on the door and food pushed through the hatch.

The scent of dinner food crawls over your skin and invades your nostrils, causing your instincts to go haywire. Wrong.

The thought of eating is about as unappetising as it could possibly get, but there’s a quiet, filtered voice in your head that reminds you that you need to keep your energy up, so you wolf it down in miserable silence and then shove the empty plate back through the door and lean forward to rest your head on the cool durasteel, temporarily abandoning your nest.

You breathe deeply, trying to calm your emotions, but the urge to cry is getting harder to resist. It’s hard to believe you’re only a few hours into this torture.

When the food has settled and you’ve cooled down as much as possible, you turn back to your nest, eyeing it in the dim light with disdain.

Your clothes lay strewn to the side, discarded over your nest in a way that feels unsatisfying. You’re not sure it will help, but maybe if you incorporate them into the nest properly...

Your hands move quickly as you fixate on the task you’ve given yourself. There’s enough slick slowly dripping between your legs that you decide to avoid putting your nice clothes in that region, instead opting to layer the fabrics nearer to your head so you can breathe in the scent more. It’s no Alpha scent, but it calms the territorial side of you to mark this place as your own.

Your hand catches on an object in one of the pockets in your clothes. The circular device can only be one thing - the communicator Din gave you.

Din.

A wave of sudden need hits you, overcoming everything else, and you find yourself abandoning your task, eagerly taking the communicator out of the clothes and propping it on a pillow almost reverently.

With a press of a button, the device lights up and you’re able to go through your encrypted messages. You bite your lip, anticipation rising.

Are you safe?

The latest message from Din, sent tonight, appears on the screen.

You melt at his words, and for that matter, slick is gushing from your pussy worse than before. You have to close your eyes and breathe through the pain for a moment.

The same message has been sent to you every day, but it never comes at exactly the same time, which is why you’ve resorted to carrying it around with you. It’s become your most treasured possession, the damned device burning a hole in your pocket as you help run the den.

Shit, the timecode indicates this was sent hours ago. This might just be the longest you’ve gone without responding. And if Din suspects something is wrong, he might try to find you on Minnoth.

Those thoughts are vague, distant worries that briefly concern you before you get swept up in your heat again. Your mind whirls, your instincts screaming at you Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, and your finger hovers over a second button. The forbidden one. The one he told you not to touch unless it was an emergency. Live holo.

This is an emergency, the hormonal side of you argues.

But then he’ll find out. He’ll know you didn’t go on blockers, and he’ll know you left Minnoth. He might come looking for you.

Your thighs squeeze together at the thought, because fuck, the thought of him coming for you is enticing, and suddenly you’re struggling to remember why you shouldn’t press the button.

It’s not encrypted, Din will freak out, and besides, you’re supposed to be avoiding talking to each other as much as possible. All very logical, important arguments.

But right now, you don’t care about any of that. There’s a deep, instinctual feeling within you, urging you to call him and tell him everything.

Your Alpha will make everything okay.

You press the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

“Stars, what am I doing?” you mutter to yourself, as you wait for him to pick up. Your mind’s gone blank, and you can’t remember why the little voice in your head is crying this is a mistake! Dread grows in your gut, but so does excitement, and need.

Then the hologram finally lights up, bathing the room in a soft electric glow.

Your breath stops as you take in the image of Din, live. He’s clearly sitting, leant forward over his holo, wearing nothing but a loose undershirt and his helmet.

“Omega?” comes his voice, urgent and gruff, and you could weep with happiness. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

You go to speak, but can’t find the words. You’re sitting in your nest, all alone and in heat, slick seeping into the sheets beneath you. He can probably see your nakedness. Fuck, it’s really him. “Din,” you breathe, taking the communicator and laying back into your nest, “I miss you.”

There’s silence for a second. His chest rises and falls. “Why did you call me?” he finally says.

You whimper, and a few tears slide down your face. “I need you. Need you here, with me.” In my nest.

He huffs a breath. “Omega.” There’s a growl in his tone that sends shivers down your spine.

You moan as a fresh gush of slick begins, and shift your legs and arch your back on instinct. “Oh...”

“Are you...”

“Yes?” You turn your head back to the holo, to him. He’s leaning closer now, like he’s trying to see you better.

“Are you in heat?”

“Yes,” you repeat, and let out an involuntary sob. The tears have started now, and they probably won’t stop for a while yet.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and the holo shakes and blurs as he moves on the bed. “Fuck.” His voice comes out muffled.

“Din?” Your anxiety grows, that little voice warning you in the back of your head that you did something wrong. But you can’t remember what. You need to see him again. You lean in closer to the holo, biting your lip. “Din I - I need to see you, please - ”

“I’m coming,” he says, but his voice sounds farther away. A few seconds later, the image stabilises, and you can see him sitting in the pilot’s chair, operating the control panel. “Fucking stars, Omega, wait for me.” He operates the ship, urgently tapping buttons and flicking switches. “I’m a day away from Minnoth - shit. Don’t let anyone else in. Where are you staying?”

You bite your lip.

“Omega, answer me. Where are you?” he growls, using his Alpha command. It’s supposed to be less effective on calls, but you still feel the urge to obey coming over you.

“I’m at the Omega Den,” you confess shakily. “On Coruscant.”

He growls. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” you whimper.

He rears back a little. “I don’t understand. Yesterday you said you were safe.”

“I was - I am - but I - ”

“You think you’re safe at the den, without blockers,” he finishes for you, a growl in his voice that hints his disagreement.

You nod. “I helped set this place up.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not making sense.”

“Sorry,” you say, heat rushing to your face. It’s hard to think properly - everything would be so much better if he was here. “Can you come?”

He shifts focus back to the operating panel, switching buttons as though to change course. After a few moments, he leans back in his seat and you can see him take a deep breath by the rise and fall of his chest. He shakes his head and murmurs low, “Coruscant is three days away.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

“Fuck, little thief,” he growls, running a hand down his helmet.

A whimper escapes you, your insides clenching. He’s mad, and it’s your fault.

Shaking his head, he leans forward and flicks a few more buttons. His voice comes out distant as he leans away from the holo. “I’m setting the Razor to a hard burn. You stay inside until I get to you, okay? It’s not safe.”

“Okay,” you nod, trying to sound not as broken as you feel. “Are you angry with me? I just thought...” You moan as the needy ache in your core grows unbearable again. The pain is getting worse, causing your breaths to come out short and shallow as you twist and writhe in the nest, losing sight of the holo.

“Omega?” His voice is muffled again - distant. But warmth spreads through you at the sound. “Omega - talk to me.”

In heat and vulnerable, you stand no chance against his commands. “Din?” you call out. Your eyes open, and you catch sight of him again.

He’s sitting on the edge his bunk from the looks of it, bracing his elbows on his knees in a way that makes his biceps tense. “I’m right here,” he growls. “Talk to me.”

“Okay,” you breathe, eyes straying around the room. “Uh, I made a fucking terrible nest.”

“You nested?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” you murmur, picking at the sheets and rubbing your thighs together.

He growls. “Whose idea was it?”

“Anuma’s.”

“Who is Anuma?”

Your core clenches at his possessive tone. “Friend,” you whimper. “Beta.”

“Fuck.” The hologram shakes slightly, Din’s arm reaching down out of frame to his lower body, and you instantly realise he’s feeling himself.

Your body burns with need. “Alpha,” you cry out, half aware and half in a delirious state of heat and pain. The nest feels too hot and too cold at the same time, but you know it would all go away if Din was here, covering your body possessively with his, scenting you with his pheromones.

You turn over onto all fours and raise your ass up into the air, legs spread wide, without even thinking about it. “Din...”

He grunts, and you hear him shifting positions, but in your movement you lost track of the holo again. “Are you fucking presenting right now, Omega? Move the holo so I can see you better.”

Your eyes fly open. Where is it? You don’t want to move from your position - but you need to obey your Alpha. You scramble through your nest until you find the source of the glow, and whimper as you set your eyes on him again.

He’s shifted the view of the holo down, and you are so consumed by the sudden sight of his fist around his cock it sends a rush of slick to your cunt.

“Please, please, I need it,” you whimper, desperately following the movement of his hand up and down his length. “I’m so wet.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. He jerks his fist faster, forearm tensing deliciously with the movement. “Fucking best feeling ever, pushing inside your wet cunt.”

Your body clenches, a whine pouring from your throat before you can stop yourself.

“I know,” he pants, “I know, Omega, it’s killing me too.”

“Need you inside me!”

“Show me.”

You blink at his order, then move, twisting onto your back and then taking the holo down your body, pointing it towards your pussy. You move so fast you barely even register what you’re doing - everything is on autopilot now, nothing except your heat and your Alpha. With your legs spread open, you give him a clear view of the wetness between your legs. “Can you see?”

You peer at him, and while you’ve been moving, so has he. He’s kneeling, the position perfect for him to hold his cock out in front and jerk himself off, the display giving you an up-close view of his hips, pelvis, and thighs.

“Yes,” is all he says, the word a deep grunt. He’s going faster now, furiously fucking his fist to the holo of you, and your legs spread wider for him.

The sight is erotic. You can almost feel each thrust as he begins jerking his pelvis, fucking into his fist. The knot at the base, already swelling, teasing you so bad your cunt feels ridiculously empty.

“Please fuck me,” you beg desperately, tears welling in your eyes again. “Please, Alpha.”

He growls in response, the sound broken up by the jerking of his hips, and it almost sends you over the edge. “Touch yourself,” he commands.

You instantly put your hand on your pussy and run a finger through your slick. Jolts of electric bliss emulate through you, and you start going faster, working yourself frantically, needing more more more - 

“Greedy,” your Alpha says, jerking himself off to the sight. He sounds both furious and amused and your body reacts, like it does to everything he says, with more slick.

“Not enough,” you breathe.

“I know.”

“Need your knot, Alpha.”

“Keep going.” He sounds desperate now, and it sends shivers down your spine. He's big and hard and ready to knot you and the sight is an exquisite torture.

You moan, circling your clit and spreading your legs as wide as you can for him. “Cum. Cum inside me.”

“Fuck yes, Maker,” he groans. “Want to knot and breed you, Omega. Fill you up with me, sink my teeth in your neck, split you apart on my knot - ”

“Din.” You start to come, realising he’s gone into rut and it’s exactly what your inner Omega wants more than anything. You lose your grip on the holo but it doesn’t matter because you can still hear his deep groan when he comes as well, sending you further into bliss.

As you ride it out together, he rambles praises and promises like an Alpha in rut is compelled to do, and it’s perfect.

Mentally, you’re in bliss. Physically, however, you’ve never felt emptier.

Laying in your nest in the aftermath, you blink slowly and reach around to find the holo again.

He’s standing now, peeling off his shirt and shifting things around the space as though getting ready for a rut.

When he turns back to the holo, he catches you watching him, and growls, leaning down towards you. “Again?”

With a shiver, you nod.

Across holo, you tease orgasms out of each other, one after another, until you’re soaked in ineffective pheromones and sweat.

First on all fours, presenting. Then kneeling so he can see your tits. Now on your back again because you’re getting exhausted. He gets off on the commands, and you get off on obeying them.

“That’s five, little thief.” Din pants.

You lift your hand from your slick pussy and try not to wince as another wave of heat overcomes you for a moment, filling you with nausea and desperation. You need more, but your inner muscles feel abused and sore from your meagre fingers.

A tear falls down the side of your face. “Why aren’t you here, Alpha?”

He sucks in a breath. “Omega...”

“I know.” You wipe your tear away and roll over in your nest, burying your face in your own scent. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

You bite your lip and roll over again to face him in the holo. He’s laying down, naked except for his helmet, watching you. “But I’ve fucked everything up.”

“Omega, don’t.” He sounds torn. “Not while I can’t be there to comfort you.”

More tears fall, even as you wipe them away. “Fuck, I’m sorry. My hormones are a mess without you.”

He groans and rolls on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “When I find you, we can talk. Exchange stories. And I will want to know. Everything, Omega.”

You nod solemnly.

“But, right now?” His voice lowers. “I couldn’t give a fuck about any of it. I missed you.”

Your heart soars.

The sound of someone knocking on the door interrupts you. The hatch opens and a food tray slides through. "Hey boss, breakfast.”

Breakfast time already? It feels like the time has flown by, and yet, there’s still so much more of this you have to go through without your Alpha. Two and a half fucking days. Any appetite you may have built up leaves you at the thought. You push yourself up to look at the dish.

“What is it?” Din asks.

You lay back down in your nest, peeking up at your holo. “Nothing, just breakfast.”

He snaps his head toward you instantly, and his voice comes out a growl. “Someone saw you?”

A rush of heat floods through you at his tone, and you quickly shake your head, shifting your legs to relieve the pressure between them. “No, no, there’s a food hatch.”

“At the den? Where are the others?” He doesn’t sound convinced.

“It’s okay,” you start, giving into the urge to please your Alpha as much as possible. It’s impossible to ignore how attractive his growing protectiveness is. You’re struggling to form sentences, too distracted by hormones stirring up your heat. “They have private nest spaces now, in case of emergency.” You bite your lip and shift in your nest. Maker he looks so broad and strong laying out on his bunk, one arm bent back behind his head, flexing his bicep. When you see him next, you’re going to bite him.

“Smart,” he grunts in response, sounding slightly more relaxed.

“I need you to fuck me.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think about it.

His growl is instant, and dangerously low, and you watch in eager anticipation as he leans over and grabs the holo, staring at you through his visor. “You need to eat your breakfast first.”

You sigh. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Then do it, Omega.”

“Why should I? There’s no-one here to make me.”

“Are you disobeying me?”

Oh. You don’t respond, frozen by his words.

“Omega.”

You whimper.

“Eat.”

And just like that, you’re getting up to retrieve the tray. As you return and sit back down in front of the holo, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause. “What about you?”

He tilts his head. “I'll be fine.”

You frown. “But you need to eat too.”

“I don’t want to leave you. Not while you’re in heat.”

Your heart melts for him, but you can’t let him get away with this. As you slip a spoonful of breakfast gruel into your mouth, you summon all the dominance you can muster while in heat, swallow, and glare at him. “You’re in rut, too, if I’m not mistaken. Cover the holo while you eat, and I’ll talk to you so you know I’m still there.”

He tilts his head at your display, folding his arms. “You’re cute. I’ll be fine.”

You glare harder, but maker, he’s stubborn. You sigh, and, tapping into your Omega nature, beg. “Please, Alpha?” you ask, giving him pleading eyes. “I need you to keep up your strength for me.”

He stares at you silently, but you notice his arms losing a little of their stiffness.

“Please,” you beg again.

He gives a shake of his head, and sighs. “Don’t... don’t beg like that... that is unfair.”

You laugh. “Good to know.”

“Eat your breakfast.” The holo goes shaky as he gets off the bunk. “I’ll get something now.”

“And you’ll stay on the call?”

“Yes.”

You watch the holo closely as you eat. There’s something so domestically fulfilling about eating together, and like watching one of the most interesting holovids in your life, you end up absent-mindedly snack on your breakfast food while watching him methodically prepare his meal with all the precision of the bounty hunter who tracked you down in that backwater hotel.

By the time he sits down to eat, you’re almost finished, setting the food tray aside.

He speaks to you gently. “I’m covering the holo, but we can still talk.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He reaches for the holo, and then the image disappears.

You lean in. “Din?” You call, just to check

“Yes,” comes the low sound of his voice.

You smile, and lay back in your nest.

“Talk to me, Omega.”

Wandering your hands along the fabrics of the nest, you close your eyes and imagine you’re next to him. But when you open your eyes, he’s still not there, and it hurts. Sighing, you roll onto your front and stare at the blank device.

“I thought about calling you every day, but the live holo... you said someone could track it?”

It takes a moment for him to respond. “Yeah, they might.”

Your stomach clenches. Ending contact with him is not an option you can even consider, and yet, you worry. “Am I... in danger?”

The clattering of cutlery crackles through the speaker. “No.” The speaker picks up a slight catch in his breath. “I hope not.”

He’s worried. Concern overtakes you at the thought, and suddenly you’re thinking clearly. “You know what, yeah, it will be okay. We set up protections here, even if someone does... come looking.” You nod confidently to yourself.

“Protections?”

The curiosity in his tone makes you perk up. “You want me to tell you about them?”

You can hear the slight smile in his voice as he response. “Yes I do, little thief. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”

Heat rushes to your face, and like a criminal confessing, you begin to explain in detail all the various projects you’ve been working on over the past few weeks without him.

All conversation ends as soon as Din reappears in the holo. You’re a whimpering, needy Omega in heat, and as he sees your reaction, he growls out a command. “Present.”

Stars, you’ll never get used to his voice, even through the vocoder and over holovid, and even without the command, you would eagerly obey him.

But as you go to position yourself on all fours for him, a gentle knock sounds on the door.

You freeze.

“What is it?” your Alpha growls, his thickened, hard cock taking up the entire frame of the holo as he strokes it up and down.

More raps against the door. “Boss? You covered up? It’s checkup time, I’m coming in...”

Shit! Checkups after breakfast, how could you forget? Your eyes dart around the nest as you take in the scene. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if they knew you about the holo, but the territorial side of you doesn’t like it, and right now, that’s the part that’s in control.

There’s a beeping as the Omega on the other side of the door punches in the unlocking code.

Your insides clench, because fuck, your Alpha will have to wait. “Just a moment!” you call out, sitting up and scrambling to get things in order.

“Omega.”

You snatch the holo and hold it close to your mouth so you can whisper. “They’re coming in to check up on me.”

“What? Who?”

“Omega. I don’t know her name, but I trust her.”

He growls. “You don’t need her.”

“I know.”

���You need me.”

“I know, Alpha,” you breath, your hormones flaring at his possessiveness. “I’ll get rid of her as soon as possible, but they won’t leave without doing a proper checkup.”

He jerks his head, as if trying to come to terms with this. You can see the tendons in his neck tense as he clenches his jaw.

You bite your lip to keep your reaction at bay.

“Fuck. I can’t stop it,” he growls angrily, “...but if she touches you, Omega, I will kill her.”

Maker. “She won’t,” you assure him breathlessly.

He nods, and you see the image of him move as though he’s walking around, pacing as he watches.

You tuck the communicator beneath a fold in your nest, and the holo image of Din disappears. Your stomach drops in despair at not being able to see your Alpha, so deep into your heat.

Lifting the thinnest sheet on your overheated form, you clear your throat and call out to the Omega.

“Come in.”

With a beep and a click, the door slides open, and the Omega who calls you boss stares down at you with a raised eyebrow. “Bad time?” she asks.

“Always.” Your pussy gives out a needy throb, missing the attention you were about to give it moments earlier.

She snorts. “I’ll be quick then. You okay?”

You nod.

“Good.” She spreads her hands out, open. “Anything you need, now’s the time.”

“I’m fine,” you start to say, before eyes widening as you remember something. “No-one has come asking for me, have they?”

She frowns. “No... You expecting someone?”

You breath a sigh of relief. “No, no, just paranoid. Thanks.”

“Right,” she nods, eyeing you curiously, before turning to go. “I’ll keep an ear out.” And with a slap of her hand on the number pad, the door slides shut again.

You move instantly, frantically fumbling through the nest for the communicator. The holo lights up with the image of him pacing back and forth with his form tense, arms folded, and head lowered.

“Din,” you breathe, the needy ache between your legs growing.

He stops pacing and snaps his head towards you.

You swallow. “She’s gone.”

He comes close to the holo until only his lower stomach is in view, his hardness standing at attention. “Present,” he snarls.

His dominance sends a rush of slick between your legs, a whine rising in your throat. You follow your natural instinct to present, getting on all fours, arching your back down low, and spreading your legs so he can see everything.

For a moment he says nothing, and there’s just the static sound of his panting.

Is he stroking himself? “Alpha, please,” you moan, slick running down the inside of your thigh.

“You want my cock inside you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” you tip your head back, rocking yourself on all fours. “Please!”

“Fuck, so do I. I want it so bad and you’re right there and I can’t.”

You rock back more, whimpering. “I’m so empty.”

He groans.

“Please, Alpha, please.”

“Just... just finger yourself.”

Disappointment floods through you, even though you know it’s the best you can do for yourself right now. Stiffly, you reach a hand between your legs.

“Show me your slick.”

You part your pussy more for him and run a finger through it.

“Fuck. I have to taste you again.”

You bury your face into the nest as your fingers begin working your pussy. “Oh.” A moan escapes you.

“When I find you,” he pants, “I’m going to have you against a wall again.”

You moan louder.

“And then bent over something.”

“Yes.”

“Closest fucking waist-high surface,” he snarls.

You grit your teeth as a wave of pleasure moves through you. “Oh fuck, oh please!”

“My teeth on your fucking neck.”

Bliss fills your body at the thought. “Claiming me,” you breathe. “I want you to.”

“Uh huh,” he grunts.

“I mean it, Din. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for weeks.” And it has been. The entire time you’ve been away from him, all you’ve been thinking about, is being with him again. It feels like where you belong, and you’ve been dying not being able to tell him in person.

“Me too,” he rumbles, voice low and soft, and warmth blooms within your chest. “Me too, little thief. I...”

You swallow back your relief. Thank the stars, you would never have had the courage to just come out and say it if you weren’t in heat, but now, he knows, and he still wants it too.

“I’m so close,” you moan.

“I see that,” he pants.

You spread your legs wider for him. “It’s all for you, Alpha. All of it.”

“Shit,” he curses, panting louder. “Then come for me, Omega. That’s an order.”

You reach the peak of your orgasm with a cry of his name, submitting to his order like the good Omega you want to be for him.

“Ah, fuck, I need to be inside you,” he groans and pants as he comes, and you look down between your legs to see him on the holo, his cock still in frame as he grips his knot, bent forward kneeling on the bunk and shooting his seed onto his sheets.

A second orgasm wracks through your body at the sight. What you wouldn’t give to receive his spend inside you right now and fulfil exactly what your body is craving. Instead, you can only watch in desire and despair as it all goes to waste.

As your legs give out, you roll over onto your front, perching the holo on a pillow in front of you. Din has his head buried in his sheets, and as you watch, he pushes himself back up into a kneeling position, his bare chest glistening with sweat. His cock is already hard again.

“I meant it,” you say.

The blue pixels of the holo shift with slight movement of his helmet. He nods. “So did I.”

The aftermath of your heat comes too fast and too slow all at once. You could talk to Din for days and not get bored, but you’ve been breathing in nothing but your own pheromones and scent for days, and your skin is crawling with the urge to shower.

So when your new Omega friend knocks on the door next, you finally muster up the energy to get up.

All of your sheets are stained with slick. Without much else choice, you find the least offensive one and wrap it around your sore, naked form, and trawl your way through the den.

It’s not until after your shower that you remember your communicator is still in the nest.

You rush back, fully dressed and cleaned, and rummage through the nest until you find it - out of charge.

It’s unclear in your memory when exactly the holo cut out, between talking to Din, or during your sleep, but your heart hammers in your chest at the thought of Din seeing the holo end for no reason, and realising you were gone.

You plug it in to charge and wait anxiously for it to turn back on.

Finally it lights up, and you find a message waiting for you.

Stay.

You almost laugh.

I’m not a dog, you respond back, and then add, Yes, Alpha.

“Boss? Boss!”

You turn around and find the new Omega rushing into the room, eyes wide. “There’s a Mandalorian here to see you. An Alpha.”

You stand. “Did you see him?”

She shakes her head. “Anuma warned me. She’s talking to him now, I think.”

You nod. “Best to stay inside.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” she asks. “The Alpha you were mumbling about in your heat? He’s here for you.”

Heat rushes to you face, and you brush past her. “Maybe.” You hope so. “Go to the others. No-one goes in or out until Anuma gives the go ahead. Full lockdown, just in case, okay?”

She nods, getting that hard look in her eyes, and turns down the hall on your orders.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. Then, closing your eyes, you try and slow your heart beating its way out of your chest. If it’s Din outside... fuck it. You can’t bear another second behind this door.

You push down the handle and step outside. The air isn’t much better than within, and as you fill your lungs with that familiar dirt-poor street scent, you pick up the calming tones of Anuma’s beta scent, and then, the Alpha’s.

Your eyes fly open.

Paz Vizsla stands on the darkened street, one hand on his blaster as he talks down to a very furious looking Anuma.

“I have no interest in shutting down your operation.”

“What operation?” Anuma shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It happens suddenly - the breeze shifts, and the bounty hunter catches your scent. He stiffens and raises his visor towards you, noticing you peeking out from the door.

Fuck.

Then, movement out of the corner of your eye - a second figure emerges from the shadows.

There’s a scar down his face, but in the light, you immediately recognise him.

Cold fear runs down your spine. It’s the Alpha, the one who came to collect you. You should run.

A wicked growl erupts from his chest. He grins. “There she is.”

Paz glances back at him, and nods.

Part Eight < Series Masterlist > Part Ten

#mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din x reader #alpha mandalorian #alpha!mandalorian #alpha din #alpha!din #a/b/o dynamics #star wars #mandalorian #din djarin #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #star wars smut #din djarin smut #mandalorian smut #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars x you #alpha!din djarin #alpha!din djarin x omega!reader #mandalorian x you #mando x you #din djarin x you #din x you #sil's writing

[eldritch-spouse]

Brenti may be an abomination but he’s SO interesting as a character. I love that we get to ask the questions you’ve already answered about breg and santi and get different answers. What kind of yandere is he? What’s his personality like? How does he meet the reader?

[Christ, hold on hold on-]

What type of yandere is he?

Brenti is just as delusional as Breg is, but instead of being oblivious and relying on cheesy depictions of love made by humans, he adopts Hell's models of love and relationships. Which can be brutally different.

Neither Breg nor Santi are very bright, but Santi has a certain type of street smarts and cunning Breg lacks, and Brenti retains that. What ends up happening is that Brenti passes as a poor ignorant monster that doesn't know much about civilized human living, when he's in fact much more informed than he lets on and is passing himself off that way deliberately to lower your guard.

He can be seen as a dedicated, openly perverted, confident yandere. However, Brenti ends up coming off as if his intentions are a lot more nefarious than they actually are, and he handicaps you early on.

Brenti's ideas of flattery and courtship are a lot more depraved than you're ready for. He has less tact than Santi, so he truly believes telling you how hard you make him and that he'd fill you everyday are genuine, wholesome displays of love and you'll be charmed by him. He's definitely the type to give you "tributes".

How do you meet him?

He's not a fugitive from a breeder facility, and he was conceived (more like cursed to existence) in Hell, but he's been in and out of the surface ever since adulthood- Although he never truly adapted to it, in spite of his fascination. Brenti is in love with certain aspects of human living, and he wants to add a filthy little twist to them, which society won't allow. So he ends up being inappropriate in his half-hearted attempts to fit in, resulting in him getting shunned out of various locations, rinse and repeat until he stumbles upon your general living area.

A lot of things can spark Brenti's infatuation. Maybe a mix of delicious-smelling lust and a genuine desire to help him when he seems lost, he finds you irresistible, immediately expending as much magic as he needs to keep you enraptured with him for as long as he can milk the encounter. It's utterly obvious early on that he's salivating after you, and though his charm is clumsy from overexcitement, Brenti manages to basically steal an entire evening with you.

Cumbrain that he is, he was thinking of fucking you in the nearest convenient surface, but that's gotten him in trouble way too many times, and he's determined to not be driven away from you too easily. It physically pains him to end the encounter without even getting his fingers on you, and he's going to need to relieve himself, but that's a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, everything else goes downhill.

See, much like Breg, this loser creeps into your living space far too easily. Except these episodes are now a lot more detrimental to you. The first thing Brenti does is slap his mark on your body. You may wake up with the pain of it being branded onto your mons, but unfortunately, your face is being pressed hard to the pillow, masking your startled scream as a monster much stronger than you keeps you still with his weight, gently shushing you and grinding two dribbling cocks on your ass. Blunt force makes you pass out.

Maybe you know what the faded thing in your lower half is, maybe you don't, but it's there now. You've already lost.

Every night after that one is spent having wildly erotic dreams while Brenti trains your unconscious body to respond to him, just like it should. He rubs his own seed on your skin before he leaves, causing you to wake up in the middle of the night in fits of feverish lust, longing for something very specific but not being able to place what. You spend your days in a state of bothersome sexual frustration, to the point where it'll start getting in the way of your routines and causing you to lose functionality.

Brenti starts showing up more often around you when you're practically dripping senselessly with desire. It's only a matter of time until you invite him over, he believes.

You'll realize how you've been betrayed when you see the faint mark on your mons become more pronounced the moment you come around his cock, looking up at the blissed out face of the monster who's to blame for all of this...

Personality

While still somewhat socially awkward, the concubus side will translate that demeanor into an oftentimes charming quality of his.

Brenti has his moments of total charm and temptation, but they're not a constant act like Santi's. In fact, he's a lot more genuine than most concubi, which is something you may end up valuing in the long run, even if it means you're often privy to information you don't want.

In a strange way, he's more open to sharing you than Breg ever was but not to Santi's degree. Brenti only has eyes for you, he craves to pleasure you in every way possible, so he's surprisingly okay with letting others worship you. But only that. He's always in control of these encounters and doesn't really seek to fuck the other person, he's more focused on making sure they get you to cum your brains out.

#Brenti oc

[lunaekalenda]

SCENE II: 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯?

summary: bokuto was almost sure you were there to cheer on him, but all your smiles were directed to the captain of the Nekoma Team. What a shame they are friends, and friends share.

warnings: nothing is canon here lol (names of the high school teams are still the same but on national league (?)). consensual filming. use of words like pretty, beautiful, . voyeurism, idk it's long to be plotless.

The stadium is full, people cheering on both teams can be seen on the steps, screaming, hugging each other, celebrating every point as if it was decisive. You weren't a fan of volleyball, but it's true that your brother insist every time that he could do better if you're there cheering on him. Although, it's true that there's something that has caught your interest during the adult's league.

Bokuto thinks it's him. The one that makes you follow the ball with such a tension, he feels your eyes on him with every move. He has been giving you side looks from time to time. You're pretty. Way too pretty to be ignored. And with those eyes fixed on him, there's nothing he can do but flex his amazing abilities in front of you.

Kuroo, on the other side, already knows you, from the long afternoons at your house with your brother, when they practiced on the garden and you brought them freshly made smoothies with a cute smile and quiet voice. And he was eager to identify your shirt's color, to know on what side you were standing today. He focuses on serving, blocking and annotating. He has time later to say hi properly.

The match lasts longer than you expected, but finishes with a big victory of your brother's team over the other one, dressed in white. They smile to the others as the results are announced. You try to find your brother between all the people, to indicate him you will wait outside. It takes you a second, but in the moment your gaze falls on your brother, he asks you to go and meet his high school friends with a signal. You leave the steps and walk quietly towards the team. You know a couple of them, of course, but the other team is almost unknown for you. Kuroo gets a step closer, but it's a white-haired guy who takes your hand.

"Bokuto Kōtarō at your serve, beautiful." His eyes are flirty and his side smile is directed towards you. You feel heat on your cheeks as he releases your hand softly.

"Nice to meet you. You made a good game." You say. Bokuto's eyes scan your body softly, stopping on the right curves and the right spots, admiring it so shamelessly while your brother was helping to order and put everything on place. His eyes go back from the red fabric of your clothes to your eyes, a raised brow and a smirk.

"Although you seemed to know who to cheer on today, hm?" this time, is a familiar voice who sounds as an answer.

"Come on, Bokuto. Everyone knew that we were gonna win." Kuroo's arm catches your shoulders, making you smile towards him, and Bokuto sees it. It's almost a second before you fade it away, but his eyes were faster. You like Kuroo. And he can't help but think if it might be reciprocal and both of you are too dumb to get that the other feels the same. Although, seeing it better, the look he gives you back, the side smile you give him... Bokuto catches the real feeling. Tension. Something way more feral. He looks at you as if the only thing stopping from taking you to the locker room is your consent.

You desire each other, and he's never wrong on that. He'll have to wait if he want to have his opportunity with you, unless Kuroo doesn't mind to share. If anything happens between you two, of course.

And, somehow, you two ended alone in the changing rooms.

"Now I get why you come so much to volleyball matches." His voice sounds sweet as he slides his hands over your body, finding every spot that makes you tremble, taking you closer to him, lips ghostly touching yours as he speaks. "Such a little opportunist." His tongue makes your lips' shape slowly and you lean towards him, bodies colliding softly as your hands wander around his toned abs and the V shape that the sporty shorts leave to your gaze. His t-shirt keeps falling on your hands, so you're quick to take it away, pulling slowly to make him notice what you want to do. He's way taller than you, and taking his t-shirt by yourself would be impossible. He gives you a smirk before a fast kiss, still looking at you in the eyes and holding your hands, that are still gripped to his shirt. "What do you want, pretty?" You avoid his gaze, feeling shy, but he takes your chin, making you look at him again. "I'm not a seer, baby. And you can speak clearly what you want me to do, can't you?" The phone is still on the lockers where you left it earlier. It could be a time until you'll be able to meet like this again, so, having a memory if this will make the wait way shorter.

"Take it off, Tetsu, please." your voice is deep from the desire, and you can't even recognize yourself. Your fingertips burn and your spine gets a electric sensation when his big hand rubs your waist.

"A clothing for a clothing, does it sound good for you, love?" you nod and he takes your lips on his once again, before parting with a sigh, taking his red t-shirt out with a movement. You let out a little exhalation at the sight of strong, hard muscles right against you hand when he presses it under his hot one, sliding it softly. Your breaths are mixed and both your gazes are fixed on your hands, tangled. He takes the free one to your cheek, kissing you again intensely. He releases you to grip to your t-shirt, red as his, and with a little pull you part. He takes it away from your body slowly, letting the fabric caress and tickle softly your skin, making your back arch towards him and you open your mouth in a silent moan when his hot fingers take your bare skin next to his again. His eyes are darkened with lust as they travel from your belly button to the cleveage. He lowers his head until his lips and teeth bite on your breasts, following the line that the cup of the bra makes against your skin. His pants go next as you part from his lips with a sweet smile, hands finding the shorts elastic as you get on your knees, slowly taking them down. His arm rests against the wall and he looks down at your hands massaging him from above the black underwear. He smiles softly. "You're so hot..." his whisper gets trunked by a little moan when you lick the fabric, above the wet spot. His free hand flies to your head, caressing your cheek, pushing you a little harder towards his length, still covered. He feels so aroused, it's such a tempting image to see you kneeling in front of him.

Tempting for both him and the guy in the shower room, that gets a peek through the door of your busy lips kissing his tip through the black fabric. His hand caresses his bulge a little harder, still not in the main show to jerk himself to. He tries to be silent, but he's already so hard he's not sure he'll be able to muffle the moans.

Kuroo makes you stand up again, searching your lips with much more necessity. He whispers between kisses.

"Are you sure your brother won't search you?" you shake your head. You told him you were gonna help on the girls changing room to a friend that plays next hour. You hope it to work. His lips find yours again, aggressively, tongue sliding inside. His hands take away your jeans as fast as he can, hands now touching the revealing lace of your underwear. He parts with a smile, lust and playfulness shining on his eyes. "You really did prepare yourself, didn't you?" He cups your ass with his hands to attract you closer, and you dedicate him a silly smile.

"Maybe." his face gets close again, but he only leaves a peck before talking in a whisper, again. "You know so well how to make me hard, don't you?" one of his hands leave your butt and rests on the panties, giving a long caress down, touching where you more wanted him. You body arches towards his as his lips leave a ghost kiss on yours, almost mocking you. He takes the lace a little to a side, being able to test, with expert fingers, how wet you already are. And, for his own good, you're soaking. He smiles before getting closer again, another fierce kiss pressed on your mouth, tongue exploring your mouth as good as his fingers caress your puffy folds. He wants to sit on that bench and make you sit on his face so bad, but he selected this spot to be covered in case someone enters. He will have to leave it for another time, sadly. He makes you hurry, taking your bra up and your panties down until they're on your ankles. His boxers disappear as well, between rushed kisses and shared moans. The pace fastened and the atmosphere got hotter quickly. His hands take your thighs, panties hanging from your ankle and your fingers tangled on his hair. You need him so bad, you try to move, with your legs gripped, against his cock, failing. He laughs. "Oh, do it."

He smiles, a brow raising as he gives a fake thrust that only makes both of you moan because of the friction.

"Say please." he says, words pronounced against your lips. "Beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you" his last whisper sends electricity through your spine, and you kiss him, so needly, so damn needly. His lips feel like cold breeze in summer. He gives another fake thrust, another painfully good thrust were his cock slide against your folds. You moan, and it made Bokuto palm himself harder. Damn, he should be there too. Two mouths feel better than one. Four hands do better than two. He opens the door a little more, getting to listen your sweet, breathless voice.

"Please, Tetsu. Please."

He takes both your legs on his arms stronger, your back totally against the wall and his tip teasing your folds softly, a moan escaping from his mouth when, using one arm to keep you in place, he puts himself on your entrance. Your body is folded against the blue wall, and his lips cover yours as he enters slowly on you. Both your legs hang from the sides of his body, and move with every thrust he gives you. He starts at a slow pace, but your moans and the way you clench around him makes him loose his mind. "Harder, Tetsu, do it harder."

Oh, fuck. You seemed so cute, so innocent, and that's how you beg for him to break you. Bokuto didn't expect this, he was even waiting for the most vanilla session he could ever watch, but damn. His fist follows Kuroo's pace as he bites his shirt, trying to drown the moans and trying to not make both of you suspect of his presence. He feels so close, so damn close... He can't help but moan when he releases, but both of you seem too entertained to notice. He cleans his hands the best he can before leaving but, before, he wants to make sure that he was there, just for fun, for pure arousal. Maybe because of the adrenaline of the orgasm. He walks towards both of you, still too concentrated on each other to repair on his presence.

"Huh? Having fun without inviting, Tetsuro?" a deep voice asks. You try to take him away from your skin, but Kuroo keeps licking and kissing. The white-haired guy is standing there, without worrying about your state - both legs useless, panties hanging, back against the wall and hands around his neck-. "An incredible cutie and you wanted to keep it for yourself. How selfish." Bokuto takes his bag and leaves with a gesture. "Remember to invite next time!" he says, before leaving. How much time has he been there? Has been Kuroo aware of his presence? Has he seen everything? The thought makes something hot travel to your core. Being seen like this, with the brain intoxicated by such a man, filled with him and moaning his name. You moan harder, feeling your throat sore, and your partner smiles. "Discovering that he saw you begging for my cock has you dripping wet, love." his thrusts are now harder, even more than before, as you try to rearrange yourself on his arms. "We may habe to invite him next time, what do you think?" Kuroo's words fill your brain, but it is too full of him to understand anything. Your lips suck softly on his shoulder, drowning the moans on his skin. "I might need to reward him for making my girl that wet." his breath starts to be erratic as his thrust are, tongue licking up your neck and hands gripping harder to the flesh of your legs. "Come on, cum, pretty. You deserve it after the good show you gave him." It's not long until you're screaming and trembling against his body, with both your fluids sliding down your legs. You both take a second to catch your breaths, smiling at the other. He leaves a peck again, and another one. He smiles softly before releasing you, letting your feet touch the cold floor. His hands grip your hips to avoid you from falling, as your legs are still sore. His smile is luminous before he gets closer to gove you another kiss, hungrier, deeper this time. "You alright?" he asks, foreheads resting against the other and lips still too close. You nod. "Need me to kick that asshole?" you smile, but shake your head.

"It made things kinda... hornier." Tetsuro smiles bigger before kissing you again. Was he always this affectionate? You can't remember, but you like it. You like him.

"Little exhibitionist." he whispers, before getting his lips closer to yours again. "My little exhibitionist."

#bokuto smut #tw voyeurism #tw exhibitionism #kuroo smut #tetsuro kuroo smut #haikyuu smut #bokuto x reader #bokuto x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #minors don't interact #minors don't look

[lokisransom]

Take Me Back To Eden

you radiate a warmth that loki craves, it reminds him of Asgard when he was young, before he thought of it as a place of unjust bias resulting in the anguish of their people. Since the day he saw this father for who he is loki only craved the familiarity and comfort of what felt like home to him. it had always seemed just out of reach, as if the world around him needed him to feel cold and alone, ironic considering his lineage.

The day he met you he could've sworn the universe was just putting him in his place, just another desire just out of reach, something he convinced himself would solve all his problems, or at least help him relax once in a while. You seemed almost ethereal, Moreso than even the god was prepared for. No one on the compound had told him they'd be getting a new teammate or that said teammate would give off an almost hypnotic aura.

Loki knew he needed you the second he laid eyes on you, it took him days to come up with a plan that he thought would succeed, he placed you on a metaphorical pedestal, convinced himself that even his best schemes couldn't trick you into spending time with him no matter the context.

Loki almost idolized you, he'd do things with the justification that you would want him to or that you would approve of his actions, most of the actions using those justifications were selfcare themed proving himself kind of right and definitely not wrong (his favorite type of right) 

he'd gotten into the habit of going off into his own world while in meetings and especially while outside sunbathing, you were always the center of his fantasies, although innocent in nature they were still very distracting. in fact they were so distracting that he didn't notice you standing over him with a smile on your face until you kneeled down next to him  where you poke his sides to get his attention. his eyes snap open the second you touch him, a moment ago he had thought your scent was just his overactive imagination.

the panic set in almost immediately, none of this was how he'd imagined the two of you would talk for the first time, he had always thought one day he would finally walk up to you after a mission, or maybe save you from imminent death, making him your saviour but here you sat with an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"hey?" your greeting sounded more like a question than you had meant it to but you'd also expected loki to cause chaos at every chance 

"h-hi" the only thoughts running through his mind was how perfect you were up close, he wanted to lean into you and never let you go but he refrained from doing so. you could read him like a book, his every though projected from behind his eyes, his body language screaming that he just wanted to fall into your arms and never leave. 

"you're so much more docile than I expected" your head was tilted and your tone curious. Loki's paused for a moment, thinking over his most recent actions and how they'd been sub par for his standards. he hadn't thought he'd let you distract him that much but he hadn't gone through his usual weekly list of pissing people off with minor inconveniences and moving furniture an inch to the left. his methods have gone soft but he tells himself its just efficiency. 

"i guess i have been more docile recently, you're right to have expected more of me." his gaze drops to the grass below you, the last thing he wanted was to disappoint you.

"n-no, its not that I expected more of you, I've just heard rumors, none of them exactly pleasant. i think its a good thing that you haven't been wreaking havoc. it makes you seem a little more approachable. " your smile softened and your brows furrowed. 

"they don't speak to you much do they" you intended it to be a question but it was really more of an observation. loki just shook his head, he'd always been a loner, always craved recognition and reassurance, always just wanted to have someone to lean on and he seemed to have accidentally chosen you. he really didn't mean to but you just had this atmosphere surrounding you. 

you placed your hand under his chin, gently pulling up so that he'd look you in the eyes, you felt the need to make him truly understand your intentions.

"they don't deserve a glimpse inside your mind, frankly neither do i but id like to change that if you'd let me" if it was the placement of your hand or the tone of your voice he wasn't sure but you had left him breathless, he nodded in response to you, not trusting his voice or even knowing what to say. all he knew was that he needed you, that he'd run to you any time he had the chance, his mind raced with possibilities, plans for long walks, places you might enjoy, he suddenly wanted to know everything about you, your favorite foods, if you had allergies, your favourite color. he needed to know it all, he wanted to crawl inside your mind and aimlessly walk till his legs give out.  

you decided you would join him in the grass, sitting just out of the sun under a tree while he continued laying in the direct sunlight, he turned onto his side to face you, not ever wanting to miss a glimpse of you. even in the shade you seemed to be glowing, it was a nice warm glow that reminded him of an oil lamp or a camp fire on a summers night. 

the sun had started setting, you and loki had fallen into a comfortable conversation that jumped from topic to topic, he would hang on your every word and you returned the interest. it seemed the two of you really were polar opposites, although you'd both spent much of your lives searching for something to even you out, for him that meant sunbathing for hours a day and for you that meant long walks on winter nights. 

loki had kept in the back of his mind that you two might be able to even each other out more so than your current solutions, he didn't want to push his luck though, he had just gotten to talk to you today and he didn't want to push you to far or scare you off, although he did hope that you had the same thought process as him.

of course you had, it was what initially made you want to go to him, you'd heard rumors of him being cold, both physically and metaphorically. you'd always felt like you burned to bright for your own good, like at at any moment you'd combust and be left with nothing but ashes.

you'd always felt like Icarus, flying to close to the sun but not sure you could resist even if you wanted to. it had popped into your mind at some point while you and loki spoke that he could keep your wings from melting in the hot sun, although it would run the risk of the cold shattering the wax that kept you afloat. it felt like you had known him all your life, as if he was there from the start. 

you thought to yourself that maybe both of your lives would have been better if you had known each other from the start, that maybe if you had been Asgardian or if he had been thrown to Midgard at a different time maybe together you would've been  able to avoid the growing pains of life. maybe you would've been able to save his mother or avoid some alien invasions, maybe you could've saved him before he fell and maybe he could've held you before the collapse. 

the chill in the air and the darkness surrounding you is what snapped you out of your train of thought, you'd both spent so long talking that your voices were hoarse and the sun had long gone down, the moon cast a blue sheen on Loki's skin making the green of his  clothes stand out  just that little bit more. the reflection in his eyes drew your attention, he seemed less at peace under the moonlight, almost as if nights in the past had left him sleepless and numb. 

in reality it wasn't the night that was at fault but instead the endless expanse of space and the creatures that occupied it, particularly the ones that dedicated their lives to hunting him down and making him suffer, the sun helped him forget about the darkness that followed him across galaxies. you crawled towards him sitting back on your heels, you rested you hand on his back softly as to not startle him. the look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"you know you don't have to run alone right?" your words were far softer than either of you had expected, the implication that you'd follow him across worlds hung heavy in the air, although he did understand where you were coming from. in the short time you'd been speaking to one another you'd become closer friends than loki had ever had. 

he nodded in response before hesitantly responding "I know, but its safer if I'm alone.. less people get hurt when I'm alone" his word stung you in a way you didn't quite understand. you knew he didn't want to be alone and that he meant it towards everyone and not just you but you felt the need to prove him wrong which would prove to be a difficult task.  

after a short pause you decided on actively asking him questions that would force him to second guess his train of thought and re-evaluate what his options actually are.

"is there really no where you could go that would be safe? even just for a little while? what about Asgard?" your spitfire questions almost threw his off, he'd never had someone try to problem solve with him because most people just wanted him gone. 

"I mean, technically Asgard would be fine for a while... i never really thought about going back home. there really isn't anything there for me other than potential safety and inevitably the past." that answer felt almost to easy. the only real downside would be the lack of purpose. at least if he stayed here he would have something to fight for even if it wasn't something he was passionate about it was still a reason to get out of bed every morning. he also realized at the thought of leaving he felt an almost dread, not because he'd miss the things he has or the general area but because he'd found a new friend that he really didn't want to get to the point of missing. he didn't want to miss you. 

"if you go to Asgard are you going alone?" you didn't want to outright ask if you could go with him but you were really hoping he'd let you, if nothing  else it would be nice to see a new planet. he could've sworn that his heart fluttered, maybe he could have the best of both worlds.

"would you be willing to go with me?" a smirk creeped its way onto his face and with that you knew you'd finally get to see the chaos loki could bring, a trickster back in the places he learned how to trick people would be a recipe for fun, for him at least. 

A/N- i will be making a part two fairly soonish, also i apologize if this seemed all over the place, it was written in the late hours of the night across several weeks and I'm not great at reading over things before i post them, maybe some day I'll learn ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

PS. this was 2k words, v proud of myself 

#loki #loki fluff #loki friggason #loki friggason x reader #loki laufesyon x reader #loki x you #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel loki #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki friggason fluff #loki odinson fluff

[yandere-toons]

I saw Bojack in ur fandoms of the day!!! Can I request literally anything with any Bojack character? I love them all

BoJack Horseman (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

WARNING: alcoholism, references to substance abuse, psychological manipulation, toxic mindset.

A.N. - I'm open to doing more BoJack characters!

PLATONIC:

BoJack displays a confusing mix of avoidance and dependence, believing himself to be unworthy of connections while at the same time craving them. He sees an inner ugliness in himself that he considers unacceptable, and as a result, BoJack resists the idea of being emotionally vulnerable.

Instead of communicating his true concerns, he uses guilt trips to eliminate any thoughts about leaving him. BoJack is preoccupied with worries about his real self being discovered and him being castigated and discarded for it.

If another person disrupts the flow of the relationship—whether by drawing interest away from him or revealing details of his checkered past, BoJack devotes himself to uncovering and exposing any sordid information about them.

BoJack downs a six-pack of beer and launches into a drunken tirade every time he sees or hears about them for the next few days. While mostly inconsolable at this point, BoJack can slow his rants and divulge some of his insecurities about losing one of the few people who makes him feel good about himself if he is cowed.

With a history of poor impulse control, BoJack tends to be an enabler when any bad habits show themselves in his presence and suggests relieving stress with beer and drugs at his house. Indulging in his vices with him is a form of connecting for BoJack and a way to feed his desire not to be alone in his suffering.

Although his mother and an ageist society have taught BoJack to expect rejection from every avenue, he takes it with as much grace as a ballerina's first day on the job. BoJack drowns his sorrows in booze and may go missing from the public eye for weeks or months, during which time he either shuts himself in his house or charters a yacht to take him away from Los Angeles.

As far as BoJack is concerned, his door is always open and living in a home other than his is unnecessary because he has a pool and demands no rent. He offers to demote Todd to a deck chair to free up the couch and kick out anyone else who is currently squatting at his residence.

ROMANTIC:

Despite his predilection for stonewalling, BoJack grows pushy and antagonistic when he is on the receiving end of it. If his vague questions about whether the relationship can become what he wants it to become go unanswered, BoJack pretends to be okay with this by suggesting an all-day Horsin' Around marathon as a way to still spend time together.

In truth, he purposely creates situations where the answer is forced to come out. Specific episodes of Horsin' Around are chosen because they revolve around keeping secrets. It is one of his more careful methods of hinting at his intentions, as he fears humiliation, conflict and abandonment if he is too direct.

BoJack resorts to guzzling alcohol, complaining to an asleep Todd and phoning Diane in a late-night slump if his plan seems to be failing. His limit is reached when he gets particularly drunk on gin one day and lets his emotions spill, after which BoJack realises that he cannot take it back and decides to amplify his efforts.

The next time a ride or a swift exit from a social event is needed, BoJack is there with promises of a lift home.

He detours to the place where the relationship began, reminiscing about how much he believes his life has improved because of it. Each memory recalled, muddied and distorted by vodka and cocaine it may be, is fueled by the hope of inspiring similar feelings if they do not yet exist.

Many times, BoJack has tried drinking to forget, but the need to be close and connected to someone always finds its way back to his mind. This leads to his avoiding any one-on-one time and ending conversations prematurely, a desperate measure that lasts only for as long as he cannot see the bottom of the bottle in his hand.

BoJack looks in the mirror and does not like the horse who looks back. Asking for his autograph or praising Horsin' Around reminds him of the halcyon days of filming the series, and he chases this comfort in the past by mentioning his celebrity status at every opportunity. BoJack hopes that doing so will prompt further compliments and becomes reliant on the praise if it does.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

#Yandere #Yandere x You #Yandere x Reader #Yandere x Y/N #Yandere Imagines #Yandere Headcanons #Yandere BoJack Horseman #BoJack Horseman x Reader #BoJack Netflix #BoJack #BoJack Horseman #Imagines #Reader Insert #X Reader #Gender Neutral Reader #Yandere Writing #Fanfiction

[softquietsteadylove]

I’m glad you liked the idea!! The result was so perfect and sweet as usual. Here’s another if you’re interested/have muse! Words: curiousity, animals, whispering

Gil gulped, trying to focus on plating more appetizers as the guests mulled about. For the most part, they were scattered around the rest of the sprawling estate, but some of them had gravitated towards the kitchen naturally out of eagerness for the next round.

And they kept whispering.

He couldn't make out what they were saying, of course, but Gil knew when he was being whispered about. He had grown up as a husky but strong boy who loved cooking, he was no stranger to feeling like an animal in a zoo. But the scrutinising glares of a couple dozen millionaires were more than enough to put him on edge.

He dabbed at some sweat on his forehead and heard a giggle behind him. He was glad he had the steam and stove and various other heat sources to blame for the flush in his skin. Clearing his throat, he turned with the platter in hand. "More hors d'oeuvres--canapes with cavier and brie crostini with blackberry and prosciutto."

"How delightful!"

"Wherever did Thena find a specimen like you?"

"I simply must get the recipe to my own chef!"

Gil just smiled, setting down the platter for them to maul at will. He slipped backwards, eager for the refuge of the inner kitchen again. When Thena had described this as a 'monsters' ball' of a soiree, she wasn't kidding.

She had warned him that the guests were technically allowed wherever they wanted to be, including his own space, as much as she wanted to discourage it. There were also warnings about how rude they could be, even if the words were polite, as well as not to let any of them subtly try to poach him from her.

As if that were possible; he had no desire to work for anyone but Thena.

Only a few more hours and it was over. Even if there were still guests lingering, Thena had made it very clear that he could leave after 11. It was pretty sweet, all things considered. It wasn't uncommon for the chef to be stuck there catering to everyone's desires until guests had left, and then clean up after everything too.

"Sir, the food is being received splednidly!"

"Jesus!" Gil cursed, gripping the pocket of his chef's jacket over his heart as Karun - yet again - materialised out of thin air. He glared at him, "dude!"

Karun just chuckled, though, not minding the casual speech in the least. "The Madam is the envy of all present, thanks to you and your recipes, sir. I have heard only glowing reviews throughout the party."

Well, no chef disliked hearing that. And if the guests weren't going to compliment him so honestly, then at least he could hear it from someone he trusted. They hadn't said anything bad of course, but even when they were saying nice things, he really felt like he couldn't believe anything any of them were saying.

"The Madam knew, of course. I have never heard her praise anything so highly as your food!"

Sometimes Gil really wondered if Karun exaggerated Thena's words, at all. She was just so quiet, so hard to read. It was hard to imagine her going on at length about...well, anything. And yet Karun made it sound like it was something she gushed about.

"Where is Thena?" Gil asked, even looking around in hopes of catching a glimpse of her bright blonde hair. He wiped his hands on the towel tossed over his shoulder. "I haven't seen her since the doors opened."

She had stopped by before getting ready, while he was still preparing everything. She had seemed a little nervous, actually, hovering around his prep work as if to procrastinate putting on her fancy dress and doing her hair.

"Ah, the Madam has many guests to entertain," Karun lamented, although still with the same immovable smile on his face. He straightened his bow tie. "Although, she did mention fetching something from the wine cellar."

"Huh," Gil murmured, still wiping his hands, mostly to occupy them with something. He didn't have anything on the fire currently, although he had considered that he could use some sparkling just to float on top of the personal panna cottas. "Maybe I'll see if she needs a hand with anything."

Gil walked down the stairs to the fancy underground wine cellar with heavy steps. He just needed a second wind to get through the rest of the evening. If he could have a little snack and push out the desserts then he would have a clear board. There were dressed up wait staff walking around with drinks and trays of his food anyway.

Maybe Karun had planned it, but Gil turned the corner and found Thena. She was seated on one of the crates yet to be unpacked, probably full of bottles that cost more than his whole salary. She was hunched over a little plate of food with her legs crossed, the slit of her dress exposing the length of them, while also pooling unceremoniously on the floor with her heels. Her hair was still pinned tightly at the back of her head, although he was guessing that the sparkly clip sitting beside her had been in it until she got down here.

She still looked gorgeous, although he had to admit he was more fond of the way she looked first thing in the morning, enjoying one of his omelettes.

"Oh," she looked up, not rushing to polish her appearance again. She rearranged her dress somewhat, starting to slip her stocking feet back into her shoes. "I was-"

"Hey, it's okay," he rushed. He could only assume she had taken off the high heels because her feet were killing her. "I won't tell."

She smiled at him, thankful for his secrecy. She did indeed slip her feet back to the tile floor, holding her rations preciously. "Did you come to escape them as well?"

"Escape them?"

She glanced upward in the direction of her own party, "the animals."

Gil snorted. He had certainly thought of them as such, but he hadn't exactly thought Thena did too. At least, not so literally. "I thought you knew at least some of them."

But she looked downtrodden, bordering on miserable. Gil immediately thought of the times in his life when he felt like a shy little outcast, sitting alone at lunch or being excluded from playing with others. "I suppose I am acquainted with a few of them. But this is largely a networking event. It is my turn to host it, nothing more."

He didn't exactly know everything about Thena's super fancy lifestyle. Actually, he knew very little about it. But he was confident in saying that she didn't ask for any of it, let alone like it. "Really sounds like more of a pain in the ass, than anything."

He usually didn't swear in front of Thena (his boss). Well, he didn't always talk in front of her at all. But she smiled again, her finger playing with a sprig of green onion that had tumbled off a canape. "I would have to agree."

Given that this was the most he and Thena had ever exchanged in terms of words or conversation, Gil decided to push further. He abandoned the search for champagne in favour of leaning against a stack of crates facing her. He slipped his hands in his pockets, although he immediately wondered if it was coming off as 'trying too hard'. "Is there anyone here you like at all?"

She looked up, stared him dead in the eyes, and said, "you."

Gil blushed.

Thena looked down at her lap again. She didn't rush to correct her statement, but her fidgeting with her plate increased as she brought her knees closer to her chest. "Not that I make for good company."

"What?" he laughed, hoping she would follow suit. "I'd rather be down here with you than up there, anyway."

She didn't quite take it as the compliment he intended, but she did look up again. Her lip set in a firm line, "have they been pestering you? I did attempt to make it clear that you were to be left to your work."

They had circled him like sharks observing a wounded dolphin. "I haven't really noticed them."

Thena scowled down at her beet cured salmon rosette. "Not one of them is of the mind to brush elbows with their own staff. I knew that your food would entice them into playing nice, but I did hope they would have some decorum."

He definitely got the impression that, while happy to sing his praises here and now, working for them was probably a nightmare. He would much rather be here with Thena, hiding from her own guests like ne'er do wells under the bleachers.

Thena blinked as he stole the rosette right off her plate. "I beg your pardon."

He gave her a grin, chewing it thoroughly. It turned out well! "What?--you were just playing with it. Someone should enjoy my work."

Her lips tugged up again and he really noticed how the red colour made them look even fuller than usual. "I did not realise my secret stash would have to be shared."

Gil shrugged, leaning forward to steal something else. Despite her teasing reproach, she leaned back and offered her plate to help him select something. He grabbed the remaining half of a mini buratta with a disk of tomato gelee and air crisped basil. He'd never created such pretentious finger food in all his life, but that was exactly what the animals wanted, according to Thena.

"I took two of everything and came down here nearly an hour ago," she confessed, hanging her head in guilt. She finally picked up the blackberry from her crostini and ate it. "Mingling with them is simply beyond my threshold for suffering."

She said 'they're a bunch of assholes' so eloquently.

"I guess I don't blame you," Gil chuckled, taking the rest of the crostini she had left after claiming just the fruit from it. "It's your party, your house--if you wanna play hooky, then who cares."

"Play hooky?" she furrowed her brows at the expression.

He laughed again, which she seemed to take as a scathing mockery of her ignorance. His expression softened and he leaned off the crates.

Thena drew her shoulders up but ultimately made room for him on her crate as he sat down next to her. It was neither too small nor comfortably large. He managed not to touch butts with her, but there was nothing he could do about his shoulder brushing hers.

He glanced at her from his position of having to somewhat perch himself on the corner, "aren't you cold?"

Thena's cheeks took on the most charming shade of pink he'd ever seen in his life. Now that he was closer to her, he could see the faint tremor in her hands and shoulders. She looked down at her plate again, positively mortified. "Freezing."

Poor thing was so eager to leave her own party that she would rather freeze by herself in the wine cellar than mingle a little. Gil immediately wished he had something on under his chef's jacket (although that would only ever create more of a sweating problem).

Gil put his hand on hers, which really was startlingly cold to the touch. "If you don't wanna come up to the kitchen, I get it. Some of your guests do keep poking their heads in."

That certainly was enough to keep her rooted in place.

He gave her frigid hand a squeeze, "but I'll bring you something, okay? Something to warm you up in hiding."

Thena looked up at him as he stood, preparing to leave her again. Those big, dazzling green eyes of hers pleaded with him, "hurry back?"

He would let all of the desserts burn if he had to. He lingered at the door just to wave to her, "I'll grab more rations for us too."

The brightened expression on her face at the promise of his lengthened return was blinding. It was more than enough to convince him to set the desserts out all at once and whatever happened, happened. As far as he was concerned, the guest of honour was down here freezing her butt off, the least he could do was grab a cup of hot cocoa and his hoodie and some more snacks for her.

#Thenamesh Hamptons AU #poor Thena has negative social skills #of course she would rather hide in the basement than attend her own party #everyone attending is just some rich asshole anyway #so their families know each other so what #Karun knows she's hiding from everyeone #and he knows just the cure #so he goes into the kitchen and says oh hey I think I saw Thena going downstairs #Gil: great I just happened to need something down there totally unrelated #I love this prompt so thank you #Thena doesn't really want any of them talking to her sweet and funny chef #she finally gets the chance to talk to him and it's because she's having a terrible time #little does she know Gil is like this is my chance #he pulls everything out at once and tells the catering staff this is what everything is I'll be back whenever #if they ask for something I do not care #he comes back downstairs with a nice hot mug and puts sweater over her shoulders and presents more snacks and desserts for her #and Thena falls even more in love with him #I mean they have an appropriate and professional relationship #Karun isn't matchmaking at all

[gulnarsultan]

*a deep breath* imagine,

Somehow it happens, that Aegon II meets and emotionally gets closer to a some girl. He has a lot of funny feelings for her. She is strange herself, she has strange clothes, a strange accent. She doesn't talk much about herself. She doesn't look like the women, he's used to at all. But he'll be damned, if Y/n isn't the most charming and beautiful creature, he's ever seen...

He has an unusual desire to introduce her to everyone, and get to know her side. But she's kind of shy, or something... In general, she, also, seems to like him, but she is in no hurry to get closer, although she does not mind his growing obsession over her. As a result, Aegon, in his characteristic manner, forces Y/n to open up to him.

Y/n is far from the last person in a far-far kingdom. Y/n is far from the last person in the retinue of a distant, strong and "evil" Ruler. (As an example - something like the local Mordor and Sauron.) Y/n came to these lands just out of curiosity, without the goal of luring or conquering, she did not know, that a possible future King would be to her heart. Her home is very far from here. Those lands are called dark, cursed, defiled. But Y/n doesn't think so. She loves her home and is loyal to her Lord. Although, the Aegon house, too, is very nice.

Of course, this is very strange, almost shocking, but Aegon's eyes see nothing, but Y/n's reciprocal sympathy for him.

He asks her to take him with her. He's being forced to become King here, and he doesn't want to. And in the ephemeral kingdom, which no one knows about in these lands, he will not be found. And she takes him home. She will be able to convince her Lord to leave him, even, maybe, give him the word. After all, Y/n has never failed her Ruler. Perhaps, Aegon even, blinded by his love for Y/n and her love for him, and defiled by the darkness of this kingdom, will help in the conquest of his homeland... He doesn't have to be a King, but he can be a viceroy, for example... Or not... No one knows what's going on in Aegon II's head...

Or.

Everything happens much faster, than Aegon wants. And the conflict for the crown is already on the threshold. If Aegon wants, Y/n can talk to her Lord, and he will be given military support. Tired and almost desperate Aegon agrees to everything. Even if after the victory over his sister, these lands will pass into the power of an unknown ruler.

And after a while, a huge and ugly army stands on the threshold of the Keep. "Monsters and dark people, mutilated people", all stand at the head of the Herald and Y/n. As it turns out, the passion of the King is really far from the last person in a distant and cursed kingdom. She, as befits a good guest, bows to the local authorities. Aegon is literally ready to give Y/n the crown right away, but she puts the crown back on his head again. "No-no, my King. We are not here to take anything away, we are here to help you. We want to be friends, my King, not take away. You want to be friends too, right? - She looks innocently, but rapaciously around the Targaryen family. And especially Otto. She remembers, what Aegon told her about his grandfather. Moreover, despite the fact, that the "army of chaos" came to help, he does not look happy. - Your power here, my King, is not limited. And we will take care of those, who disagree. We came here to establish alliances and friendship between our realms." Now Y/n didn't look, like the beautiful angel, Aegon remembered her with. Although she doesn't look like her army, but there is a huge imprint of darkness on her. But, even so, Aegon could not remember a more beautiful woman...

And the alliances were established. Aegon is still the King, although he was given a choice. Y/n's home did not conquer Aegon's home. They are separated by a huge stretch of the map, but Aegon swore, that his lands will forever be loyal allies. There is no desecration Aegon's realm, none of the locals feels it. Yes, sometimes "ugly people" flash by, but they behave well. In addition, that distant kingdom is not only a strong, but a profitable ally. A lot of interesting and unusual goods come from those lands, and goods go there well.

No one feels any critical changes. Except Aegon. His appearance was distorted in the manner of that kingdom. No, he didn't become a freak, but his hair turned dark gray, his skin became even paler, his bones lengthened, and his voice became little more growling, his teeth have become a little bigger and sharper, and his character is more domineering and tough. He stopped being afraid of responsibility and power. And Aegon II has been ruling for too long. And if the Dark Lord needed help, King Aegon II will always come to the rescue. After all, the Dark Lord gave Aegon her, Y/n.

It's great.🤩 I don't even need to add.

#house of the dragon #hotd fanart #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen