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#again i’m not taking this seriously i just have a lot of opinions on this shit specifically
islandoforder · 3 days
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Hi just properly scrolled through your blog for the first time and wanted to ask a question:
Re: Riz should be class president post from over a week ago - why should it be Riz over Kristen now that the class president position has stakes? Is it because of Kristen’s inconsistent access to her spells in case she needed to defend herself? I’d love to hear more about your thought process regarding this - assuming your opinion hasn’t changed since making that post.
My thoughts personally are that character-wise, it makes more sense to me for Riz to be the one strategizing as the campaign manager, because he’s the one actually finding a lot of the traps the Rat Grinders have put out for them.
Whereas Kristen makes more sense to me as a candidate purely because of her charisma and good radar for social bs - her weakness, of course, being that she’s a bit of a wild card in her choices regarding the campaign. But at the same time, she’s been able to get away with wearing a soggy salsa hat in front of the entire student body and still maintain some chance for the candidacy.
Obviously, I’m ignoring the more mechanical aspects of this comparison. If that’s what you were referring to in your original post idk then. I’m still wrapping my head around how Riz rolls so well now, level 10 dnd shit is way over my head.
Sorry if this was long, I just wanted to express my thoughts as well as hear yours! Idk how far away we are from getting back to the campaign to class president, who knows what happens after they get back from fallinel!
hi! sorry this is such a late reply, i've been away and i wanted to watch the new ep before i started posting about anything d20 in case of unintentional spoilers haha
so i think part of it is that, imho, brennan intended the class president arc to be riz's:
kipperlily is a rogue, v type a, and a narrative foil to riz, and this would have directly pitted them against one another
riz needed extra credit things for his college app, like being involved in student govt/being student president
there's also something about kipperlily being fundamentally riz but richer
kristen's arc was clearly always going to be about cassandra, trying to regain her favour, or increase her popularity, or resurrect her
nara is the kristen foil this season (once again, kristen but richer)
everyone has like an individual arc this season except for riz, bc his was supposed to be student president
beyond all of this, i don't actually think kristen is able to take the student president stuff too seriously - every time she tries, she ends up doing a bit instead, at the steel workers union, at the middle school, even at the party. i actually think if riz was the candidate, he would manage himself, in the same way that fabian wanted to be the party house and arranges that himself, and adaine needed a job and worked on and got that herself. so like i agree that he's the best campaign manager, but that doesn't preclude him from being the best candidate as well??
also, frankly, a lot of the good social graces kristen has had this year are from riz putting in the hard work - him joining all the clubs and making those connections, him taking stress to give her more popularity, his own popularity, etc.
like i'm enjoying the silliness of kristen's campaign, but i'm kind of with sklonda on this - riz would be a better candidate, and it is to some degree a shame that he's putting this much effort into running a campaign for someone else. if they legit need the student body president bc they'll become proxy headmaster, then i think a more serious campaign with riz at the helm and finally having his time in the spotlight is not a bad idea!!
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lucyandthepen · 8 months
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love on the floor - i. | njm
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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!
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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. 
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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.” 
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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.” 
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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.”
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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.” 
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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.” 
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nxuvillette · 2 months
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LOST IN TIME — WRIOTHESLEY
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synopsis: you and wriothesley’s relationship ended years ago. neither of you thought you’d ever see each other again, until one night you both meet after years of being apart.
❥ pairings : wriothesley x fem!reader
❥ note : sorry for the inactivity !! i was kind of going through a slump, but i’m hopefully gonna start returning to a regular schedule. i hope you guys enjoy this !! reblogs are appreciated <3.
content warnings : nsfw [17+], fem!reader, ageless + blank blogs dni, mentions of childhood trauma (wriothesley), high school relationships (they’re both adults when meeting again !), alcohol consumption, breakups, some angst, fluff, car sex, creampie, use of pet names (baby , good girl), ex!wriothesley, vanilla sex.
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You were never the type to dwell on the past. Whatever happened back then happened, and there was no way for you to control it. Time kept moving and it wouldn’t pause for you whatsoever. It was something everyone was told to move on from. 
However, you couldn’t exactly move on from one thing in your past.
Your ex, Wriothesley.
You and Wriothesley met when you were both in high school. Neither of you were in great headspace at the time, so you two connected over the fact that you were dealing with lots of pain during that time period. He wasn’t exactly the most responsible student. He often showed up late, talked back to adults, and he gained many enemies from his impressive stature. He was intimidating. Even you felt a bit of fear whenever he walked into a classroom, but he turned out to be a really nice guy. He sat next to you in your algebra class and asked you for a pencil since he came to school without his backpack. You gave him one and then ended up chatting towards the end of the period about school and other random things.
A lot of your friends questioned why you of all people spoke to Wriothesley. He wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who would speak to girls like you. You had perfect attendance, good grades, and a pretty decent friend circle. He was the opposite of you.
Eventually, those platonic feelings turned into romantic ones the more you got to know him. Wriothesley confided in you about many things pertaining to his home life. He was in and out of foster care due to his parents passing early on in his childhood, and it led to him being moved around a lot. He wasn’t exactly good at making friends because a lot of them came from these perfect homes. None of them would understand that feeling or his story. Although you couldn’t understand it either, you tried your best to see things through his lense. There was a reason he acted the way he did. 
You two then began dating a few months later. It was a perfect relationship. He treated you better than any ex of yours would, and he made you feel safe around him. He was somebody you could rely on. Despite many people frowning upon it, you never listened to their opinions. Wriothesley was someone you thought was your soulmate. It was young love, but to you, it was everything you ever wanted.
However, you did have some problems in your relationship.
You and Wriothesley had many arguments during your time dating. Sometimes he didn’t care for himself and he would miss school to do god knows what. You wanted him to do better for himself, but it didn’t seem like he was taking you as seriously as you thought he would. It would always end with him apologizing and buying you flowers or taking you out for a date to make up for the harsh words thrown around. He didn’t like fighting with you. He knew you wanted the best for him. He just had a hard time committing to the things he had promised to you. 
He always thought you two would date for a while, but that was until your senior year. At that point, you two had been dating for almost two years. Things weren’t bad, if anything, it was a lot better than it was early on. Neither of you considered your relationship to be toxic by any means. 
Unfortunately, things did come to an end.
You knew that you and Wriothesley were on two completely different paths in life. You wanted to go off to college and begin a career, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life. There wasn’t an issue with that, but you had a lot of doubt that the relationship would even work with the distance and your differences. Having to break up with him was one of the most difficult things you had to do. 
Wriothesley honestly didn’t understand why you wanted to leave him. You were absolutely everything to him, and he never was one to treat you poorly. However, he also knew that your feelings about it were valid. He didn’t know if he could handle a long distance relationship and you honestly deserve someone better than him. In a way, he knew he was dragging you down in life. He was the one blocking your way of becoming the absolute best, so he took the break up respectfully. He would always love you no matter what, and that’s what he told you. You didn’t think you would take it as hard as you did, but you knew it was for the better. 
As the years went on, you slowly forgot about your relationship with him. It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to process while in college, but you often distracted yourself by going out with your roommate and other friends you made along the way. Soon enough, it was a thing of the past. 
It wasn’t until you came home to see your parents that all of the memories came flowing back to you.
You and your roommate had decided to move into an apartment close to your university, so you weren’t home as often as you normally would be. When you came by to visit, everything felt so nostalgic to you. You hadn’t been in your hometown for a little while and you weren’t sure where to even begin. 
You don’t know how you ended up at the bar just ten minutes away from your home. It wasn’t exactly packed for a Thursday evening, so you didn’t have to worry about weirdos at the bar hitting on you. You were sitting on your own, sipping on a random cocktail the bartender had made for you. Your mind wandered to many thoughts that only crossed when you were intoxicated. Your past, random embarrassing moments you wished you didn’t let happen, and your ex boyfriend from when you were in high school. 
You disliked that you thought about Wriothesley more than you should have. You two had broken up years ago. Why would you still have these thoughts about him? Maybe you could blame it on the fact that you hadn’t exactly had the best luck with romance while in college. There was no other man who was interested in you like Wriothesley was. Most of the men around you were only looking for something short term, or just a quick fuck that wouldn’t mean anything at the end of the day. It was honestly a shame, but you shouldn’t have had such high expectations. Maybe you were a fool. 
You didn’t pay much attention to the presence that had appeared next to you. You assumed it was some random person who needed a drink just like you did. 
“Yeah, whiskey and coke, please.”
Your heart stopped when you heard the smooth voice speak beside you. A part of you didn’t wanna believe there was a possibility he was here after just thinking about him, but could luck be on your side? It took a lot of courage, but you eventually turned your head to place your eyes on the man beside you. There he was. Your ex, Wriothesley was sitting right beside you. You weren’t sure if you should even speak up and talk to him. Neither of you had crossed paths in years and you didn’t know if he would even want to talk to you. 
It didn’t take long for him to notice your staring, and soon enough, Wriothesley’s eyes made contact with yours. You never forgot the color of his ice blue eyes. He looked much older than he did before, obviously, but he seemed more mature. His body also seemed a lot more bulky than it was back in high school. Despite that, his scars still remain etched into his skin as permanent reminders of his past. 
“(Y/N)..?” your name left his lips in a whisper, seemingly shocked by your presence. 
You felt your heart rate begin to speed up from seeing his face. You didn’t think he would stay, but he sat there in his seat like a deer in headlights. You weren’t sure how to even respond. It was awkward. “H-Hi.. Wriothesley..” you said, trying to ease the awkward tension in the air. It felt so uncomfortable, but you didn’t want to leave. 
Wriothesley blinked, trying to take in the realization that you were sitting right in front of him. He hadn’t seen you in years. He vaguely recalled going to your home the day you left for college. He felt like shit knowing you were gone and he couldn’t say what he wanted to. It had been so long. It was like you were a completely different person, but at the same time he recognized you. He thought you were still as beautiful as you were the day he first laid his eyes on you. “Hey.. how are you? It’s been a while..” he turned his body to face you, giving you the chance to see his physical changes.
You laughed through your nose. Relief washed over you when you saw his soft smile appearing on his face. You thought he would just walk away, considering you were the one who broke up with him. “I’m good! How about you?” you asked, sipping your drink to try and calm your nerves.
He honestly was sitting there in disbelief. He didn’t think he’d ever have the chance to speak to you again. “I’m doing alright, haha! How has college been for you?” he questioned, nodding his head.
The conversation between you felt so weird. It was like you two were strangers, but at the same time you knew so much about one another. There was a time in your life where Wriothesley played such a significant role through your teenage years. You didn’t wanna see it that way, but it was difficult knowing there was so much that you missed. Did he ever get away from foster care? He was now over eighteen, so it’s not like he could be cared for anymore by a random family. Did he pursue his dreams of becoming involved in law enforcement? There were so many questions you had yet to be answered. 
Wriothesley revealed so much to you. He spoke about how he was able to go and apply to be a security guard at one of the clubs downtown, and with that money he managed to move out and get his own place. He seemed to be doing so much better in life than he was when you first met. He had somewhat of a personality shift as well. There was more maturity in his words and he listened more than he would talk. He was happy you were doing good in life. He wanted nothing but the best for you ever since you two had broken things off.
The evening hours crept up on you two, and the bar had become a little busier than it normally was. The alcohol in your veins also made you loosen up around Wriothesley. He felt the same way, but he was a little more sober than you were. He had a better grip on himself. It was honestly really nice to catch up with you. He really missed you. He didn’t like admitting it to others, but he often yearned to see your face walking around town. There was so much he wanted to say, but he wasn’t sure how to put it into words without sounding weird or making things awkward. 
“Do you need a ride home..?” he downed the rest of his drink within his glass. The last thing he wanted was for you to go home being slightly intoxicated and on your own. 
You hesitated for a second. You didn’t want to give the wrong idea to Wriothesley, but there was the part of you that would feel a lot safer if he was around you. “S-Sure!” you replied, picking up your things off of the table in front of you.
Wriothesley stood up, leaving cash for both of your drinks which you didn’t expect. Standing beside him made you feel somewhat embarrassed. It was like he grew overnight with how broad his body had become over the years. You never thought he would be the type to work out. He talked about it a little while back, but the way he looked now was insane to you. 
The two of you left the bar and entered outside. The air nipped at your skin from the slight chill that was in the atmosphere. Wriothesley walked over to his car that was parked in the lot. It was a really nice one, too. You pulled open the passenger side door and climbed in, getting hit with the strong aroma of his cologne that lingered around his vehicle. Once he climbed in, he glanced at you briefly. It almost seemed like he wanted to say something to you, but he decided not to at the last minute.
The car ride back was quiet. Neither of you spoke, and you honestly thought that’s where it would end. 
But, it didn’t.
Once he arrived outside of your house, there was something brewing between you two that was bound to burst at any moment. You didn’t know if maybe it was his cologne or how the alcohol made you bolder, but clearly there was something going on and both of you seemed a little hesitant to make a move.
However, that didn’t last long, because Wriothesley was the one who planted a kiss on your lips. 
It felt so familiar to you. Every little memory from your relationship played in your mind, making you recall things you thought you had forgotten. You missed it all. You missed his touch, his kisses, his hair that your nails used to dig into when you would make out, the way he would nibble at your neck to turn you on. It didn’t take long for you to end up on his lap with his hands all over your body. His kisses were rough, but passionate at the same time. It brought you back to the many times you two would make out in your bedroom while your parents were out of the house. God, you missed those days. Everything was so much more simple back then. 
Wriothesley’s hands lifted up your skirt, squeezing the plush of your ass. He remembered every little part of your body. He knew you so well. It didn’t matter how long you two had been apart. “Fuck.. I’ve missed you so much..” he whispered against your lips. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to go and find you..”
A whimper came from your lips when you felt his hardened cock brush against your clothed pussy. There was a part of you that wondered if you should actually be doing this. You two were ex’s. You were meant to be apart, but there was just so much about Wriothesley that you craved. He was practically your first everything back then, and those things are hard to just forget. “Missed you more, Wrio..” you panted, looking into his eyes. “Please.. I need you.”
He was a bit taken back when you guided his hand to your soaked underwear. His dick practically twitched when he made contact with your arousal. He remembered how easy it was to get you riled up. It seemed like that didn’t change at all. 
He wasted no time and pushed your panties aside to begin rubbing your clit. Your hand flew to hold onto his muscular shoulders. It felt so good. His fingers were all too familiar to you, and you loved it more than anything else. Wriothesley then pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. He swallowed every one of your pretty moans that kept leaving your throat. He just couldn’t get enough of you. 
Wriothesley’s hand left your clit several seconds later. His fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt. You could tell he was rushing. “I need you now.” he looked at you then down at his pants where he began to pull them off.
You watched as his cock sprang out of his boxers. The tip was leaking precum. You somewhat forgot how big he was. The girth was quite large and his size was one that you thought you wouldn’t be able to take the first time. 
He placed his forehead against yours while his tip glossed over your wet cunt. You moaned in pleasure when he made contact with your sensitive bud. “Are you sure you wanna do this..?” he was breathing heavily, showing just how desperate he was for you. “We don’t have to.. but I just need to know now.”
You nodded almost immediately. “Y-Yes! Please, Wriothesley, I can’t wait anymore..” you begged, grinding your hips against him.
Wriothesley didn’t hesitate before pushing his cock into you. Both of you let out loud noises at the sensation of being in each other’s embrace. It had been so fucking long since you felt Wriothesley inside of you. He was stretching you out completely. There was this burning feeling, but you didn’t mind it all. It quickly faded to pleasure the moment he started moving his hips into you. His hands went to your waist where he started guiding you. There was nobody else like you. He loved you. It didn’t matter how far you went, Wriothesley always had that love for you. He knew it sounded dumb to be still thinking about his teenage love, but there was so much about you he just couldn’t get over.
It didn’t take long for him to find your g-spot. He could see in your expression how good you felt when he kissed it with his tip. You could hardly believe this was happening. You never thought you would be able to have sex with him again, but you had zero regrets in your mind about it. 
Your fingers laced into his onyx colored hair. You were so lost in bliss. He was better than any lame college hookup you had before. Part of you questioned why you even decided to leave him at the time. Sure, you two were on different wavelengths in life, but he was still a great guy regardless. He treated you like a princess. He never made you feel insecure or unwanted. He was perfect. “W-Wrio..! Yes, yes! Feels so good!” you cried, digging your nails into his scalp.
His grip on you tightened as you kept moaning for him. It was like he was reliving a dream he had. You were so beautiful. He didn’t wanna keep missing you anymore. “Yeah, you like it, baby? I missed you so bad.. I never stopped waiting for you, (Y/N). ‘M always gonna love you..” he captured your lips in another kiss that left you breathless. 
Your cheeks turned hot when he said those words to you. You thought after all of this time Wriothesley would hate you for breaking up with him. There was doubt in your mind that he would even wanna see you again, but hearing that he still loved you made you feel relieved. You still loved him too. “Missed you more.. Wriothesley! I love y-you!” you made eye contact with him. 
He was surprised to hear that you felt the same towards him. He assumed for so long you had moved on and found somebody else while you were in university. Somebody that was better than him in many aspects. Nonetheless, he didn’t care to question you. You of all people would never lie to Wriothesley, so he trusted your words more than anything else. 
Without warning, Wriothesley’s pace picked up. His balls began to smack against your puffy clit. Your vision grew hazy from the amount of pleasure that was rushing through your body. The pit in your belly was growing deeper, implying your orgasm was on the brink of reaching you. Wriothesley could sense it, too. Your pussy was squeezing his cock so hard that he thought it would be difficult for him to even think about pulling out of you. There was so much you two had to make up for. 
“Wriothesley.. I’m gonna cum!” your hands gripped his shoulders. 
His larger hand went around your throat. You could hear the way he was grunting. It sounded so erotic. “C’mon, baby, cum all over my dick..” he said, his voice sounding deep. “Be a good girl..”
Your cunt then clamped around his cock. A deep groan rumbled in his throat as he felt his own high reach him. His cum filled your womb, making you shiver from the warmth that was spreading from your belly. You could hardly keep yourself upwards from how tired your body was. You felt yourself slumping against him. 
His arm went to wrap around your waist, placing his chin atop of the crown of your head. He honestly missed nights like these, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away ever again.
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© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.
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cinnbar-bun · 3 months
Text
Watching Reality TV With You (Various One Piece Characters x Reader)
Characters: Zoro, Sanji, Trafalgar Law, Luffy, Perona + Mihawk, Nami, Kizaru/Borsalino, Eustass Kidd
A/n: Sorry I’m a huge fan of Real Housewives so take these silly headcanons!!!
Note: GN reader, the relationships with the character(s) and reader can be seen as platonic/romantic depending on what you prefer :) Mihawk + Perona’s relationship to each other is also not stated just for your personal preference. These are all just very silly things, don’t take this too seriously since it’s crack!
Zoro
“The hell? Why are you watching this crap? It’s not even real!”
He just sighs and grumbles about how this is dumb the whoooooole time.
Tends to sharpen his swords or try and nap while it’s on.
Until lowkey he starts peeking a bit like ‘did she just say that?’
Suddenly has opinions on it and tries to deny he’s interested but his eyes are GLUED once they start arguing and the suspenseful music is playing.
“Well, if I was her, I think I’d just kick them. Or maybe cut their car in half.”
Sanji
Opposite of Zoro. The man is probably a bigger fan than you and most likely is reading the gossip online.
It’s your weekly night hangout where he brings snacks and cozy blankets for you two to sit and enjoy while watching.
Gasps audibly and loudly.
He’s both the best and worst to talk about this with because he respects all women and he forgives them for everything, so they all get passes from him.
“Yes she may have talked badly about [name] and stole [name]’s house and maybe crashed a car. But we all do that. We need to show forgiveness. She’s having a tough time- her dress came in the wrong color.”
Law
Like Zoro, he’s very disturbed by the very prospect of reality tv.
But he’ll try. Let it be known he’s trying.
He doesn’t get interested in it but he does try to follow along so he can discuss it with you.
Not gonna lie though he’s the guy who’s focusing on their plastic surgery or illnesses.
Will literally pause the show just to examine what they may/may not have done and if the surgeon botched it up.
Imma just manifest this, he’s prolly a Terry Dubrow stan.
“Who’s your favorite Housewife so far?” “Terry.” “But… Terry isn’t-“ “It’s Terry.”
Unironically would drop a horrible quote from whichever show you’ve been watching and he’d say it so seriously that everyone’s jaw will drop and it takes him a sec for him to realize what he said.
Luffy
Imma keep this short for you- he ain’t looking.
He ain’t caring.
No thoughts.
He only cares when there’s a party and food is being served.
“Woooooah! Look at all that food!!!”
Doesn’t even recognize who is who and will just mindlessly wait for food to come on screen.
Perona + Mihawk
I’m putting this as a two for one they’re my everything <3
You and Perona are the ones who watch it lots. Perona does complain about how much they argue but she loooooves looking at the houses and clothes of the women. Makes comments about wanting to fly first class or visit the beautiful places they go to.
Mihawk is reading.
Perona is biased as hell and only defends the people that are wearing cute clothes. Otherwise? Shit list.
“Ugh! What is that dress?! It’s so hideous!” “Is that all you’re focusing on?” “I agree with (Y/n), Perona, she just had gotten into some relationship troubles with [name], so I think [name] is wrong.”
You and Perona are gasping and shocked that Mihawk 1) talked and 2) had an opinion on this???
Turns out the man had been listening the whole time (he’s quite the multitasker).
If Perona is the most biased viewer, Mihawk tries to remain objective and impartial. He's always listing out the nuances of a conversation.
“I think [name] is just jealous.” “Well, if we remember in season 4, episode 14-“
He’s a smart ass sometimes, but it’s okay, he’s our smart ass.
Perona is always enthusiastic about marathoning the shows again and watching it. She tends to do dress up requirements for watching it.
Nami
I’d hesitate to call Nami a “fan” of reality shows.
She’s aware of them, yes. Does she particularly care for it? Nah, not really.
They’re more background noise and eye candy for her.
She just likes putting them on and glancing every once in a while to gaze at the beautiful houses and trips.
“Oh that’s so expensive… imagine what you could do with all that!”
Sometimes has a fun game for herself to estimate the cost of an outfit, accessory, or house. It’s scary how accurate and detailed she can get with it.
Tends to mostly focus on fashion and get new ideas to steal- I mean, incorporate.
Doesn’t have strong opinions on the cast, but she isn’t too crazy about the louder members.
Kizaru/Borsalino
He’s heard of it, he thinks.
And, well, since you’re so into them, he’ll give it a watch.
“Oh my, these ladies are incredibly wealthy and beautiful.”
He’s not even ogling them he’s just amazed at the way they dress, behave, and/or decorate their spaces. It’s almost like being starstruck???
The guy who will pause the tv at certain scenes to point at random decorations or outfits and be like “darling, would you like that?”
He does get sad when they start to fight.
“Aw… I was just liking the party… why are they arguing now?”
His favorite cast member is your favorite one <3 he’s just a cheerleader like that, dear.
He could listen to you talk about it for hours if you wanted, and he’d be amazed by your knowledge.
“You know, if you’d like for me to have you be on a show like this, I could probably pull some strings!”
Kidd
1000000x worse than Zoro
I cannot recommend putting it on in front of him.
“The hell is this shit?! Turn it off!”
You refuse and now he’s stuck watching grown women argue over dumb things (in his mind).
Complains the ENTIIIIRRRRE time. Nonstop commenting and complaining.
Okay but he’s hooked after a bit, the drama is just too good.
But now he’s WORSE cuz he’s got OPINIONS and THEYRE ALL SHITTY!
This man is an instigator. I swear to god he’s just saying shit just to rile you up and be contrarian.
He's stanning the biggest menaces on the show.
You two will probably get into (very silly) arguments about some of the situations and people.
And unlike say, Sanji, who tries to defend a person, Eustass will just say you’re wrong and then add something unhinged to it.
“Naw you just don’t get it. If I was her, personally, I think I’d just burn their mansion down and then slash their tires.”
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navybrat817 · 4 months
Note
The man spread. 🤤
(Also the face he's making....)
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(Also, hi! ❤️)
Hi, lovely! You know I couldn't resist doing something for Titan and Starshine for you!
Photogenic
Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: You love one of the photos Roxy took of Bucky, but he isn't having it.
Word Count: Over 1.5k
Warnings: Fluff, insecurities, kissing, established relationship, college love, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)
A/N: Another small ficlet for Titan and Starshine.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the lovely @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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If there was one thing your roommate took seriously, it was her photography. It wasn’t just Roxy’s major, but her way of expressing herself. So when she asked for your opinion on the photos she took of Bucky and Steve, you answered as honestly and diplomatically as possible. You selected the ones you thought captured the project’s essence in the best possible way. You also reminded her that you weren’t a photographer, so your word shouldn’t hold a lot of weight.
She disagreed.
“I still don’t get why you asked for help. I don’t have a keen eye the way you do and I can barely take a photo on my phone,” you said, having to look away from one of the images of Bucky that seemed to stare right at you.
Though it was just a picture, it was like he knew you downplayed yourself and was trying to figure out why. He loved reminding you on your off days that you were one of the brightest students on campus. The compliments usually sent a wave of heat through your body, especially because he stated them unprompted and meant every word.
Roxy playfully rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to be a photographer to have a good eye. I not only value your opinion as my roommate, but also as Bucky’s girlfriend. You even managed to stay impartial, so give yourself a pat on the back.”
A laugh bubbled up as you nodded in agreement. While you did stare more at Bucky’s photos than Steve’s, your heart racing with each one that Roxy laid out, you choose an even amount between the two. It was only fair.
“Thank you for asking. I’m glad I could help,” you said. It meant a lot that she wanted your opinion on the finalized product,
“Me, too. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to throw Steve’s photos in the garbage,” she joked, carefully looking over one of the images of him hitting a punching bag. “I’m impressed.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, Steve’s just as photogenic as Bucky,” you pointed out as her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, almost as photogenic.”
Steve was admittedly one of the most gorgeous men on campus. The blonde haired, blue eyed Adonis with the kind yet almost reserved smile turned many heads. So did Bucky. Two men who looked like a couple of heartbreakers from a glance, but were far from it.
“The camera really does love them,” Roxy stated, chewing her bottom lip as she scanned the images again with a careful eye. After a moment, she smiled from ear-to-ear. “I am so getting an A.”
“Yeah, you are,” you agreed. And the fact that she had such a tough time choosing which images to share when she normally had no problem doing so showed just how many good ones she had at her disposal.
There was one shot of Bucky, however, that she had no problem removing from the film hanger and handing to you to keep for yourself.
He had his powerful thighs spread and wasn’t quite biting his lip, but there was something irresistibly sexy about the pose.
What were you thinking about, Titan?
“Not that I don’t love me some manspreading, because I do, that wasn’t exactly the look that I was going for,” she joked, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you smile so wide your cheeks ached. “What exactly did you say to get him to pose like that?”
“Me? I didn’t say anything,” you smiled, ignoring Roxy’s knowing look as you glanced through the rest of the photos once more. At least, you didn’t think you said anything.
She didn’t believe that for a second. “You act so innocent, yet weren’t you warming his cock when he-”
“Hey, weren’t there supposed to be some photos of Bucky and I together?” You casually cut her off as you pressed your thighs together, wishing your boyfriend was there at that moment.
When Bucky pulled you into his lap during the shoot, you tried to keep your hands to yourself. It didn’t stop the two of you from kissing when Roxy instructed you to. Not that you needed any additional prompting. Bucky had the most kissable lips you ever had the pleasure of feeling against your own.
Your roommate smirked a little. “Oh, I have those tucked away so I can give them to you together,” she said, nudging you toward the door when your phone went off. She must’ve spotted that “Titan” popped up on the screen. “Go. Thanks again. Make good choices. Don’t let him impregnate you, but let him give you all the orgasms you deserve. We’ll allow those.”
“You’re ridiculous in the best way,” you giggled, making sure you had your keys and the photo. While neither you nor Bucky were ready for a family, it didn’t embarrass you in the least that Roxy encouraged the physical side of your relationship with him.
“Don’t forget to show him that photo!”
“I won’t forget!” you promised, smiling as you left and read Bucky’s message.
“Waiting downstairs, Starshine.”
“Be right there,” you messaged back, a skip in your step as you went to greet him outside of your building.
You found yourself staring into the depth of Bucky’s steel eyes as he stood a few feet in front of the door. Tall, athletic, and somehow yours, he managed to stand out in his jeans and t-shirt. Or maybe he stood out to you because he was your guy.
“There she is,” he warmly smiled as you walked toward him.
Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about your casual outfit before you remembered there was no need. Bucky had seen you in the mornings without makeup and still called you beautiful. “Here I am,” you smiled.
He nodded toward your right hand. “What’s that?”
“One of the photos Roxy took. She has others to share with us later,” you answered, holding it up to show him. His eyes narrowed as he stared at it, but gave nothing else away to show if he liked it or not. “But she said I can keep this.”
He pushed a hand back through his hair before he tried to take it from your hand. “Burn it,” he ordered.
That wasn’t the reaction you expected and it made you giggle. “Burn it? I will do no such thing,” you said, moving backward as he advanced on you. “Why should I get rid of this?”
“Because it’s a terrible picture of me,” he huffed.
He’s adorable.
“Not to stroke your ego since you’re acting a little vain, but you’re extremely photogenic. I don’t think you can take a bad photo,” you told him, taking another step back. “I’m keeping this forever because it’s very alluring.”
“There are plenty of other photos you can keep,” he argued as you held the picture out of reach again. His nostrils flared and it took everything in you not to giggle again before he frowned. “Did you say I look alluring?”
Wait, does he really think he looks bad? He’s James Buchanan Barnes. A god among men.
“Bucky Barnes, my Titan, yes. You’re sexy and enticing and I never thought I’d see you worked up over a picture that isn't bad to begin with,” you teased, almost jumping when your back hit the building door. It gave him the perfect opportunity to box you in with his hands, a rush of heat going through your body as he brought his face close to yours. “Do you honestly think you look bad? Because you don’t. Not to me.”
He brought his hand over to cradle your cheek and leaned in until his forehead touched yours. “I just wanna look good for you,” he admitted in a small voice.
It was almost embarrassing how wide your eyes got, so used to his confidence that you forgot that he sometimes had off days, too. Your heart ached to see his self-assurance shake for even a moment and you wondered if it was how he felt when you spoke negatively about yourself. It put things in perspective when you thought of it like that.
“You do. You always look good. I’m more attracted to you every day. To your looks, your brain, and your heart. You’re incredible,” you assured him, in no hurry to move away from the door. “And just like you remind me of how incredible you think I am, I’ll do the same for you.”
“You think my brain is attractive?” He asked, his usual smile back on his face as you nodded. You knew that was how happy you looked when he chased any of your insecurities away. “I sounded crazy, didn’t I?”
“No, you didn't," you said, putting a hand over his. "You sounded human."
“Thank you for making me feel better,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours as your heart pounded. “But I still think you should burn it.”
“Not a chance,” you smiled before his mouth covered yours.
Swept up in Bucky’s kiss, you both missed the fact that your TA was mere feet away, watching and wishing that it was him that you were kissing instead.
And if he has his way, you will.
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Hmm. I wonder who the TA is. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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ddarker-dreams · 1 year
Text
Redamancy.
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Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.
Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 1k.
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“You scowl too much.” 
If anyone else were to speak to Scaramouche, Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbinger in this way, they’d certainly be reduced to a pitiful pile of ash on the ground. Perhaps he’s thought about subjecting you to this fate, once or twice. That number could very well have been bumped up to three times if the indignant air he currently regards you with is to be considered. 
Then again, no one aside from you would get to experience this deceptively domestic scene. You sit beneath a canopy, branches free from winter’s thaw hastily preparing buds to herald in spring. Scaramouche holds your thighs captive, the soft flesh serving as his pillow. Indigo locks splay out against and tickle your skin. 
“There’s a lot to scowl about,” he replies, though he makes an effort to relax his tense facial muscles. The contemptuous smile he gives makes his previous expression look benevolent in comparison. “I’m stuck dealing with a fool of a woman who’d probably wander off a cliff because she was too busy admiring the clouds.” 
“Clouds are meant to be admired.” 
“Case in point.” 
“You make it sound like I’m chained to you with iron shackles, though,” you raise your ankle (notably shackle free, imagine that), drawing his attention and ire. Your sarcasm never fails to rile him up. He never seriously tries to put a stop to it, however. Such is his capricious nature. “If I’m such a bother, why not let me wander off the cliff?” 
Scaramouche grits his teeth. “Because…” 
There’s a pause, then, weighty and tangible. You know what he both wants and fears to say. If he were any less of a coward, he’d fill the aromatic air with truth, rather than engaging in his usual sidestepping. He’s so proficient at the act you swear he could moonlight as a crab. This mental image earns a barely contained giggle from you, one that further sours his mood, if such a thing were possible. 
Knowing you as intimately as he does, he correctly assumes that he’s the unwitting source of your amusement. 
“I can’t stand you,” he grumbles. Whether it’s to you or himself, you can’t decide. “Truly, I can't.” 
“Then hand me over to someone who can.” 
There’s a flash in his eyes then — otherworldly, malicious — he disregards composure like a snake abandons shed skin. He rises in a flash. Inhumanly cold fingers take your chin captive, bringing you closer to him, his delight in the ease with which he can manhandle you evident. Always the type to go for grand gestures, this one. His theatrical outbursts befit his moniker. 
Scaramouche grins, beset with an onslaught of bitterness akin to a black hole. It draws in and swallows anything unfortunate enough to be nearby. 
“You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” 
If you feared him, maybe you’d tremble, but you don’t, so you are still. It’s likely that you should fear him. He is volatile, a mess of contradictions too complicated to untangle, a vessel who fills himself with acrimony, the same way humans must with air. He delights in it and considers it his birthright. 
Your smile is not without kindness and that’s what bothers him most. 
“Come, don’t pout. I have no intentions of being complicit in whatever havoc you'd wreak if I was with another.” 
His eye twitches at the pesky word ‘another’. The mere thought of this faceless, nonexistent being having the audacity to lay claim to you, even in the land of fantasy, has his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening. You can see the ripple of muscles beneath his synthetic skin. He’s a wonder, this proprietorial doll, who can exalt and condemn you in the same breath. 
You are mine, and mine alone, his eyes seem to scream, and I’d sooner end the world than exist in it without having you for myself. 
“You really do scowl too much,” you reiterate your opinion from earlier, gently, almost sweetly. Whatever spell Scaramouche was under temporarily breaks, or perhaps he’s held prisoner to a new one, far more agreeable if not equally dangerous. “Your face is too pretty to always be frowning.” 
You enchant him by running your finger over his lower lip. It trembles by your command. His eyes go lidded, a lovelorn haze obscuring the former tempest. He can never decide if he wants to destroy or devour you. For someone like him, he can’t do one without the other. His love for you is a death sentence, despite the immortality that should’ve never belonged to your mortal body. 
It’s you who kisses him. 
He temporarily forgets himself. The arrogance, the hurt, the fear that you might slip between his fingers should he ever relax his hold. You find him foolish in that regard. He can have you in the palm of his hand if he likes, and you know he’d like that very much. There’s nowhere else for you to be. Not when he’s seen to the fact himself. 
Scaramouche melts into your person, returning your kiss with rapture, drunk on the way you offer yourself to him. He makes a deep, breathy noise, willing you closer, demanding total subservience. You let him have his way. Civilizations could rise and fall in the seconds that follow, and he’d pay them no mind, too absorbed with savoring your temporary connection. 
It is what he lives for; what he'd kill for.
His fair skin is flushed when you part. From the apple of his cheeks to the tip of his ears, he’s painted in a color from your palette. The pigmentation suits him. Red is the color around his eyes, of his longing for you, and of what would spill across the land should you ever part. 
“There,” you whisper, as if it were a secret meant for him alone, “That look suits you far better.” 
He wants to deny it — you can tell by how his grip tightens — but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. If he gets to delight in you, it’s only fair that you can occasionally delight in him, he supposes. 
Such is your capricious nature. 
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girlreblogger · 1 month
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the annoyance with blk y/n and the stories she’s in is hilarious. her characteristics might be the problem one day or her side characters the next. it legit feels like we may never get to a balanced solution on what to do with our own representation since the wrong ppl always talk about it and create it. we have mean and shallow ppl who take over the conversation, ppl who really self hate but try and cover it up with “i just don’t want her to be a stereotype” and then the ones who probably love and support tyler perry movies.
the bottom line is the ppl who do write those niggafying, toxic (it’s a buzzword but that’s what they are) or smutty fics (not talking abt the actual good ones with a blk reader though 🧎🏽‍♀️) can do wtv they want and owe you nothing. that’s why they get so frustrated. i don’t think all the times those should be crucified for what they write when other groups of ppl (or our own) write all kinds of other crazy shit.
and.. i know a lot of ppl who don’t want to say it but y’all keep bringing up the smut and niggafying as the main problem, but i think it’s some of the ppl writing it and their underlings. it’s just no one wants to say anything.
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an excerpt from a draft of mine
“a lot of ppl on here be weirdos or mean asl. so when someone block you don’t be like “oh what i did” “they that mad cause of my (internet—fictional—digital on screen) presence”
like nobody got time to go to your acc and say “i don’t like you” who cares. oddly some miserable ppl do actually but still. the lack of awareness is ridiculous. that’s why ppl don’t f with y’all.”
i was talking abt all of tumblr and every other app but it applies here.
from what i see on here, some are just straight up weird, cliquey, and chiesty (if that’s how you spell it) and that’s why ppl be so mad abt those types of books 💀. we also have to acknowledge the amount of overwhelming & honestly damaging blk yn fics (not to be confused with ppls screwed ideas of stereotypical) there are. i understand why ppl write them for personal reasons but when it comes to our own reflections of ourselves as blk women it’s almost hurtful to read some of the things people put “her” through. i mean even her with a white man that use aave and has cornrows is hurtful.. 😔 (i’m trolling now 💀) naw but fr. i personally don’t like reading blk women just being written for smut or going through crazy situations or kinda like.. i don’t wanna say unfulfilling but like.. idk i can’t think of the word. (edit: ppl write blk yn to be in unfulfilling situations) but girl i can watch a tyler perry movie for all that.
again. ppl write these stories for there own personal reasons, relate to them and enjoy them for those reasons as well. that’s why depending! on what it is i don’t think blk writers should be bombarded with hate like that. also ion think smut should be banned like y’all go to far can we just slow down on it … there are some nice ones out there i promise 🧎🏽‍♀️
but in all seriousness there are many other reasons why i feel toxic and smutty fics are popular for blk yn but i don’t think anyone cares to hear that and the conversion will prolly go back to nigga eren somehow which is crazy cause y’all be arguing over a fictional white man.
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oh! 😒 i almost forgot 😒 the ppl who are against “ghetto” y/n to try and advocate for more fluffy or like.. normal (healing) stories and from what i see the ppl who are the most up in arms about it in my personal opinion seem to dislike certain parts of blkness that i appreciate personally and so i just straight up disregard their opinions. y/n doesn’t have to “act” (😒) blk but i see ppl get mad about her protecting her hair….. with a bonnet….
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sigh, anyway but yeah we need more soft and sweet fics or just like calming ones? but someone gon have to write it! i don’t like this app or my writing all too much so i gave up a while ago.
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just like many other blk writers….
gaspp! we should also do like a fluff challenge or sumn where writers do like fluff … march? girl idk so maybe that will trend and all the ppl who spend time arguing and going back and forth with ppl who write stories they don’t like can like idk look for other writers who write soft, normal, fun stories and reblog them or make a list of them. or maybe like possibly write their own stories too????
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everyone says the smut fics gets the most likes and they do. that’s why you keep seeing them. so maybe support or refreakingblog the fics that are comforting to you so others can be as well.
i actually made this page to repost softer fics because i was tired of blocking certain tags so i can avoid heavy smut and subtly abuse fics. also pls leave the ppl who niggafy anime characters alone they will not be stopped. i mean we still have ppl who have been calling chris evans jamal since 2020.. calling him that to this date. married and all.
sigh… 2 more days until blk history month ends. maybe next year we can find a balance between “dramatic” and smutty fics and soft and slice of life ones for blk y/n next year. remember this is tumblr too and the ppl writing aren’t even getting paid for this but it’s for the ppl yk.
ppl who are respectful and reblog tho.
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muah
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sturnrm · 26 days
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I’m literally sending this to everyone I need to read this fic idea
So it’s where Matt and reader are bestfriends and reader has a date but has never kissed anyone before so Matt says practice on him then it semi escalates (smut or no smut idm) and reader cancels her date for Matt ???
~ ITS JUST A KISS ~
Matt sturniolo x bsf!reader
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Warnings: swearing, kissing, ass gabbing, grinding, mentions of sex
I was at the triplets house sat on matts bedroom floor on my phone, matt was playing Fortnite and Chris and Nick had gone to get food.
I was messaging this boy who I had met at top golf a few weeks back and I was going on a date tonight with him but I hadn’t told Matt yet, although matts my bestfriend he is very protective with who I see and who I don’t and apparently ‘he just doesn’t wanna see me get hurt’ which is sweet yes but it has resulted in me being a virgin and never kissed a boy.
“FUCK” Matt screamed slamming his fist into the keyboard
“You lost again?” I asked
“Yes smart ass” he rolled his eyes at me.
I mocked him by mouthing what he last said and pulling a face.
“You wanna watch a movie and get doordash” he asks me switching his monitor off.
“I can’t today” I say biting my lip already knowing his response to going on a date
“Why” he furrowed his eyebrows
“I have a date in about 2 hours so I needa get ready” i say smiling holding eye contact with him
“Who”
“The guy from top golf he’s called Jack” I reply
“Alright have fun then” he scoffed, he picked up his phone looking away from me and fixated on his TikTok for you page
I didn’t reply to him I was definitely confused on why he didn’t ask any questions but if I kept my mouth shut I could just enjoy my date.
—————————
I had gone home to get ready and my date was picking me up in about 30 but I told him to get me from the triplets house since I wanted matts opinion on the dress.
I walked up to his room he was sat on his bed on his phone.
I was wearing a short black dress which was tight at the top but semi flared out at the bottom just barely covering my ass.
“What you think” I say spinning so he could see the whole dress front and back
Matts eyes widen “wow you look good” he smiles he sits up at the edge of the bed
“Thank you” I giggle
“What are you guys doing then” he asked
“Well he’s taking me for food then I’m going back to his to watch a movie” i say straightening the bottom of my dress out looking at myself in the mirror as matts eyes didn’t leave my body
“Here” he turns around grabbing something from his draw and throwing it at me “your gonna want this if your going back to his place” he smirked
I looked at my feet to see he threw a condom “seriously matt I’m not gonna fuck him” I pick it back up throwing it at him
“Why you can tell me allll about it after” he laughs
“Because I’ve never even kissed a boy let alone fucked one and I’m not gonna loose my first virginity to a guy I barely know” i say sorta embarrassed
“WHAT” his eyes widen with a shocked look on his face “okay I understand that you may have never fucked a guy but you haven’t kissed a guy” he asked making me more embarrassed
“Well you always crash my dates” I blame him
“Because the guy your with is always a dick and I don’t wanna see you get hurt”
I roll my eyes
“Well Y/N you better hope your decent at kissing or it’s gonna make things awkward between them” he says
“I don’t know if I’m a good kisser”
“Come here I’ll tell you” he smirks standing up
“What” I say confused
“Your my bestfriend I’m helping you out here, ill help you learn how to kiss them your date will be even better it’s just a kiss” he stepped closer to me “but only if you want my help”
Matt was the one person I trusted with my life and I knew he wouldn’t judge me but was I seriously about to kiss my bestfriend???
I stood there looking up at me not a word left my mouth
“Ive kissed a lot of girls they have told me I’m a good kisser it will be fine think of it as a lesson,a kissing lesson” he said cupping on side of my face with his hand
I didn’t know what to say I just nodded in approval
“Never seen u so submissive before damn” he laughed “but use your words I need you to use your words Y/N”
“kiss me teach me” i stared up at him
He used his other hand to pull my waist closer to him resting it on the lower of my back and pulling me in for the kiss
It was slow but I quickly got the hang of it moving my lips to the rhythm of his as my arms ran up his chest and wrapped around his neck.
I pulled back with my arms still around his neck his still on my waist and cheek
“Your not bad” he said pulling my hand to the bed as he sits down, I’m stood infront of him
“I’m not” I ask
“No but I think you need more practice” he smiles pulling me onto his lap straddling him
He pulled me back in for the kiss this time one of his hand on my waist other on my ass
My hands played in his hair, the kiss was stronger this time more passionate, he lifted the bottom of my dress up and moved his hands to my hips and pushed me down bucking his up feeling his dick against my cunt making me moan lightly
He pulled away smirking, he kissed my neck which sent shivers down my spine.
I could feel his hard dick against my clothes cunt, I knew I shouldn’t have liked it as much as I was but I didn’t want it to stop I wanted more, I needed more.
Matts hand went up my dress on my bare ass squeezing lightly still sucking on my neck, I grinded my hips slowly to feel some sort of friction, “fuck” Matt groaned as he froze squeezing my hips stopping me from moving.
“Don’t do that” he said looking down at my neck “you might wanna cancel your date y/n”
“If I cancel can we continue” I ask
“If we continue it’s gonna escalate” he whispered in my ear, I could literally hear the smirk on his face as he spoke
“Well deal then, I’ll cancel and you fuck me” i smiled, I don’t know why I said that but I was sure as hell being serious
Matt looked at me shocked but with a huge smile on his face “cancel it” he said picking me up and throwing me on the bed.
“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna need this” he laughs picking up the condom that he threw at me earlier.
————
this is pretty bad but leave requests if y’all want me to write something else 😭
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yxami · 5 months
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Nut or not November day 4!!
description: yandere damsel x gn knight reader, no nsfw, sort of a continuation, more seriousness rather than fluff, happy no nut November day 4
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A knight’s duties is to protect and serve, something you’ve heard time and time again, and it always came from the lips of people with power. An authority you could never achieve, not unless you marry into it, and even that seemed more unattainable.
But if someone were to ask you what’s the closest you’ve ever been to getting influence over others then you’d talk about your prince.
The prince that would give you just about anything, all your needs and wants were satisfied by him. If you were to just utter the words of something you’ve been looking at then he’d buy it, no questions asked.
As his knight, you were supposed to make sure he was safe, of course, with no payment other than the one you got from the king and queen, but he always insisted in treating you to something.
“Why can’t you come and dance?” He huffs, already getting flared up to start a small tantrum, he’d kill anyone who witnessed the whines and complaints he only intended you to hear so he could get what he wanted.
A prince begging for a knight’s attention? How embarrassing. But he could also care less if it meant he would get your eyes on him, the pair he finds more addicting than any of the riches he has obtained. He loves basking in any affection you’d give, to him it’s the most valuable thing he’s ever gotten.
“Well this is a dance for you to find someone to court, not one for us to dance together at” You smile bashfully, wondering if his question was a joke, he certainly didn’t mean that right?
You knew he was more affectionate than he should be with you, his personal knight, but was he really supposed to be this clingy?
“My parents always set these up, they know I won’t get with anyone” He waves his hand as if to dismiss their unneeded opinions and worries of him being married to someone.
They’re aware of his little hobby.. The one that has him doting over you and providing you with anything he believed you wanted, so they’ve been setting up more dances than usual.
“But don’t you think it’d be nice to meet someone?” You ran your eyes across the ballroom, hoping nobody was questioning why the prince was chatting with you rather than the royalty attending the ball for this special opportunity.
“Well, I already have my eyes on someone, anyways, can we just dance?” He huffs, holding onto your arm as he awaits your answer but won’t take no for an answer so you essentially had no choice.
“Alright..”
Yandere damsel that dances with hearts in his eyes, not one drop of shame either as he makes it clear he only has his love set out for you. Jealous stares are piercing your skin, coming from all ends of the room, the hair standing on your neck only extenuated how uncomfortable you were.
You wished he’d be more mindful of other peoples opinions but you sighed, knowing he wouldn’t.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” His adoring eyes turn into a wave of worry as he observes your expression, hoping he didn’t upset you somehow.
“No no, it’s just.. it’s nothing” You smile, trying to change the subject by bringing up the table covered in plates of food and how hungry you were.
“Tell me, you know I don’t like it when you keep things to yourself” His lips formed into a frown, insistent on knowing why you sighed, even if it was something minor. He pulls you away into a guest bedroom as to not let others snoop. “Was it because you didn’t want to dance? I’m sorry I should’ve listened” He whispers after closing the door, walking up to you after he does.
“It’s not that.. I just want you to pay attention to other people, not just me. Your parents pay a lot of money for the party, shouldn’t you at least try to have fun with others? You don’t want to miss your chance at getting a future partner do you?” You sit down on the guest bedroom’s bed, wondering which hallway the two of you were in after leaving the ball room.
“I have my eyes on you, don’t you get that?” He groans, in disbelief that you have yet to get that he’s infatuated with you. “I’ve been yearning for your attention ever since I first saw you. I didn’t need help with my sword skills or with my education, I just wanted to spend time with you. I’m not even scared of thunderstorms either” He rants on, explaining all the tactics he’d do for you to stay close by him even when it’s not required.
Making you his personal knight, having you stay in his bedroom the entire week when it stormed, or all the times he pretended to fall so you would carry him back to his room and act as like his personal doctor for the entire day.
You sat there in silence, contemplating all of what he’s done, you knew he was more dependent on you than a normal prince should be but was all of this really to keep you attentive?
You weren’t sure what to say or what to do, so you fiddled with the cold bedsheets under your hands until you could muster up the words to speak.
“What? Don’t just stare, you’re making me nervous” He anxiously laughs, coming up to you with his arms extended, wanting comfort even though your silence was causing his discomfort.
“I don’t know.. well, um..” You reciprocate the hug he initiated but still leave him in a state uneasiness, how can you make him feel so safe yet dangle his heart over spikes like nothing?
He’s so inlove that he’ll still forgive you even if you break him into a million pieces.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to accept it now, how about you respond to me when you’ve made your choice? When I finally make you fall in love with me then you can tell me” He smiled weakly, half heartedly believing in his plan as he hugs you tightly.
You nod, glad that he’s given you the chance to leave this whole situation unanswered.
“I’ll try my best okay? And when you do fall in love then you’ll have to accept my marriage proposal”
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silentglassbreak · 22 days
Note
What if the reader and Noah have been training together with Ash, doing kickboxing and all that. They haven't hung out together, but one day, Noah invites the reader over. They find out that they have more in common than they realize.
You can make this cute, romantic, fluff, smutty...you do you :)
Ahhh mi mayor amor, this ask holds a special place in my heart. I trained martial arts for a long time. This sounds like a lot of fun. Now, I will forewarn you, I’ve never done a reader perspective fic before. I’m nervous. The Y/N thing scares me, but I’m going to take a crack at it. Honest feedback is appreciated! After writing notes: I'm so FUCKING evil. :)
Ratings: Explicit
Warnings: Hehehehehe.......
Vices
“Damn it!” My hand tapped the leg cinched around my throat, my mouth guard nearly choking me as I struggled.
The grip loosened and I rolled backward over my head, fist punching the mat beneath me. The Dutch braids my hair was in was faltering, and I stared at the man in front of me.
“What the fuck am I doing wrong?!”
“Calm down, Y/N. You’re going to get this.” Ash, despite being covered in a thin layer of sweat, was smiling warm at me, trying to calm my frustration.
“We’ve been at this for twenty fucking minutes, dude! I keep getting locked the fuck up!” My hands gestured in front of me, my backside rested on my heels.
“You’ve only been doing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for three months. You’re still learning. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He moved to stand. “You want to take a break?”
I stood as well, leaning down into my stance. “No. Let’s go again.”
Ash quirked a brow, defeated, and shook his head, bending down as well. Before I could reach for him, a voice echoed from behind me, disrupting my focus.
“You’re too tense. You need to shake off some of that rage you got there, doll.”
I snapped my head over, inadvertently whipping myself in the mouth with the end of my braid.
Noah stood, tall and sweaty, leaning against one of the heavy punching bags lining the back wall of the room. A towel was draped over his left shoulder, his water bottle in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“If I wanted your opinion, dick, I would’ve asked for it.”
He threw his hands up defensively. “Just trying to help.”
Scoffing, I turned back around to ready myself. “Sure. I believe that.”
If there was anyone in this gym that I considered a nemesis, it was Noah ‘Dickwad’ Sebastian. I couldn’t fucking stand him. He was arrogant, unbearably fucking tall, and insanely fucking irritating.
We met for the first time when I joined the gym three months ago. He had been training here only six months longer than I, and from the beginning, he was constantly poking a fucking stick at me. It didn’t make sense, and I didn’t fucking care.
I learned through whispers in the gym that he was in a band, so when I googled him and learned what he did for a living, I wasn’t impressed in the slightest.
So what if he could sing? Didn’t make him any less intolerable. He wouldn’t sing too well if I stuck my foot down his throat, anyway.
Had I added a few of his songs to my workout playlist? Maybe. That's beside the point.
Ash wrapped me up in the arm bar yet again, my wrist screaming at me to tap out before it snapped in two. My fingers tapped his leg, and he released me.
“Alright Fireball, that’s enough for one day.” He stood, walking over to his corner where he kept his bag and water.
I noticed Noah had left, so I relaxed, straightening my shirt and making my way over to my own bag next to Ash.
“What am I doing wrong, dude? Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Honestly? You’re just off right now. Did something happen today?”
Rolling my eyes, I sprayed water into my mouth. “My bitch of a mother called me this morning.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That angered you?” His question was sincere. I didn’t share a lot about my personal life with my gym mates.
“It did.” Was all I gave before I slung my bag over my shoulder and slipped my slides on.
He nodded in approval. “Trying to train angry never works. It makes you unfocused. That’s why we do breathing exercises beforehand.” He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Try to let it go. We’ll work on it more tomorrow.”
His words calmed my fried nerves ever so slightly, and I grinned at him.
“Thanks Ash. I’ll see you then.”
-
Life really fucking blows sometimes. The last week had been a shit show and a half, and I was exhausted. I hadn’t been back to the gym because work had kept me busy, then I got rear-ended, totaling my ‘98 Corolla, and had been dodging calls from my Mom every hour like clockwork.
Needless to say, when I stepped foot into the gym, the smell of perspiration and mat cleaner was like a breath of fresh air.
My eyes searched, noticing an unfamiliar class going. I spotted Ash, whose eyes flashed over to me before he halted his spar, and jogged over.
“Hey, you okay? Haven’t seen you in over a week.”
I nodded. “Rough few days, but I’m good now.”
He smiled, but a look of concern crossed his face.
“Gosh, Y/N, I’m sorry, but we’re not running regular classes this week. There’s a tournament on the weekend, we’ve got to train our competitors.”
My mood fell, my shoulders going with it. I needed the relief. I needed to train.
Ash saw my eyes, and a sympathetic look crossed his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
I shook my head, waving a hand. “No, no. That’s okay. I totally understand.”
He chewed the inside of his lip, peering around the room. A sly smile perked up on his lips.
“Come here.” He motioned for me to follow, which I did, kicking my sandals off before entering the mat, giving a quick bow.
When we rounded the corner into the back of the gym, my feet halted just before the line of bags. Only one person was there, gloves and shin guards on, practicing his combinations.
Oh hell no.
“Y/N, why don’t you spar with Noah?”
My jaw dropped as he stopped mid-hook, pulling an earbud out. “What’s up?”
His chestnut brown hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes were widened slightly. I suddenly felt very exposed, only in a sports bra and fitness leggings.
“Would you be willing to spar with Y/N?”
Noah’s eyes made a show of looking me up and down, a devious grin creeping over his face.
“Oh, of course.”
I snorted, looking at Ash. “Are you insane?”
He shrugged. “You’re my only two not competing. It gives you a way to train.”
Holding up a hand toward Noah, my voice raised several octaves. “How am I supposed to spar with him?! He’s a fucking tree!” I motioned to my own height. “I’m only five fucking three!”
Ash’s eyes narrowed at me, clearly not amused with my tantrum.
“Listen, this is the only solution I have for you this week. If you don’t want to, totally fine.” He interlocked his fingers. “But I think it would be good for you.” He glanced between us. “Both of you.”
And just like that, he left.
Noah stared at me now, waiting for my decision. I just shook my head and snarled. “Fuck this.”
Turning to leave, I heard his voice call after me. “Yeah, figured you’d be too scared.”
I froze mid-step, craning my neck to look back at him.
“Excuse me?”
“I get it. I’m intimidating.” He was unhooking his shin guards, tossing them to the side.
“Are you, now?” I turned back around, arms crossing over my chest.
His gloves went next, falling next to his bag. “Obviously.”
“You’re way out of my weight class, Noah.”
He smirked. “Calling me fat?”
I rolled my eyes. What a fucking douche.
“You have an unfair advantage with your long noodle limbs.”
He sucked his teeth, taking a short drink of water. “Having fun insulting me today, huh?”
“Doesn’t change the circumstance.”
“You joined martial arts for self defense, right?”
I jutted my hip out. “So?”
He set down his bottle, running long tattooed fingers through his damp hair.
“So, you think every attacker is going to be the same size and weight as you?”
This gave me pause. He had a point.
I let my bag fall casually off my shoulder, holding my arms up in defeat.
“Fine.” I stepped forward to the middle of the mat. “You want to spar? Let’s do it.”
His eyes sparkled, which made my breath catch for a second, as he walked over to me.
His long form bowed forward as I did, before we bent down in our stance.
It was as I expected; infuriating.
His arms could nearly wrap me around twice. His legs were surprisingly strong, his thighs much more muscular than I had originally anticipated. I kept having to tap, which was making me angrier with each match.
“This is bullshit!”
He hopped on the mat, keeping his blood flowing. “You’re overthinking it. Going rigid.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Fuck that. I’m just too fucking small for this.”
He shook his head, eyes locked on my face. “You’re not. You need to let go. Quit thinking about it so hard.”
We restarted, and I let his words soak in. Feeling my heart beating, my lungs breathing, I let my body instinctively take over. Noah’s thighs wrapped around my waist, but I managed to wrap and arm between them, breaking his grip. Before I could celebrate my victory, he wrapped an arm around my neck, holding me in a reverse choke.
I had to stop and think. Lifting my arm, I found his neck, and locked in tight, causing him to double over, and his arm to slip.
I flipped away from him and stood back up, hands out and waiting. He grabbed me, but I was faster, sprawling low and taking out his right leg before wrapping his ankle in a crushing grip.
I felt his fingers tap my leg three times, and released him, squealing in excitement.
Jumping to my feet, I clapped my hands together, smiling wildly.
“I fucking did it!”
He laid flat on the mat, breathing heavily, and gave me a weak thumbs up. I stood over him, bent at the waist, and smiled as sugary as possible.
“You okay Daddy Long Legs?”
He lowered his eyebrows and licked his lips. “I like when you call me Daddy.”
Snickering, I stood up, reaching a hand out for him to use to stand up. Once on his feet, he padded over to his water bottle.
It had already been an hour, when I had the sense to check the time.
“Damn, I’ve got to get home. The cat needs to be fed.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Same time tomorrow?”
I smirked, shouldering my bag. “If you’re not too scared.”3
-
After three training sessions with Noah, I could feel my perspective of him begin to change ever so subtly. Sure, he was still a perverted douche, but he was also a really dedicated sparring partner. He was always on time, he was interested in my progress, and gave some pretty honest feedback about my technique.
Did I hate seeing him every day? No. Not exactly. I didn’t want to go as far as to say I enjoyed his company, but maybe I wore my nicer sports bras to the gym? Maybe my braids were pulled a little tighter because he was rough with them? Maybe I wore a light mist of body spray before I got there?
Maybe.
So, to my disappointment, come Wednesday, our fourth day training together, he wasn’t already there when I walked in. My face fell when I rounded the corner, expecting to catch him warming up on the bag. I had come to look forward to our banter back and forth prior to training. I also looked forward to watching him hit the bag, but I knew that was just because of his form. It was…exceptional.
Considering he could be stuck in traffic, or had a prior engagement, I decided to start warming up without him.
I made quick work of wrapping my hands and slipping my gloves on before starting my music and assaulting the bag in front of me. I let my mind wander while I pushed each combination out, using my emotions to channel the force.
Before I realized, I had listened to nearly half of my workout playlist, and there was still no sign of him. My head glanced around, and a deep feeling settled on my chest.
As much as I didn’t like the guy, it would’ve been nice for him to mention he wasn’t coming today. When I saw him yesterday, he didn’t say anything about skipping today. I couldn’t ask him myself. I didn’t know his number or any way to reach him.
Deciding it wasn’t worth the irritation, I stepped back from my bag, and began removing my gloves, tucking them back into my bag. As I did so, a flash flew by my peripheral vision, and I stood straight, noticing him.
Noah had walked - no, stomped on to the mat, flung his bag down, earbuds already in and blasting loudly in his ears, and hastily grabbed his gloves out, slipping them on.
I just stood, staring at him, leaning against my respective bag. He paid me no attention, not even glancing in my direction. Something had him pissed. His face had turned a harsh shade of crimson, only darkening as he went at the bag, his voice letting out sharp exclamations every so often.
Carefully, I took three steps closer, touching the bag next to him, eyes searching all over for a sign of what made him so angry. What had happened? Noah was one of the coolest cucumbers I had met in a long time, never bothered by seemingly anything.
Who had hurt him?
Deciding to chance it, knowing he couldn’t hear me, I let my fingers lightly touch the bag he punched during one of his ten second breaks.
For the first time, his eyes looked at me, and were almost black with the rage they held. It made me startle, my eyes widening.
“Noah?”
He rubbed at his ear with his glove, making one earbud fall out. “Not today, Y/N.”
His words didn’t leave room for pressure or questions.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not one to heed a warning.
Narrowing my eyes, I took a step forward as he raised his gloves again, standing between him and the bag still swaying.
His shoulders tensed, and he lowered his gloves, glaring at me.
“Move.”
I crossed my arms, and raised an eyebrow.
“Or what?”
“Or I will move you.”
Pursing my lips, I contemplated this. He could, if he wanted to.
“No.”
“Y/N, I’m not asking.” His voice was deadly.
“I’m not moving. Not until you talk to me.”
He furrowed his brow, incredulous. “About what?”
“What has you so upset?”
He bared his teeth, irritation rising. “Since when do we talk? You don’t even like me.”
Uncrossing my arms and opening myself a bit to show I wasn’t trying to be a complete pain in the ass, I shrugged. “I don’t dislike you.”
He scoffed, slipping his gloves off. “Since fucking when?”
“Since you turned out to be more tolerable than I originally thought.”
He shook his head, taking a long gulp from his bottle. “Thanks, doll. Appreciate that.”
Still raging, but slightly more approachable, I took a step toward where he stood at his gym bag.
“C’mon Noah. Maybe sparring will make you feel better?”
He waved at me, disregarding me. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Because…?” I leaned closer to where he was bent over the bag, unwrapping his hands.
“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”
Standing up straight, I adjusted my sports bra, which I noticed his eyes caught.
“Then grapple with me.” My solution was simple.
After a moment of careful consideration, he eventually stood back up, staring as I made my way to the middle of the mat.
We bowed, and he leaned down, hands up. “I’m not holding back today.”
I smirked. “Please don’t. I want it all, baby boy.”
This triggered him, his hips dropping to the mat in a hard sprawl, arms wrapping up my waist, dropping me like a hot rock on my back. The air rushed from my lungs before I could prevent the grip he held on my torso. His arms squeezed me in a hard choke, but I wasn’t tapping today.
I managed to get a hand under his left thigh, bending it back at a long angle, making his grip falter just enough to get turned around in his arms. My head slipped loose, but he was back on me. Impossibly strong hands gripped my left thigh, flipping me onto my back. My legs instinctively wrapped around his midsection while he tried to get a grasp on my forearm, to which I squirmed, putting pressure on his rib cage with my legs.
A heavy, deep growl escaped his throat, which made my thighs involuntarily twitch around him. I don’t think he noticed. He was angry, fighting something other than myself at this moment.
His arms came up under mine, and he lifted me off of the ground, and dropped me back into my ass hard, popping my legs open.
My limbs sprawled out on the mat, my breath coming heavily, I looked up at him, wide-eyed. He kneeled over me, hair hanging off of his face in sweat-soaked tendrils, threatening to touch my forehead.
We sat there while I watched the darkness in his eyes dissolve, his breathing getting more and more even. The scowl on his face softened for a moment, and I couldn’t help when my hands reached up to grip his sides, squeezing in a hard grasp.
Noah was hurting. I didn’t know why. Something or someone had hurt him. And here, in this moment, I had him.
We knew so little of each other. Only having spent time in this safe haven together, we had bonded over the last few days, and I knew I was the only person who could relax the fire raging behind his chest right now.
“Noah?” I whispered into the space between us, fighting the urge to touch his face.
“Thanks.”
I quirked a brow. “For what?”
“Being here.”
Smiling, I pressed my fingers harder into his sides. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You don’t even know it, but you did.”
I did know, but hearing him say it gave me a small flutter in my chest.
“Anytime.”
I tapped my code into my phone, and opened the Uber app. Zipping my sweater against the cool spring air, I began the process of searching for a driver to take me home.
“Hey.” I turned to see him walking out behind me. “Headed home?”
I nodded. “Yeah, just got to wait for a driver.” I waved my phone for show.
“You have to call an Uber? Where’s your car?”
Shrugging, I looked back down at the app that stated it was still looking for a driver.
“Got totaled last week.”
He walked over to me. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No big deal.”
His eyes bounced between me, and the parking lot where his shiny black Navigator sat under the moonlight.
“Want a ride?”
I shook my head. “Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can get an Uber.”
He smiled, all sense of his earlier anger wiped clean. “I promise I’m cheaper.” His keys twirled around his long fingers.
I smirked, and closed my app. “Alright.”
The drive to my house wasn’t long, but before we even made it out of the parking lot, he looked over to me. “Hungry?”
I was leaned back, sending my mother a text. “Uh,” I locked my phone. “I mean, I never eat heavy after a workout.”
He nodded. “Same. But there’s a Yogurtland up the street?”
My lips pinched together. “What’s that?”
He turned out of the parking lot, but still managed to stare at me. “Frozen yogurt?”
I just threw my hands up. “Never had it.”
The look he gave me was as if I was insane. “You’ve never had frozen yogurt?”
“Isn’t it essentially just ice cream?”
He shook his head. “No. Not at all. It’s better.”
“Pfft. I doubt that.”
He turned into the parking lot of the yogurt place, and enthusiastically jumped out of the truck. In the few minutes it took for us to get there, I had been working my Dutch braids out, letting my dark hair loose, waves set in from the style. Letting myself out of the truck, I stopped short when I noticed him standing in front of the store, staring at me.
“What?”
He had the smallest, most amused smile tugging at his lips. “Your hair.”
I walked toward him. “What? Is it all fucked up?” I started tousling it, pulling at the tangles.
“No. It looks nice. I’ve never seen it down.”
I thought about it. I always kept my braids in at the gym. I wasn’t trying to have it ripped from my scalp.
“Oh.” A hot blush crept up my neck. “Thanks.”
I slipped in the door past him toward the counter. He proceeded to spend five whole minutes explaining flavors, toppings, mixes, and syrups to add.
After I finally elected for a simple vanilla with raspberries on top, and he went with chocolate with Oreo pieces, we found a small table and sat down.
He watched intently as I tried it, waiting for a reaction. I was pleasantly surprised.
“So?” I glanced up at him. “What do you think?”
Swallowing my spoonful, I nodded. “I’m impressed. Still like ice cream better.”
He rolled his eyes digging into his own cup.
“So,” I started, mixing my raspberries in. “you think you’re ready to talk about it?”
He stopped, his spoon halfway to his mouth, and eyed me curiously. “Why do you want to know?”
My yogurt was already starting to melt. “I’m just wondering. You were pretty upset tonight.”
He just nodded, looking into his cup, pushing the Oreos around. “I was.”
“You don’t actually have to tell me. I just know from experience that it usually helps.”
“Does it?” He still wasn’t looking at me.
“It can. Especially with someone who doesn’t know about it.”
I watched as his throat moved when he swallowed. “I’ve got a friend…” He stopped. “Had a friend. He passed away a couple years ago.”
I just sat, watching him, giving him space.
“We released a song with his band. It was a tribute sort of thing.” Dropping his cup, he leaned back. “Anyway, it came out about a week ago.”
He had stopped speaking, fingernail picking at the cuticle on his thumb.
“And it made you upset?”
“It hurt.” The sound of his voice was a soft echo, the words catching behind his tonsils.
The overwhelming temptation to stand up and wrap my arms around him gnawed at me as I watched his eyes well up, his face twisting to try and push them back down.
Instead, I settled on reaching a hand across the table, slipping my fingers around his wrist.
His eyes gazed up at me, and he gave me the most heartbreaking smile.
“I’ll be alright. It was just a gut punch, you know?”
Grazing a thumb over his tattoos, I stared at him deeply, attempting to convey my condolences.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Noah.”
A sniffle cleared the air, and he lifted a hand to make quick work of wiping his eyes.
“Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it.”
-
After yogurt, I made it a point to make sure Noah had my cell number in case he ever needed to talk. I almost regretted it, as he had been sending me memes nearly since we parted ways last night.
When I stepped into the gym, the energy was fervent. Fighters rolling around the mats in all directions, preparing for the approaching competition.
I made my way to the back, now quickly becoming a normal routine, and hid my excitement when I was met with chocolate brown eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile.
Noah was sitting on the mat, stretching his long limbs, so I quickly set my bag down and joined him. Each time I would change positions, a finger would come up to poke me in the side, making me almost fall.
“Knock it off!” I swatted at his hand, an involuntary giggle escaping.
“Just making sure you’re loosened up! I’m not taking it easy on you!”
I shook my head, standing back up straight. “Is that what yesterday was? Because I think my tailbone is bruised now.”
He cackled. “You want me to rub it for you?” He threw a wink at me, and I felt my insides spasm.
“Not necessary. Just remember, I’m a lady.”
He scoffed loud. “Yeah, and I’m an acrobat.”
My jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re in for it Sebastian.”
We had been grappling for longer than normal, each round both of us wanting more. We would laugh when we made the other tap out, mocking each other playfully, forcing the other to be even more savage during the next match. Our bodies were both broken out in a heavy sweat, slipping over each other and leaving a wet sheen on the mat.
"Motherfucker!" I squealed when he pulled me up in another arm bar while I kicked my legs up, trying to hook onto him anywhere I possibly could.
"C'mon doll, tap out."
I snarled at him, trying not to jostle my arm too much. My hips fought for leverage, but his legs over my stomach made it impossible to lift myself.
"You're not getting out of this, Y/N. Tap out."
"Fuck you!"
He chuckled. "If you insist."
Fucking perv.
After another two minutes of struggling, I finally huffed and tapped his shin. He released me instantly, popping up on his feet.
"Sorry, doll. We need to work on that one." He sprayed water in his mouth and I glared at him from where I sat on the mat.
"Quit calling me doll."
He smirked, walking over to hand me my own water. "Why? You know you like it."
I snorted. "No, I fucking don't."
"You do."
Rolling my eyes, I kicked at his legs. He just laughed at me.
Plopping down on the mat next to me, he bumped my shoulder. "You're improving a lot, you know."
I smiled. "Thanks. I feel like I am."
"The arm bar is the worst. I can barely get out of them myself."
Leaning back on my hands, I stretched. "Ugh, I should get home."
Rising up on my feet, I made my way over to my bag.
"Oh."
This made me turn around. Did he sound...sad?
"What?" I asked him while wiping my forehead with a towel.
"I was just having fun." He stood, walking to his bag and mirroring my actions.
This made me smile. "Same time tomorrow?"
He pulled his lips to the side, thinking about something he wasn't saying out loud. I ignored it, now wiping the sweat from the back of my neck.
"I mean, or we could," He hesitated, grinning and looking nervous. "hang out?"
I dropped my towel back in my bag. "Hang out?"
"Yeah, like last night."
"You want to get yogurt again?"
He shouldered his bag, and I did the same. We walked toward the edge of the mat, bowing out.
"We don't have to. Could get pizza?"
"Mm, I don't eat heavy after a workout."
He nodded. "Right." We made our way out of the gym. "We could...go to my place?"
My eyebrows shot up, surprised. "Your place?"
His eyes popped open wide, just now realizing what he had suggested, and how it sounded.
"I just mean to hang out! We could like, order food and play video games or something?" His words came out rushed, nearly stumbling over one another.
I smirked, pulling my hoodie over my head to protect from the chill. "I'm a sweaty mess."
"So am I." Noah took a step into my space, eyes looking down at me. "Doesn't bother me."
Ending up at Noah Sebastian's house was not on the agenda for today. Somehow, however, I stood in his living room, eyes darting around, hand firmly grasping my gym bag.
"You want something to drink?"
I snapped out of my trance and looked at him. "Uh, sure."
My feet followed him while he listed off the options. "I've got water, Gatorade, green tea, and Dr. Pepper."
Opting for water, he reached into the fridge and tossed it at me, grabbing one for himself and motioning for me to follow after him. He lead me up a tall, wrapping staircase down the hall to a bedroom at the end. The room was obsessively clean, making me feel wrong just stepping foot inside.
"This is it. It's not much." He ran a hand through his hair, spreading his arm out toward the room.
His words were comical, given the room was massive. A large, king sized bed the centerpiece. A rolling trunk sat on the floor at the edge, and his comforter and pillows were black. Tucked into the corner was a computer desk with a double monitor gaming setup perched on top. There was a loveseat futon sat on the side of the room with a small table sitting in front. Various anime figures adorned the surface of the table, and LED strip lights hung along the perimeter of the room.
"I didn't, uh," His face was turned up in a grin. "really think about what we would do once we got here."
Taking a careful step into the room, I smiled back at him. "Food?"
His eyes widened, and he pulled his phone from his pocket. "Right! What do you feel like?"
Attempting to ease the awkward tension, I walked over to the couch and sat down. "I'm pretty simple. Anything works."
He was scrolling, looking at his screen. "Sandwiches?"
I leaned back on the couch, nodding. "Sure."
After about an hour, we had fallen into a comfortable rhythm of him sitting in his computer chair, and me on the couch, while he chatted between bites of his sub.
"We've only been back from tour for like, two weeks?" He set his sandwich down, wiping his face with a napkin. "We haven't made plans for any more shows yet. We need to take some time to prepare the re-release of the album."
I was chewing my food, being wildly careful not to drop anything on the couch. "Have you decided when it will be released?"
He shook his head. "It's more up to the label, but it's not ready yet anyway."
"The last album was good."
His eyes became almost glittery, hearing what I said. "You've heard it?"
"I listened to it once or twice." I smirked, trying to hide my face with my sandwich.
"Just the last album?" He had me. He knew I was bluffing.
"Well, I pulled you up on iTunes when I realized you were a musician."
His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking his bottom lip. "Which is your favorite song?"
Without thinking, I spoke. "Dethrone."
The shit-eating grin that crawled over his face had me giggling nervously.
"I like working out to it."
He stood, crumpling the paper from his sandwich and tossed it in the garbage. He flopped down next to me on the couch, only inches between us. I set the half of my sandwich on the paper laid out on the table.
"Well, I'm glad you like our music." He was balancing his head on his palm, triumphant smile on his face.
"Are we just going to talk about you the whole night?"
"Oh, you want to talk about you? We can do that."
I leaned back. "Like?"
"Favorite movie."
"The Crow."
He quirked a brow, but didn't question further.
"Favorite TV show?"
"Buffy The Vampire Slayer."
He laughed at that. "Seriously?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Don't hate on Buffy."
He threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, it's a classic." He tapped a finger on his chin. "Favorite place?"
"Place, as in...location?"
"Or whatever it means to you."
I had to think about this one. "My room."
"Really?"
I just nodded. "It's mine. I have it set up exactly how I like it. My roommate is mostly who decorated the rest of the apartment. It's nice, but my room? My room is all me."
Tightening his lips, he gave a look of approval.
"Fair enough." He took a moment to think. "Favorite food?"
"Ah," I stretched my arms out. "Probably Japanese."
He smiled. "Yeah? Same."
He took a while to think over his next question, really working on it.
"Favorite anime?"
Uh-oh, he caught me.
"Oof." I averted his gaze. "I actually don't really watch anime."
I expected a more energetic response, but instead he just said, "No? Why not?"
I shrugged. "Could never get into it? I watched one all the way through, but I couldn't find another that interested me."
"Which one?"
"Tokyo Ghoul."
His eyes lit up. "That's my favorite." He reached over, grabbing a PlayStation controller off of the table and switching it on. When the device surged to life, the background showed an illustration of Ken Kaneki in his ghoul mask, red eye bleeding.
I smiled. "It's the only one that held my interest."
"You've never tried Attack on Titan?"
Shaking my head, I looked back at him. "Never heard of it."
"Want to give it a try? It's dark. You might like it."
"Sure."
He took a few moments to get the show prepared, and I took the opportunity to finish my sandwich, tossing the paper out.
"You want a blanket?" He turned the room light off, turning the LED's up to a warm white light, giving the environment a comfortable feel.
"I'm okay, for now."
He sat down, keeping at least half a foot of distance between us, and began playing the show.
I wanted to pay attention, I really did, but his hand was resting on the couch, fingers splayed out right next to my leg, and it was all I could think about. His eyes were trained on the TV, which made it harder not to stare at him. His features were so striking; eyes a deep brown, hair pushed back and hanging lazily, tattoos littering nearly every inch of his skin. I felt myself salivate while wondering where all he was tattooed, and if I would have the chance to see them.
In an attempt to distract myself, I began removing my braids, taking a second to shake my hair out before I ran a hand through it, trying to get comfortable. I tucked legs underneath myself, my shorts making me feel more exposed than I would've liked.
That's when I felt his eyes on me, covering every inch of me. His fingers were so subtly slipping closer to my thigh on the couch. I tried breathing, but keeping a steady pace was impossible when he was staring.
How far could we take this? How much did I want to allow?
I shifted casually, clearing my throat, and letting the skin of my leg brush his hand. I watched as his eyes shot down to the connection, not moving an inch. His fingers were cool against my warm skin. I leaned back on the couch, pressing my leg closer to him.
His hand slipped, then, up the side of my leg, coming to rest on the top of my thigh. I felt my lip twitch, so I leaned into his hand, pressing my skin into his palm.
When I finally dared to look over, he was staring directly at me, face unwavering, looking absolutely ravenous.
The tension struck me, ripping a cord inside my chest. I wasn't going to sit like this forever.
I leaned forward, taking hold of his shoulder, and pulled my face impossibly close to his. His eyes roamed over me, contemplating his next move. The hand he had on my leg was now wrapped around my back, holding me in place as I stared at him, waiting.
I counted six calculated breaths before he finally leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, and I took my time inhaling his scent. He smelled like the woods; earthy and pine mixed with salt.
The hand he had holding my back pulled, pressing me closer to him. I opened my mouth to allow his tongue to slide across my teeth, licking into my lips. A low moan escaped me, and it was like a switch had flipped.
His mouth was hungrily attacking mine, using the same energy he typically exhausted back in the gym. His arms flipped me back, landing me on the cushions, and pressed himself against me.
I hooked my left leg on his hip, using steady pressure to keep his waist pushed flush to my body, my hips grinding against him.
Humming into my mouth, he pulled his face back, studying me for a moment. I laid, mouth open and breathing heavily, staring up at him.
"You're so fucking sexy, you know that?"
Rolling my eyes, I leaned my hips up, pressing against the hard bulge in his shorts. "You seem to think so."
He hissed, applying the same pressure back against me. "I have for a while now."
"Yeah?" I let one hand snake down between us, pressing against his cock over the fabric. "Now that you have me here, what do you plan to do?"
A soft, whispering whimper left his lips. "I've got some ideas."
He crashed his lips back down, nipping and biting at my lips, and began making his way down my jaw. His teeth grazed my pulse point, licking a stripe up my windpipe.
"Well," I breathed out. "you going to act on those ideas? Or just lick me all day?"
His head snapped up, and the darkest, most mischievous grin graced his features, which made a chill run up my spine.
"So fucking glad you asked."
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suzukiblu · 5 months
Text
Day twelve of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.
Tim waits until the next morning, after their latest Young Justice sleepover has both occurred and concluded, and catches Kon while Cissie is bullying Bart away from the pancake mix and taking over the kitchen for her and Cassie to make everyone breakfast. It’s their turn, which is for the best; last time was Kon and Suzie, and they’d absolutely wrecked the kitchen before finally confessing that Kon had never actually cooked before and Suzie didn’t know if she knew how to. 
Breakfast had been Pop-Tarts and it’d taken them two hours to clean up the kitchen. Tim had just decided not to ask questions, at that point. 
“I’ve got a summary of the intel you asked for,” Tim says, holding out his single-page “report” for Kon, tucked nice and neat into a manilla folder. Kon looks startled. 
“Huh?” he says, blinking down at the folder. 
“I looked into Tim Drake,” Tim clarifies. “Long story short, you’re in the clear. His grades are stable, his disciplinary record isn’t concerning, and his psychological profile falls within acceptable parameters. His mother passed away a couple years ago, but his father just got remarried and he and the stepmother aren’t involved in anything shady, there’s no other relatives or criminal associates on record, and the family business’s practices are only a little morally dubious, which in Gotham is practically sainthood, frankly. Maybe don’t accept any unsourced archeological finds from him if it comes up, but otherwise you should be good. Go ahead and make friends.” 
“Uh, right,” Kon says, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing his face as his ears redden. “Friends. Yeah. Uh–you seriously checked him out to Bat-standards that quick, though? Geez, man, you didn’t have to do that. I coulda waited a couple weeks.” 
“Just rearranged a little casework that wasn’t time-sensitive anyway,” Tim replies, repressing a wince. Maybe he should’ve padded the time a little more on this. He doesn’t want Kon to think he wasn’t taking his request seriously. “Also, he’s a civilian high school student with exactly two family members and a fairly small friend group. There weren’t a lot of rabbit holes to go down.” 
“I guess not,” Kon says, looking awkwardly at the folder for a moment before pushing it back towards him. “Uh. I don’t need to, like . . . read that or anything. If you say he’s good, I mean.” 
“You don’t?” Tim asks, a little mystified. Kon looks embarrassed again. 
“It’s weird enough asking for a background check on a dude who’s apparently just trying to be nice,” he says. “I’m not gonna read it if there’s nothing I actually need to know.” 
Tim blinks, still more mystified, though he’s not sure if it’s Kon turning down perfectly-presented intel on a stranger or Kon trusting his opinion enough to turn down that intel that’s doing it. 
“Okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.”
“Uh, yeah. You really didn’t have to rush it, though,” Kon says, still looking embarrassed; tucking a loose curl of hair behind his ear in incredibly distracting fashion that Tim has to struggle to not be distracted by with limited success. “Like–it’s cool of you, but I really could’ve waited a couple weeks. Like, he’s probably not gonna go full mask-off supervillain day one at the mall, you know?” 
“I had the time,” Tim says, still feeling a little odd. “And it’s better to know before you spend too much time around him anyway, isn’t it?” 
Also, better to know so Tim can progress on bribing Kon out of his shitty lab-life and into a cute little cul-de-sac somewhere. Or an apartment building. Or an apartment block. 
“I guess, yeah,” Kon says, his face inexplicably reddening. “Um. Yeah. Uh. Thanks, Rob.”
Then he zips off abruptly without another word, and Tim is left mildly bewlidered and looking at the empty space he was just standing in. 
“. . . you’re welcome,” he says after a moment, no less bewildered, and puts the report away. 
He doesn’t really get Kon as a person, sometimes, but at least this is another step forward on the plan. He still needs to talk it all out with him as Tim Drake and work him up to it, because even Kon’s very weird socialization clearly still thinks it’s kinda strange for somebody to just offer to rent an apartment for him out of the blue, but then again, maybe that’s just because he thought Tim might be a supervillain. Which Tim still isn’t, technically. He’s like, a proto-supervillain at best. And only when it comes to bank fraud and pre-planning, because if he’s learned anything from Bruce at all, it’s that being the most prepared person in a situation absolutely always pays off. 
Maybe he can get Kon to quit Cadmus completely, if he plays his cards right here. He’ll start with a place that Kon can commute from, or at least by pretending they’re looking for a place that Kon can commute from. Maybe Cadmus would actually fucking pay him more than a pittance and an expense account, then, and Kon could save up a little. Tim should look into what the other field agents get, actually, though chances are “free room and board” is probably on most of their paychecks too, since Cadmus more than likely made most of them too. 
Fucking shitty asshole cloning labs. 
Maybe Tim should actually bribe some lobbyists the next time clones’ rights come up in legislation. Or just as soon as he has Kon safe and settled and secure outside of Cadmus, whichever comes first. That would definitely be a good use of his trust fund. 
Or just all of Drake Industries’ profits for that quarter, depending on how effectively he can distract his dad for said quarter. 
Tim’s a reasonably resourceful person. He could work something out. 
Also, clones’ rights implies getting Cadmus potentially shut down or at least more closely monitored, and maybe conning Superman into paying back child support for being irresponsible with his DNA. An incredibly powerful alien specifically primed for the local environment absolutely should’ve known better than to not have something arranged in case of his death besides just letting someone bury him, of all things. Incredibly stupid idea on his part, frankly. Isn’t there an AI running the Fortress of Solitude, to say nothing of all the androids? He absolutely could’ve set up a failsafe to come collect his body and lock down the Fortress once it was inside. Not a perfect solution, obviously, but definitely a better one than “let Metropolis just do whatever they feel like”. 
Much better, in Tim’s opinion. 
Seriously. Kryptonians are basically invasive predators on Earth. Superman absolutely should’ve known better than to leave his own dead body lying around. Frankly, Tim’s disappointed in Bruce for that one. He really should’ve had a talk with Superman about that particular oversight before Kon even happened. Not that Tim’s complaining about Kon existing, but Kon is basically the best-case scenario they could’ve gotten out of that. What if somebody’d possessed Superman’s empty body? What if they’d stripped it for parts and made a whole army of Supermen? What if any fucking number of things had happened? 
There’d better be something in place now, is all Tim’s gonna say. 
. . . maybe he’ll set up a high-yield savings account for any potential future Kon 2.0’s, just in case Superman decides to be stupid again. Just make monthly deposits and let it all collect interest. Tim’s not ready to be a clone-dad, but he can get the groundwork going. 
Hell, maybe he’ll make a Kon 2.0 one day. 
. . . that is an insane person thought, Tim recognizes. And way farther down along the supervillain pipeline than he wants to be right now. 
Still, Kon’s a hybrid, so he’s probably infertile, right? Which means if he ever wants to have kids or anything, he’d need–
Oh god, Tim thinks, and immediately hides his bright red face behind his fake summary of his own life story. Okay. New thought processes. New thoughts. New . . . everything, at this point. New all-the-things. 
He’s sixteen, he reminds himself accusingly. There is absolutely nothing about the idea of Kon with a little Kryptonian-ish baby that should appeal to him at all at this stage in his life. 
Just, well, his inner future supervillain apparently has a thing for punk telekinetic DILFs, he guesses. 
Well, given the timeline he’s intending to go supervillain on–
If Tim ever meets a telepath, he thinks he should probably just quit, actually. Like, for good. There is no possible way it wouldn’t end in absolute mortification. 
Oh god, Dubbilex is a telepath, isn’t he. Tim is never going to be able to be in the same room with the man again without employing every possible meditation technique he knows, because otherwise his brain is just going to be screaming about what Kon looks like soaked in Kool-Aid with his hair slicked back. Or how he smirks when he’s flirting with a civilian stranger at a café. Or the mental image of him in a crop top and Daisy Dukes version of his superhero costume, ngh–
Tim can definitely just never be in the same room with Dubbilex again. Or Martian Manhunter. Or maybe just anyone. 
Dammit.
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thewayuarent · 5 months
Text
Boston and Ray deserve each other
In a very positive way
I have a theory that if we’ll think about this friend group in a long-term perspective, Boston and Ray have the best chances to keep their relationship and grow up to an actual friendship. Let me explain.
Boston and Ray, while being very different, have a lot of common traits. And what differ them from the other two in this friend group, is that both Ton and Ray are people who constantly judged by their surroundings (and society) for their behavior - Boston is a slut, which is bad for some reason, and Ray is a suicidal alcoholic, which makes him a burden in everyone’s eyes.
And that makes them outcasts from their perfect, level-headed, proper friends Mew and Cheum (seriously fuck them both I’m so sorry I tried my best). So I believe they have at least some level of mutual understanding. It’s not coincidence that Boston was the one who was responsible for taking drunk Ray home. It’s not coincidence that Ray was the one who listened about all Boston’s who’s and how’s. They may not be very much supportive of each other, but they know they don’t have a right to judge the other also.
The thing with these two, in my opinion, is that while they don’t necessarily judge other’s behavior, they know very well what’s other weak spots are. And they know how and when bring it to the table. Boston outed Ray in frond of Sand? Ray does the same shit with Boston in frond of Nick! Do I believe that Ray actually judges Boston for his sex adventures? No. But I know, and Ray knows, how it will look like in other’s eyes.
And don’t get me wrong, those two love seeing each other miserable. Boston fucked up Ray’s attempt to get a new start with Sand just because he was feeling like this. Because Ray in his eyes is, well, pathetic with his whole being in love with Mew situation. And did my boy enjoyed it.
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Same way Ray is very much enjoys the view of Boston being screamed at by Cheum. He’s absolutely having fun.
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But. But they still have a level they won’t step over. The bar is very low, but it’s here.
Because when Ray is on his lowest point, crushed by cops while Cheum screams at him (about the same thing Boston previously laughed at), Boston doesn’t have fun anymore.
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Because when Cheum (why is it always her) tells Boston he’s cut off his friends and the project that will cost him his future, Ray doesn’t have fun anymore.
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They don’t do anything to help or support each other, obviously, but they are worried. Cheum is angry, Mew is either black out or having the best time of his life, but those two are actually concerned. And I know it’s not much, and it’s absolutely not what you expect from friends, but this is Boston and Ray we’re talking about.
Both of them, very differently, have no idea how to love properly. Because both of them have no idea how to be loved either. They both know their roles - a slut or a burden - they know how people see them and they are used to it. This is why we get constant parallels between BostonNick and SandRay dynamics.
Because when was the last time someone - including themselves - saw them as something more than a number of dirty toxic unhealthy traits?
When was the last time anyone appreciated how talented of a photographer Boston is?
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When was the last time anyone told Ray he has good taste in music?
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Was anyone there before to not just love them, cause sometimes it’s the easiest part, but to see them, forgive them, be there for them again, and again, and again?
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I honestly don’t think so.
And yes, for now they are absolutely not there, but I do believe that they will grow - they’re doing it already. They will learn how to care about others the same way they will learn to accept someone’s love and care.
And for now it’s Nick and Sand, but - baby steps - while they’ll continue their journeys, they will learn to give it for other people. And I would bet on them finding each other again. In a way more healthier place.
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estrellami-1 · 5 months
Text
If I Should Stay
Holy fuck, yall. SO MUCH happened. Had to delete Tumblr for a day (or, as it turns out, like, 8) but I’m back!! Y’all get TWO parts today and then another in two days to keep us on schedule.
Part 1 | . . . | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27
Dinner is filled with raised voices, back and forth, thinking of and discarding plan after plan, until an agreement is reached. Joyce takes her kids home soon after, and helps ferry some of the other kids as well. Nancy takes Mike and Robin. Steve winks at Robin as she leaves, resulting in her sticking her tongue out at him.
Then it’s just Steve and Eddie, Alli having given Steve a look before taking her leave and heading upstairs to her room.
“So,” Eddie says with a grin, holding up his lunchbox.
Steve swallows the noise that wants to come out. “Please,” he says instead, leading the way to the back door before freezing just inside, realizing what had happened just a few days ago. “Um,” he says embarrassedly, “how do you feel about roofs?”
Eddie gives him an odd little look before replying. “In general?” He asks, though his smile reveals he knows what Steve means.
Steve chuckles. “Y’know what? If you have actual opinions, I want to hear them.”
“D’you know they’re made differently depending on where you are? Because the type of weather? They’re steeper here than in, say, Florida, ‘cause we get snow and Florida doesn’t, and snow is heavy and can cause your roof to cave in if too much settles on top. Also if you live in areas that get a lot of snow, don’t grow weed in your attic, ‘cause the heat will cause the snow to melt on just that one part of your roof.”
Steve blinks. “That’s… actually really interesting.”
Eddie grins. “Isn’t it?” His grin falls when Steve opens the door to his room. “Speak now or forever hold your peace, Stevie-boy, ‘cause I’ve got opinions on your room.”
Steve sighs. “I think I’ve probably heard it all before, but go right ahead. Surprise me. You’re good at that anyways.”
Eddie gives him another odd look before looking around. “Seriously, if you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t. I mean, it’ll be hard, but-”
Steve snorts. “No, go ahead, I wanna hear it.”
He wanders over to the desk, picks up the phone, and brings it to his ear before saying to Steve, “the seventies are calling. It wants…” he gestures around, “all of this back.”
Steve snorts, drawing a hand over his face to hold in a laugh. “That all you got?”
“Hey, that was a good one,” Eddie retorts, then looks around again as his smile falls. “I dunno, man. I get that I don’t really know you, but… this doesn’t really feel like you.” He tilts his head. “Besides maybe that car,” he gestures to the picture, “but… is that the stock photo?”
Steve hums. “Probably. My mom decorated it. I didn’t have much say. Well,” he considers, “any say, really.”
Eddie narrows his eyes. “Can I ask about them?”
“Who?”
“Your parents.”
“Oh.” Steve shrugs. “Sure. There’s not much to say. They’re not terrible, just… absent. I mean, my dad can be an asshole sometimes, but that’s just dads, right? But he’s always gone on business trips and my mom thinks he’s cheating on her—she’s probably not wrong, by the way—so she goes with him.”
Eddie blinks. “Your dad sounds like a dick.”
Steve snorts. “Well, his name is Richard.”
Eddie’s eyes light up. “His one redeeming feature.”
“His name?”
“Exactly what it says on the tin,” Eddie nods.
He’s so earnest, so ridiculous, Steve can’t hold back the laugh. He leads Eddie out onto the roof, extending him a hand as he crawls out the window and staying behind him as they crawl up, a misguided hope of being able to catch Eddie if he were to fall.
They make it up unscathed, however, and Steve watches as Eddie lights a pre-rolled blunt, taking the first drag and releasing it—and the tension in his shoulders—before handing it over to Steve, who inhales deeply before immediately coughing. “Fuck, man,” he says, laughing, “I forgot I haven’t smoked much yet.”
Eddie raises a brow. “Yeah? You do it a lot in four years?”
Steve shrugs. “Not a lot, maybe, but definitely more.”
Eddie hums in response before accepting the joint back. “So tell me,” he says after a few minutes. “We’re actually friends? Or ‘s this more of a keep your friends close and your enemies closer type thing?”
Steve huffs a laugh. “I can definitely see how you’d think that,” he admits. “But no, this is… it’s friends. We’re friends. Or I’d like to be, at least.”
Eddie grins at him. “You don’t seem too bad,” he teases. “I guess I could stand being friends with you.”
“Oh, well I’m so glad I meet your standards.” He grins lazily before taking another hit. “If it makes more sense to you this way, we can just say this is reason enough,” he says, holding the joint up. “Cause man, I tried another dealer, and I dunno what he had but it sure as hell wasn’t this.”
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Closed Position: Week 1 (Introductions)
Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)
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Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 
Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on Dancing with the Stars to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 
Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.
Word Count: 7.1K
👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence, alcohol abuse, and drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.
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Week 1 Quote: "Fuck. I might be in trouble."
Dieter’s POV
“Lenny, have you seen this fucking schedule? It’s seven days a week for twelve weeks. When do I get a break?” 
Lenny, my agent, sighed through the speaker phone, “D, I told you this was going to be a lot of work before you agreed to do it. You shouldn’t be surprised…and besides, that’s only if you make it to the finals.”
I scoffed, “Thanks for the vote of confidence…asshole.” Lenny chuckled on the other end of the line. We both went quiet for a moment as I continued to flip through the packet of paper that Lenny had sent over for review, “I don’t even get to have any say on the wardrobe or music. Such bullshit…sucking all the fun out of it. Did you at least drop a bug in their ear about who I’ll be partnered with? If I get stuck with someone I don’t want, I’m gonna be fucking miserable.” 
“I did, but the producers said they always do the partner matching themselves. They have a formula…or something. Maybe bring it up again at this morning's meeting and explain why. They may listen to you on it.” 
I huffed as my eyes continued skimming over the weekly schedule, “I have to get a fucking spray tan every week? You have GOT to be kidding me…Lenny, you know I don’t like using carcinogenic chemicals on my body.” 
“Uhhh, no comment on that…Look, I’ll put in a call and see if they can use something natural for that.” 
I relaxed some, “I would appreciate that. Thank you. Tell them I have an allergy or something…just make it happen.” 
I tossed the packet onto the table and picked up my phone, taking it off speaker and putting it to my ear - now pacing as I spoke, “Well, it looks like I’m gonna be pretty busy for a bit. That’ll be a nice distraction. It beats being locked inside the house at least.”  
Lenny hesitated, but still asked, “How are you doing with everything? Still managing ok?” 
I sighed, “Yeah, I mean I’m going to therapy and all the meetings still. I’ve been doing ok…just trying to keep the stress levels down. That’s what gets to me the most.” 
“How long has it been?”
I looked at the date on my watch, “Eight months today…actually. It’s the longest I’ve ever been clean, and I plan to stick to it this time. I’m feeling good and I want to keep it that way.” 
“Everyone is really proud of you, D. You know that, right? Keep at it and we'll have you back on top in no time.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing that it was an uphill battle, “I appreciate that, but good luck getting people to change their opinion of me. I’m not sure if my reputation is salvageable at this point. Everyone seems to think my sobriety is some sort of joke. No one is taking it seriously.”
I could hear Lenny inhale deeply on the other end of the phone, “It’s just going to take time, D. Don’t give up yet.” 
I pursed my lips in thought, “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I need to get ready for this meeting. We’ll talk later, yeah?”
“Yeah, definitely let me know how it goes.”  
Once I hung up the phone with Lenny, I took a quick shower, then spent longer than I should have staring at the clothes hanging in my closet - trying to pick something that says I have my shit together. My therapist kept reminding me that if I dressed like a slob, people were going to treat me like one. So, I was putting more effort into making myself presentable before I left the house these days. Since it was a work meeting, I went for a business casual look, figuring I couldn’t go wrong with that. After styling my hair and getting dressed, I grabbed my keys, phone, wallet, and sunglasses and headed out the front door.
As I approached my car, which was parked in the driveway, I noticed there was a dead bird on the hood. The fluffy gray, brown, and white stray cat that had been hanging around my house was sitting next to it, looking rather proud of himself. I sighed, “Come on dude, really?” And this is why I need to get the garage cleaned out. I hit the clicker to open the garage door so I could get a broom to knock the bird off the hood. As I waded through the mountain of empty boxes from my move six months ago, I cursed myself for taking my sweet time getting that stuff out of the house. Finally finding the broom, I quickly moved to get the dead bird off of the car and shooed the cat away. He didn’t look happy about it as he moved to sit on the pathway in front of the house, watching me until I was finally on my way to Television City Studios to meet with the producers of Dancing with the Stars. 
When I arrived at the studio, I was met by the two executive producers, Stacia and Joe and led into a conference room. I let them do their spiel about what’s expected and the schedule. Nodding along in all the right places, being as polite as possible even though I hated how little say I had over anything. Once they moved on to the topic of how they choose partners, I spoke up for the first time, “I would really like to have input on my partner.” They both moved to speak before I held up my hand to signal that I wasn’t finished talking. 
“Look, I know you all have your formula or whatever, but I have a legitimate reason for asking. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’ve been trying to clean up my image. I’ve been sober for eight months and I would really like to be placed with someone that doesn’t have a reputation for partying…someone who isn’t gonna be a negative influence on me. It’s actually really important to me because I’m actively avoiding being around anyone who is into that kind of lifestyle.” Which is why I spend most of my time alone.  
Stacia and Joe looked at each other, obviously surprised at my reasoning for the request. They were actually stunned into silence. Since neither of them said anything, I continued, “I had my team check into the dancers, and based on their recommendation…I’m requesting that Katarina Stamos be my partner. She has a good reputation and I’m also told she’s very professional and isn’t judgmental…because that’s been an issue here lately that I’d really like to not have to deal with.”
Stacia’s brow furrowed, “Are you looking to actually win? Because Kat hasn’t won a single season that she’s been with us.”
I narrowed my eyes on her. What an asshole thing to say about someone. “Well, maybe that’s because you keep giving her shitty partners.” 
I gave Stacia a sarcastic smile. She had the audacity to look offended by that statement. I had watched the show and seen the people Katarina was partnered with. It was always the older guys that could hardly move. Stacia’s attitude made me more determined to have Katarina as a partner just to prove a fucking point on her behalf. 
Joe interrupted the silent standoff that Stacia and I now seemed to be having, “Alright, let’s think about this…” He turned to Stacia, “Physically, they work together. Their height and proportions are a good match…and Kat is very patient. She would work well with him. Also, if he wishes to be with someone who isn’t into partying, Anika is not the person he needs to be with.”
Stacia looked frustrated and unwilling to give in as she glared at her counterpart. Joe smirked, “If you're worried about the change in narrative, it’s possible there may be other options we haven’t considered.” 
What the fuck does that mean? I leaned forward on my elbows, “What narrative?” 
They both turned to look at me, Stacia now had a sly smile on her face. It was Joe who answered, “We always consider the possible narratives that could come up between partners. How they’ll interact and get along personality wise. It’s an important factor for the show.”
I felt a crease form between my brows, “So basically, you try to manufacture drama for TV.”  
Joe shook his head, “Not exactly, I mean ultimately, yes. We just take personalities and such into account when we pair the dancers with their celebrities. I mean, we do want everyone to get along with their partner, obviously.”   
So, you’re fucking meddlers. Got it. I arched my brows, giving them a tight smile as I nodded, going along with what they were telling me. I now realized I would have to keep an eye on these two. I didn’t feel like they had my best interest in mind. Especially if they were initially planning to put me with the known party girl. 
I cleared my throat before speaking again, “So what does that mean…do I get to work with Katarina or not?” 
Stacia looked at me, now smiling, “I think that may actually be a good match now that I think about it. So yeah, we’ll let you work with Kat. Hopefully you’ll both make it through to finals.” 
What is this woman’s deal? Geez Louise. I eyed them both suspiciously for a moment, “Ok, good. Now I’m finally a little excited about this.”   
They went over a few more details about the schedule before taking me out to meet with a production assistant, who was tasked with giving me a tour of the building and showing me where my dressing room would be. This part of my day couldn’t end soon enough… 
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Katarina’s POV
As I was pulling into the Television City Studios parking lot for the first day of my last season on Dancing with the Stars, my phone pinged with a text from Alec, my fiancée.
Alec: I finished up my meeting with production. Are you here? Have you had yours yet?
I leaned my head back against the seat. What the hell has he been doing? I know his meeting was over an hour ago.
Me: Just parked, I have mine in 10 minutes. I’m on my way in…Meet you in the lobby. 
A few minutes later, I found Alec in the lobby. He seemed more excited than he normally was on the first day as he greeted me with a quick kiss on the cheek. 
I leaned away from him, “What’s got you so smiley this morning?” I could tell he was trying to temper it down and have a more neutral expression on his face as he shrugged, “I didn’t realize I was. Guess I’m just excited to see you.” 
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. What are you hiding now you asshole. He didn’t know how well I could read him at this point. 
I arched a brow instead of returning his smile, “So, I assume you found out who your partner is gonna be?”
He continued his attempts at a neutral expression, “Yeah, Lana Thompson…she’s an actress, I think. There was apparently a last minute change to the lineup this morning. You know her?” 
I gave him a tight smile, “Yeah…I know her. She has a bit of a reputation…”  
He feigned ignorance, “Oh? I don’t know anything about her. I’m sure she’ll turn out to be one of those stuck up, bitchy types like the rest of ‘em. Ya know, you’re lucky it’s your last season so you don’t have to deal with these people anymore.” 
And there it is. He doth protest too much. He was excited to be paired with her, I could tell. He saw it as an opportunity. As far as I knew, he hadn’t strayed to another woman in some time, but that didn’t mean he had changed. He still hadn’t earned my trust back and his current excitement only made me more suspicious of his commitment. 
Alec could sense the tension taking hold of my body as he rubbed at my lower back, “Everything ok, baby?”
I gave him a half-hearted smile, “Yeah, just peachy. I’ve gotta go or I’m gonna be late. I’ll catch up with you after.” 
As I was walking down the hallway toward the conference room, I saw Lana Thompson exiting the bathroom. I suspected Alec had already met his partner and liked her more than he let on. Which probably explains why it took him as long as it did to text me. 
When I entered the conference room, Stacia and Joe sat huddled together. They seemed to be engrossed in whatever they were whispering about, but abruptly stopped talking once they realized I was lingering in the entryway. They both smiled, almost over enthusiastically as they welcomed me and motioned for me to have a seat. They studied me for a moment before Stacia finally spoke, “How are things going with you?” 
That’s an odd question and an odd tone. I wasn’t sure what kind of answer she was looking for, “It’s going good, why?” 
She gave me a small smile, “I know it’s your last season because you have things going on…but do you think you’re feeling up to the possibility of making it to finals?” 
I gave her a confused look, “What is that supposed to mean?” 
Joe leaned forward, “What Stacia is trying to say is…the person we have you partnered with this time is going to be a little more physically able than your usual partners. So, you may be in it for the full twelve weeks…if you can pull it off. Are you physically able to handle it?” 
Should I be offended by that? It’s not like I can’t function. It was just painful some days, especially when there were a lot of rehearsals. My joints couldn’t handle the Latin dances like they used to - the jerky movements exacerbating the inflammation and discomfort. That didn’t mean they had to treat me like a fragile porcelain doll though. 
I narrowed my eyes at them, “Of course I can handle it. I could handle it this entire time…which is why I’ve been asking for more capable partners.” 
Joe smiled, “Well, good. Maybe you can go out with a bang this season.” 
What the fuck was this about? I dug my teeth into my bottom lip as I tried to figure out their angle. There was always an angle with them, “Why do I feel like you’re trying to sell this to me?” 
Joe grimaced slightly. “We’re not trying to sell it, but we do worry you won’t be happy about it.” 
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back into the seat, “Who is it?” 
Stacia smirked, “It’s Dieter Bravo.”
I looked between the two of them, “You’re joking?” 
They shook their heads in unison. This didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t he be better suited with one of the girls that enjoyed a lifestyle similar to his? 
“What makes you think he and I will work well together? I know I have a lot of patience, but it does have its limits.” 
Joe chuckled, “His people requested you specifically. He’s actually eight months sober and they want him with someone who isn’t going to get him into trouble. He’s trying to clean up his image.” 
I scoffed, “I thought you didn’t let the celebrities have any say in who they’re partnered with?”
Joe leaned forward onto the table, “We don’t normally, but given his request and the reasons for it, we felt we should make an exception. We were thinking of putting him with you anyway.”
I shook my head, “You are aware of his reputation, right? Alec is gonna lose his shit over this.” 
Stacia smiled, “It’s not your or Alec’s choice. We run the show.”
It dawned on me then. Alec had said there was a last minute lineup change this morning and that’s why he was put with Lana. I had somehow managed to fly under the radar when it came to the producers' manufactured bullshit, but now I was right in the middle of it. They were making moves to create an underlying narrative for the show. 
“Who was he partnered with originally? I know it wasn’t me.” 
Stacia looked surprised by my question, “He was never partnered with anyone else before you.”
Stacia was lying. She couldn’t look at me directly when she answered my question - it was her tell. I knew how their minds worked. Dieter Bravo had a reputation for causing trouble and they were looking to exploit it. I’m sure his request caused a hiccup in their plans, so now they were making adjustments to cause drama surrounding him any way they could. 
My eyes shifted between the two of them, “I don’t know what your endgame is here, but I have no intention of playing, just so you know.”
Stacia and Joe sat expressionless, not giving anything away. I assumed they expected this sort of response from me. My tendency to push back at their plans was one of the reasons I wasn’t a favorite of theirs and most likely part of the reason they always worked to get me off the show as soon as possible, every season. Which sucked for my bank account. To add to their reasoning, I wasn’t interesting enough since I never had issues with my partners or whirlwind romances that made for good TV. However, this season they were taking a chance, throwing two bombs in the form of Lana and Dieter into my already tumultuous relationship with Alec. Hoping for an exciting outcome that would play out behind the scenes to stir up tabloid fodder and result in free promotion for the show.  
Joe sighed, finally speaking to break the tension in the room, “For what it’s worth, we met with Dieter earlier this morning…he was actually very pleasant and agreeable. I don’t think he’ll be an issue for you, so long as he continues to stay sober.”
My brows furrowed, “It sounds like you have a lot of faith in him. Good to know.” I moved to stand, “Well, if there isn’t anything else you need from me…”
Joe smiled weakly in my direction, “No, I think that’s it for now…just make sure you review the schedule and let us know if you have questions.” 
I gave them a sarcastic smile before moving to leave the conference room. As I rounded the corner in the hallway, looking down at the floor lost in my thoughts and frustration, I ran into someone. I started mumbling my apologies as I looked up at the stranger. I was met with a mess of curls, piercing dark eyes, and a dimpled lop-sided grin. It was Dieter fucking Bravo looking like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. 
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said through a chuckle with his hands on my shoulders to catch me from running head first into him. We stared at each other in silence for a moment. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, he can’t call me that.  
He had a slight smirk on his face now, “Katarina, right? Looks like we’re gonna be dance partners.” 
I shook my head, my lips set in a tight line, “Don’t call me that.” 
His brow furrowed, “What? Katarina?” 
I scoffed, “No, sweetheart. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. It’s inappropriate. You can call me Kat like everyone else.” 
He was obviously taken off guard by my cold demeanor as he gave me a confused look, “I didn’t…mean anything by it, I-I call everyone sweetheart.” 
I nodded, “Well, you're not gonna call me that.”
He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a beat, “I guess I’ve earned that. Sorry, I won’t do it again.” 
I inhaled deeply, biting my bottom lip as I did so. It didn’t go unnoticed that his eyes shifted down to my mouth. “Look, this is my last season and I just wanna get through it without any drama, ok?”
A crease formed between his brows as his jaw ticked to the side, “What makes you think I’m gonna cause drama?”
I shook my head, now realizing how big of a jerk I was being, “Umm…I…”
He continued to stare at me with a burning intensity, “Just so you know, I’m sober…have been for eight months. Drama is not my thing these days…”
I gave him a tight smile, “Good…hopefully you can stick to it.”  Fuck. That did not come out how I meant for it to.
I could see his jaw muscles flex before he let out a small laugh. His eyes finally shifted downward. He almost looked hurt by that comment. 
I sighed, “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.” 
His brows arched as he peered at me through his lashes, “You know, I requested to be partnered with you because I was told that you're professional and wouldn’t be judgmental about my past…I guess I heard wrong. I suppose I should just expect it at this point, right? Maybe I shouldn’t have such high expectations of others.” 
My mouth fell open as I shook my head. I’m such a fucking asshole. He didn’t give me a chance to say anything before he spoke again, “I guess I’ll see you at rehearsals tomorrow. Have a good afternoon.” He gave me a sad smile as he brushed past me. I stood there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot watching him as he walked toward the exit. That was a great first impression. Good job, Kat. 
“Who was that?” Alec asked from behind me. 
I turned, running my fingers through the top of my hair out of frustration, “That was my new dance partner.” 
Alec squinted toward the figure standing near the exit, now stopping to look at his phone, “Is that Dieter Bravo?” 
I could feel my jaw tighten as I took in Alec’s expression, “Yes, it is.” Alec’s head snapped toward me, “I don’t want you working with him.” 
I smiled sarcastically, “Really? And you think I have a choice in that? They made it clear, there is no other option. I asked.”
Alec shook his head, “You could just not do this season. You're quitting anyway. Why not go ahead and drop out?” 
My eyes widened at his suggestion, “Because I need the fucking money, you know that.” 
He chuckled, “Right, for the dance studio.” 
I scoffed, “Yeah, for the dance studio. I don’t understand why you can’t support me on that.” 
Alec didn’t acknowledge my question, “This guy is a known womanizer. I’m not comfortable with this.” 
My head tilted to the side, “So you don’t trust me. That’s rich coming from you. You know…I’m not excited about your partner either, but I didn’t tell you to drop out. If anyone has a right to be concerned, it’s me.” 
Alec moved in closer, causing me to back up against the wall as he got in my face. His eyes were blazing with anger, “You’re never gonna let that shit go, are you? That was ten months ago, and I have been loyal to you ever since. Yet here you are…still throwing it in my fucking face.” 
I had a sudden defiant streak hit me, “You’re the one who brought it up by insinuating that you couldn’t trust me. I’m just reminding you who the problem is in this relationship.” 
Alec moved to put his hand on the wall next to my head as he leaned in further - his nose nearly touching mine as I turned my stoney face away from him, “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again,” he spat out.   
I could feel his eyes drift over my face for a moment before he pulled away and walked off. 
I huffed out a quiet “Fuck” as I exhaled a shaky breath and watched him walk toward the dressing rooms. When I glanced back toward the exit, Dieter was still standing there, frozen in place with his phone halfway to his ear. Once he realized I was looking his way, his head dropped downward, and he slowly turned to exit the building.   
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 Dieter’s POV 
As I walked out into the scorching afternoon sun, I ended the call to check my voicemail, deciding I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. I was frustrated by my first interaction with Katarina. It didn’t go how I expected, and honestly, she had hurt my feelings. Based on everything I had heard about her, I didn’t think she would throw my past up in my face like that. At least not immediately, if at all. She did seem a little flustered, maybe she was just having a bad day? 
What followed after our exchange was even more bizarre. It looked like she was having a tense conversation with the man that I assumed was the one she was dating. Lenny had mentioned she was engaged to one of the other dancers. When the man first leaned in, I initially thought they were just having a private moment, but then I noticed the look on Kat’s face as she turned away from him. Something about it was unsettling and for a brief moment, I considered interrupting them. Luckily, I didn’t have to. However, I was left feeling that I had witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to.
Even though our conversation didn’t go as well as I hoped, I was still struck with how beautiful Katarina was in person. Pictures and TV didn’t do her justice. It was probably a good thing she was seeing someone, otherwise I would be in danger of making a fool of myself. Then again, I probably would anyway. My sober self didn’t seem to know how to act around a pretty lady. My confidence and self-assurance definitely weren’t on the same level these days. 
When I got home, I spent more time than I would like to admit staring at my reflection in the mirror - trying to remind myself that I was no longer the piece of shit that everyone still saw me as. It was still hard for me to accept that the old me and the new me were two very different people. Some days it really did seem like it was easier being the old Dieter Bravo, because he didn’t care about how he was perceived by others. I often longed for him to come back, just to quiet the thoughts of self-hate and inadequacy. Those thoughts really could be suffocating and hard to overcome. It was near impossible living with myself on those days.
The anticipation of how our first rehearsal would go was starting to get to me. So, I decided to spend the rest of the evening trying to relax and take my mind off things. With classical music blaring from the sound system, I moved through the house to check in on my plants - watering, misting leaves, and pruning. It was a new hobby I had picked up since rehab. It started with one succulent plant that had seen better days. My neighbor had left it sitting next to the trash bin on garbage collection day. For some reason, I had an urge to attempt to save the shriveled mass. After a few weeks, it was showing new life as the deep purple hues started to form on the leaves. My plant obsession bloomed from there. Now I wasn’t even sure how many I had. I was fairly certain my housekeeper was going to quit if I brought any more home. 
After I was finished with the plants, I spent some time painting until I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. It was nearing midnight by the time I had showered and crawled into bed. Even though I was completely exhausted, I couldn’t shut my mind off. The anxiety was now building to problematic levels. It was always at this point that I thought about using the most. By now, the old Dieter would be a couple lines in and a few drinks deep to block out the thoughts. The new Dieter suffers through it as he lay in bed alone, staring into the darkness. I drug both hands down my face and huffed loudly before moving to switch on the lamp beside the bed. I reached for my latest self-help book and began reading.  
I was startled awake by my 7 AM alarm. I groaned as I felt around next to me on the bed for the shrilling phone to shut it off. I sat up, still half out of it, causing the book that had been lying on my chest to fall to the floor with a loud thump. I got up from bed, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I walked toward the bathroom to splash some water on my face. I stood staring at my reflection again, “You look like shit, Bravo.” It was clear I hadn’t gotten much sleep from my dark circles and puffy eyelids. I threw a warm rag over my eyes for a few minutes in hopes that would help.
Standing in my closet staring at the pile of gym clothes my stylist had picked up, I selected a random pair of shorts and a t-shirt, then pulled the tags off. We weren’t allowed to wear anything with brands or logos on filming days, so I had to break down and buy more clothes. It was probably for the best, my old gym clothes were looking a little ratty anyway.    
Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack that had a few essentials in it and headed toward the front door. As I stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me, I was greeted by my furry squatter who had left another gift near the steps - a dead mouse. I sighed, “Well, at least it’s not on top of the car this time…” The fluffy menace meowed at me as he rubbed against my legs, as if to say, “Look what I did!” 
I was determined to not give in to the furry intruder, so I disregarded his attempts for pets. “Don’t you have a family somewhere to annoy?” I muttered to him as I continued toward the car. He followed me halfway down the pathway before sitting down and flicking his tail around as he watched me get into the driver's side and shut the door. He didn’t look happy about being ignored. 
I gave myself a quick glance in the rearview mirror, reaching to comb down my hair with my fingers. I hadn’t bothered to fix it, knowing it was going to turn into a mess no matter what I did to it. Then, I started the car and drove in silence to the dance studio, not even really sure how I got there as I pulled into the parking lot. I found myself wondering if I had run any redlights as I walked through the main entrance. I felt like I was in a haze as the camera team talked to me in the lobby to fill me in on the plans for filming. 
They wanted to do a brief interview with me before I went into the studio with Katarina. They wanted me to give the whole spiel about how excited I was to be here and working with my dance partner. Truth is, I wasn’t excited. I was nervous as hell, and I was supposed to act like this was the first time I was meeting her. I was unsure of how to act toward her, so when the time came for me to walk through the door to greet her and act excited, I turned on the Dieter Bravo charm the best I could and pretended like yesterday’s conversation never happened.
I was surprised to find how well Katarina did the same thing as she came over to greet me with a smile and a hug and gushed about how excited she was to work with me. However, we were both avoiding looking at the other directly. Clearly there was still some lingering awkwardness between us. After they filmed the introduction, they wanted to get some quick shots of us rehearsing. 
These first few days of rehearsal were meant for learning the basics. We were not actually getting into the first routine yet. We started with some simple stretches and moved into learning the proper frame, the different types of positions, and spacing for the different types of dances. It was all very high level and fast, but Katarina had promised that we would go over it in more detail once the film crew left for the day. The quick pace was mostly for the benefit of the film crew so they could get what they needed and move on to the next couple. 
Once filming was done for the day, we took a seat on the floor for a water break as the crew gathered up all of their gear to leave. We mostly sat in awkward silence until we were finally alone. I could feel Katarina’s eyes on me as I stared at the water bottle in my hand. She spoke first. 
“I feel like I should apologize about yesterday…I was having a shit day and kind of took it out on you. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t mean what I said.” 
I pursed my lips and shrugged, “It’s fine. I’m used to it at this point.” 
She reached out and grasped my wrist with her left hand, the heat of her touch raced through me as I looked at the glittering ring on that finger for a moment before meeting her eyes, “It doesn’t mean that it should keep happening though. It’s not right and it’s not fair to you. Everyone deserves a second chance.” 
I huffed out a small laugh, “Yeah, except I’m on like my tenth chance. I understand why no one takes me seriously. Really, it’s not that big of a deal.” 
Her face softened as she stared at me for a beat, like she was trying to decide what she wanted to say next. Then she shifted her body to face me as she crossed her legs, “It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me because I know better. You know…” 
She paused, appearing to gather her thoughts. I moved to lean back on my hand and face her more fully with my legs stretched out to the side. My teeth bit into my bottom lip as I watched her face shift to a somewhat pained expression. It was brief, but I still caught it before she gained her composure. 
“My uhh…my dad was sober for about 14 years before he passed. I know how hard it was for him in the beginning…with everyone doubting him and not giving him a chance. It’s one of the reasons he relapsed the first few times. It can be hard when you don’t have any support from the people around you. I know that…and I don’t wanna be one of those people. You haven’t given me any reason to doubt you, so I wanna make sure I’m giving you a fair shot and support you as long as you’re actively trying to better yourself. I know first-hand that people do change.”
Is she fucking serious? I couldn’t move or speak. She had stunned me again for the second day in a row. I never would have guessed she would share something so personal, especially on our first day together. She seemed sincere in her apology.   
I finally managed a curt nod before I reached to rub at the crease between my brows, “Thanks…I uhh…I appreciate that.”  I let out a small laugh, “I appreciate it more than you probably realize, actually.” 
She gave me a tentative smile, “Does that mean I’m forgiven for being an asshole then?” 
I chuckled, “Of course…and I didn’t think you were an asshole. Not really. I had a feeling you were having a bad day.”
“Whew…ok. Good. I was worried I had already fucked this whole thing up before it started.” 
Ok, it’s kind of hot when she says fuck. I smirked, “Does this mean I get to call you sweetheart now?” 
She narrowed her eyes on me and shook her head, “No. No sweetheart.” She laughed quietly, “But, I might consider a different nickname if you come up with a good one.” 
My lips spread into a cheeky smile, “I think I can come up with something.” She laughed into the top of her water bottle as she took a sip with a slight flush creeping up her neck. Am I flirting right now? I don’t even know what I’m doing. Geez. I looked away in an attempt to reign myself in. I can’t be doing that.  
We were soon back at it, now with a more relaxed atmosphere. We again started with getting my frame right. I stood in place as she moved my arms to the proper position, pushing in between my shoulder blades to straighten my posture. After several minutes in the position, I couldn’t help the groan that slipped out, “This is gonna do a number on my back muscles, isn’t it?” 
She snickered, “You will definitely have better posture by the time I’m done with you. Now, elbows up, you should have a horizontal line from elbow to elbow…and hold it there.” 
She then stood in front of me, taking in my form for a moment before manipulating my hands into the proper position. 
Smiling, she nodded in satisfaction as she stepped closer, “Ok, now let’s go over the hold. The hold is important because it’s how we connect…how our bodies communicate movement to lead and follow.” 
As she spoke, she moved closer, placing her arm along the top of my right one and clasping my left hand in hers. She was very matter of fact with her words as her eyes bore into mine. It was almost distracting. 
“I need you to make sure there’s no space between our arms…here, so keep your elbow flush against mine.” She bounced her arm against the top of my right one to emphasize what she meant. “This is an important connection point because I can feel the pressure from your arm, which will tell me how to follow. As for your left hand, keep it at my eye level. We apply pressure here as well for another connection point.”    
All I could do was nod along with her words, completely mesmerized by her intensity. Once she felt we had the hold down, she began to explain the differences in spacing for standard ballroom versus Latin dances. 
“So…in Latin style dances, we’ll have more space between us…like we are now. It gives us more room to move. We’re gonna be slightly offset from each other while maintaining this closed position. Got it?”
I nodded again as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to look at her directly, but I couldn’t. Between her eyes burning into me and the tingling from her touch, I felt like my skin was on fire. I didn’t know what to make of it and it was sort of fucking with my head.
Then she stepped even closer, the front of our bodies nearly flush as she slightly adjusted the position of our arms. I swallowed hard over her proximity and the tangy citrus scent that was now invading my senses. Fuck. I might be in trouble. 
“For standard dances, like the Waltz and Foxtrot, we’re gonna be closer…like this. Our frame will be a little wider and our arms will be positioned slightly lower. We’ll both be looking off to our left instead of directly at each other.”   
I cleared my throat, stepping back slightly, “Sooo…umm…do we look off to the left for Latin dances?” 
Her brows arched as her eyes widened, “Good question. I should have mentioned that. There’s typically more direct eye contact in the Latin dances. It’s actually another form of connection…another way for us to communicate without words.”
She moved back into the Latin dance hold, now making direct eye contact with me. I couldn’t help how my eyes roamed over her face, taking in the minor changes in her expression as she spoke. I wasn’t sure if the close proximity of the standard hold or direct eye contact with the Latin hold was worse. They were both a little overwhelming. 
“Alright, let’s try some steps. We can start with the Rumba.” 
She broke away for a moment to show me the foot movement, then had me give it a try. After a successful attempt, she positioned us back into the Latin hold and we began moving together. Once it seemed we had the footwork down, she backed away with a smirk on her face. 
“You’re actually really good at this, you know. We do need to work on eye contact though.”
I smiled nervously as I looked down at my feet and rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m sorry…I know. Direct eye contact is a little weird for me.” I glanced up at her through my lashes, slightly embarrassed by the admission. 
She smiled and arched a brow in my direction, “Really? I never would have guessed that based on your love scenes.”
My eyes widened. I do not need to think about her watching me dick someone down on screen. Focus, Bravo. I chuckled nervously, “Yeah, I’m not usually looking directly into their eyes during those. I tend to stare between their eyebrows.” 
She gave me a sly smile now, snickering, “Oh, is that why you usually look cross eyed then?” 
My brow furrowed as I gave her a mock look of offense, “I don’t look cross eyed. That’s rude.”
She cackled over my response, “I’m joking. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen one of your love scenes to know how your face looks.” 
I scrunched up my nose, “Ouch, ok…so you don’t watch my movies. Got it.” 
Her laugh had simmered to a quiet chuckle now as she lightly smacked my shoulder, “I’ve seen some…just not any with a love scene. So don’t be so offended. I’ve seen those TikTok videos though…they gave me a good idea of what I’m working with.”
I rolled my eyes, “Ugh…those fucking TikTok videos. They’re so bad.”  
I had to admit, it was nice to be joking around with her after all the tension that had built up from yesterday. I took it as a good sign that this might actually go ok. What I didn’t expect was the attraction that I was starting to feel as our day went on. However, the obnoxiously sized engagement ring she wore on her finger helped keep that in check every time I saw it sparkling in the light when she moved. As long as that shiny reminder was there, I would be ok... 
Right?
Week 2
✨FUN FACTS: All cast members on Dancing with the Stars are in fact required to get a weekly spray tan. They also do not get to choose their partners, costumes, music, or themes. They can make recommendations obviously, but the producers do not have to honor the requests. When it comes to pairing partners, the producers do have a "formula".
A/N: I wanted to take a quick minute to welcome all of my new and old readers! So happy to have you all with me for my next adventure with Dieter Bravo. For the new folks, I'm a sucker for predictions and theories. If you have them, drop them in the comments so we can discuss. Now on to my normal nonsense...how are you guys feeling about the first chapter? How do you feel about Dieter and Kat's first couple of interactions? What about all the characters that were introduced? I'm curious to know who you want to throat punch more, Alec or Stacia? I'm already in love with these two and I can't wait to share more of them. This Dieter is...something else. I love sharing things from his point of view. He is going to be a good time, as expected. Kat is...kind of a mess, but also not? It's been interesting being in her head. How do you see things progressing with these two? Lastly, a quick thank you to @maggiemayhemnj for giving this first chapter a quick read through to make sure all these plot points were introduced in a way that made sense...because seriously, there is a lot going on here. She also found the perfect disco ball looking dividers for this...and I fucking love them. 😘 👉 I did a fun post about Dieter's plant hobby and his furry visitor. Check it out HERE. 👉 In case you missed it, I also did a character introduction post, which you can find HERE. Until next time, 💜 Mysty
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Credits: Support/MDNI Dividers: @cafekitsune Disco Divider: @deadbranch
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fallinforerling · 1 year
Text
LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. chapter 9 - jb
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ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist
ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist
ೃ⁀➷ masterlist
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
After being dropped off by Jude’s parents, you stayed on the couch for a good hour thinking about how bizarre the whole day was. You didn’t even want to check your phone right now, so you just left it in your living room and went directly to get a hot shower. 
While undressing, you noticed that you had dinner while wearing Jobe’s jersey. Hah, now it made sense why so many people took double looks at you. Not that you cared.
You just wanted to relax for once. The whole process of getting ready for bed got you in a better mood; so after doing your skincare and drinking some tea, you felt ready to check your messages.
There were some texts from the girls and some from Jobe. You went for Jobe’s first since they were the most recent.
✉️ Jobe: Thank you for the weirdest night ever
✉️ You’re welcome?
✉️ Jobe: No, seriously. I haven’t seen Jude this happy for a while now
✉️ Jobe: He’s close to giggling and kicking his feet like a little girl
✉️ lmao
✉️ Maybe that’s because I told him I was going to unblock him
✉️ Jobe: Did you?
✉️ Not yet…
✉️Jobe:  Well, maybe you should
✉️ Oh my god??? What’s happening???
✉️ Jobe: I talked to him, just… Maybe? I won’t force you tho
✉️ I’ll consider it
✉️ Jobe: That’s good enough for me… Have a good night, darling
✉️ Good night, sweetie
Odd. What could possibly be happening that Jobe was (kinda) defending his brother? You didn’t blame him, obviously. But… Again, odd. With a shrug, you hopped on the girl’s group chat, which had lots of messages from hours ago.
✉️ Nikki: Weeeeell…. I was casually checking the TikToks people were posting about the game… You know, to see how it was going
✉️ Nikki: THEN… Girl, you went a bit viral agaaaaain. You appeared on the big screen and SOME people saw the little interaction Mr. Jobe and you had. The football fandom is going crazy again, a lot of people are debating if you’re his girlfriend or Gio’s girlfriend
✉️ Mia: Since none of them had said a word about the rumors… People are kinda taking sides
✉️ Mia: I also saw that after the first half some girls were looking for you because they were near your seat and you were gone. Then they noticed you were sitting next to THE Jude Bellingham and went on trying to figure out if you were his girlfriend instead while taking videos and photos to POST?!
✉️ Nikki: MESSY
✉️ Oh god… I just saw this… WHY ME, LORD?!
✉️ It’s like… For each day of peace I get, ten days of absolute chaos are piled up on my door
✉️ Nikki: It’s the drama, the fun, the footballers, the fame
✉️ Nikki: Our beautiful little WAG
✉️ Mia: If it’s not with douchie, it’s with that Gio guy
✉️ Mia: Heʼs hot af
✉️ Mia???? 
✉️ Do you want his number?
✉️ Nikki: Omg, Miaaaa
✉️ Mia: Both of you… Shut up. This isn’t about me finding Gio the hottest man alive, this is about YOU getting shipped with half of the footballers you know
✉️ Don’t remind me of that, please
✉️ I’ll better get some sleep before the vein on my forehead explodes, bye my loves
✉️ Nikki: Bye baby! Sweet dreams
✉️ Mia: Score a goal!
✉️ Fuck you lmao
Great. You were never getting rid of that stupid “popularity” among the football fanbase… Well, at least among the people that cared about the player’s love lives. They knew your face now, even if the subject of who your “boyfriend” was died down. You were out there forever for people to see and have an opinion.  
Time to sleep.
You were on your way to turn off the lights and wash your cup when the telecommunicator started to ring; you almost let out a scream. Who on Earth was ringing your house at two A.M?! With your heart beating like crazy, you ran to answer and yell to the jerk on the other side. 
“Miss! I’m so sorry to bother you this late but…” Mel’s words were interrupted by some loud male voices. “There’s a couple of gentlemen asking me to allow them into your floor…” Oh, poor Mel. 
You couldn't scream to your sweet doorman Mel.
“Mel! Hi... Gentlemen? As... Men asking to come here?” This was unbelievable.
“Yes, uh. They'd been here for at least ten minutes. I'd tried to persuade them into leaving but nothing works."
“Do you happen to recognize these gentlemen?” Your gut feeling was very reliable, so you kinda knew who it was. 
“Well… I’m not so sure about it, but I think that’s… Bukayo Saka and Jude Bellingham, miss.” 
He surely knew them at first sight, but it was adorable he was trying to dissimulate it.
“Oh, my god…” You sighed. When was this going to end? “Just… Let them in, Mel.”
“As you wish.” 
You wanted to punch someone so bad right now. But you just stayed there, by your door, waiting for what seemed to be the night of never end.
No less than five minutes later, your door was being punched at. Because that wasn't a knock. You considered for a moment letting them outside, but you weren't going to sleep if you did that. 
When you opened it, the silliest sight welcomed you. There was Bukayo, a mutual friend that you haven't seen in very long, carrying (if you can call that carrying) a very drunk Jude. How did you know he was drunk? Well, he was (seemingly) asleep against Bukayo's side, only kept from falling because of his friend's arm around his waist. 
“Okay...” Was the first thing that came out of your mouth. “This is... Something.”
“So sorry to do this at such late hours... He's been so insistent. He got a bit too drunk and started to ask about where his girlfriend was and that he wanted to come home.” Bukayo's eyes went blank, sighing. He seemed pretty sober to you. “I tried to persuade him into visiting you tomorrow, but this guy never takes no for an answer.”
“That sounds like him.” You smiled at him apologetically. Because what else could you do? No one knew you two had broken up, and this wasn't the best moment to break the news either. “Let's take him to the couch, I'll help you.”
You got closer, feeling the smell of alcohol reeking from Jude. Iugh. You took one of his arms, putting it around your shoulders. Hah, and just a couple of hours earlier you were trying to avoid just that. With a lot of effort, both of you laid him out the best you could. That didn't mean that it was done in the most careful way. So he woke up, looking at you and then at Bukayo. 
“Am I dreaming, mate?”
“Nah, fam. I did what you asked me; I took you to your girl.” He palmed Jude's arm and then smiled at you. “Now I'm out, this whole thing tired me up.”
“That's okay. Thank you for taking care of him.” You gave him a little hug after guiding him to the door. “I hope we can catch up another time without this type of thing going on.”
“Me too.” He smiled again, looking as sweet as ever, and then turned and left. 
Now you were alone with...
“Darling?” Oh no, not the darling. 
You turned, looking at Jude, who was struggling to keep himself sat upright. He was looking at you with the most drunken-hazed eyes ever, accompanied by the biggest of smiles.
“Yes, Jude?” It was better not to argue with a drunk person this late at night.
“Can I tell you something?”  
“Yeah, sure.” You got closer, sitting on the carpet. Not too close, but not too far away from him. “What is it?”
“I'm an idiot. I'm so dumb, I got drunk tonight, and I miss you.” The smile left his face, but he was still looking at you with happy eyes. “Every time I see your face, I remember that I'm mad dumb for breaking up with you. Because I still love you. A lot.” He let himself fall back into the couch pillows, sighing. “I don't know why I panicked so much a month ago. It was a stupid chat.”
“Sorry?” Your heart was beating fast because of his past confessions, but this new phrase caught your attention way more. “What chat?”
He wasn't looking at you. He was just looking up at the ceiling, like he was trying to remember something.
“Just some stupid chat the coach gave us before you arrived at Dortmund that day... He was talking about how we, as professionals, had to settle in earlier so we didn't get carried away because of all the money and parties... And the drugs. He said that there was a reason for footballers to get married and have kids at such young ages.” He sighed again, looking tired. “And I knew he was talking to the younger part of the team, which included me... I just... I felt like I was being pressured to marry immediately... I got so carried away with my thoughts that I panicked when I saw you. You make me so happy, but I didn't feel ready for any of the coach's options.”  
“So... You broke up with me instead of talking?” Woah. “That's fucked up, Jude.”
“I know... And I'm not asking you to forgive me or... Get back together with me... Even though that's what I have been wishing since I said the words, but... I wanted you to know.”
He didn't seem drunk at all now. 
“Thank you for telling me.” That's all you could say for now. Too much information to take in. 
“Would you have said yes?” He asked after a few minutes of silence, still looking at the ceiling. 
“To what?”  
“Marrying me.”
You felt like someone punched your heart and took the air out of your body. At the same time. 
“I won't answer that.” Mostly because you didn't know the answer. “Get some sleep.” You got up, looking down at him. 
“Why not?”
You took a long look at his face. You gave him a little smile, reaching for his cheek with one of your hands. You caressed it with the tip of your fingers before regretting touching him at all. He closed his eyes, but opened them when you retrieved your hand. 
“Because there's no point in answering something that's not going to happen.”
He frowned, looking offended for a second before relaxing his face again. 
“Well, I haven't asked you.”
“And you shouldn't, because that's something you do when you're sure about it... And not drunk.” You took one of the covers you kept close, tucking him on the sofa so he couldn't move. “And when you're in a relationship, of course. Now sleep or I'll kick you out of my house.”
“Okay...” He appeared so similar to a kid now, all flustered and with big eyes. “I'm sorry for all of this.”
“I forgive you.”
And that was true. You forgave him for all of it. You couldn't hold a grudge forever. It wasn't healthy. 
“Really?” Hope sparkled in his eyes. It made your heart ache.
“I promise.”
Then you got closer and kissed his forehead to prove him right about your words. He gave you the biggest of smiles, again, before falling asleep right there. You gave him a last caress on the cheek before turning the lights off and walking towards your bedroom.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
You thought it was impossible to get any sleep after what happened, but the moment your head touched the pillow, you were out. The stress was draining your energy. You blacked out until the next morning, when a knock on the door woke you up. 
You remembered everything that had happened just a couple of hours ago. There was Jude, knocking on your door like he was a stranger. Somehow, it felt like it. 
“Come on in.” You said after a few seconds, rubbing your face.
The door slowly opened up. Jude was still covered in the blanket, holding it together with one hand below his chin while the other rubbed his eye. Pretty much the same as you. You couldn't help but smile a little at the sight. 
“Good morning.” Even his voice had a little hint of shyness.
“Did you sleep well?” Was all you said while you got up and walked towards the bathroom.
“Yes...” He followed you, just two steps behind. “Thank you.”
“Stop saying 'thank you', just come here and brush your teeth.” You grabbed one of the brand new toothbrushes you kept in the drawer, offering it to him. 
He seemed so scared yet happy about your behavior while taking the toothbrush. You weren't fooling anyone, it was fun to play with his mind a little bit. Payback.
He stood there watching you brush your teeth, wash your face, and brush your hair. It was very funny.
“I'm not going to suddenly take a knife out and follow you around the house with it, Jude. Get cleaned or you won't get breakfast.” You got out of the bathroom, smiling at him when he just blinked at you. “All yours.” And then you left him alone in there.
You entered the kitchen, ready for some breakfast. You heard the bathroom sink go on and off for a few minutes. Meanwhile, you decided to make some scrambled eggs with ham and toast some beagles. It was the best you could offer with so many thoughts taking most of your concentration. 
When you were finishing the second plate, Jude appeared by the door and stayed there. He looked at the plates with surprise, like it was actually impossible for you to be making breakfast for him. 
“It's getting cold.” You offered him one of the plates that was already sitting on the mini table you had available. 
“Are you preparing me for my sudden death, darling?” He sat in front of you, waiting for you to take the first bite. He always did that. 
“Not yet.” You took a bite off the beagle, smiling when he did the same. “Maybe after I eat.” 
He smiled but didn't say anything. You ate in silence, looking at each other from time to time. You felt different around him now that you knew what caused him to break up with you. It wasn't that you suddenly forgot about everything else or how mad you felt, but it made things easier. You wanted to talk. Now there was a real reason for it. 
“I'll wash the dishes.” Before you could say anything, he took both plates and stood up. 
“Go ahead... And after you finish them, we'll talk.”
“Do I make some tea first?” 
“Yeah, that'll be nice.” 
He seemed to understand what was crossing your mind, so he made the tea quietly and walked to the living room. You followed him. 
“Well...” You took a sip of the tea. “Do you remember what you said last night?” 
“I do...” He squirmed on the seat. He was nervous. “I wanted to tell you all that sober but... I fuck up things quite regularly.” 
You smiled, shaking your head. 
“Okay, it's good for the sake of this conversation that you remember everything. Now, when I said that I forgive you, I meant it. But that doesn't mean I'm not angry or hurt by all of it.” He nodded. “I'm still disappointed about how poorly you managed the whole thing; you just needed to talk to me, and the breakup would never have happened.”
“I know.” He covered his face, sighing. “I'm an idiot.” 
“Yeah! Look at me, I spent a month thinking you didn't love me anymore, and it turns out that you just were a bastard that didn't know how to talk to his girlfriend.” You slightly pushed his arm with your foot. “You said you didn't love me as you used to... Why?” 
“I don't know.” He groaned, taking his hands off his face. “I guess I wanted you to hate me. I’ve never stopped loving you.” He grabbed your ankle, dragging your leg closer to his body. “I think I love more than before, actually.” 
You didn't say anything for a while, you just looked at him for the longest time, trying to figure out what to do next. 
“I'm very mad at you.” You took a deep breath. “That club thing you did after we broke up is still fresh in my mind. I can't pretend everything is the same just because we talked.” 
“I know. I'm a jerk for doing that. I just wanted to see if... If I could act like I was okay. I wanted to feel okay. And couldn't accept that I regretted breaking up with you the second you left.” 
“Always your big ego, huh?” You laughed. “Don't take this as if we just got back together. We're... We're friends from now on.” 
“We are friends for now.” He said, smiling. “Because I'll do everything that's in my power to win you back.”
“Whatever you say, Bellingham.”
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gwynsdefenseattorney · 4 months
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Let’s talk about THAT bonus chapter and Azriel’s behavior. I see so many people taking this out of context to try and fit a narrative and honestly it’s a little worrisome to the point where I’m like are yall okay?
Before I get into it let me make one thing ABSOLUTELY CLEAR cause some of yall took some leaps and bounds last time that had me laughing. Some of those tags were 😆. I care not who you ship. I myself even kinda shipped e/riel back in the day but I was never fully on board cause they never made sense to me but I was confident SJM would make me believe when it came time for that book. Clearly I’m no longer on that ship but it’s okay if yall are. And if by chance she does still go that route I’m, again, confident Sarah will have me loving it (Even though I will grumble the whole time, lol) What I don’t like, and what drives me crazy is the twisting of Sarah’s words. Printed, interview or otherwise and I see a lot of it. That’s what irritates me. So ship away who ever you want but don’t twist and take shit out of context please for the love of God. 😆
First off I love Azriel. He’s my favorite bat boy and I will defend him with my life but that bonus chapter behavior was not it. I wanted to smack some god damn common sense into him.
Secondly, he was the classic fuckboy in that bonus chapter with Elain. The fact that some e\riels are out here romanticizing that behavior seriously is worrisome, like are yall okay?
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Only talking about wanting to get his dick wet is not romantic. “But but he would get on his knees for her”
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He’d get on his knees for her to get his head in between her legs, how the fuck does that equal romance? The whole time he’s thinking about her it’s to get her under him in his bed. Fuck👏🏻boy👏🏻energy. He couldn’t even admit to himself that wanted anything past that, he didn’t even feel bad that he hadn’t. Again fuck👏🏻boy👏🏻 energy.
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This is not romantic in any definition of the word in my opinion. Sarah had the absolute perfect opportunity to add on to that sentence if e/riel was the direction she was going to go. Like 9 more words is all it would have taken “ but he could see it, that life with her.” But she did not take that opportunity.
And just for an added bonus because someone sent me this lovely exchange the other day. I’m not even sure how the hell she reached this conclusion.
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Gwyn wasn’t trying to shake his hand after they won the Blood Rite Qualifier. Like where the hell did you get that from girlie? My girl was wanting her prize and a handshake from Azriel was not it. This is what happens when you want to deny the importance of a character so much that you ignore them in the book and get things so very wrong. And make no mistake she is important but a discussion for another time.
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