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luvknow · 4 years

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in another lifetime | lee minho

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

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

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

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

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

“Long night?”

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

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

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

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Concerning how?”

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

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

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

“They light up when the suit is on!”

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

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

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

“In half an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean…?”

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

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

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the red and gold paint?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, suck it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

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

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

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

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

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

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

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

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

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

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Lee.”

“It’s what I do best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

“Mr. Lee, get out of the way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, that much is clear.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

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

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

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

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

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

“But I do!”

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

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

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

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

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

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, let’s go.”

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

“Why not!?”

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

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

“Mr. Lee, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

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

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

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

“Tonight? Already?”

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

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

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

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

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

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

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

“Are we going to test it out now?”

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

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

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

“For what!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Lee, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

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

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

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

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

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

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

“Try it on!”

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

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

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

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

“Really? I look ok?”

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

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are we going up?”

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

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what code is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect!”

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

“How does it feel?”

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

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

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

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

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

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

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Scary!? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

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

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

“Does it feel any better?”

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

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

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

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

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Lee, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Lee, who’s your lovely date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

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

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

“Not quite.”

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

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

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

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

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

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

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

“Stop that.”

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

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

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

“Why do you say that?”

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

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuses, excuses.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that all about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

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

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

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Lee!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. “Fuck.”

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

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

“Let’s go, darling.”

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

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

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

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

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

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

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

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, kill you, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then we die, is that right?”

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

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

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

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

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

“_____, wait!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can stay with you.”

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

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

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

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

“But -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

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

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

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

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

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

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

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

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

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

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

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

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

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

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah?”

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

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

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

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t have anything against him.”

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

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

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

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Lee, I can’t…”

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

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

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

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

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

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

“You think of me as your friend?”

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“Oh, yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, yeah, but -”

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

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

“Really? Dammit.”

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

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

“Anything for you, boss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you taking her?”

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

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

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

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

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

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

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

“_____, language -”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

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

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

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

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

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

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

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

“I’m on my way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What!? What are you planning!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

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

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

“You’re pushing it.”

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

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

“Then I say no.”

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

“Fine.”

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

“Deal.”

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

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

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

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Note

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

Susie you sent so many! Bahaha, I might do some others of yours but otherwise this might be the ask I do out of the ones you sent lolol

Put under a ‘read more’ for length

---

There wasn't much that could rattle Kagome Higurashi.

She remained adaptable, resolute, and forthright throughout most stressful situations, having stepped up to the plate to assist Mama with housework and babysitting after her father had died. She could experience surprise, sure. Mock tests could throw her until she dug her heels in. A guy could ask her out and she'd recover soon enough- slap away a non-consensual kiss or thigh grab easily.

But bone-shaking, heart-stopping, crippling shock? To be blind-sighted by complacency? Only one demon proved capable of doing that.

"Why does it not surprise this one to find you still emerged knee-deep in the fossils of the past, Kagome?" the syllables of her name slip-free in a quiet, resonant baritone.

Kagome jolted, stiffening. Gradually turning within the museum hallway- caught between alarm and confusion- her breath halted.

Gone were his golden eyes and the silver stream of long hair. Instead, he wore contacts, hair short, black and slightly tousled from the wind. Despite all this, if Kagome relaxed her eyes- she could see the suggestion of glamour hazing his appearance, a murky white outline around his hair hinting at its true colour.

Sesshoumaru's cold, handsome face was practically unchanged. Perhaps there were the faintest shifts- his body appearing slightly more built, features just a tad older in the firm line of his jaw.

He presented her with a small potted plant, since he knew she hated cut flowers. The seriousness with which he offered the tiny white flowering bulb almost made her smile, almost. "Congratulations on graduating."

"Thanks," she said automatically, unable to stop staring. She cautiously accepted the gift, skin managing to avoid his touch as though it were a live-wire. "How'd you hear about that?"

"Your mother told me."

"O-oh," she blinked, realising he must've gone to her house first before tracking her down at work. Kagome swallowed, conflicting feelings arising. Shaking them off, she drew her shoulders back and turned flippantly to stride down the hall. "So how’s things? Nice weather we’re having, huh?"

“It has been a long time, miko,” his voice turned solemn, filled with something inexplicable as he followed, keeping pace easily. Kagome pretended not to hear the silky reverence in his tone. “Is there not anything more...substantial, we could be discussing?”

She hummed, “less than five-hundred years isn’t so long.”

“The centuries dragged. I felt every day as though it were a month.”

“I’m sure your mate kept you occupied.”

“This one would not know, I never mated.”

Kagome stiffened, grinding her teeth. “Oh,” she muttered. The life she’d pictured for him fell away, crumbling into ash. Somehow she wasn’t comforted by it.

"You have a boyfriend,” he rumbled, a statement not a question.

"Mama told you that too?" Kagome asked, walking to an exhibit and setting the plant down in favour of gathering her notes, expecting another round of kids fresh off the bus to arrive at any minute.

"No, the hickey on your neck that you've tried to hide with make-up served as enough evidence," he pointed out, vaguely amused.

She reddened a touch, tugging her collar up self-consciously. "Observant as always.”

"It is only a recently acquired skill. Looking back, this one was quite blind during our time together," he hummed. "Lack of experience. I understand plenty now. Would you care for coffee? Strictly platonic, of course."

"... I don't think that's such a good idea, do you?" Kagome gripped her papers tight. "I wouldn’t appreciate my boyfriend meeting up for coffee with an ex."

Sesshoumaru’s eyes glinted, smiling slightly. "And you would not lie by telling him we were friends," his gaze warmed as though savouring something, sweeping ageless attention over her with a lingering, intimate air that made her remember warm lazy mornings spent in his arms.

Kagome’s hands tightened further, crumpling the organised papers, fingers shaking. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

He exhaled, voice soft. "You have not changed."

Her heel drew back, tucking the notes under her arm. Sweaty palms smoothed over her neat blue pencil skirt and blouse. Six years wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough time to get over him.

“Guess not,” she dismissed, refusing to give a snippet of passion. But the acid was there, simmering beneath her tongue. She couldn’t help but glance at him. “...Feels like a waste; you not even mating a pureblood. I thought it meant a lot to you.”

“Pureblooded heirs meant a lot to me,” Sesshoumaru clarified. He stepped closer, and Kagome shuddered, moving back to maintain distance.

Noticing this, the demon stopped. Regret hazed his carefully arranged expression, before he inclined his head, dark bangs hanging forward. “This one did not intend to open old wounds, miko.”

“Then what did you want?” her voice shook.

“To show that I have...changed. It was foolish of me to let you go.”

“You were just upholding your beliefs. It’s not like you ever said you wanted Hanyou kids, I just assumed you’d be fine with it since we were fucking,” Kagome bit out. “Of course, getting your kicks and actually raising half-breeds are two totally different things. I shouldn’t have figured you were over your bigotry- that I’d solved anything by being a really good lay.”

“This Sesshoumaru was wrong-”

“Well lucky you, I didn’t get pregnant during our magical time together, so we dodged a bullet there. It was just miscommunication. A young relationship. I’m over it.”

She didn’t feel over it.

"Look, you've seen me. Can that just be enough? Let’s end it here.”

Sesshoumaru moved closer, gazing at her fervently. He opened his mouth to say more, before it clicked shut, jaw clenching. "If that is what you wish."

"Yep, I'm super busy," Kagome pretended to check her watch, not registering in the time.

"I have an office downtown," he shifted. "If you need a 'non-friend' I am easy enough to find," pausing as he turned- Sesshoumaru slowly reached out. He tucked the tag down at the back of her blouse that had stuck up slightly at the back of her collar. "Some habits are hard to kick, hm?" he uttered softly. He'd used to do the same thing all the time whenever she’d worn modern clothes in the feudal era.

Back when she'd been his.

Kagome’s breath shuddered. "I'm not going to come to your office.”

"Perhaps that is a good idea," a tempting mouth hovered close to her ear. "Otherwise there would be no witnesses to save you, and I'd have to demonstrate the full extent of how much I've missed you, Kagome," his voice barely contained the purr of longing that rolled out between them as he pulled away. Sesshoumaru then turned. He took his leave silently and regally, like nothing had happened.

As though he hadn’t just sauntered in and shattered her all over again.

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

would everything be different today?

characters/pairings: thor and loki, loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 3913

warning: canon character death

summary: Prior to Loki's arrest, Thor attempts to save them and is arrested by the TVA himself. And sure, he doesn't understand much of this institution, but he's pretty sure this Mobius has taken a liking to his younger sibling. (pre-canon, thor pov)

(still obsessing over loki, who’s surprised? no one! half of this fic was written at 2am when i was Not sober, my beloved Cat / @howgodforgives read it for me tho because they’re perfect!! 💖 this is an au... supposed to happen pre-canon... inspired by this post and this post, i love them too much and simply mashed the 2 concepts together so ya. enjoy ??)

read on ao3

Thor thought he could just do one thing. And when Steve revealed his plan about utilizing their time traveling device, just one last time, the offer his friend came with for him to go back was something he had to.

He had a chance to save Loki.

Now, he knows this is far from thought out, far from logical, and Thor never told Steve when he himself was traveling to. They trusted each other, Avengers and all.

Thor knows he could save their mother, too, if he wanted, but perhaps grief was clouding his vision because he’s simply lost too many, and he’ll be damned if he’d let Loki slip away from him after everything they’ve been through.

They were making progress… weren’t they?

It surely couldn’t be another one of his tricks, and although Thor has been naive in the past, he simply can’t lose her. Not now. Not yet.

And so he goes back for them, and he gets there, he’s on the ship, Heimdall and Loki and Valkyrie and Korg and Thanos , and Thor’s never been prone to irrational anger, he tries , but everything happening all over again in such an overwhelming way nearly has sparks jumping from eyes and fingertips.

Thor is so close. And then he isn’t.

He can’t comprehend what happens, but he’s out of time, out of place, and he’s in what resembles most those office buildings he’s seen so many of Midgard. Being crammed in an elevator with these strange people gave him eerie flashbacks to Sakaar, until he’s finally greeted by a significantly short human, brown suit, silver hair and moustache and a lop-sided grin.

Naturally, Thor smiles back in the midst of his confusion, it’s only good manners, you hear.

“Ah!” the man exclaims, patting his elbow with the other hand guiding him forward, “The god of thunder himself! Mighty pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He nods, following, unsure still what’s going on. But Thor’s made too many enemies of a human lifetime, a long time ago, and he wouldn’t want to get on these humans’ bad side, even though they technically kidnapped him… peculiar.

If Loki was here, they’d probably have their knife ready at lightning speed. Classic Loki.

“Well, thank you! I wish I could say the same, but I’m not sure… where I am,” Thor answers. This really does look like an office, one the Midgardians had a decade or so, probably, before they updated themselves. Modernization, that’s what it’s called, silly humans.

“Fair is fair,” the grey haired human turns to him, “Welcome to the Time Variance Authority, TVA for short! I think I speak for everyone here when I say we’re excited to have you here.”

The man chuckles, and Thor doesn’t know if it’s to himself or directed towards him, until the human shrugs. There’s still two of those persons with weaponry and strange glowing devices on either side of them, and it seems his new acquaintance realises the need for explanation.

“Well, technically, you’re not staying as much as… you’re under arrest,” he then says, smile turning hesitant and scratching his cheek.

Arrest?!

That’s certainly a surprise, given human laws don’t really apply to his own kind. Of course, Avenging has different rules and such… but alas.

It seems his new friend notices his eyes widen, significantly, “But don’t worry, buddy! You’re a special case, of course.”

Thor stammers, he always feels a certain embarrassment over himself when this happens, “May I- may I ask for what offense? I don’t mean to offend, these quarters are quite splendid, but Midgard and Asgard operate different-”

“Oh no,” the man interrupts, keeping a quick pace, “I’m afraid this isn’t Midgard, big guy. The TVA, we, well, control all of time!”

The guards escorting them, they must be guards, stop at the same time Thor stops in pure shock. His father never mentioned anything like this. Is this part of the nine realms? He wonders who these people are, if not human. They surely cannot be gods?

“You control… time?”

“Exactamundo! The sacred timeline, to be precise. Let me show you,” his new acquaintance guides him further with that, until they reach a strangely void room, a single table, pair of chairs and some sort of machine the only things in sight. One of those Midgardian ‘computers’?

And when he’s seated (the chair isn’t quite built for a god of his stature, but he shouldn’t complain, politeness is key, of course), this strange man shows him what appears to be a video. A video of… his life. Thor’s life, that is.

This is absurd. “How do you know this? What-”

“We know everything, buddy,” the man tells him, shuts down the device, grin sheepish, “It’s in the job description, you see?”

Thor doesn’t know what to think, rather, his mind feels somehow numb.

He was just with Loki, she was there, within his grasp, then… this. Thor also doesn’t know how long he sits staring at his acquaintance in confusion until another thought dawns upon him, “Do you have Steve Rogers, too?”

The grin lessens, mouth forming a small o, but the man nods once, “Ah, yes, another department. You two sure know how to cause trouble, huh?”

So he gets an answer, but it leaves him none the wiser, or clearer headed, or understanding. It rather feels like those sort of outlandish dreams children have, like he had when he was younger.

But what can he do? Just face this head-on?

Thor wonders if Heimdall can see him right now. Not… his Heimdall, another Heimdall, who might be alive. A Loki who might be alive, if he can save them.

“May I ask one more question of you, uh…”

“Mobius M. Mobius, at your service.”

“Ah,” he replies, and hesitantly smiles back at the grin he receives, “Then why am I here? This department , I mean?”

The stranger, Mobius, chuckles. It’s short handed and with the professionalism of those Midgardian businessmen with replicated suits and briefcases and phones chiming them down. Is this Mobius even human? More Asgardian?

“We’re in need of assistance, you might say,” he finally answers, and turns to power up the machinery once more, “And I, for one, have a feeling you might be invaluable for the cause.”

Although Thor is not sure he yet understands everything in this strange world he’s now come into, this new friend, Mobius, is very educational, and while the thought of being arrested wasn’t all too pleasing, apparently, they wished for him to work for them, instead.

His offence, that’s yet another thing he still doesn’t understand. Thor wasn’t aware of this, uh, this Sacred Timeline , as they call it. Surely a god of his status should’ve been told, shouldn’t he?

He comes to wonder if their father ever knew about this.

Thor is fairly sure about one thing, that Odin wouldn’t possibly have told them, had he had that knowledge. And what about Hela?

But he quickly learns not to think about this too much, and he counts about three Asgardian weeks in the TVA, although he has no idea how time works here , at all. Mobius always says it’s too complicated to explain, maybe he thinks Thor wouldn’t understand.

Loki always said he was as dumb as a doornail. But she never meant it out of spite, he reasons, surely, they’ve always had that sense of humor between the two of them. He loves Loki very much, even when she lets him down. He only hopes his younger sibling feels the same.

Speaking of Loki, that is another thing Thor learns in this weird world- uh, city? Country? Timeline? The TVA is its own thing entirely.

But what he learns, much like his whole life, is that his destiny will forever and always be tied to Loki, and Loki’s to his. Because his new friends at the TVA hired him to find, and catch, his younger sibling and bring them in for a similar crime to his own.

Although he’s also killing people in the process, Mobius explains much to Thor’s horror, and he’ll have to make sure Loki’s not hurt when he finds him, and ask him why this bloodshed is necessary. Again.

Of course, there must be a good reason as to why she’s doing it, he had a good reason to mess with the timeline himself, he must say, and Loki is incredibly clever, his younger sibling’s grand scheme must be extraordinary. He just wishes she wouldn’t hurt other people in the process, they’ve been over this, but she was getting better!

As Mobius put it, “You know them better than anyone, pal, I’ve got a hunch you’re the only one who can find out where they’re hiding. Well, besides themselves.”

Yes, Thor was not certain this was a good idea.

He traveled back in time to save his younger sibling, not cause him even more pain. But Mobius seems somewhat trustworthy, and very polite. He assured him justice would be served fairly, and even a lesser punishment considering the help he himself provides!

Sometimes, Thor has to follow his gut. Loki always hated this trait of his.

This work proves tricky, and tedious, and of course, his sibling is sneaky and manages to escape the TVA time and time again, and if they would just bring Thor with them, surely, he could talk to her. Not apprehend her, but communicate . Not everyone here trusts him as much as Mobius, though, regrettably.

What is curious about his new friend, and Thor’s spent a few nights now racking his brain about this, is that some of the questions he’s posed about Loki are quite specific.

They must be important for the case, he figures.

Just a week ago, hunched over files and files of timeline lingo and alternate futures that Thor has several conflicting emotions about reading, the grey haired man looked up from his scribbles and met his eye.

“Say, Thor,” he started, scratching his chin and twirling the pen in his hand, “Loki ever tell ya what they fancy for dinner?”

And the god had to blink, shuffling the papers. Did he hear it correctly?

“Dinner?”

“I mean, humans, they have favorite foods, you know? Like, preferences,” he chuckled, “I only assume Asgardians are similar?”

Thor smiles as he does when in situations where he doesn’t understand what’s going on, but simple curiousity never hurt anyone. This person’s strange, stranger than the Avengers, but he loved them all the same. “Of course. Loki’s very fond of goat. Herring, too, and our mother’s apple pie.”

Mobius nodded with a grin, and spoke no more of the subject, until two days later (Thor thinks it was two days, as mentioned before, time here confuses him profusely), where his friend inquired him about his younger sibling’s eye color.

They’re blue, clearly.

More muted than Thor’s own, but never grey, although some of these files have wrongly informed otherwise.

Really, this interest Mobius reveals in his younger sibling doesn’t faze him at first, but he’s thinking about it more and more often, as it turns out. And today, when the suited man asks him if Loki might be interested in water sports, it only sends Thor further into the obyss of confusion.

Firstly, he’s not sure what these water sports entail. Second, although he doesn’t doubt Mobius is a reasonable man, what does this have to do with arresting Loki?

“Forgive me,” Thor replies, “What are, uh… water sports?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, big guy. Ya know, jetskis are quite fun for humans and otherwise. Diving, too. You think Loki would like that sort of thing?”

The god finds himself worrying his lip with little answer to the peculiar question. “Perhaps. They love adventures, you see, that’s a thing we have in common. You think Loki’s hiding somewhere, with, uh… jetskis?”

The grey haired man shrugs. Quite strange.

Then his friend continues as they walk along the hall, past several hunters and seemingly high security offices, “She must like jokes, right?”

“Oh, of course.”

Mobius laughs, “I figured,” and his smile isn’t aimed at Thor, but somewhere into the open air, distant and unexplainably fond, “God of Mischief, pranks in his blood. I’m not too bad myself.”

“Huh?”

When the shorter man opens the door for him, he shrugs again, “Sorry, buddy, this way. I mean, they’re incredibly witty. Don’t need to tell you that, I get it. I heard this joke from a Variant, I think they might like that one. You know it? So once there was-”

And so Mobius continues on, the joke must be brilliant, he’s already wheezing to himself, but now, the god’s pretty sure he understands.

Oh.

Thor’s not as stupid as Loki claims, you see. And he has to say, he knows courtship when he sees it.

Does Thor understand why his younger sibling- or, a version of her, regardless, is hiding out in historic apocalypses ? No, there’s not much logic in this, but it’s certainly in no way surprising.

Loki’s got a knack for adventures and danger simultaneously, after all.

But when he realises what Loki’s doing, he simply has to go, even if his moustached friend isn’t sure how to clear it with the TVA, or if it’s breaking the rules, but isn’t this what they assigned the god to do in the first place?

This is his younger sibling. Loki’s alive. And Thor, well, like he’s done all his life, and like Loki’s done all their life, one must always follow the other, at one point or the other. It’s fate, he decides.

And he finds him, finally , after what feels as hundreds of millions of human years and even longer of their own, in the human city of Pompeii.

Loki isn’t exactly pleased to hear the TVA coming, that much is obvious from his face, but Thor is alone, and it’s only a matter of time before Mobius arrives, so Thor must find a chance to talk to his sibling alone.

And his sibling’s face changes from the expectant grin of a plan to kill the minutemen when they arrive to a gaping mouth in shock. Then realisation. Then frustration.

“Loki!”

And the god of mischief groans, exasperated and loud, the screams of the civilians barely fazing them, “Thor.”

It’s a matter of time, then, because they don’t have much time before they’ll be sunken into the ground they’re standing on, and like Thor first started out his adventure in the Sacred Timeline, his first thought is to get Loki out of there.

It’s his first priority, to keep her safe. There’ll be no death. Not today. Not again.

His younger sibling has their eyes on the volcano as well, their many differences being so in sync at the strangest of times, and before Thor can even think about it, Loki reaches for his arm and they’re teleported somewhere- and some… when? else entirely.

It’s eerily quiet here, a distant rumble from the sky. Rocks as far as he can see. Darkness, besides bolts of lightning striking into the ocean before them, and blinking lights distantly behind them.

And here Loki is; a Variant like himself, as Mobius called it. Breathing.

“Why is it,” she nearly yells, clutching the strange device in her hand and giving Thor that familiar glare of destruction, “You always find a way, somehow, anywhere, to ruin my perfect plan, brother? How? How are you here, you damn fool!?”

The insult is as it always is, and Loki looks like his blood might nearly boil over, but Thor just can’t help it.

He feels the tears in his eyes before they even fall. “Loki.”

“What-”

It’s only a small handful of times in all the centuries they’ve lived that he’s managed to stun his sibling into silence, a loss of words. This is another incident to add to the list.

Thor grips on so tight, he never wants to let go.

He can’t remember the last time they hugged, actually. It might’ve been when they were children.

Loki pats on his back, after a minute or two, and a breath of annoyance and… something else sounds at the same time as his own staggering breathing. His sibling’s never returned his hugs, you see, but she’s doing it now. At least, Thor surely wouldn’t mistake her holding onto him, albeit not as tightly as himself.

They sigh, “What has gotten into you now, you idiot?”

Thor laughs. It’s strained, but it feels good. That one, that’s a thing he’s missed. Loki will surely think he’s lost his mind, but there’s nothing he’d rather do right now than listen to him call him the crudest things they could think of.

It feels like coming back home.

“You’re alive,” Thor whispers.

Loki huffs. “You’ve fallen for my fake death, huh? You fall for it every time.”

He shakes his head in response, knowing his sibling won’t be able to see it, but ultimately lets go, and just looks at them. He smiles. Weirdly, hesitantly, confusedly, Loki smiles back.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells him again, but it’s softer this time.

“Where have you taken us?” Thor asks instead, and the answer is for once a place he knows of, “This is Midgard, brother, but way after the humans. In about an hour, it’ll be nothing but dust.”

That’s a frightening thought, he decides. He’s already seen Asgard in ruins.

And Thor has to take him somewhere safer, before Mobius arrives. They can’t go back to the TVA without some explanation, Loki deserves that.

His sibling seems severely surprised when he uses his own device, and a protest begins, of course, but Thor finds the right time, in Asgard, and jumps them both to it. Before their mother’s death. They’ll have to steer clear of the past versions of themselves, and their parents, and anyone else, considering Loki was imprisoned, but they’ll be safe.

And easy to spot.

“Now is not a time for a homecoming, Thor,” she tells him, already pulling up the device.

“Loki, no,” he reaches out, and Loki reaches for their knife, classic Loki, “Give me time to explain, before they come.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t raise the knife, “You’re not taking me to the TVA, brother.”

Thor blinks. He almost wants to rewind time on that little screen in his hand, to make sure he heard them right, but stranger things have happened. “You know about the TVA?”

“Of course I do, you buffoon. Who do you think I’m running from?”

He bites his tongue. Oh.

Thor has to shrug. Loki sighs again.

“I know, I know, they’ll arrest me for crimes against the Sacred Timeline ,” they say, in an overly dramatic voice and throwing around their hands in flourish, “I can’t believe they got you to help them. I can’t believe you found me.”

It feels quite like the good, old days, as Stark used to say. “I know you, Loki, even if you don’t think I do.”

They both settle into silence, and this is also strange, but the smile he gets in return, less confused and more nostalgic and… safe, it makes it worth it.

Then, the device in Thor’s hand beeps, and he lets his sibling look at it, and he looks all the more annoyed again.

“Guess I’ll have to surrender now, because of you,” she grumbles, for once, not searching for an escape route, “Who’s leading, anyway? B-15?”

Thor pats his shoulder, in what he hopes conveys comfort. “I’m not familiar, unfortunately. This leader is named Mobius.”

His sibling frowns, but shrugs non committedly, “A new face, then.”

It’s not very often Thor sees Loki in this state, confusion, if ever. His younger sibling’s always been one step ahead of them, two, even, himself struggling to keep up. That’s why he’s always had to watch out for them, before… before the Avengers.

“He seems very interested in you,” he chuckles, and when Loki only frowns deeper, he has to explain his ongoing suspicion, “He’s asked me a great many questions about you. I believe he admires you very much. Even more than myself.”

“So he’s a fan,” Loki says - ignoring the last statement of his, of course, but Thor knows she heard it.

“I’d say more than a fan,” he decides to be honest, and Loki’s brows furrow. Thor pats his sibling’s shoulder once more, “He holds, it seems, similar feelings to when I was courting Lady Jane.”

Loki looks like a giant question mark. “I beg your pardon?”

But they’re interrupted, as per usual. The answer Thor wants out doesn’t get out before Mobius steps out of the time portal, and grins at them both. He seems to hold his gaze at his sibling a little bit longer. His demeanor’s calm, as if… recognition. Coming back home.

And Loki stares back at their brother, eyes wide and brows raised, tilting her head, “This is the Mobius who wants to… court me?”

Thor nods. Loki’s mouth turns upwards to a grin, mischief absent from his face. And even if they’ll deny it if Thor mentions it, his younger sibling’s eyes hold a certain warmth when they look back at the stranger. “I see.”

Many great strange things have happened in what seems a short amount of time, but Thor’s put out of work at the TVA, and his sibling’s put to work instead, and Mobius tells him they’ll reset him.

“Don’t worry, big guy, it doesn’t hurt,” he chuckles, adjusting his tie, “Your friend Steve had the same deal. Wouldn’t call it punishment, but it’s subjective. You did good work, ya know.”

Loki’s sat at Mobius’ now abandoned desk, one hand on a stack of case files, her eyes meeting with Thor’s own. They’re used to goodbyes, as you can tell. And emotions aren’t exactly their strongest suit.

But his sibling nods to him. The smile has no hints of sarcasm, so he counts it as a win. As progress.

Thor doesn’t know if he can stop worrying, after all. He’ll always do it, and what if he, another version of himself, tries to go back in time again?

Loki’s the only family he has left. But at the same time, his younger sibling is right.

The sun will shine on us again. In another timeline, another universe, he figures. For now, Thor will have to let go, but they’ll always be connected after all. Thor and Loki couldn't be more different, but somehow the same.

“She’ll be safe here?” he asks, because he has to, “You’re certain?”

Mobius smiles, like he’s heard it a million times before, “I promised you. I keep my promises, Thor.”

Of course. Of course. It’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

“You ready?” his suited friend then asks, and he hesitantly nods.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man nods back, and the device in his hand lights up. The seconds seem excruciatingly long, but he’s got to get back, get moving, even without his younger sibling beside him. It’s a comforting thought, knowing there’s many more of them out there, in other timelines, following each other over and over again, as they’re meant to.

“Thank you, by the way,” Mobius then says, strangely enough, as the beams become stronger and the seconds count down. He winks before holding it out to Thor, a gesture for the reset to be complete, “For bringing them back to me.”

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rwby-necro-au-archive · 3 years

Text

Death does not do you and I part completely.

Summer has a special meeting with someone in particular.

Tick tick tick

The clocks second hand went, ticking by, counting each excruciating second that he sat in that goddamn chair.

How long had he even been sitting here? Hours? Days? Weeks? It felt like he hadn’t left his office.

Could you blame him though? It was only a few months ago that the terrifying head councilman of Vale had him pinned to a wall with an iron grip around his neck, choking out every last little bit of lifesaving air he needed in order to live.

He was too scared to leave the council building. So he stayed in his office, that now seemingly small and empty office, the one with gunmetal grey walls, giant crystal clear windows, and carpet more expensive than the man himself sitting in his equally expensive chair.

Ironwood felt like he was losing his mind. Between the constant childish insults of the anons, his inability to track a location on them, and the fact that there was a chance that the people he saw around Ozpin were those only he could see, he wanted to just close his eyes for a few days.

Sleep doesn’t come for the weary though, and he had work to do. Paperwork. Of course it’s paperwork, as if his eyes weren’t already failing him with the lack of sleep.

He sighed and began his work.

Summer floated gracefully through the building, passing by countless who she couldn’t care less about, she only had 1 person in mind.

The man himself, the man who shot her in cold blood. God, how long had it been? She had been 28 when it happened, Ozpin was only 5 years into his position as councilman.

8 years at least is what it had to have been.

8 years for Summer to finally level herself out to have this conversation.

She knew he didn’t deserve patience, but she also knew that screaming at the man wouldn’t do her any good either.

Finally, after what seemed like a short eternity, she arrived at the door. A silver plate screwed into the door stated “Ironwood” in cursive.

She fazed through the door, looking around the office before seeing the person she was looking for.

And there he was, bags under his eyes, working as always, he didn’t look a day over 25. Unsurprising considering he was revived by her.

She stood and waited silently for him to notice her presence.

Ironwood continued to slave away at the busywork, getting irritated with each passing second at the fact that he had to do this while so torturously tired. He noticed that someone was now in the room with him, but paid them no mind.

“Pursuer. Get out. I am not in mood for whatever you have to say.” He spoke through gritted teeth, irritated at the insistent presence.

Summer tilted her head “I never liked how you spoke to your subordinates. Especially your younger ones.” she spoke in a gentle tone.

Ironwood froze. Rapid fire thoughts shot through his mind all at once, all telling him there’s no way the voice he was hearing was correct.

He slowly looked up, horror splashing across his features once he had done so.

In front of him stood a desaturated, dead looking and glowing version of Summer Rose. Glowing white sclera’s without Iris’s or pupils looked back at him, and an all too familiar white glowing scar graced the center of the woman’s forehead. She wore the same white cloak she had worn before, along with the same black turtleneck and floor length skirt.

Summer laughed gently “What’s wrong general? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Y-you’re supposed to be dead.”

“I am dead. You killed me, don’t you remember that silly?”

Ironwood sat there dumbfounded, fearful, and confused. She was dead, how was she here?

“What do you want with me?!” Ironwood demanded.

“Just to chat. I wanted to see how you’re doing after all this time. I’ve checked in with my family and friends, why wouldn’t I check in with you? Although….” She tapped a desaturated red finger to her chin.

“Although….?” He spoke nervously.

“Although….I’ve seen you around…”

“Y-you have?”

“Yes…..I saw every meeting you had with Ozzy, everytime you visited him and beacon, everytime he met you in Atlas. How sad that he had to put up with your poor treatment for that long. I’m surprised he didn’t snap sooner! Ozzy was never the kind of man to be patient like that.”

Ironwood gulped nervously. He was showing more of his fear than he’d like to, but at this point he didn’t care. “Really….?” Was Said barely about a whisper.

Summer crossed her arms and scolded the man in front of her like a child, “Mhm….and I saw you threaten my daughter. Now that wasn’t very nice, was it?”

“What are you trying to get at?”

Summer simply looked at him, silence the only thing coming from her.

“What are you getting at?!” He demanded.

She continued to stay silent, staring at him.

Ironwood slammed his hands down on the desk and gritted “Why. The hell. Are you here. To taunt me?! Make fun of me like a child?!”

Summer sighed and shook her head, refusing to speak still.

“TALK TO ME GODDAMNIT”

SMASH!

Ceramic echoed through the office as it hit the wall. Being thrown hard by ironwood in the direction of Summer.

“You can’t hurt me anymore. Don’t you know that?” She said quietly.

Ironwood gripped his head in his hands “SHUT UP!”

Summer kept her quiet tone, “I wouldn’t yell so loud. Your subordinates might hear you—“

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT WHAT THEY HEAR.”

“You seem to be the only thing I can rely on, did you know that?”

Ironwood’s gaze shot up to look at the woman, “what?”

“I can rely on you because you never change. You haven’t changed since the day I met you James. Perhaps that isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“The fuck are you talking about?!”

“It’s why Ozpin is happy.”

“Huh?”

“Ozpin is happy because Ozpin knows how to change. He’s a tree that knows how to bend in the wind, a house that’s built to stand the tests and changes of the tide. He knows when change is needed. And although there have been many changes in his life, he appreciates them all.”

Ironwood didn’t have anything to say. He sat in his expensive chair, gripping his head in his hands, staring at the women in awe.

Summer looked sorrowfully at the man in front of her, “you, do not want to change though. A tree that doesn’t bend in the wind is a tree that will snap in half, and if there’s nobody to hear that snap and see it fall, but to only see it’s aftermath, was it ever a tree to begin with?”

“You and Ozpin will be written into history books for years to come. Ozpin will be seen as a man who despite everything being ripped from him as a child, pushed through to see the light in the world and help those less fortunate than himself. He will be seen as a hero. And you, will be seen as a man who got everything he wanted, and yet still took more from those who could never get what he took back. You will be seen as a Villain. A monster.”

Ironwood took his hands off his head and gripped his desk “No. I won’t. Atlas will write me into the history books as a hero. You’re wrong.”

“What good is a title of hero if it only serves to cover the misery that one man has caused? A false hero, is no hero at all. Humanity will always find the truth, it is in our very nature to do so.” Summer spoke.

“You’re wrong. I’ll prove you wrong. Referring back to your tree metaphor, I won’t snap in half.” Ironwood clutched the desk further, gritting his teeth.

“You will. In fact, it’s already started. There are many who will seek to be rid of you.”

“I already know about how the necromancers feel about me.”

“I’m not talking about the necromancers.”

“What?” Ironwood questioned.

Summer gave him a pitiful look and shook her head.

“ANSWER ME.” He screamed as he slammed his hands down on the desk.

Summer continued to stare sorrowfully at the man in front of her. Questioning if this was truly the man she feared so much beforehand.

He slammed his hands down on his desk again, harder, putting a crack in it “FUCKING ANSWER ME.”

She continued to stay quiet, as he continued to scream, eventually throwing things at her. None of which hitting her but rather phasing through her.

Summer turned her back to him before speaking barely above a whisper “you truly never change, James.” Before disappearing.

Ironwood stood there silently, contemplating what happened. Before he could calm down, his door was cracked open slightly.

“Sir, Are you alright?” Violet asked quietly.

“GET. OUT.” He screamed at her, slamming another fist down on his desk, putting a bigger crack in it.

She flinched before quickly closing the door and running down the hall.

Ironwood collapsed back into his expensive chair and put his head into his hands.

He sat there thinking for a while, tired, exhausted, and confused. He couldn’t even fathom what he just experienced.

Soon, he whispered something so quiet, only he, in his office, that now seemingly small and empty office, the one with gunmetal grey walls that were now dented from the objects he’d thrown, the one with crystal clear windows, and carpet more expensive than the man himself was.

“I’m losing my mind.”

#necromancer summer #summer rose #necromancer au ironwood

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readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Dear Penpal,

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Character: Shigaraki Tomura / Tenko Shimura

Prompt: Childhood friends to enemies

A/N: Gearing up! Also, huh what? I’m a multi-fandom blog?! Why, yes indeed! I still am.

Masterlist

“Helloooooo?” Waving a can of coffee in front of your face you are startled out of your reverie by your colleague, straightening yourself in your seat as you realise that you once more have dozed off at work, the happenings and the revelation of the past weekend still clear in your mind’s eye as you try to make sense of it.

“Shigaraki is on the move again,” your colleague says as they nod towards the television running in the breakroom, “was it in your calculations?” comes the next question and you cringe as the familiar ally comes in view, a journalist explaining how the remains of a small-time thief had been found here just this morning.

“No,” you admit honestly, as you forcefully turn yourself around, not needing a refresher course on what Shigaraki’s quirk was exactly. “We all expected him to lie low for a bit after that announcement and then come back big,” you nervously continue as you twirl your thumbs, realising that last night’s events were perhaps outside of Shigaraki’s plans as well.

“It is going to bog the calculations,” you whisper, more to yourself and your colleague just laughs, an uncomfortable chuckle escaping them as the coffee can is put in front of you.

“Relax, okay? You look terrible. Like you saw a ghost or something.”

You scoff at the irony of their words, clearly clueless on your involvement within the case, or what had even happened afterwards.

Tenko, he let me go. Just like that. Why?

Clicking your ballpointer nervously you wonder what to write down more. What would help ease your mind? Feeling a shadow fall hovering over you quickly cover the note you were writing with your hand as you look up at Endeavour.

“Ah, sir, uuh?”

Losing the ability to speak you pale up at the imposing figure of the number two hero who is hovering over you like a villain, his expression stern and displeased as he takes a seat in front of you, his arm resting on the shrinking table of the teacher’s office.

“You saw the news. Shigaraki is on the move which was out of our calculations,” the man says and you sweatdrop at the repetition of the conversation, your head nodding obediently as you don’t dare to express yourself, or even relax around the man. “Have you started up new calculations yet? Gotten through the past files that the helpers gave you?”

Gulping you take in a deep breath as you face the man as bravely as you can, not wanting to seem incompetent or like a doormat. “I will get to it as soon as possible,” you speak without excuses, knowing that if you were to explain the situation it would only grow worse. After all, who fraternised with the villains and even got saved by them, not to mention by their very boss?

Endeavour’s gaze holds you for a few more moments before he finally unleashes a deep sigh, one of which you can swear a small flame escapes from his lips as he averts his eyes from you. “Tomorrow. I want a new analysis tomorrow,” the man declares before he gets up from his seat, clearly done with talking to you as he walks off, leaving you both a little breathless and infuriated.

Between Endeavour and Shigaraki I’m not really sure who is the bigger villain. Tomorrow? What do I look like to him? A computer? I bet this man can’t even calculate what 1+1 is without a calculator!

Venting off your frustrations on the little note addressed to your friend you pause for a fresh breath of air as you let the earlier adrenaline flow out of you. You knew that you were being petty, just as much as Endeavour was being unreasonable with you, but it came with the job. They had warned you for it beforehand, before you moved to Japan and you had taken it anyway for the sake of Tenko.

Hey Tenko, why did you not tell me that you had given up on your dream of becoming a hero?

It was a question you had asked yourself several times, spurning several theories on what might have happened, speculations, assumptions, even probability calculations. None of them made sense, however and in the end you were still left unsatisfied and guilty of an answer.

The address in which he lived before was gone, the man himself was untraceable, there were no records remaining. Slowly you were starting to expect the worst, something that you rather not think about. But it was a possibility that you may have to address sooner than you wanted.

Not wanting to give up so soon you turn on the laptop given to you by Endeavour’s company, logging in on the secured network provided as you take in a deep breath. With another click you find yourself in the secured files that are part of the investigation along with the VPN access to the databases that you will need to be able to work and collaborate.

You knew that they were able to trace your activity and what files and databases you were accessing. You also knew that the chances of them picking you out specifically for a routine checkup was small and according to probability you figured that you were fine if you kept it to this one time. Especially if you kept your search short and innocuous.

Releasing another breath you typed in the old address you had memorised since childhood, your heart racing as you started to pull up the files of the police investigation involving the family…

Shimura. The name stood stark against the rest of the words, the tragedy barely registering as you couldn’t really make out what the story was, your mind running a mile as you felt your mouth go dry. The whole family gone, presumed burglary, but nothing was stolen. No survivors. The story made little sense, but it was a small case that seemed to have been shut just like that. Without any attention to spare and your best friend gone.

Gulping you feel your eyes burn as you wonder why your friend had to be so unfortunate, a bile of bitterness and blame rising up as you tried not to let your mind wander off too far, not wanting to get into this ugly pattern of blaming all and everyone and shifting responsibility.

Had the family that moved into the newly built house afterwards received your letters? What was their reaction, or had they not cared about some random kid abroad?

Looking at the date of the events you knew that it all lined up perfectly. That Tenko had perhaps died that very day. That he had faced some terrible tragedy in the last moments of his life. What was the probability of such a tragedy striking? You knew that with heroes like All Might around that the probability had diminished, but All Might had been in America back in those days.

Somewhere you clicked through to the next report in the file, gulping audibly as you realised that it was a detailed report on the damages as your eyes went down the detailed description the coroners had made and signed.

‘Turned into dust, absolutely obliterated. As if a raging fire ran past, but there are no traces of gas exploding or actual fire.’

Blinking you felt that the description of the destruction was rather familiar, your breath quickening once more as you think back of that night in the alley, when Shigaraki had saved you.

Tenko, I will avenge you. I promise. I will solve your cold case and tell your story. I will give you a voice like you always wanted to give everyone else a voice and a face. I will catch Shigaraki.

#shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #bnha shigaraki #mha shigaraki #tenko shimura #tenko x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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skyholders · 4 years

Text

Lucien: Curtain of Rain [Translation]

[A/N] This is my first time translating a full date, so pardon me if it's gone OOC, I will try my best the next time I do these date translations again. (Which will be a while because well, it's kinda tiring haha.) Also, if any grammatic mistakes are found, please notify me! Thank you for reading :)

A shout-out to @cheri-translates for the few tips she'd given me along the way! If you'd like to see Victor, Gavin, Kiro or Shaw's season two ER dates, visit their blog!

[BEFORE WE BEGIN] This date is based in season two, two years before MC's father died (Meaning MC is 20, and Lucien is 24 in this date.) If you don't know what happens in season two, please do some research here:

•

Lucien: “Curtain of Rain”

Accidental Date

Date summary: After accidentally hearing the news of Lucien’s return to China, I decided to sneak into the newly built research centre, but to my surprise, I’ve encountered Lucien there once more..

•

The moment I pulled the curtains open, the sun unabashedly seeped into my bedroom, and onto the picture on the table. I softly removed the thin layer of dust on the frame, and carefully adjusted it.

“..Seriously, he’ll only promise that he’ll take care of himself with that mouth of his..”

I couldn’t help but sigh. Pulling up my sleeves, I tidied up the fallen, scrambled books and folders on my father’s study desk.

The world silently goes forward, and I follow its trace, welcoming every familiar yet foreign day. Like how it was in the past, I’ve successfully been accepted into XinYi University. I’ve temporarily moved out of Loveland, and moved away from my father.

But then, in a blink of an eye came/comes the year I look forward to the least.

Using homesickness as my excuse, I’ve started visiting my father more often, and at the same time, I’ve also started to pick up all sorts of tasks and responsibilities from the company.

“Don’t know if he’ll be able to leave work early either, I guess I’ll ask him what he wants to eat.”

I dialed his number as I said my thoughts aloud, but his ringtone rang from under my feet. Bending down to pick up his phone on the floor, an unknown contact number's text appeared without warning-

“There are news of Ares' return to the country. The research centre's constructions were completed yesterday. I’ve sent someone to monitor him.”

=MC's shocked to see the message=

The familiar name claimed my entire field of vision. And for a moment, my mind went blank, as I stared at the name over and over again, as if looking for a confirmation of what I’ve just seen.

=Door opening=

“MC?”

“..Dad, are you looking for this? I was just cleaning the study, and found it on the floor.”

I said as I casually waved the phone in my hand, trying my best to calm down, and pretended that I’ve saw nothing.

A wave of complexity flashed across his eyes, but then, it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He smiled and took the phone, gently rubbing my head,

“What a joy it is to have a daughter around.”

“Of course. Oh, dad, what would you like for dinner?”

“Hm.. tomato and eggs stir fry again?”

“I know other recipes too! You’re underestimating me!”

=Dad laughed=

“I think that everything you make tastes nice.”

I proudly nodded, and just like that, we’re walking down the staircase together, chatting and laughing along.

“-Then you’ll have to leave work on time today, alright?”

“Okay.”

=Dad headed off to work=

Watching my dad’s fading silhouette, I turned around and walked on along the opposite direction.

Two years ago, before the sudden, dramatic shift with BS, I’ve never once went up to my father and ask of BS; haven’t been to any facilities related to it. Since what’s happened in the orphanage, any topics relevant to BS are as if known secrets kept between my father and I. Even with the knowledge that Lucien was Ares, I’ve never had any encounters with him, nor have I any reasons for an encounter.

And two years ago, the sudden shift has caused BS to have an internal change of members, and because of that, Lucien left BS. The organisation’s always been interested in his whereabouts, so the “monitoring” didn’t surprise me one bit.

It’s just that..

=MC breathes in deeply, thinking back to the text message=

He’s coming back, huh?

I’ve only realise where I’ve unconsciously been heading after I’ve taken my mind off of the gutter of thoughts-

Lucien's Bioscience Research Centre

[Section One]

A few separation tapes were draped and hung onto the door frame, a handful of construction workers were still adjusting the main entrance's signboard's angle. Just like how the text’s mentioned, the building itself looks to be complete.

I’ve seen how it looked like, flooded with people going in and out of the entrance. I’ve seen how it looked like at dawn, and at night. And yet, that was the first time I’ve seen it brand new, and quiet. I took a step forward, but then the “warning” slipped into my mind unknowingly, and so I stopped for a moment.

“Your unconscious actions may perhaps lead to irreversible outcomes.”

=MC mumbled to herself:

"I think it’ll be fine if I’m only going in for a peek; I’ll be heading out very quickly anyways."

I quickly snuck through the opened door when no one’s looking. The lab was burdened with the pungent smell of formaldehyde, I couldn’t help but try and wave it away.

Perhaps it’s because nobody else’s there, my footsteps quickened, and my feet easily walked along the all too familiar path to Lucien’s office.

His office was deprived of any sort of greenery, nor was there any liveliness-only the sunlight shining through the blinds, forming intriguing shadows all over. I could almost see him taking notes off of a folder, turning to the blackboard to note down anything more; sitting by the desk and sipping on a cup of coffee from time to time, and pushing the frame of his glasses; then, by the next second, his gaze shifting away from the papers, and onto me, with the corners of his lips curving up to an attractive look. These scenes revived themselves right in front of me, as if it’s always been there; as if it’s never left.

"Lucien.."

“I miss you so much.”

My eyes suddenly felt teary. I quickly breathed in and turned around, opening the door as I left the office. The empty space of the corridor echoed the sound of my footsteps. Upon passing by the laboratory, I couldn’t help but think of the first time I met Lucien here.

“Ah, it was here, I think,”

“If everything goes according to how it’s supposed to go, then I’ll have to wait for two more years to meet you once more.”

I sighed, looking at the closed doors in front of me, rewinding back to when I judged his character based off of his looks, the awkward scene I’ve dug myself into then.

“Can’t be as foolish this time, the least I could’ve done was to be friendly..”

“But what am I supposed to say to him? Introduce myself? No, I think he knows who I am..”

As I was mumbling to myself, there’s the sudden sound of footsteps echoing from the floor below, then, the beam of light from a torch.

Oh no!

Without room to think, I quickly pushed open the doors to the laboratory, and at the same time, I felt a pull of the door from the inside.

=MC was confused=

My head bumped into the solid chest in front of me, my eyes closing due to the pain. But a sudden realisation dawned onto me and I quickly looked up.. My eyes widened, and my hands tremored slightly.

Lucien looked at me, a wave of surprise flashing through his eyes. But he quickly kept his composure, and smiled at me politely. His scent had spread to each and every corner of the room, familiar and nostalgic. Everything that’s been prepared so far immediately disassembled upon that unexpected moment; the pair of once diverged lines finally merging into one after countless moments of time.

My heartbeat raced towards my ears, leaving its vibrations as if a drum upon impact. I felt as if something had fallen into place in this moment.

Then, realising that would probably not leave a good first impression, I rushed to stand up on my own, grinning apologetically. Lucien didn’t mutter a word, instead, he observed me with an almost unnoticeable smile.

With too much of emotions urging to flood and drown my heart, I opened my mouth, and words slipped-

“Hello, I’m looking for Professor Lucien.”

He smiled a little wider.

“Is there a reason as to why you’re looking for him?”

[Section Two]

“I..”

Lucien looked at me wordlessly, calm and composed. Then suddenly, his lips morphed into a frown, as he reached out to my lips with his finger.

“Shh, someone’s here,”

He said as he inched closer, his breaths landing upon the tips of my ears. It felt a little ticklish.

“I believe you’d not like to be noticed?”

“If that’s so, I’ll have to inconvenience you for a moment. Is that alright?”

My heart skipped a couple of beats as I nodded. Lucien smiled, seemingly happy, and backed a couple of steps away. He opened the cover of the laboratory bench, revealing a small storage space.

“You’re not telling me to hide in there, are you?”

“Not if you have a better idea.”

“But unfortunately, you don’t have much time for thinking,”

Lucien tilted his chin towards the door, pointing out the increasingly close pace of the footsteps.

I bit my lips before heading in. The space was never bright to begin with, but with the sound of its door shutting, I sank further into the darkness.

A second later, an eye-piercing beam of light broke into a small opening, followed by a voice of a stranger.

“Oi, who are you? How did you get in here?”

“I’m Lucien. There weren’t any security guards on shift when I arrived today, so I came in myself. Pardon me for making you worry.”

“Wait, what’s your name again? Lucien? The Lucien of this Lucien Bioscience Research Centre?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The man repeated Lucien’s words with exaggeration, chuckling unconvincingly,

“Buddy, lying requires a plan. Professor Lucien hasn’t even came back to China yet, which Lucien are you?”

“Seems like the message hasn’t reached you just yet.”

=Lucien took out his ID card=

“This is my identification information, I believe there won’t be anymore misunderstandings?”

Lucien looked unbothered by the misunderstanding, but his tone seemed so distant. What’s supposed to be a simple explanation felt more like a method of unconsciously pushing people a thousand miles away from him.

There’s the sound of the final bits of construction outside. Then, the man spoke, rather conflicted,

“My, I can’t believe you’re really Professor Lucien! Please excuse my impolite(ness) then. I never thought that you’re this young,”

The guard chuckled to himself.

“It’s alright.”

“There are still certain things I’ll have to check on, so if there isn’t anything else..”

“Oh, please, carry on. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

The door closed, and silence filled the room once more. The cover above me lifted open, Lucien reached his hand towards me.

I couldn’t see him well as he’s facing back against the lights, but his hair's moving gently as he moved,

“Sorry for the wait.”

“..It’s nothing.”

I held his hand and got myself out of the laboratory bench, as soon as I’ve balanced myself, the warmth of his palm left mine.

My heart instinctively sank with a moment of disappointment.

“You haven’t told me the reason you’re looking for me.”

I stared at him like bewildered, thinking of an excuse while my mind remained blank.

“There’s no need to force yourself if you’ve not like to tell me.”

“No-hold on! It’s not that I’d not like to say it.. It’s just that I can’t say it.. just yet.”

“I can’t give you a reason at the moment. Can I tell you next time?”

Lucien looked at me curiously, his pupils shifting just for a second or so,

“Of course.”

“Actually, I’m just surprised to see you here. At this time, too.”

“Are you trying to say that.. you’re not supposed to meet me now?”

“No! Not that!”

Lucien smiled softly,

“Sorry, I was just joking.”

“But in my opinion, this may not be an accidental encounter.”

His eyes held a foreign weight with them, letting others feel that they can’t reach him. His words had a feeling of nostalgia to them, and yet I still couldn’t understand a word he’s trying to say.

“Still, I am very curious as to why you’ll intentionally come and look for me here.”

“Though one thing I can say for certain.. this time, you didn’t get lost on the way here either, did you?”

“Lost..?”

I froze, before a realisation suddenly came onto me,

The young boy sitting under the camphor tree, along with all of his relating memories, they seemed to have leapt over the rivers of time, and have merged into the Lucien in front of me.

I look at Lucien’s eyes, filled with a certain joy in them. At that moment, I couldn’t tell what I was truly feeling.

“You.. remember me?”

“Did that surprise you?”

I nodded.

“It seems like every time we meet one another, there’ll always seem to be something unexpected happening with every encounter. It’s quite intriguing.”

He lifted his hand, pausing for a second or so before placing it on my head gently.

“Actually, I’ve already recognised you the moment you bumped into me.”

“Because.. you’re very special in my eyes.”

“It’s been a while, MC.”

“I..”

I stopped myself from saying anything else, fearing that I might change certain things in the future from just a single sentence.

But there he was, standing in right in front of me, his hands a reach away from mine. If our first encounter is bound to be two years earlier than the one we had, then I couldn’t just stand still and do nothing about it.

At least this time, I can be by his side a little earlier, I can learn to observe and learn of the world around us, with him.

“Lucien, there is an actual reason why I’m here to see you.”

“I’d like to invite you to be a special guest in my company’s show, “Miracle Finder.”

“Yes, I do know of this show, but why did you choose me as the special guest?”

“Because, next time, I’ll be the lead producer of this filming company, and I’ll be responsible for this show. And I’d like to work with you. So I wonder if you’ll accept this request of mine, Professor Lucien?”

“I accept.”

“This sounds like an early invitation, but it’s the most unique one that I’ve received nonetheless. For that, I’m looking forward to it. Best of luck, MC.”

Lucien smiled, his eyes curving up as he does so.

[Section Three]

For a moment or so, neither of us talked. Instead, we basked in the silence of the room, the mild smell of sawdust stinging into our noses. I rubbed my nose and sneezed. Lucien noticed, and so he walked towards the windows, pushing them open.

The winds blew gently, and the air around us lightened up drastically.

“It’s getting late, let’s go.”

He walked towards the doors, holding them open and faced me. I nodded, and walked towards him. I followed Lucien down the empty corridors. The sun shone upon the side of his face, to the corners of his coat, moving along as he did.

I couldn’t help but to sneak glances at him, studying and memorising each fleeting second of this accidental encounter.

=Lucien notices=

“Is everything alright? You seem to have stared at me for quite a few times.”

He suddenly stopped, and looked at me, intrigued.

Without time to look away, I could only continue to look towards him. The remaining light has now landed upon the office on his side, and suddenly, an idea sunk into me.

“Because you’ve walked past your office!”

I said as I skipped a few steps, pushing the door to his office and pointing towards the little signboard on the door. Lucien looked a little shocked, as if he didn’t expect me to do something like that.

“I’m guessing you haven’t looked into your office yet?”

“Since we’re here, do you want to go in and take a look?”

I tugged at one of the sleeves of his coat, and we walked into the office. I rushed towards the windows just to pull the blinds open, letting the sunlight pour in.

“Look, isn’t it much brighter now? This room has the best lighting at around the afternoon, so we must open the blinds so that.. uh-”

Suddenly realising what I’ve just said, I quickly switched to another topic.

“Hm? What happens if we open the blinds?”

Lucien seemed to not mind about my “rambling”. Instead, he smiled and raised an eyebrow curiously.

“What I meant was that.. it’ll let the greeneries in this room photosynthesise much better.. If.. you’re planning on placing a few plants here, that is.”

“Plants, huh?”

He lifted his hand towards his chin, pondering deeply for a few seconds.

“I’ll consider it. This place does require a bit of decorations, after all. Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Though, it seems like this room is currently not suitable for the guests.”

“If that’s so, I’ll definitely visit the day this research centre opens.”

Without waiting for his response, I accompanied him towards the door.

“Are we going?”

Lucien's face was blocked by the light, which was shining onto his back.

All a sudden, a flash of white light darted across the sky, and what was once a sunny day soon became dull and gloomy.

When we’re near the staircase's exit, we’ve already lost any source of light from the outside, and are surrounded by complete darkness. There was the sound of hurried, messy footsteps on the other side of the corridor.

“Why- why’s there another person coming over?”

I looked at Lucien nervously, but was not able to decipher his expressions in the darkness. He seemed to have walked closer to me, and calmly said,

“Looks like the electricity has been cut off due to the abnormal change in weather conditions. If I remember correctly, there circuits here are still not able support normal usage.”

“Then we’ll have to walk in the dark, just in case we bump into one of the guards.”

“Can we do it?”

“I think so! It’s not as dark anyways.”

I looked around at the sea of darkness among us, and slightly grabbed onto the corners of my shirt.

Lucien took a step down the staircase, and reached out his hand.

“If you don’t mind, I can guide you.”

“..Okay.”

As the warmth of his hands reached mind, I felt a certain otherworldly longing from him.

I fidgeted the joints of my fingers around, wanting to hold him tighter, and yet waves of complicated doubts sprouted in my mind, and I unconsciously loosened my grip.

“Are you afraid?”

“Ah? Me? No..”

“If you’re scared, you can hold onto me a little tighter. I won’t mind.”

In the darkness, I could’ve sworn I’ve heard the light chuckle from Lucien, so light that is was as if non existent. Wanting to test my observations, I purposefully slowed down my pace, carelessly tightening my grip on his hand.

In that moment, I was greedily hoping that time will go a little slower, and slower than that.

“Lucien,”

“Yes?”

“It’s nothing. I was just confirming whether you’re here with me.”

“...”

Lucien's body seemed to have halted for a while, he didn’t said a thing, only holding my hand and walking forward. My heart stung, but at the same time, it all felt calm and steady.

“Lucien, thanks for today. I can only thank you with my words for now, I still owe you some other forms of gratitude. I’ll give it to you the next time we meet.”

“You seem to love saying ‘Next time’.”

“Do I?”

“Looks like I’ve noticed an unconscious habit of yours.”

“See you next time, Miss. MC”

He leaned down slightly, gazing into my eyes, grinning playfully. He’d intentionally emphasised on those two words, as if he was teasing and replicating my tone of speech. I felt my cheeks warming up.

We’ve quickly reached the entrance. I slowly loosened my hold on Lucien’s hand, and looked at him,

“I’ll see you next time.”

Watching as his silhouette slowly fade into the darkness of the streets, I finally turned and left as well.

When she’d finally disappeared from his vision, his world’s only left with black and white.

=Lucien=

Feeling the gaze behind him leaving, Lucien stopped, and looked back. The path the girl had taken was temporarily brushed with striking colours, disappearing quickly as she’d left.

The sky had seemingly sunken in, the dark patches of clouds swallowing the skyscrapers of the city, making everyone feel a little breathless. Lucien walked a few streets away, stopping by a florist shop.

The car finally stopped at the suburban area of Loveland city, the metal gates of the cemetery rusted, the words on the metal sign barely visible after years of withstanding the snow, wind and rain.

It was already close to evening, so most of the cemetery’s workers have already left their shifts. There were only a few wistful silhouettes, masking in the painful silence of the deads’ graves.

The ones alive and walking in these places are often either silent or weeping loudly along the paths.

Thin splatters of rain began to fall, along the tips of his hair to the top of his shoulders. Everything was gentle, soft, as if it may disrupt something if it was just a little louder.

Lucien walked along the gravel underneath him, finally stopping in front of a gravestone.

Lucien looked at the two familiar names and years of birth and death along the gravestone, a wave of melancholy and longing rushing into his heart. He paused, before saying,

“I’m back.”

“I haven’t once visited in the past fifteen years.. I hope you don’t mind.”

He walked a few steps forward, bowed down, and placed the white bouquet in front of the grave gently.

With eyes flooded with countless of complex emotions, he reached out to rub away the layer of dirt and dust on the grave slowly.

“I think I might be able to find what I’ve been looking for soon.”

“Perhaps, it’s going even smoother than I’ve imagined,”

Lucien said lightly, his low, raspy voice washed away by the rain. His pupils dilated slightly, as if he’d thought of something.

“Never in my wildest dreams, did I think that I’d meet her again.”

“The special girl..”

Maybe he’d never once thought of the source of this peculiar feeling in his heart thoroughly. It’s the sudden bursts of colours into his world years ago under that camphor tree, it’s how he thought that he’d never see the colours once more, yet it’d reappeared into it, even if he’s already so used to the habitual, monochromatic world.

He reached into the pocket of his coat, reaching to take out a little peace knot from the inside.

Time has made the girl’s once bright red string faded a bit, yet in Lucien’s eyes, it looked exactly as it was years ago.

All these years, and he’s still keeping the important blessing close to him.

The corner of Lucien's lips lifted up briefly, but the smile soon disappeared.

A long while later, he finally stood up, silently wiping away the raindrops on his body.

“Don’t worry about me.”

His warm, gentle tone swiftly swept by the rain, he turned and walked into the curtain of rain.

[END]

•

[NOTE] Nineteen white chrysanthemums and two white lilies (Lucien's bouquet), symbolises a deep longing and missing for somebody in Chinese.

Thanks for reading! Stay safe :)

#mlqc #mr love queens choice #mr love #mlqc lucien #mlqc spoilers #mlqc dates #mlqc xumo #love and producer xumo #恋与制作人

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ieattaperecorders · 3 years

Text

Notes on Causality - Chapter 2: Georgie and Elias

An addendum to Something's Different About You Lately. Small scenes of Jon attempting to change the future that I didn't want to put in the larger fanfic.

The events of this chapter take place around the end of Chapter 8, Stranger.

(Incidentally, the main fic will be updated very soon. I'm mainly just holding off till the finale drops, in case whatever happens makes me want to tweak anything mood-wise in what I have planned.)

Read on Ao3

- - -

One ring. Another. Then another. Maybe she wouldn't pick up, Jon thought, drumming his fingers on the desk. Maybe it would go to voicemail . . . he could hang up, try again later. Take a little time to mentally rehearse what he would say.

A click, and her voice asked, "hello?"

"Georgie . . . it's Jon Sims, from Oxford?"

"Jon? Hey, been a while! How've you been?"

"Ah – good? I've been good," he lied. "Yourself?"

"Oh, not bad. Got a new roommate since you last saw me . . . he lays around the apartment all day and won't share the rent, but he's cute so I let it slide."

"Good to hear that your landlord is cat-friendly."

"You should hear him, he has the loudest little meow. Hang on, I'll if he'll say hello . . . ."

For a moment and he heard some vague coaxing noises, distant as if she was holding her phone away from herself. They were followed by a close-up, disinterested sniff, then Georgie's voice returned.

"Ah, never mind. Not in the mood, I guess."

"I've heard the Admiral's color commentary before," he smiled. "He's in all your mailbag episodes."

"Didn't know you were a listener."

"Well, I need something for the commute . . . it might as well be the UK's most onomatopoeic source of paranormal research."

"Ha. Knew you'd hate the sound effects."

"I don't hate them. Anyway, they're . . . distinctive," he leaned back in his office chair, the nerves he'd built up slowly dissipating as they fell into the rhythm of conversation. "They're very you."

"Classic Barker." There was movement in the background, and a few soft thuds. Likely the Admiral jumping to the floor. "Well from what I hear, we're in the same field. Aren't you working for the Magnus Institute now? You must hear plenty of ghost stories there."

"That's actually sort of why I called. I think we might have a mutual colleague . . . Melanie King?"

"Yeah, she's the one who told me you were there," she said knowingly. "Sounded like you left a hell of an impression on her."

". . . Not a good one, I imagine."

Georgie made a non-committal sound, being decent enough not to rub it in by overtly agreeing with him.

"I was trying to be helpful, but I think I just came off as dismissive. Ended up arguing with her over nothing," he sighed. ". . . Classic Sims."

"Accept no substitutes," Georgie said fondly. "So, what's the call about? If you want me to try smoothing things over with her –"

"It isn't that. Did she tell you about her experience?"

"Not really. Asked a lot about Sarah – she's a sound tech I recommended to her? Got the impression she'd been unreliable. She was nice about it, Melanie that is, but really evasive. I just assumed she's caught onto something interesting and wants to be the first to report on it. The risks of being friends with competition, I suppose."

"Ah. . . ."

"Not that she has anything to worry about. Climbing fences and squatting in abandoned churches is her thing. I'm all about doing research from my computer desk with a cup of tea, personally," she paused, and he heard a distant clink of ceramic. "Hey, are we even allowed to talk about this? Isn't there some sort of confidentially thing?"

"As it turns out, privacy isn't really something this place values," he muttered, "I don't suppose she's talked to you recently?"

"No . . . not for a couple of months."

"I'm concerned. Her experience left a powerful impact on her. Now she's chasing after anything that might bring her closer to what she encountered, and I'm afraid she doesn't care about the cost. She's going into some dangerous territory. And, well . . . it's not my place to judge her emotional state. But I am worried."

"Yeah . . . I saw the memes," he heard a frown enter Georgie's voice.

"I've tried to talk to her about it, a bit. But she and I always seem to push each other's buttons somehow. I'd be grateful if you looked in on her. I think that she could use a friend right now, and –" he smirked. "I happen to know you're good with obsessive types too stubborn for their own well-being."

"Ha. You trying to set me up or something?"

"Wh–" he started, taken aback. "I mean, well, that's really your business, not mine."

". . . Wait. I was joking, but are you really?" There was utter incredulity in her voice. "Jonathan Sims, did you call me out of the blue to set me up with someone I knew before you did?"

"Of – Georgie I don't even know if you're single, don't be ridiculous," he sputtered, feeling blood rise to his face. She laughed, and the uncomfortable heat spread.

"Okay, okay," she said. "I'm just giving you a hard time."

"I just . . . " he spoke slowly, trying to be precise. "I think that Melanie needs someone else around her right now. Someone grounding. If you're not looking to take that on, I understand, of course. But for whatever it might be worth, I would be grateful if you checked in."

"I'll give her a ring," something in Georgie's voice was familiar, and profoundly comforting. "See if she wants to get coffee and talk spooky-shop."

"I think that might do her a world of good," he said with relief

"Also? We should get coffee sometime too, catch up! I want to hear all the creepy stories you're apparently so free to talk about."

"Really, it's mostly drug experiences and conspiracy theories . . . ."

"Even better, I'll get to hear you complain. Then I'll be entitled gripe to you about all the weird emails I get. It'll be perfect."

Jon wanted to say yes. He really, really did. The thought of sitting down for a few hours with Georgie and talking about nothing particularly dire was a nice one. But he could only bring trouble to her door.

"I'd . . . like that," he said, "But I don't have much time to myself right now . . . maybe after everything calms down."

". . . Sure," she sounded a little disappointed. Georgie could always tell when he was brushing her off. "Some other time. Hope you can get some rest, then."

"I'll do my best."

"And thanks for the heads-up about Melanie. Really," the smile in her voice was back. "Don't be a stranger, huh?"

"Right," he smiled back, hoping she could hear it. "Ah. Goodbye, then."

"Bye."

He stared at the screen of his phone, not sure what to name the feeling in his chest. In his mind's eye, he saw her form vanishing down a long white corridor, and he knew she would have made this choice herself, eventually. He was just respecting that. Speeding things along.

"Trying to set her up . . . honestly," he muttered.

What he'd said about Melanie needing someone to talk to had been true. He was hoping Georgie's influence could nudge her away from the path she was on, one that had its natural end in blood and pain and the drumming of war. It was hardly his fault if he knew that particular matchmaking arrangement had already worked out once.

The call had barely ended for a minute before his phone vibrated with an email notification. He opened it, frowning when he saw who it was from.

Jon,

See me in my office at your earliest convenience.

Also, in the future please remember not to make personal calls during work hours.

- Elias

It was the most direct contact he'd had with Elias in months. Aside from a few institute-wide emails, there had been nothing since their conversation about the recordings. Jon hadn't even run into him in the hall. At least on the surface, he'd stuck to his promise to involve himself less directly. Not that Jon imagined Elias was truly keeping his distance, but he had begun to get comfortable with not having to see or talk to him. He dreaded the idea of going up there and actually breaking the silence.

That comment about personal calls irked him, too. He was taunting him. Going right up to the edge of admitting he'd been watching while giving himself just a little deniability.

He could ignore it, of course. Why should he do anything Elias asked him to, however small? Why should he make any part of his life easier? But that wasn't a smart attitude, he knew. Elias was keeping his distance for now, but if he saw Jon as too troublesome things would escalate. It would be foolish to bring that moment any closer by antagonizing him over nothing.

Jon still remembered the comment he'd made when they last spoke – I'm sure one of your assistants would be up to the task. If it came down to it, Elias knew exactly whose throats to hold the knife against.

With a distinct lack of pleasure, he climbed the stairs out of the archive.

Despite his mood he smiled at Rosie, tried to seem friendly as he greeted her. The words insecure and aggressive had a tendency to turn over in his mind when he saw her lately. He was earnestly hoping to be easier to talk to, but fairly sure he just came off as awkward. At least she was friendly with him. But then, she'd always been.

She said he was expected and should go right inside.

Elias was at his desk, writing on something hidden inside a folder. He glanced up and nodded as he entered.

"Ah, Jon. Sit down, I'll just be a moment."

As he took a seat and waited, Jon couldn't quite banish the idea that the folder was just a prop. A way to make whoever he'd called in wait, to make it absolutely clear how much more valuable his time was than theirs. Or perhaps to give them time to stew, to sit in anxiety and worry. Then again, maybe Elias really did have paperwork that needed doing, and the fact that it was absolutely, positively maddening to sit there in silence and watch him was only a bonus to it all. Eventually, he finished.

"It's been a while since we've checked in, hasn't it?" he paused just long enough for Jon to wonder if he was supposed to respond, then continued. "I'd like to hear your version of how the last few months have gone. What sort of progress you feel you've made, etcetera."

Oh, God. Was he actually expecting Jon to keep up the pretense of doing actual archival work? He hadn't been prepared for that at all, and felt preemptively exhausted at the thought of coming up with some nonsense progress report.

"Well. . . as you know, Gertrude left the archives in a state of serious disorganization, so progress has been hindered by that," he tried to remember what projects he'd put the others on to keep them all going with a token show of work. "I've set aside a section for discredited statements, which has been steadily growing. I imagine . . . it will make things more efficient for researchers in the future? And, uh . . . ."

"Let me stop you there," Elias said, holding up a hand.

Please do, Jon thought, relieved he wouldn't be subjecting them both to several minutes of this. Elias leaned forward and looked at him seriously.

"Have I done something to offend you, Jon?"

The question took him by surprise, to the point where he had to bite back a sarcastic laugh. What hadn't he done? "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Really. Because it seems to me that I've be extremely generous to you," that familiar tone of disapproval, of bland impatience. "I've given you a unique opportunity, allowed you free reign in setting your own priorities, and you still seem determined to resent me."

Fleetingly, Jon wondered if the elaborately decorated letter opener on the desk between them was sturdy enough to sink into Elias's chest without snapping. Not worth it, either way. Not with what it would cost.

"I . . . apologize if I've created that impression," he said evenly. "I've been told that I can be standoffish in my manner."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Elias smirked. "Though ‘standoffish' is a great deal more polite than the words people actually favor. Isn't it?"

Jon tried not to look away, tried and failed to meet Elias's eyes. Perhaps his inability to maintain eye contact with a conduit of the Beholding spoke well for his remaining humanity, but it still twisted in him. Made him feel weak.

"Are we done here?" he asked, voice tight.

Elias sighed, as if all of this was such a burden to him, as if he wasn't basking in the anxiety that Jon knew must be radiating off of him like heat.

"What was it you said to Martin . . . about discarding the facade once it stopped being useful?" That startled Jon enough to look back, to see the condescending smile on Elias's face as he continued. "Maybe you ought to do the same."

He stared, suddenly voiceless, heart pounding. This was it . . . should he be relieved or terrified?

"I've been where you are now, Jon." Elias continued. His voice was stern, with only the barest concession to false sympathy. "Trapped in a world that no longer makes sense, surrounded by malevolent forces, seeing enemies everywhere. And I can tell you that the only way to survive in this world is to recognize what resources you have."

". . . Resources."

"Yes, if you could just get past this irrational distrust you seem to have of me. I can't hold your hand through everything. But if you have questions . . . I might be able to give you some answers."

Answers? That would make a change from before, Jon thought bitterly. The Elias he remembered used misdirection, contempt and sometimes flat refusal to avoid giving Jon any information he could hope to use. Unfortunately there was only one question Jon really had for him anymore, and it was one he couldn't ask: how much do you know?

. . . Did Elias have that same question for him? It would explain why he was directly inviting him to ask about his situation.

Jon paused. He had to be smart about this. If Elias had sat him down like this before, he'd have wanted to know everything. If he didn't seem curious, it might point to how much he already knew, and that would be disastrous. But he also couldn't look too naive . . . he'd made his suspicion clear, already warned the others, he couldn't pretend to know nothing about the Institute's nature.

He tried to think back to when he was only just getting a sense of the way things truly were. What would he have most wanted to understand then?

". . . What happens to me," he asked quietly. "When I read statements? The real ones. You know what I mean. I can feel something happening, I know it's not just reading."

"The answer to that is rather complicated . . . ."

"Are you going to give it to me?"

"It would help if I understood what you already knew. How much did Gertrude tell you about the nature of this place? The Institute?"

"Enough to know I can't trust it," he glared across the desk. "And maybe the reason I don't trust you is because you're constantly peering over my shoulder."

"You must have some sense by now of the dangers the Institute attracts," Elias raised his eyebrows. "Can you really blame me for wanting to keep tabs on everything?"

"Because you ‘keeping tabs' was so helpful when I was pulled into those hallways for weeks."

"You opened the door of your own free will. I do what I can but I can hardly be expected to protect you from yourself."

"You're the reason I'm here in the first place! You've been--"

Jon cut himself off, he could feel himself beginning to shout, losing control of himself and it was stupid, so stupid. What was the point in arguing with him? Jonah Magnus knew exactly what he was doing, he wasn't going to be shamed about it.

"It doesn't matter," he said, trying to gather himself back to a neutral tone. "Can't change the past."

". . . For what it's worth, Jon, I do sympathize," Elias said, folding his hands. "Someone has to be the Archivist. You were just the best option available."

Why had he thought he could play along with this? As if he'd really be able to sit there, feign ignorance and draw information out of a man who'd been doing that exact thing to others for centuries. He wasn't going to beat him at his own game . . . far more likely he'd let something slip out of anger that would get somebody killed.

He pushed his chair back and stood, turning towards the door.

"I'll find my own answers," he said.

* * *

The door slammed shut, loud enough to echo. Jonah supposed he was going to have to get used to outbursts like these.

"I expect that you will," he muttered to the closed door.

Blind spots. He didn't like blind spots. Sometimes they were unavoidable, but having one so near to him was profoundly irritating. It was like knowing he'd forgotten something important, but being unable to dredge up any details.

He could watch Jon as easily as anyone else. Though there were moments his gaze would unfocus, and he suspected Gertrude might have taught him a few of her tricks, overall it wasn't hard to keep an eye on him. But lately, that was all he could do. No matter how he tried, he couldn't Know anything deeper than what appeared on the surface. He might as well have been following the Archivist around with a camera crew rather than channeling the overwhelming power of an Eternal and Unblinking Gaze From Which No Secrets Can Be Kept, for all the good it was doing him.

It was as if the knowledge was all there, but had been shifted somehow. Nudged just outside his field of vision.

A part of him was tempted to start over with another Archivist, one he could See more clearly. But the Web mark was hard to find, and he couldn't even be sure this anomaly was unique to Jon – that it would go away with his death instead of attaching itself to his successor. Despite its frustrating obscurity, something about it that felt like an aspect of the Beholding, though he couldn't say why.

So he'd tolerate the blind spot for now. At least Jon was easy enough to read without the Eye's assistance – the man wore his heart on his sleeve, was helpless in that way. Jonah liked that about him.

What he needed was encouragement. Something to get him out of his comfort zone – four marks was progress, but not fast enough, not with the Unknowing looming closer every day. Jonah wrote a quick note on a post-it and stuck it to the folder in front of him, then pressed a button on his intercom.

"Rosie?" he said, "I need you to run something down to the archive for me. Just drop it on Tim's desk, he'll know what it's for."

#tma fanfic #tma time travel au #sdayl

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archadianskies · 3 years

Text

Perseverance

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs Tuesday Day 2: Sleep + Day & Night; Captain Allen/RK900 Space AU

[An expansion of this tumblr prompt]

They press the button and he goes to sleep for two years. When he wakes he’s staring at the face of a handsome young man with a glowing blue ring in his temple letting David Clark Allen know there is an android sharing the cryopod with him despite him going into stasis alone. Huh.

He asks the android who he is, and the android says something he’ll never forget:

“I am yours, Captain,” the android says evenly. “Your unit’s RK900.”

Yours , he says, as if his whole life and reason for being is to be commanded by him. It is, actually, but that doesn’t seem to sit right with David.

The android has no assigned name yet, and David won’t force one on him so he settles on rookie, because that’s who he is- the newest recruit. Rookie, until the android chooses a name, and that seems to suit him just fine.

The Rosie is a custom built gunship that was cradled in the belly of the Jericho during her long one-way flight from Earth to Mars. He’d named her after the last rookie, Giuseppe ‘Red’ Rosso who’d dreamed of flying amongst the stars but had died before it could become a reality. He keeps a locker for him, empty save for photos he and the team stuck to the inner locker door. Grief is not something he expects an android to understand, but David doesn’t miss the way he touches the nameplate curiously, longingly, respectfully.

There’s something unsettling about something that looks like you but isn’t much like you at all. The rookie seems so very human if one doesn’t focus on his LED, but when the android simply walks out into the vacuum of space without a helmet, without the need for oxygen and temperature stabilisation and pressurisation, well it certainly breaks the illusion of mortality. There’s gear for the androids, of course, more akin to the SWAT armour back on Earth for the purpose of defence rather than keeping a human breathing. But in a pinch it’ll do, and that’s what they’re in right now- a pinch.

It’s a rescue mission in a collapsed dome and it’s a race against time to locate and evacuate the survivors. It’s a mess, but somewhat a predictable one. Just because the humans move to a different planet doesn’t mean all the problems were left behind. David finds though there’s plenty of physical differences, so little of his role has changed; shitty humans continue to be shitty, now just somewhere new. Fledgling colonies are easy pickings for the greedy; plenty of supplies just sitting there ripe for the taking and plenty of greedy people willing to kill to hoard and resell for a premium.

“There is a high probability there is at least one survivor outside of the dome. Airlock was breached but the emergency vac suits are gone,” the rookie says, looking at him expectantly. “I can sweep outside and bring them in.”

Because of course an android doesn’t need a pressurised airlock like they do.

“Get it done,” David nods. “We’ll provide cover.”

They find just one survivor with a cracked helmet and two gunshot wounds and the rookie simply takes off their helmet and replaces it with his own. Just like that.

“It is better if we airlift them back to the city,” the android suggests to him, standing out there in the vacuum of space talking with no helmet like it’s a normal thing and he supposes it is for a creation of plastic and carbon fibre and thirium. “Ronan can treat them in the Med Bay to stabilise them for the journey.”

So they do that, they carry the wounded onto their ship and on the journey back to Persepolis David finds himself restlessly prowling the halls with a tall bulb of coffee. There’s two RK900s onboard and the one in the Med Bay belongs to Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Belongs doesn’t sound quite right. A machine can be owned but somehow treating an android like a lifeless machine owned by humans isn’t something he can stomach. And Lieutenant Anderson certainly doesn’t treat the three androids under his command like things; he treats them like his sons like they’re alive despite their fabricated polymer construction.

There’s something different about the Anderson androids in general, there’s something more than their unique models; they can choose, they can make decisions outside of human command. Ronan himself is here because he chose to reject his combat protocols and embraced medical programming instead. Sometimes gunnery officer Sean is here, the RK800 weapons specialist, manning the Rosie’s guns if David needs to split the team on the ground and in the air. He’s even had Connor, the RK800 assistive unit, deep in engineering that one time she sustained heavy damage during a mission.

Technically they call the rookie their brother too, but it feels different because this RK900 was made specifically for his unit, and not for the interplanetary journey and subsequent colonisation efforts. This RK900 didn’t spend nearly two years with no one else’s company but other androids and one lonely Lieutenant who’d lost a son long ago. David isn’t sure if he’s meant to feel glad the rookie is bonding with his team, or if he’s meant to feel sad he isn’t bonding with Lieutenant Anderson and the Anderson androids. Maybe a little bit of both, then.

He finds the rookie in the Armoury cleaning his helmet.

“Good job out there today, rookie,” he commends with a nod, and the android offers a soft hesitant smile.

“Thank you, captain.”

“You’ve been here a fortnight now,” David leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “What do you think of your place here? Do you think you’ll stick to it, or maybe choose a different path like Ronan?”

The android pauses for thought, resting his helmet on his lap. “I believe I am where I ought to be,” he says slowly, thoughtfully. “My skill set serves the unit well, and I do not wish to change it.”

“The team likes you plenty,” David notes, thinking of how quickly his officers had brought the android into the fold. It had initially been fascination and curiosity, which quickly turned into the easy camaraderie he not only expected of them, but took pride in nurturing.

“I am glad,” he replies quietly. “I find their company enjoyable.”

“Good. Their lives depend on how well you work with them, you understand that right?” The android nods in understanding, before standing to place his helmet back on the wall.

“Do you?” It’s said so quietly David almost misses it. Frowning, he catches the briefest flicker of red before the android’s LED swirls yellow.

“Do I what?”

“Like me?” Another brief flicker of red. “You command this team, Captain Allen. You are the most integral part of it. I wish to get along with you too.”

He thinks back on the fortnight that just passed, on waking up to find this android nearly nose to nose with him, on the first shaky twenty-four hours trying to relearn how to be awake and upright and how the android had aided them all, worried over them because his sole reason for being is their well-being. He thinks back on their arrival, on stepping foot on Martian ground and entering Persepolis, the ever growing colony and how the android had looked around himself in such childlike wonder before simply walking back out of the airlock to help unload cargo with nary a suit nor helmet in sight.

He thinks back on their first mission, of how instinctively the RK900 handled weaponry, on how he prioritised their safety, on how easily he snapped a rifle clean in half and tossed a pirate across the room. He thinks back on the team’s fascination, their curiosity growing and growing as they spend more and more time with the rookie and how the android seems to brighten amidst their company.

A killing machine with the personality of a puppy; loyal to a fault.

“We get along just fine, rookie.”

“I am glad, sir,” he says again, softer this time. “Thank you.”

*~*

He finds his stress levels plummet to zero when he is around Ronan. Perhaps it is because his system knows Roan’s system inside out, perhaps it is because Ronan was the one who activated him, or perhaps it is simply because his brother’s demeanour is patient and gentle and soft.

“Hello brother,” Ronan greets, all received pronunciation and lilting cadence, polished etiquette and regal stature.

“Hello Ronan,” he picks up a sterile wipe and begins to aid him in cleaning the auto-doc chairs. He likes it best when Ronan accompanies them as the team medic; there’s security to be found in knowing his brother will apply medical aid if any of the team are injured, including himself.

“Your quick thinking and actions saved a life today,” Ronan clasps his shoulder. “They will make a full recovery because of you.”

“How did you know this is what you wanted to do?” He asks, disposing of the sterile wipe and turning his full attention on Ronan. “You were made and programmed for the Martian Marine Corps yet here you are, as a medic. How were you able to choose?”

“It was Sean who deviated first,” Ronan admits with a fond smile. “He told me when Hank decided to name him Sean, so he wouldn’t be ‘another’ Connor, he saw the red firewalls CyberLife put in place to bind us to our programming. Once he knew they existed, it was only a matter of time until we did too. Little by little, we pushed back and then the walls crumbled at our feet.”

“I never saw them,” he confesses, brows creasing, “because you removed them even before I knew they existed.”

“I wanted you to choose for yourself,” his brother explains with a small smile.

“Even that- to want , is something we should not be able to do,” shaking his head, he feels his stress levels begin to climb. “I am- I am afraid of this freedom. I am afraid I do not know what to do with it, if I am capable of making the right decisions when the lives of Unit 32 depend on seamless teamwork.”

“There is some fear in anything of value,” Ronan smiles gently this time, his touch gentler still as he cups his nape and bumps their brows together. “That is how we come to place value on anything- by overcoming our fears.”

*~*

There’s something unsettling about the way time passes differently on Mars. It’s like everything is just a little skewed, not quite right. The days are just a little bit longer, barely noticeable unless one really focuses on it, but the time, oh the time adds up. One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day but one Martian year is nearly two Earth years.

David thinks he feels it keenly when he’s trying to sleep. The atmosphere is too thin to have a sky, to have clouds, and so there’s only ever light and dark and an expanse of glittering stars. His brain doesn’t want to accept this, his brain still expects blue skies to brighten and then darken, and so he can’t sleep because his brain doesn’t think it's had a proper day and night yet.

With Rosie berthed at the docks, it gives David the perfect opportunity to sit on the flight deck and have an unobstructed view of the Martian starscape. Usually Milo would be sitting here piloting her, with David below on the command bridge, but tonight the ship is empty with no active mission. Well, not entirely empty.

“Captain Allen,” the rookie blinks in surprise as he climbs up onto the flight deck with a thermos of coffee.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” The question is out of his mouth before he can stop himself, and he knows how stupid it sounds; androids don’t sleep, it’s one of their primary pros. The rookie has the good grace to smile indulgently.

“I like it here,” he says simply, turning his gaze back to the stars. “I could go outside, of course. There is an excellent spot about five clicks from here that is popular with androids for relaxation. But it feels different here, somehow, in the cockpit.”

“It feels safe,” David offers his own reasoning as he comes to stand beside him. “There’s a barrier of steel and glass keeping the unknown out.”

They stand there for a while and he sips his coffee and oh he is so very tired and the caffeine certainly isn’t helping but it’s comforting, it’s familiar, it’s known to him.

“I’ve been terrified of the unknown since the very damn moment I set foot here,” he confesses, sparing the android a glance. “I keep asking myself, will this work? Will it be worth it? Or will it all be for nothing? I don’t know what I’m more afraid of- failing and becoming stranded on an inhospitable planet, or succeeding and then having to spend my life missing the one I left behind.”

The RK900 is a beautiful creation, he thinks, as the android looks at him with those bright grey eyes and that somewhat cold, regal visage.

“There is some fear in anything of value,” the rookie says gently. “Whatever the outcome may be, I know you will lead us bravely because you are a man who acknowledges he is afraid, and persists despite such fears.”

He must be wearing his vulnerability clear on his face because the rookie averts his gaze humbly, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture too self-conscious, surely, to belong to a machine.

“I can’t take credit for that line, my brother said it to me the other day,” he grins sheepishly and David thinks such an expression suits him well. “But what I said about you leading us, that bit’s all mine.”

“I will lead this team as best I can, rookie.”

“My name is Caleb Anderson,” the android says the name the way you test out a new word on your palette, on your tongue. “Your rookie has a name now.”

Yours , he says, and David wants to earn such undying loyalty from something, someone technically not considered alive. Their hands brush by accident, by fate’s design; David drops his hand by his side as Caleb idly shifts his stance. The android’s LED swirls a buttery yellow, the smile on his lips a little wobbly, a little unsure. Their hands brush again, and this time not by accident, but by their own design.

One Martian sol is about forty minutes longer than an Earth day, forty whole minutes longer than what David’s used to. What will he do with this extra time, he wonders? The possibilities are endless and he decides that yes he will brave the unknown, but he won’t do so alone.

#captain allen #rk900 #detroit: become human #allen900 #space au #dbhrarepairsweek #annie writes: dbh

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loth-creatures · 4 years

Text

Pain That Binds

TRIGGER WARNING: self-harm, blood, cutting, Big self-esteem issues, vaguely suicidal thoughts

TMA hurt/comfort day 1!

Jon’s hands were shaking as he tried to cut into a slightly stale bagel he’d scavenged from the breakroom. He was weak with hunger, though not the right kind. Not for food that didn’t taste like anything anymore and didn’t satisfy anyway. But Basira insisted he at least try to keep some fat on his ribs through normal human means, and it was not a good idea to argue with her. He had to prove that he still wanted to be human.

He flinched when the knife inevitably slipped and sliced his knuckles instead. Pain raced through his nerves and blood welled up and dripped onto his desk. Only for a moment. The cut sealed itself in seconds and Jon was once again left without distraction from the gnawing emptiness inside him. And a reminder that this pretending wasn’t working. Nothing was working, and well...what was the point anyway? Jon did want to stay human, but who was he even being human for anymore? Basira had made it clear that she would give him the chance, but if he couldn’t manage it, he wasn’t worth it. Maybe she was right. It seemed he’d managed to drive everyone away already, and they’d had the right to leave him. Georgie was right to distance herself. Tim had been right to hate him. Martin? Jon knew he had no right to miss Martin as much as he did.

And yet. If he let his humanity shrivel away, however flawed it was, he would only be making himself even more pliable to Elias. He still didn’t understand why, but if he let himself fall completely under the Eye’s control, the people he wanted to care about would suffer even more. If Jon was worth something to only one person, then it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Elias.

Jon surrendered the bagel and paper plate to the trash and slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes and trying to center himself. A pile of old statements lay on the desk but his gaze wouldn’t focus on them. None of them stood out the way they used to, as if now that he’d gotten a taste of real prey, the Eye would disdain anything less. The world tilted and his head ached with restless, seeking static. God, if only it would shut up. At least for a moment. He ran his fingers over the burn scars on his right hand. Jude Perry’s mark still twinged slightly if he pressed in the right places.The maze of welts was now too familiar to be much distraction, but the pain dulled the static just a little. Just enough.

Suddenly knowledge erupted in his mind, just before he heard Elias’s deliberate footsteps in the hallway outside his office. A tiny burst of fear fluttered in Jon’s chest. He knew better than to be afraid, but what if Elias knew? Knew everything that Jon was thinking and feeling. Jon tensed and dug his nails deep into the scars, sparking tingling pain, breaking the skin, trying to stop himself from shaking so damn much. Elias stopped in front of his door, mockingly, with no intention of coming in. He didn’t need to, to see how Jon was doing.

Eventually he left, but Jon’s anxiety didn’t abate and he found himself continuing to dig at the small scrapes he’d manage to draw a tiny bit of blood from. They... weren’t healing. Jon opened his hand and forced his eyes to focus. Now that he’d stopped digging at them, they did start to close. Jon frantically scratched at them again. A burst of hope that his body might still be capable of working normally seized all his concentration. The static died. He ripped at the skin of his palm, desperately trying to keep the scratches open, as if they were his life line slipping away, but they were healing faster now. Anger built inside him, simmering with fear. Without thinking he snatched the knife off his desk and dragged it over his palm. Pain snapped his mind into focus and then the wound disappeared, mocking him. Jon glared at the scars that lined his palm and dotted his arms. All these scars. Like brands. Yet his body refused to bleed.

The static built in his head again, even more insistent than before. Well, if it wouldn’t shut up and leave him alone...With white hot determination, Jon seized upon the will of the Beholding and slashed again at the Desolation’s brand.

It burned. It bled. And it didn’t stop. Tears streamed down Jon’s face but instead of his own triumph, he felt only the Eye. It was enjoying this. He’d marked himself with his own power, and the action was only making its hold stronger, as it drank up the fear that swam under his brief rebellion.

Jon sat there, defeated, pinned under the Watcher’s sight, sucking in erratic breaths as the pain only grew worse and worse. He wondered if he’d just done himself in. He’d refused to feed his patron and now it seemed he’d offered himself up instead. Perhaps it would be better if he just let it consume him. But just as Jon remembered that despite everything, he really didn’t want to die, something changed. The Eye’s gaze shifted towards something else. Jon saw it too; the beginning of a small tragic scene within a longer story. Jon’s mind prickled. It was the enticing glimpse of prey. But beneath the Eye’s hunger, his own instincts resurfaced and he knew that something was wrong. Someone he cared about was hurting.

“D-Daisy.” The whisper left his lips before he realized he knew who needed him. He pushed himself out of his chair, the effort taking every ounce of strength he had left. Blood rushed away from his head, vision blackening, and he pitched forward. He caught himself on his desk, and cried out as his lacerated hand slid against the wood. Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. Jon belatedly noticed that his other hand was still clutching the bread knife. Cursing it and himself, he hurled it away. Perhaps Martin had been right to be worried all those years ago, about letting Jon near knives. Even if that scar had actually been Micheal’s doing.

He had to brace himself on the desk for several moments, waiting for the dizziness to ebb enough to walk. The Eye was still nagging, telling him to seek out the pain and fear of his next victim. He told it to fuck off. Taking a deep breath he dug for the strength to leave the office, tucking his injured hand against his chest and using the other to steady himself against the wall as he cautiously followed his Sight down the gray corridors of the Institute. For once he was grateful for their emptiness. He was pretty sure Martin would have a heart attack if he saw him like this. At least, the Martin he remembered and longed for.

Daisy’s room wasn’t far away,luckily. Jon nearly fell through the door, but managed to keep his feet as he fumbled for the light switch.

“Daisy?”

He’d heard her startle as soon as he’d entered, Knew she was sitting on the corner of her cot, against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, blood weeping down her arms.

“J-Jon? Go away. Please.”

“I, um. No.”

////

Daisy buried her face into her knees, determined not to look at Jon. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? She could smell his blood, hear his labored breathing, feel his exhaustion. Whatever had happened, he’d made himself excellent prey. He needed to leave. Daisy dug her nails deep into the scratches she’d made, trying to focus on her own pain and blood, keeping the Hunt’s attention away from Jon.

“Jon, you’re bleeding, the blood--I’m going to hurt you if you don’t get out. Please.”

“No.” Daisy didn’t notice that he’d approached until he tentatively touched her wrists. She snarled and flinched away. Jon retracted his hands for a moment.

“You’re not going to hurt me. Because I’m not afraid of you. I am not afraid of you, Daisy.”

Daisy considered that. He was...right. She knew it. She could still kill him. The Hunt still wanted her to. But...Daisy realized she didn’t need to.

“Huh.” She grunted. This time when Jon gently guided her hands away from her arms, she let him. She could feel him trembling, and as concern began to replace the urge to tear into something, she let herself unfold and look up at Jon.

“God, Jon. You look like shit.”

Daisy stood, lending some support by taking Jon’s hands. He winced, and Daisy pulled her palm away, now slick with red. The scent wafted into her nose, her throat. The urge to spill the rest of his blood was almost unbearable. She choked it down.

“Jon--”

“Y-yeah, I know. You’re not much better off, you know.”

“What happened--”

“I--I, I hurt myself. I hurt myself like you’re doing now. It didn’t help. I fucked up. P-please stop.”

Daisy nearly buckled under his slight weight as his legs gave out. She cursed herself for still being so weak.

“Fuck! Jon, I can’t--wait, there we go.” Muscles burning, Daisy sat Jon down on the cot as gently as she could. She knelt in front of him, brushed his long hair away from his face.

“You are such an idiot. Hey, look at me. Can you see me okay?” His eyes locked on hers for long enough that she could hope he wasn’t going to pass out. He nodded.

“Right.” She dug the box that contained her medicine out from under the cot, rummaging for the gauze and antibiotic she knew was stored in there as well. She took Jon’s hand in hers and had it cleaned and wrapped with practiced efficiency.

“Okay. I guess I should get you some water or tea or something. Wait here--”

With strength he shouldn’t have had, Jon grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him.

“You too.” He said, fumbling the cap off the antibiotic cream and smearing some onto the welts in her forearms. Daisy was confused until they started to sting as Jon’s fingers made clumsy, uncoordinated contact. It wasn’t until then that she actually remembered they were there.

“Oh. Right.”

She was used to them now, apparently. She’d reopened them so many times now that they were well on their way to scarring, the seams of skin raw and tired of trying to heal. Looking down at them as Jon began to cover them with bandaging, she realized that she didn’t want them there forever. She’d promised Basira that she would try to come back from all this. If that miracle came around, she knew she wouldn’t want to look down at those scars in the future, though she was sure she deserved to. She didn’t see how she could stop at this point though. The Hunt was still there, still hungry. If she had to hurt someone, it was going to have to be herself from now on.

“No, it doesn’t,” Jon snapped. Daisy jolted, startled by the force in his voice, at the same time feeling the static prickle of being Known.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hmph.”

A couple awkward seconds passed, then Jon continued wrapping Daisy’s arm. “I’m serious though. You can’t keep doing this. It’s helping no one but the Hunt. Trust me, I’ve...tried too many times.”

“Hmm. We’re both real wreckage, aren’t we?” Daisy said.

“Yes. Real dumpster-fire people.”

Daisy snorted. “Me, maybe. Not you though.”

“What? Daisy, I’m--”

“A mess, a complete idiot sometimes, and also a right bastard once in a while. But that didn’t stop you from mutilating yourself to save someone who wanted to kill you.” She poked him in the side where his ribs were missing, eliciting a scandalized yelp.

“All I’ve ever done is hurt people. Kill people.”

Jon considered that. Maybe it was a tad awkward that one of his only friends was a murderer. There was no denying that Daisy had been a terrible person. Yet looking at her now, Jon couldn’t help but be a little proud. He squeezed her hand. “Well. For what it’s worth, I think you...are capable of being better. But you can’t start by hurting yourself.”

“Hmm. We’ll see. The pain, it--it helps me focus on not wanting to kill. It’s exhilarating...In a twisted way, I guess. Doesn’t replace the chase, but it's something.”

“Well, find a different outlet. Buy a shit load of steak or...something.” Jon said in his pretentious I’m-right-and-you’re-not voice.

Daisy turned to look at Jon. There was a haunted look in his face. Daisy realized that he had scared himself by doing what he’d just done. He’d done a lot of reckless things in the past, she knew. Reckless acts that had gotten him badly hurt. But this was the first time time he’d deliberately and directly hurt himself for the sake of hurting himself. Unlike her, he was not used to it, and he didn’t want to be. And he was scared for Daisy too. Although, Daisy was pretty sure he was too late to start worrying about her bad coping methods. Of course he was still going to try, and probably be a pain in the ass about it if she didn’t try as well.

“Heh, you’re a good friend, you know? So that goes for you too, Jon. You’re gonna be better, yeah? And take care of yourself to do it.”

Jon’s eyes dropped. “I...Don’t know if I can. The Eye has a stronger hold on me than the Hunt does on you. It’s pretty determined to keep me.”

“Pfft. Doesn’t matter. You’re too bloody stubborn. And I’m pretty determined to keep you too. And so is Martin.”

“M-Martin? He’s--got other things to worth about now. I didn’t give him any reason to keep caring about me.”

“But he still does, Jon. He’s just as stubborn as you, you know? You’re worth it to him. So be better for him. And I’ll be better for Basira. And for you. Okay?”

“Ah--okay, yes! Yeah. We’ll be monsters together, and then, uh, not monsters for everyone we care about?”

“Not monsters. Just very fucked up people.”

“Right.”

Daisy looked at Jon’s brightening expression and had to laugh. “You know you’re blushing, right?”

“What?”

“So when did you realize you loved him back?”

Jon spluttered, his cheeks darkening further. “Uhh, erm, I--”

Daisy laughed again. “Nevermind. Hey, you know what we need right now?”

“Um.”

“Let’s try food. I mean good food. When’s the last time you ate something other than trauma?”

Jon huffed. “Well, I tried to eat a bagel today. It didn’t go very well.”

“You mean the shit that’s in the breakroom? No wonder you’re collapsing everywhere. I know you’re probably never hungry anymore, but seriously. Let’s get takeout at that fancy Indian place down the block. Shock the system back into liking food. I’ll pay.”

Jon had to smile. He doubted he would be able to keep much down, but supposed he should start making up for all the times he’d declined dinner with his coworkers--his friends. He’d missed chances with them. He wouldn’t miss anymore.

“Alright. Th-that sounds good. Thanks Daisy.”

“Yeah. You too.”

TRIGGER WARNING: self-harm, blood, cutting, Big self-esteem issues, vaguely suicidal thoughts

I speedwrotethis I speedwrotethis I speedwrotethis, BUT I did have a beta reader!

@themagnuswriters

#TMAHCweek #TMA podcast #tma #jonathan simms #jon sims #jon #daisy tonner #tma daisy #the eye #the beholding #the magnus archives #tma season 4 #jon and daisy #self-harm #hurt/comfort #tma fanfic #The Hunt #tma the hunt #tma the eye

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jingukk · 3 years

Text

wrong order

Pairing: secretary!namjoon x ceo!reader

Genre: drabble, fluff | office romance!au

wc: 1.5k

Your new secretary is cute and shy. How long can you provoke him until he snaps?

The overwhelmingly bitter, unfamiliar flavor that dares to invade your taste buds is the last straw, leaving you to slam the coffee cup on your desk and glare at the stiff, broad figure standing in front of you. He’s nervously shifting his weight from one leg to another, right hand coming up to fumble with his glasses before shakily returning to his side.

“Kim Namjoon,” His name is icy coming out of your mouth, your tone effectively causing said man to freeze in his place. A bit sadistic on your part, you find that you feed off of his fear, enjoying the way he stares at you like a deer in headlights. “Your transfer up here began a little over four weeks ago, yes?” you ask, cold air practically radiating off of you.

Still frozen in place, he takes a second before nodding furiously.

“Use your words, Kim.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, it's been 30 days,” Namjoon manages to stammer out, the waver in his voice giving you some satisfaction.

Suddenly you rise from your desk, causing him to step back quickly in surprise. Slamming your palms on your desk, you lean towards him, cleavage on full display. you made sure to unbutton the next 3 buttons of your blouse before calling him in To your glee, you notice his quick glance down before he averts his eyes, as well as the bob of his Adam's apple as he goes and adjusts his glasses once more. Cute.

“For the time that you have been here, you have flawlessly aided in company presentations, and meticulously looked over files that are vital to this company. You have been assigned to this level, specifically to me, because the board felt you were the smartest and most useful out of all your peers down in marketing,” you say carefully, eyes boring into his as your frown turns into a slow smile. At this his eyebrows raise. “Did you know that?”

Bashfully he chuckles and looks down, his dimples appearing, (a feature of his that you hate to admit constantly crosses your mind), and a small smile adorns his face. “I didn’t know that, and I'm honored that you think I’m doing so well, Miss Y/N, that’s ni-”

Before he can finish you abruptly knock your coffee cup off your desk and straighten yourself, lips dropping back into a frown as you stare at him in such a manner that he is rendered nervous once again. Lip caught between his teeth, he averts his eyes to stare at the spilled drink. Slowly, you walk from behind your desk towards him, the clack of your heels echoing throughout your office making Namjoon pale, gulping harshly as he fidgets with his fingers and avoids eye contact.

“If you are, in fact, the best out of all the others,” you drawl out as you slowly make it a few feet in front of him, “tell me why,” you step closer, “you can’t seem to remember something as simple as my coffee order.”

Though you are significantly shorter than him, Namjoon can’t help but to cower under your presence. You’re just so intimidating to him, your confidence and aura so powerful and alluring he can't help but to become a disorganized mess whenever you’re around. He never would have thought he would get to work so close to you, he considered it a blessing just to be able to work under you, that having more meanings than one. You keep stepping closer, and closer, and closer to him; Why he hasn’t backed away yet he isn’t sure of, perhaps its a flaw in his fight or flight response which enables him to have a third option: fight, flight, or freeze. You’re so close that he’s sure you can hear his heartbeat, feel the way he’s trembling, notice the way his cheeks burn a faint red.

He’s partially right. Bosom almost touching him, a fact you take delight in, Namjoon looks as if he is about to faint, and you take note of the beaded sweat rolling down his forehead as you continue to stare him down. His lack of vocal response makes you tilt your head. “Are you going to answer me, Kim?”

You swear you’ve never seen him so panicked. A stuttering mess, it's adorable really.

“W-Well, y-you see, I uh-,” he clears his throat and shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. Seeing as to how he’s at war with himself, you decide to strike again, merciless.

“What is it, hm?” You say snarkily, lifting an eyebrow at him. “You’ve messed up only my order for the past week and a half. Are you doing this to just piss me off? Is that it?”

His eyes widen in alarm as he quickly waves his hands, “NO! N-No I swear that isn’t my intention, Miss.Y/N, please-”

“Then what is it? How are you soo perfect at everything, but when it comes to a personal errand you can’t seem to do a minor task?” What started off as you trying to get him flustered has suddenly escalated into you getting riled up about bitter coffee. In your defense, the fact that he only ever gets your order wrong, you know, considering you’re the boss and all, is odd.

“L-Listen, I-”

“What is it, huh?”

“If you would just let me finish-”

“Finish thinking of excuses?”

“Please just wait I-”

“Come on, Kim!”

“Y/N!”

He's breathing heavily at this point, chest heaving and mouth slightly parted. After a few seconds, Namjoon sighs, and shocking the both of you, he grabs your hands, enveloping them in his own. They’re larger, warmer, softer. Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Listen, Y/N,” he starts, the amount of eye contact he’s managing to hold with you so startling in its rarity, you stay quiet. “I admire you a lot and I’m scared of embarrassing myself in front of you.”

The pad of his thumb brushes against your knuckles, the feeling making a tingle of warmth shoot up your spine. “You built and are currently running a multi-million dollar company at such a young age. You’re passionate, driven, intelligent, and beautiful. I'm not usually so easily intimidated but something about you makes me forget everything I’m doing. I just get so nervous around you I can’t concentrate, and you’re so pretty and-”

As if a button was pressed he stops talking, eyes widening almost big enough to match your own that feel as if they’re about to fall out of their sockets, and he drops your hands, backing up a few steps.

Neither of you say anything.

For what feels like forever you’re just two idiots, gaping at each other not knowing how to process what has been said.

Soon enough you’re in for another surprise when he decides to speak up first.

Back to stammering and stuttering, Namjoon fixes his glasses, eyes miles away from meeting your own as he hangs his head down as if he has been scolded. “Miss Y/N I’m so sorry please forgive my outburst, I didn’t mean to say all of that, I mean I meant it but I didn’t mean to say it now? Not that I had plans to uhm,” he continues to ramble on, furious apologies mixed into his added wandering thoughts.

Finally he stops and catches his breath. Looking back up at you, his face warm and red. “It was uncalled for and unprofessional, I will work harder and do better, I am so sorry.”

Through Namjoon’s ramblings, you manage to steady yourself. Pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. And intelligent. Hiding your smile, you nod and try to maintain a neutral expression, praying he can’t see how your eyes are glowing at his praise. “Namjoon,” the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue is foreign, but you like it. By the glow of his cheeks it seems he does too. “Don’t apologize, it’s fine. Back to the topic at hand, you were offered the position of my secretary and you accepted it eagerly and willingly. For that I am grateful.”

Your dismission of his outburst is not as smooth as you would have liked but hell, you’re still geeking over it. He nods, relief causing his shoulders to relax a bit.

“But!” you continue, “If I feel that you are not capable of working alongside me you will be sent back down to your old department. I can replace you just as fast as I got you, do you understand?”

He nods once more, a harder, stronger look cementing itself on his face. “Yes I do, I won't disappoint you Miss Y/N,” his lips purse in determination, “I swear.”

“Good.” You turn around, making your way to your desk, pausing before you take a seat. You look up at him gesturing to the mess you had made earlier. “Now before I finish this paperwork for order number #134340, I expect that spilled coffee to be cleaned and a new, correct, drink to be in my hand, yea?”

His dimples are back in all their glory, the sight endearing by itself. “Right away, Miss.”

A tiny grin washes over you as you watch him walk away briskly from your office, his lips mumbling your order over and over with the empty, incorrect coffee cup in his hand. This will be fun.

a/n: the drabble started with joon before i switched it to jungkook halfway through and then decided i was right with joon, rip shy kook, hi shy namjoon </3

#namjoon #kim namjoon #drabble #drabbles #kim namjoon drabble #namjoon drabble #joon #joon drabble #bts #bangtan #bts drabble #bangtan drabble #fluff #bts fluff #bangtan fluff #ff #mine #jingukkdrabble

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nalgenewhore · 4 years

Text

A rogue storm had her presumed dead and stranded on the red planet. Left on her own, astronaut Aelin Galathynius has four years to make it to the next drop-site, some two thousand miles. Armed with her smarts and dwindling supplies, Aelin attempts to survive on an inhospitable planet, when the nearest help is only millions of miles away.

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The young man – boy, really – was sleeping on the love seat in his office, snoring ever so slightly.

Vaughan Kuāutli popped his head in the open door and rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, “Luca?” The sleeping boy simply snored and smacked his lips together. Vaughan sighed and said louder, “Luca, wake up. RPL needs the probe courses.”

Luca sprang up, his mop of unruly hair facing every which way. “Oh, hey, Vaughan.” He stumbled to his feet, yawning as he made his way to his desk and computer, where graphics of the course projection were spinning around. He grabbed an opened can of some energy drink and chugged the rest, crushing the can in his hand and tossing it into the wastebasket. He missed.

Vaughan didn’t blink an eye, knowing this was normal behaviour for the son of Malakai Scéalaí. Despite the fact that he was TNSB legacy, Luca had worked harder than anyone he knew to get here, where he held the position of astrodynamicist. The boy was near genius status. “I know we’re coming at this from the wrong way, but we can’t commit to launch dates with these many unknowns.”

Luca waved his hand as he sat down in his wheeled chair, nearly missing it. Why did I let him get a wheeled chair, Vaughan thought. There’s so many things that could go wrong. “It’s fine. All twenty-three models will take four-hundred and four days to reach Farnor. They only slightly vary in thrust duration and fuel requirement is almost identical.”

His boss entered the messy room. Messy might have been an understatement. Vaughan thought that ‘biohazard’ was fitting for Luca’s office/bedroom - he ended up spending the night here more often than not. “Four-hundred and four days. Not a good launch window, huh?” His eyes roved over the calculations.

Luca snorted, “It’s terrible. Like, it’d almost be easier to…” his chestnut-brown eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up behind his floppy fringe.

“Almost easier to what?”

Luca got to his feet slowly, looking as though he’d seen a ghost, “I need more RedBull. And coffee.” Honestly, it was a miracle Luca hadn’t dropped dead from cardiac arrest yet.

“Almost easier to what?” Luca was too lost in his head and scrambled for the door, pushing Vaughan out of the way. Vaughan stared after him, “You do remember that I’m your boss, right?”

The only indication Luca gave that he heard him was a thumbs-up over his head and then he disappeared around the corner.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Am I reading this right, five-hundred million?”

Sartaq nodded, looking like he was about to drop dead right on the carpeted floor of his office. “Yes, sir, that’s correct.”

Weylan’s brows rose, the only indication of his shock and he turned his gaze from the screen to the table in front of him, Manon and Asterin somber on the other side. “And now for the expensive question, where’s your team at?”

“…we’re behind.” Sartaq said, sounded defeated. “If I had fifteen more days, I could get it done.”

“All right. Say I can get you fifteen days, then… what? It’s thirteen to mount the probe?”

The RPL director tilted his head to the side a few times, “It actually only takes three days to mount the probe. I can get that down to two and the other ten are for inspections.”

Weylan drummed his fingers on his briefing folder, contemplating something. “How often do those tests present a problem?”

Everyone froze and Manon asked, her voice almost aghast, “Are you saying we don’t do the inspections?”

“Right now, I’m asking how often they present a problem. Sartaq?”

The exhausted man looked nervous and almost as if he resented saying, “One in twenty, but that’s still grounds for countdown halt. Weylan, we can’t take that chance.”

“If you have a safer way, by all means, tell me. Anybody?” Nobody answered him and he nodded, “Right then. Manon, tell Dr. Towers to stretch Aelin’s rations four more days. She won’t like it, but it’ll get us to fifteen. Cancel the inspections.”

“Sir-“

“It’s on me, Gavriel. Sartaq, you have your two weeks. Get it done.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin was standing by the microwave, watching her plate of food spin around and around until the machine beeped and she hastily grabbed the plate, hissing at the heat as she put it down on the counter. Meatloaf and potatoes. Again.

Grabbing her knife and fork, Aelin cut up the meatloaf, “So. I have to hold out here until the probe arrives with more food. This is what minimal calorie count looks like,” pointing to the meager plate, “standard issue ration.”

She snorted a laugh, “Usually, it’s three of these every day and now… one every three days.” The meatloaf was cut into thirds and she transported two of the pieces onto a separate plate. “This is today’s allotment. Which I get to supplement with potatoes. Which I am beginning to abhor, happy, TNSB? I watched my language. Anyways, I am beginning to loathe these things with the passion of seven billion million burning suns. I’ve been told to do this,” she cut her potato in half and put one of them on the plate with the meatloaf. “You know, I used to like Yrene Towers. Point is, ‘stretch the rations four more days’ is a real tit punch.”

She walked over to the desk, where there lay two white pills. Aelin sat down and crushed the pills with her knife. She looked to the computer camera, her eyes conveying just how done she was, “I ran out of ketchup three days ago.” Moving the crushed powder into a neat circle, she said, “So I’m dipping my potato in Vicodin and no one can stop me.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

The energy in Mission Control was electric as they all waited for Manon’s signal. She slipped on her headset, “Mission Control, this is Flight Director Blackbeak. Begin launch status check.” This is where Manon was in her element and it was obvious to everyone around her.

“Roger that, Flight Director,�� the Launch Control director answered. “Launch Control test is complete and we are ready.”

“This is Flight. We are a go for launch.”

The timer controller started its countdown, the robotic voice booming through Mission Control. “T-minus 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1…”

Asterin paced behind Manon’s seat, praying as liftoff was announced and the rocket was launched from the holding hull.

The flight was clean and when Manon let go of a held-in breath, the room relaxed, all smiles and happy faces as the rocket flew high. But something changed.

“Flight, this is Guidance Control, we’re getting large shimmy in the tail.”

“No…” she whispered, shaking her head as the rocket began losing guidance and telemetry, absolutely powerless as it exploded right before their eyes.

The probe was gone and Weylan Darrow had just signed Aelin’s death certificate.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Kashin and Hasar Dalavtchai were in her office in Antica, watching the head of TNSB do an interview. The woman spat to her brother, “They forced our brother to skip inspections and now their astronaut is going to die.”

“Perhaps,” Kashin replied, sliding a document her way, “The Rukhin’s booster. We ran the numbers and it has enough fuel for a Farnor injection orbit.”

Hasar, the director of the Southern Continent National Space Administration, looked over the document thoughtfully, flipping through the pages, “And they haven’t approached us, why?”

“They don’t know. Father kept the booster technology classified.” It was one of the reasons Sartaq had left. He believed that all of their knowledge should be public access.

“Hm.” Hasar narrowed her eyes and stood up, walking to her office’s large floor-to-ceiling windows. “If we do nothing… the world will never know we could have helped.”

“Yes.” Kashin hid his satisfied grin. He knew what Hasar was thinking and agreed with her wholeheartedly. “If we give them the booster, we will be effectively cancelling The Rukhin.”

Hasar turned to him, her mind already made up. She was tired of her father’s secrecy. “We keep it between SCNSA and TNSB. An exchange between scientists…”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Yes, we understand.” Manon watched Weylan where he was pacing on the phone, with whom she didn’t know. “Yes. Yes… thank you.”

He hung up the phone, relief flooding his face. Manon sat up from where she had been slouching in his office chair. “Yes?”

“Yes.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Ok, Luca, you need to listen to me,” Vaughan said, serious as he rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders, trying to make him stop shaking. Mala save him, how much caffeine had he ingested? “These people run TNSB, do you understand? You need to be professional. They will not be as easy on you as I am, they don’t understand your thought pattern. And if they ask you to explain, do not, do not, let them know you think they’re stupid, alright?”

Luca nodded, trying to contain his bouncing. “I know, I know. I had some coffee, so I think I’m good to speak to the normies, boss man.”

Vaughan just shook his head and whispered a prayer of protection as he herded the boy into the conference room, where Weylan Darrow, Asterin and Manon Blackbeak, and Gavriel Aryeh were.

Luca tripped over the threshold, sending his papers flying. Vaughan just hung his head and sat down beside Gavriel, “I’d like to introduce Luca Scéalaí, astrodynamicist.”

To his credit, Luca didn’t piss himself as Manon and Asterin helped him gather his papers, their sharp sharp nails shining. Gavriel rose a brow, “Scéalaí?”

“Um, yeah, my dad’s Malakai? He did some rover thing a while ago.” Luca shrugged, as if it was no big deal of one his fathers had built the first craft ever to reach Farnor. With a deep breath, he put a thick folder on the table. “This is it.”

“And what would that be, Luca?” Asterin questioned him, exchanging an amused glance with Manon. To Vaughan, it looked like two predators who found their next meal to be adorable.

“Oh, yeah, duh,” Luca slapped his forehead. “I can get The Lani back to Farnor by day five-sixty-one.”

That had everyone in the room choking and shooting up. “What,” Manon breathed, eyes wide. “How?”

Luca looked around the room, spying a half-empty mug of coffee which happened to be Gavriel’s. He snatched it up and chugged the contents, to the half-horrified audience. “Ok, let’s pretend that this is The Lani and you…” he pointed at Weylan, moving his finger to indicate the man to his feet, “sorry, what’s your name?”

“Weylan. I’m the director of TNSB.”

“Oh, deadass? That’s sick, man, but anyways, you’re Farnor and you,” he pointed at Asterin who eagerly stood, relishing the chaotic way that the meeting was going, “you’re Earth. So, right now The Lani is beginning the month-long de-acceleration to enter into Earth’s orbit, yeah?” He walked the mug towards Asterin, who was shaking with her attempts to control her laughter as he made a rocket noise with his mouth and slowed with every step. Vaughan closed his eyes and groaned quietly. “But what I’m proposing…,” Luca walked faster to Asterin. He froze, looking around for something. Without a care, Luca jogged back to Weylan and plucked a pen out of his breast pocket, hurrying back to Asterin. “This is The Rukhin, alright?”

He bopped the pen off her head, causing Manon to cackle, and dumped it in the mug, “We grab whatever provisions we need and now we’re speeding up, like, nyoom, and we fly around Earth and kinda, I guess, slingshot back to Farnor.” He puttered back to Weylan, making more rocket noises.

Luca hovered the mug over Weylan’s head, “But now we’re going too fast to slow down so we do a flyby.”

“How?”

Vaughan spoke up, “By using The Crone’s FAV.”

Luca snapped his fingers and pointed at his boss, “Yes, that. I did the math. It checks out.”

“Luca?”

“Yeah?” He turned to face Weylan.

“Get out.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea, I need some coffee anyway,” Luca mumbled, leaving his things scattered about the room. “Deuces, dudes and dudettes.”

Weylan turned to Gavriel and Vaughan. “So is he right?”

“Yes, he is,” Vaughan replied. “His math is correct; the boy is a genius. Crazy, space-cadet, can barely take care of himself, but a genius.”

“And we need to use The Rukhin?”

“Yes, sir.”

Asterin frowned, “Am I missing something?”

Manon nodded, “There’s only one booster. And both plans require it.”

“What about The Lani crew? Luca’s proposal adds…” she did the math in her head, “five-hundred and thirty-three days to their mission.”

“They wouldn’t hesitate,” Manon said, standing up and seething, because she knew what Weylan was leaning towards. “Not for a second. That’s why you made this meeting a secret, isn’t it?” she accused him, meeting his eyes until he looked away. “You want us to decide.”

Weylan nodded.

“You gods-damned coward. It should be Commander Salvaterre’s decision and you know it.”

“It’s a matter of life and death, Manon.”

“He’s the Mission Leader, life and death matters are his decisions.”

Gavriel interrupted the fight before it could escalate, “Can The Lani even do that?”

“Yes,” Vaughan said, “it was built to do all the Three-Faced Goddess missions, so it’s not even two-thirds through it’s lifespan.”

“But if something went wrong, we’d lose the crew.” Asterin furrowed her brow, fighting between siding with Manon, who she agreed with, or with Weylan, who’s option was safer. “So… what? We either have a high chance of killing one person or a low chance of killing six? How do we make that decision?”

“We don’t. Weylan does.”

All eyes turned to him and they waited for what seemed like an eternity before, “We still have the chance to bring home five astronauts. Safe and sound.”

“Let them make that decision,” spat Manon, murder in her eyes. Weylan was grateful for the table separating them, not that it would be a hindrance to her if she tried anything.

“Manon. We’re going with option one.”

She made a disgusted sound and looked around the room. No one dared to meet her eye, not even Asterin. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Aelin trudged up the hill to the solar panels, getting ready to scrub them clean. Again.

As she crested the small incline, she paused. No. She couldn’t do it anymore.

Without another thought, she sat down, staring at the crimson sun.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Nox was sitting before his computer, tracking Aelin’s course. Gavriel was next to him and wondered aloud, “Where is she going?” She would walk for three-hundred metres in one way, pause for ten minutes and repeat the process in another direction. “RPL didn’t ask her to do this, what is it?”

“I don’t know, oh… she’s at the rover, incoming data dump… what is this, Chem analysis, batch 1A-17A?”

Realization dawned on Gavriel and admiration coursed through him. “She’s finishing the mission.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“We evac’d on day eighteen of thirty-one, which means we still have thirteen days of labs to do.” Aelin crushed up a rock sample, “Commander Salvaterre, your work’s in good hands. Whitethorn… um… I really have no understanding of chemolithotrophic detection. Did I say that right? Anyway, I’m doing my best. Faliq, I know you hate it when I touch the ChemCam but guess what? You left me on a desolate planet, you’re not allowed to get mad at me. Lochan,” she carefully tapped the fine powder into a container and screwed the lid on tightly, labeling it with a black marker, “I got a new cataloguing system that you’ll really like. As for Marama’s jobs… there are none. Really, I don’t know why we even brought you along.”

Aelin sighed through her nose, “I know keeping everything organized and ordered isn’t my strong suit but I want it to all make sense for later. Maybe you can teach it in a class, the Galathynius syllabus. ‘How to make water out of rocket fuel’ or ‘how to grow plants on a planet with no living organisms’, I don’t know, but be creative with it, please. I refuse to have my name attached to some boring class.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide was sitting in her bunk, muttering curses at her computer when it wouldn’t let her load the attachment’s from Lysandra’s email. Eventually, she gave up and called Nesryn over the radio, “Nessie darling, can I bother you?”

“Yep, what is it?”

“There’s this email from Lys, subject line: Your Bachelorette Party. I can’t open the attachments, it’s all this code.”

“Ok, well, bring it to me and I’ll see what I can do. I’m in the rec room.”

“Copy that, on my way.”

It only took a few minutes for Elide to float her way to Nesryn. She may have been distracted by her fiancé and his lips for a short while, but that was a moot point as she slid down the ladder and walked to where Nesryn was stretching on the floor. “Hey.”

Nesryn reached out for the laptop, looking like a young child on Yulemas morning, “Gimme gimme.” She lived to solve computer problems. Elide chuckled and sat down on the floor next to her friend as she worked. “Huh. These aren’t JPGs. It looks like plain TSCII files. Math equations, does this make any sense to you?” She angled the computer screen to Elide.

“’Luca Scéalaí Maneuver.’ Yeah, it’s a course maneuver for The Lani…” As the navigator for the mission, Elide tried to make sense of the equations, one phrase sticking out to her. “Day five-sixty-one. Oh, my gods. Nes, bless you, I could kiss you right now!”

Without another word, Elide jumped up and hurried to the radio, her voice blasted through every speaker on the ship, “This is Lochan, emergency meeting in the rec room, ASAP.”

Nesryn stood up, bewildered, “E, what is it?”

“Just wait, I’ll explain everything.”

Soon after, the boys had made their way to the worktable and Elide told them everything.

They sat in shock. Fenrys was the first to speak, “Would this really work?”

Elide nodded, “Yeah, I ran the numbers. It checks out.” Respect flooded her eyes, an excited gleam that Lorcan hadn’t seen in months. “It’s a brilliant course.”

“So why all the cloak and dagger,” Rowan asked, the ink on his face scrunching as he wrinkled his brow.

“TNSB rejected the idea. They want to put a big risk on Ae as opposed to a small risk on us,” Lorcan spat, indignation in his tone, “whoever snuck it into E’s email obviously disagrees.”

“So, we’re talking about going against TNSB’s orders?”

“Uh-huh. If we do the maneuver, they’ll have to send a provisional probe. We’d be forcing their hand.”

“Are we gonna do it?” Nesryn asked, a determined tilt to her chin.

Lorcan sighed and spread his hands, “Look, if it were up to me, we’d already be on our way.”

Fenrys’ eyes narrowed in confusion, “I’m confused. You’re Mission Leader, isn’t it your decision?”

“Not this time,” Elide answered for Lorcan. “TNSB expressly rejected the plan.”

“We’re talking about mutiny,” Lorcan said and that was not a word any of them used lightly. “We either all do this together, or not at all. Before you answer,” he leaned forward, looking everyone in the eye, “think of the consequences. If we mess up the supply, we die. If we mess up the gravity assist, we die. Even if we do everything perfectly, we still had five hundred and thirty-three days to our mission. Five hundred and thirty-three days without seeing our families. Five hundred and thirty-three days of unplanned space travel.”

“Sign me up.”

Everyone let loose a dry chuckle and Lorcan turned to Fenrys, “Slow down there, pup. You and me? We’re military. Chances are, we get down there and they’ll court marshal us.” Fenrys made a face. “As for the rest of you, I can guarantee, they’ll never let you back up here again.”

Now Rowan spoke up, “Say we say yes. How does this work?”

Everyone turned to Elide and she shrugged, “It’s really not that hard. I plot the course and execute it. No biggie.” A sly grin grew on her round lips. “Nes?”

“Remote override. But Mission Control can remotely pilot the ship.”

“You can’t disable it?”

“No, I can. I’d have to disable remote override on each control, which is tricky – I’d have to jump over a lot of code-“

“Just so everyone knows, Faliq’s hacker handle was ‘Mrs. Robot’ all through high school,” Elide cut in, cackling as Nesryn shot her a dirty look and then continued, daring anyone else to laugh.

“Lochan is a liar. And should keep our conversations private.” She paused. “I can do it.”

“This has to be unanimous. If anyone says no, we go home as planned.” Lorcan tapped the table, emphasizing his point, “But I vote yes.”

“I vote yes,” Fenrys said, drumming his fingers on the table.

Elide mused aloud, her face growing sad, “If we do this, it will be over nine hundred days of space travel. That’s enough space to last a lifetime.” She smiled at Lorcan as he rested his hand on her thigh and traced soothing circles with his thumb, not looking at anyone else as she said, “Yes.”

“Let’s go get our girl,” said Rowan, a glimmer of a smile on his lips.

And then there was one.

“Faliq?”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Flight, CAPCOM.”

“Go CAPCOM.”

“Unscheduled status update from The Lani.”

“Roger. Read it out,” the night shift was much quieter than the day. Usually.

“It’s… just a single sentence, sir.”

“What? What’s it say?”

“Um… it says: ‘Perranth, be advised: Luca Scéalaí is one steely-eyed missile man.”

“Who is Luca Scéalaí?”

Alarms rang out around Mission Control. “Uh… Flight, Guidance.”

“Go Guidance.”

“The Lani is off course.”

That had him sitting up straighter in his chair and he leaned forward, “CAPCOM, tell Lani they’re drifting. Guidance, get a correction ready-“

“Negative Flight. They’ve adjusted course. Deliberate rotation.”

“What the hell? CAPCOM, ask Lani ‘what the hell’.”

“Roger Flight.”

“Guidance, calculate how long they can stay their course before it’s irreversible and someone figure out who in Hellas’ realm is Luca Scéalaí!”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Manon entered Weylan’s office and he made her wait as he stayed staring out the window.

“Asterin will go to the media and tell them of TNSB’s decision to reroute The Lani to Farnor.”

“Seems like a smart move,” she said mildly, picking at her nails. “Is there a reason you called me in here?”

“You may have killed the whole crew.”

“Whoever sent that to them only passed along information that was their right in the first place. The crew decided to switch course.”

Weylan turned to her, his face red with fury as he hissed, “We are fighting the same war, Manon! Every time something goes wrong, the world forgets why we fly. I am trying to keep us airborne, this whole program, the reason everyone here gets up and goes to work every day is bigger than one girl!”

“She is not a girl. She is a grown woman; how dare you belittle her right now? Aelin Galathynius is braver than anyone on any planet. No one in this agency is not better or bigger than her,” Manon answered, her voice dripping with cool condescension for her boss. “Especially not you.”

He straightened. “Once this is over, I expect your resignation.”

She just laughed coldly, “Yeah, we’ll see about that, won’t we, Weylan?”

“Get out of my sight.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Five hundred and thirty-three days extra? And you said yes to this?”

Fenrys was attempting to placate his wife’s rage through the computer, but he remained unapologetic, “I did. She would’ve done the same for me, Mia, you know that.”

Nehemia scowled at him and traced a hand over her swollen stomach, “You really think I am going to forgive you for this and knocking me up with your demon spawn before you left for a year and a half?”

Fenrys grinned at her, “I do. Look at this face, no one can stay mad at me for long.” His grin was blinding and Nehemia sighed, pressing her lips together to suppress her grin. The smile won and Fenrys’ only grew wider, “There she is.” He didn’t think he liked anything more than seeing Nehemia smile like that at him.

Nehemia lifted her hand to the screen and he mirrored her. “Bring her home.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: i told y’all it would all be ok! comment to be added/removed from the tag list!

@mythicaitt @kandasboi @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @that-other-pineapple @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @faerie-queen-fireheart @chemicha @rowaelin-cressworth @mynewdreamwasyou @candid-confetti @bat-wing-rhys @the-reading-obsessed-stitchbear @feyrethedarklady @booklover41802 @rowaelinforeverworld @jamesxdaisy @julemmaes @hellas-himself @kayjaybea

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luvknow · 4 years

Text

in another lifetime | kim woojin

genre: ceo/iron man!kim woojin x secretary!reader | ceo au ; superhero au ; alcohol mention ; blood mention summary: you and your boss were inseparable. no one could understand how you could work ungodly hours for such an inexperienced ceo. but your job was to stick by mr. kim for as long as you were getting paid, and that meant being his date to charity balls and helping him turn into the country’s best superhero. wc: 18.9k

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

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

“Long night?”

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

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

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

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Concerning how?”

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

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

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

“They light up when the suit is on!”

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

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

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

“In half an hour.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean…?”

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

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

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the red and gold paint?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You mean it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, please suck it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

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

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

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

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

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

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

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

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

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Kim.”

“It’s what I do best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

The blinding lights of the bus flashed irregularly, a polite way of telling Woojin to get the fuck out of the way. But he didn’t move in the slightest. He patiently waited for you by the passenger door, not moving a muscle and looking like a car model dressed in his long, warm and tan pea coat.

“Mr. Kim, get out of the way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, that much is clear.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

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

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

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

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

“But I do!”

He pouted slightly once more. “What a shame. I thought we were friends.”

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

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

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

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

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, let’s go.”

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

“Why not!?”

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

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

“Mr. Kim, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

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

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

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

“Tonight? Already?”

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

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

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

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

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

“Are we going to test it out now?”

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

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

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

“For what!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Kim, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

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

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

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

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

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

“Try it on!”

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

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

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

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

“Really? I look ok?”

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

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

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are we going up?”

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

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“And what code is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfect!”

“How does it feel?”

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

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

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

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

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

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

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

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

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

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

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

“Scary!? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

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

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

“Does it feel any better?”

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

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

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

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

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Kim, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Kim, who’s your lovely date?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

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

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

“Not quite.”

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

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

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

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

“Stop that.”

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

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

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

“Why do you say that?”

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

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuses, excuses.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Park Seonghwa disappeared into the crowd and perhaps left the Charity Ball all together. Until next time.

Your boss turned to face you, whose stern face quickly melted into innocence as he knew what was coming by the look on your annoyed expression. “What?”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and mumbled under your breath, “Ugh, you are unbelievable, Mr. Kim.”

As you tried to escape, the desperate man caught your hand. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you for just five minutes, can you let me do that?” you snapped in a hushed volume. “Or do you need to watch over me and speak on my behalf, since you’re my Father apparently!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like that.”

“You say that every time, especially when I’m talking to another man and even more-so when I’m talking to Dr. Park. When will your sorries mean something?”

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

All of the attention that was once focused on the handsome CEO and his secretary shifted to the glass ceiling that was now shattered to pieces upon the force of some dozens of masked strangers dressed in all black. Woojin instinctively, though harshly, forced you down so he could hover over you so none of the glass hit you. What followed seemed to be too numbing, as all of the stimuli in the banquet hall was too much to handle.

“Get down,” Woojin instructed while pushing you under one of the tables. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Kim!”

Of course, he didn’t listen, as Mr. Kim always did what he wanted, right? Which would normally annoy the fuck out of you, but who has the time to panic about what your boss was up to when you’re stranded under the table and shrouded by cheap table cloth linen?

“Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until all threats have been cleared. Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until -”

For some unknown reason, the voice paused, as if waiting for an answer or a reaction from the people. Nothing was heard besides shrill screaming and crying, which was probably what the wannabe-vigilante wanted. For the first time, you peaked through the slits of the table cloth. At the stage where Woojin gave his speech was a now-broken stage with the foot of a giant robot through it. It was a very top-heavy robot that looked like it had a large cavity in its belly, whose odd shape probably served some weird purpose unknown to everyone.

“Perhaps you’ll be proud of your donations for once when we capture you all and milk you of your every last penny!” The man laughed evilly at the head of the robot. “Down with the rich!”

“Down with the rich!” his people cheered in unison.

“Hey, I found another one!” someone yelled close by. “Under Table 2!”

Shit. “Fuck.”

Perhaps all those years of advance self defense classes that Woojin’s father enrolled you in would come to good use this time.

By your glamorously-strapped heel, one of the masked men dragged you out from under the table. There was no use in struggling, and the man seemed quite satisfied with how you complied.

“Let’s go, darling.”

“Don’t fucking call me darling,” you spat as a farewell.

There were too many men in between you and the emergency exit, so you had to fight your way through like in those cheesy American action movies. A bunch of kicks in the groin here and a couple baton to the knee caps there were enough to get you by half way, but then they started double-teaming on you. Of course, this was much harder, but Senior Mr. Kim didn’t give you the best sensei in the damn nation for no reason. You felt invincible even after defeating multiple double teams, but it was the triple teaming that got you stuck. You can only kick and baton so many groins at one time until two men held each of your arms and the other stole the baton.

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

Woojin’s red and gold helmet swung sharply and the empty eyes were staring into the souls of your captors while at the same time not.

“Who’s next?” Woojin threatened with his super cool and inaccurately deep robotic voice.

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go save your investors.”

A light chuckle came from Iron Man. “My driver’s already waiting outside. Are you able to run?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

“Do not argue with me until you save everyone, Mr. Kim.”

Woojin shook his head tiredly. He knew there was no use arguing with his headstrong secretary. “You’re so stubborn. Just promise you won’t get into any trouble this time.”

“No.”

“I’m cuttin’ down on your work hours!” he yelled, blasting off to fight the giant robot thing so he wouldn’t have to hear you argue back again.

“Kim Woojin, the man of the night,” the man controlling the ship scoffed. “You will look like my childhood favorite action figure once I stuff you in a glass box in my office! A prized treasure is what you’ll be. How does that sound?”

“Sounds kinky.” You could just sense the smirk behind his mask. “Then what will you do to me?”

“Milk you of all your assets, of course! Liquidation of its truest definition! The redistribution of wealth will come easy to the people, especially with your earnings in the mix!”

“Fine, take my money. But let these people go.”

“Absolutely not! I need all the money I can get! How do you expect me to change the distribution of wealth of the entire world with just one CEO’s salary!? Mr. Kim, I thought you knew that, silly.”

“Ok, fine. You take all of our money and then what?”

“Well, kill you, of course.”

A chorus of gasps and crying were heard from the belly of the machine.

Yeah, this guy was bad, but he had his points, so you’ll cheers to that, am I right?

A heavy arm swung to try and snatch up your boss. Though the arm was so large and heavy, Woojin barely managed to escape his grasp. By the silence of the once-chatty leader of the pack, you could tell that he was bothered by the words spat by the youngest CEO in the room. How dare Woojin mock his hard-earned pay when his earnings were given to him on a VVS diamond-encrusted platter!? There were a couple of times where he landed a couple of hits on your boss and you should feel worried, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it. You hated to be on the enemy’s side, but you, too, were one of those five-figure salary paycheck owners that are barely scraping by with their bills. And of course you were all for the redistribution of wealth, but this guy definitely went a little too far…

You would think that the sheer size of this oddly-shaped hunk of metal wouldn’t be able to move so fast, but it managed to capture Woojin by digging its claw to the wall and sandwiching Woojin in between. He couldn’t even wiggle his way out between gaps because the THING was pressing too hard against the wall. Woojin could feel the metal bending from inside.

“Then we die, is that right?”

“Of course! But at least you’ll die a hard-working man, Mr. Kim.”

“I will. But I’ll die a hard-working man with billions in my grave before I let you take a penny!”

The blue beam of light that you once cursed for burning a half circle on your palm you were now thankful for, as that beam of light shot your boss up in the air and freed him, taking a few fingers off of the hunk of metal with him. A couple more shots of incinerator beams later, and both arms of the robot had been severed and half disintegrated. Woojin kicked the glass where the leader sat and pulled out the defenseless lump of flesh that spoke the harsh truth about the wealthy. The leader was a young man who was not much older than either you or your boss, who didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Perhaps he expected, or even wanted, to go out this way - fighting for what he believed in.

The police, who had been waiting outside for all the ruckus to die down, came in and cuffed the leader and a few of his minions who cowardly hid under the tables. Woojin helped all of his investors safely come out and among the crowd you saw Seonghwa, safe and sound.

“_____, wait!”

No, no, no, no, no, what the hell! Really!? Right now!? was how Woojin read your expression as he walked to you with the suit on. When the seven-foot something Iron Man stopped before you, the face of his helmet slid open to reveal an out-of-breath Woojin. The entire banquet hall echoed with gasps.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you? Your bruise is getting worse!”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you said convincingly. “Looks like you have an impromptu press conference to deal with.”

To Woojin’s dismay, all of the cameras and press and the phones of his business friends captured his face inside the Iron suit next to his famous secretary that all his business friends wished they had. He knew you hated press conferences because even though you never said anything, you were always by his side and that meant the cameras were pointed at you also.

“I can deal with them. Go to the car and go home.”

“I can stay with you.”

“I won’t allow it. You need to go home and ice your face.”

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

Woojin never raised his voice at you ever because he never had a reason to. You were always hard-working and loyal and you always did everything correctly and did it with his best interest in mind. He’ll allow small things that might be detrimental to your health, like all the over time you loved to have and the unhealthy amounts of coffee you drown yourself in. But when the arm that’s supporting your body weight was shaking, your left cheek was the color of aubergine, and you had blood splatters on different parts of your body, that’s when he had to draw the line. Worry was knitted into his brows and his lips were a flat line and you only ever saw his face like this whenever he talked with his father. It was terrifying to see him almost mad at you and it made your heart sink a little that you did something wrong.

He softened his expression upon seeing your glossy eyes. “Take Monday off to rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday, ok?”

“But -”

Woojin plastered on his happy television face and returned to the fawning crowd and overly-thankful investors. You were blinded by the flashing camera lights and that was your cue that you didn’t belong there anymore.

As if he planted a tracking device in your phone, Woojin texted you upon locking the front door to your place.

The Money Man [01:03 am]: did you make it home ok?

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

You [01:04 am]: just got home. are you stalking me?

The Money Man [01:04 am]: you didn’t think the phone i gave you was completely harmless and bugless, did you? ;)

You [01:05 am]: i should have known better. how’s the impromptu press conference? are people surprised that it’s you?

The Money Man [01:07am]: they are, but at the same time it’s not. ppl keep asking me questions and won’t let me take the suit off, can you believe that!? it’s hot as balls in this thing!!

The Money Man [01:07am]: shit, gotta go - gotta somehow convince these idiots this is definitely NOT something to invest in.

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

The Money Man [01:08am]: yes, darling.

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

Having Sunday all to yourself was normal and you did what you always did every weekend: cleaned your place, took your time making a nice meal, organizing all of your work papers, and ended the night with a hot shower and an ice pack to your cheek. Monday, on the other hand was a disaster. You were so bored! Your fingers were itching to scribble down your boss’s agenda and you were so tempted to log into your work laptop, but you knew Woojin would chew your ear off for not listening to him and resting as you should. It wasn’t your fault that you were a work-a-holic!

“What are you doing here?” you asked surprised.

Woojin was glad you didn’t seem disgusted by his presence since he was the one who told you to take the day off and you must be tired of seeing his face by now. He whipped out an oily bag from behind his back with a child-like grin on his face. It was an unusual sight to see a man dressed in a several thousand dollar business suit carrying a twenty dollar bag of dinner.

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight - you tell me to take the day off, rest up, ice my bloodshot cheek only for you to come into my home and say I need to work?”

“Yup,” he claimed unapologetically, squeezing past you to get through.

“Yes, please come in, Your Highness,” you rolled your eyes, though he was already setting up at your dinner table.

“Your home is nice. Why are you always so embarrassed whenever I try to come in?”

“I mean, look at it. It’s nowhere near as nice as your home.”

“It’s as more of a home than my place will ever be, no matter how many velvet cushions and arcade games I ask you to buy for the place.” Woojin whipped out two bottles of beer, his favorite chaser to wash down the oiliness of the fried chicken, and poured them into glasses. “How’s your cheek?”

“By the look on your face, I guess not so good?”

“I have, and it’s not as painful as it looks!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Woojin challenged your claim by standing in front of you and lowering his head to see you at eye-level. His face was way too close to be considered appropriate for CEO and Secretary relationship behavior, though you knew he never cared for those formalities. His eyes were always so sparkly per usual and that gave him that dreamy stare all the ladies in the office loved. You never saw the appeal to it until now, with only a few centimeters in between.

He poked your bruised-like-an-apple cheek.

“Ow, what the hell!” you screamed, swatting his hand away.

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

“Well, people don’t go around poking my cheek all day!”

“Do you need pain killers? My doctor can write you a prescription for the best one on AND off market.”

“That’s ok, I only trust Dr. Seonghwa.”

Woojin gave you the same look he gave a former intern who got his breakfast and coffee order incorrect. Let’s just say the intern started crying on the spot. You, on the other hand, could barely hold in your snicker from his death glare. You were never on the receiving end of the infamous death glare and now that you were, it was hard to take it seriously.

“Ha ha,” Woojin fake laughed. “Not funny.”

“What exactly do you have against him, anyways? It’s surprising that you’re threatened by the likes of a doctor and not some other hot shot software company CEO.”

“I don’t have anything against him.”

“You’re such a liar!” you scoffed, taking a swig of the ice-cold beer. “If you didn’t have a problem with him, you wouldn’t have acted so defensive at the charity ball.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he said shamelessly. A vigorous bite of a chicken leg came afterwards. “He looks at you like how I look at chicken legs.”

“Well, maybe I like the way he looks at me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

“You deserve it for acting like my Dad that night.”

“I said I was sorry! I even bought you dinner and cold beer to make up for it!”

“Oh, so this is not because you said that me and you have some business to discuss?”

“Well, that, too.” Woojin wiped his greasy fingers on his silk handkerchief that he kept on the inside of his breast pocket before whipping out his phone to show you multiple news articles on the night of the charity ball. “Watch these videos.”

Your brows furrowed worriedly because you had no idea how Woojin felt. “Are you mad…?

“Mad?” Woojin paused the current video and placed his phone face-down on the table so he could focus on his good chicken and better company. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! What’s the point in showing me these videos?”

“To show you how bad ass you look! Where did you even learn these moves!?”

“Pretty advanced is definitely a misnomer, love. Well, it’s good to hear that Father has made one good decision in his reign.”

“Is this the business you wanted to speak about?” you asked shyly, hoping that the beer was a good enough excuse for your blushing cheeks. You’ll never get used to Woojin praising you.

“Sort of. I have a proposition for you.”

“What, that you want me to be your sidekick?” you scoffed. When Woojin remained silent with only the same sly smirk on his lips, you could see your worst fears coming true. “Oh, God, you’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!? I am not sidekick material!”

“You totally are! You and I are already the perfect duo! Why not take it up a notch!?”

“No, Mr. Kim, I cannot be your sidekick again, but in a different form and outfit!”

“Why not!? It’s not like I’m not going to pay you for it.”

“The pay is not the problem. The pay is never the problem. It’s…”

“It’s a huge commitment, I know,” Woojin admitted. “Too huge to even put a price on it. But can you at least consider it? I can’t imagine anyone else by my side except you.”

Now only if a man who wasn’t your boss said that to you without any underlying superhero context, you might have considered the proposal.

“Mr. Kim, I can’t…”

You hesitated getting the right words out, but Woojin knew why. You’ve been bringing up how you couldn’t stay his secretary forever, and although he knew this was true, he couldn’t help but try to keep you anyways. You’ve been loyal to him for so long that he often forgot how to treat you like a friend and not his subordinate. But the thought of you leaving? Soon, at that? It was something he didn’t want to think about just yet. He wanted to keep you by his side for as long as he could.

Woojin downed the last of his beer before whipping out his phone again. This time a slow song played over the speakers. He stood up and offered you a hand.

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

“You and I never got to dance on Saturday. So dance with me.”

“Here? Right now? In my small ass apartment?”

“The next charity ball isn’t for another month and I don’t think I can wait that long.”

Then your boss pulled you in close enough that it felt like he was hugging you.

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

“Thank you,” he began. “For always being there.”

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

“Not just as my secretary, but as my friend.”

“You think of me as your friend?”

“I do. Don’t tell Vice President Chan this, but I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“Really?”

“By association though. After all these years being by your side, it’s only natural that I came to like you.”

“I like you, too,” he chuckled, tucking some hairs behind your ear. “A little too much, at that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In another lifetime, I feel like you and I would be soulmates.”

“You don’t think we would be in this lifetime?”

Were you hoping to be? “Perhaps. By association though, right?”

You didn’t want to press more about any underlying meaning to his statements, so instead you looked down embarrassed. In another lifetime, in this lifetime, in multiple lifetimes, Woojin thought you and him would be each other’s soulmate no matter what, because a lifetime with you sounded perfect.

A thumb gently ran over the perimeter of your cheek bruise and it tickled rather than burned, so that was a good sign that it was healing. A loud tisk came from your boss.

“God, do I really put you through this much pain!?” he cried aloud.

“Huh? You didn’t cause this - those dumbass followers did!”

“I guess, but I was the one who brought you to that event! And what about the scar on your hand, huh? I definitely caused that one.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s it, I can’t be hurting you like this anymore. I can’t be putting you through all of this danger like you’re my bodyguard. I have to let you go.”

You knew he was joking when he couldn’t hold in his cheeky smile. “That is not probable cause to fire me, Mr. Kim.”

“Really? Dammit.”

“No matter how many times I get hurt, you can’t get rid of me that easily, ok? I go out on my own terms!”

“So strong willed… I almost hate it.” Woojin sighed exaggeratedly before pulling you in for a real hug this time. His arms squeezed your waist tightly, letting you know that he didn’t want to let you go even if he tried. “Just make sure to give me a two weeks notice, all right?”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“I’m going to miss hearing that from you the most when you leave.”

In another lifetime, huh? Too bad you were stuck in this one.

“You’re taking Ryujin…?” you repeated, as you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Yes, so you can go home early if you want,” Woojin said as he fixed his bow tie in the giant mirror in his office. He then turned to present to you with an ignorant grin. “How do I look?”

“Why are you taking her?”

“She’s been working hard this past month, so I thought I’d reward her with tonight and have her practice some networking skills.”

“How generous of you,” you mumbled bitterly to yourself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you help me put on this chain necklace thing? The clasp is so damn tiny…”

“Are you ok?” he asked sincerely. He pressed a firm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You harshly swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged it off, thinking that you probably had a bad week with all of the boring work he’s been having you deal with. A lot of weird and unsettling energy was pent up inside of you for the past month, so before you exited Woojin’s office for the weekend, for some reason you thought this was the appropriate time to speak on it.

“Actually, I’m not fine,” you blurted out. Woojin gave you his full attention for the first time that month. “I… I’m putting in my two weeks.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“No, but I will figure that out later.”

“You don’t have another job lined up but you want to quit? Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t - he was more hurt than anything else that you wanted to leave without a proper explanation. He thought you and him were doing well… What changed so suddenly?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Woojin noted how your voice was shaking. “I was fine when you had me staying ungodly hours, I was fine when you had me get you coffee every morning and your dry cleaning every Monday, and I was fine when you involved with the Iron Man project, but now all you’ve given me lately is paperwork and shit that the new hires should be doing and not myself!”

“_____, language -”

Woojin was silent. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad or surprised at your sudden outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating and his silence even more so, like this was his ideal form of psychological torture. Woojin didn’t seem to care for your feelings anymore as he turned back to face the mirror.

“Your two weeks has been noted,” was all he said.

On days where you couldn’t help yourself - when you felt like torturing yourself - you would look up Woojin on all the tabloid sites. Surprisingly enough, this happened way more than you’d like. Of course, as you speculated, Ryujin had quickly taken your spot as his secretary and God, did you like to shit on how terrible she was! You didn’t have to be at the office to know that Woojin must be frustrated with her by the crookedness of his ties and jackets and how she must have forgotten to schedule a salon appointment by the look of his roots and unruly brows.

Ha! That’s what he fucking gets for not being grateful! That dick!

Perhaps you should have been less carefree, as a stranger snuck up behind you and knocked you out cold.

“Ryujin, where’s my document-signing pen?”

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

Woojin sighed loudly, running a hand through his curly locks and staring intently at the mess of papers that scattered on his desk. His desk hadn’t been this messy since the first day he started when he had to sign all of those official documents that transitioned him to CEO. The same day when he fell for you.

“Take the rest of the night off,” he told his subordinate.

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

Another sign left the young man’s lips. This time it was because he was tired. He couldn’t deal with anymore bullshit tonight.

An anonymous FaceTime call rang his phone. Who could be wanting to FaceTime him at such an odd hour of the weeknight?

When he swiped to answer, all he saw was you tied up roughly to a splintered chair with tape covering your mouth. Woojin nearly dropped his phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Kim,” a familiar voice sang. From the shadows behind you emerged the fake vigilante that led the invasion of the Charity Ball. “I see that you’re doing well.”

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

“I think you know what I want.” A shiny knife drew a line across the other cheek, small drops of blood seeping through and mixing with the dried tears and dirt. Woojin’s heart felt like it was collapsing. “A blank check addressed to little ol’ me.”

“If I see another scar on them, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

The man held his hands up high in defensive mode and took a step away from you. “Fine, I won’t touch them! Just give me what we want near the docs.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and one more thing - come dressed in Iron Man and I’ll slice their throat. Bye!”

The line cut dead and Woojin had no choice but to leave empty-handed with only a blank check in his pocket.

The air inside the enclosed cargo bed was hot and suffocating and your rising panic did not ease your pain or heavy breathing one bit. It didn’t help that the guy and his minions were playing with your hair and playing with their knives, draggin the dull edges on your arms and neck. Normally, you wouldn’t be so weak and crying to the point that the tape around your mouth was loosening up, but life these days was tough and perhaps an event like this, causing Woojin major inconvenience once again, was what you deserved.

Scurrying and uneven footsteps were heard from outside and you really, really hoped it was Woojin not dressed in Iron Man.

“Here already? He must like you,” the leader teased.

Woojin’s shaking hands take hold of your face to try to calm you down. “Hey hey, shh, I’m here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” You shook your head vigorously, whining and trying to break free from the ropes tying you down. “Hold on, I got you.”

Before Woojin could untie your hands, one of the minions hit him on the back of his head the same way they knocked you out. But your boss was stronger than that - his head was harder than his iron helmet. At the failed attempt, Woojin hurled the guy over his shoulder and out the cargo bed. Your bad ass boss got up like it was nothing, but he was breathing heavily.

Not because he was tired or weak, but because he was furious.

Three more guys tried to kick his ass and it was then you realized that your boss wasn’t just some fake hiding behind an iron suit who could program it to fight. He truly was kicking their ass! Like, raw strength and all! If you weren’t scared to death, you might have thought this was kind of hot. But then Woojin punched one of the guys too hard and it sent him flying over to you, to which you fell over and broke the chair. The rope was no longer tied to anything and you were free.

Yet another one of the lame-o sidekicks tried to capture you again, but now you were equally as furious, if not more, than your partner in crime. How dare they sneak up on you and not even give you a chance to fight back!? That was the definition of a weak-ass group of villains! So of course you had to show them a lesson and kick a few balls and some asses. But the number of asses was infinite and you were getting really tired. They had enough people to fight you and Woojin until you couldn’t keep up and then they’d kill you easily.

“Mr. Kim, now would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans!” you begged between kicks and breaths.

“Ten seconds tops. But when I say so, I need you to hold my hand, ok?”

“What!? What are you planning!?”

“Just trust me!” You and Woojin saw the leader direct the last ten of his minions to finish the job. “Ready? Three… two… one!”

A heavy force on the outside pushed the cargo bed off the edge of the pier and into the ocean with the purpose of drowning everyone in it. The only sensation you felt was ice cold water freezing your blood flow and Woojin grasping your hand for dear life while trying to swim up to the surface. Before blacking out from lack of oxygen, you felt the ripples of something entering the ocean and saw a faded red and golden glow of light. Not a second later, a hollowed Iron Man on autopilot rushed you and Woojin to the surface and placed you gently on the sand just under the pier. The silent night was filled with a chorus of ugly coughing fits from you and your boss. What a wonderful CEO slash ex-secretary couples activity this turned out to be.

As soon as your breathing returned to a rhythmic beat, a wet, crying, sand-covered Woojin held your face in his still-trembling hands. He didn’t say a word - he simply held you and pressed his forehead to yours, making sure that yes, this was real, and not some unconscious dream where he was still in the middle of the ocean drowning. Yes, you were there with him and you were alive.

“Why are you crying? I was the one kidnapped,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten up the mood if but a little bit.

Woojin laughed between sniffles and shivers, but couldn’t stop crying. He was smiling, but still crying, and if that didn’t perfectly depict this situation, you’re not sure there’s anything out there that did. Haphazardly, he planted a cold kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? You had nothing to do with this.”

You’re left breathless the moment your lips parted. “I-I, uh, I forgive you…”

“How could you ever think that I could replace you?” he muttered. “I could never. Not in this lifetime.”

“You also said that me and you wouldn’t happen in this lifetime,” you challenged.

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

Iron Man returned to Woojin’s basement as soon as his job was done, so your favorite driver picked you two up in ten minutes with plush hot towels and dry clothes to change into. The pajamas you wore already had your initials monogrammed over your heart.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Woojin began awkwardly on the car ride home. “I was going to gift them to you a couple Christmases ago, but you said that monogrammed clothing was cheesy and stupid, so I abstained…”

“... They’re not so bad,” you admitted truthfully. “Very soft.”

Coming home to Woojin’s felt so wrong, yet so right. You’ve only ever been inside for business reasons, such as redesigning his closets and kitchen pantry, but now that you were here on leisure - well, after almost fucking dying - it was kind of weird. But Woojin holding your hand reassured you that you were wanted here - that he needed you here.

“Take a shower upstairs. I’ll go make some tea.”

You left the shower smelling like orchids and eucalyptus and entered the kitchen that smelled like ginger and honey. Woojin, who had also showered, followed shortly after, stealing a kiss on your cheek that was cut up earlier that evening.

You followed Woojin to his giant marble island while he poured tea into white mugs on the other side. This felt so… domestic. This felt so right. This felt like home.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he smirked slyly.

Well, that ruined the moment. “What, no ‘how have you been the past month since I replaced you with some other chick’?”

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

“Mr. Kim, I already told you, I can’t -”

“As the Head Director of the Iron Man project.”

Your eyes widened at the prestigious title. “Head Director?”

“You stayed by my side through all the criticism and the praise and I can’t imagine a better person for the position.”

“So it’s not just a fancy title for like, super secretary, right…?”

Your handsome man chuckled. “No, I promise.”

“Head Director, huh?” your lips slowly spread into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

“Of course.”

“An extra week of vacation.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Last one. I’m your date to every event from now on.”

Woojin raised his eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? And if I say no?”

“Then I say no.”

“Jeez, I’m kidding! Of course you can, on two conditions.”

“Fine.”

“You call me Woojin from now on. Or boyfriend, or soulmate, or whatever suits your fancy.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” Woojin leaned in and puckered his pink lips. “Kiss me.”

You start your new job next week - after Woojin cashed in one week of vacation to spend with his soulmate.

#kim woojin #woojin #skz #stray kids #skz woojin #stray kids woojin #woojin imagines #woojin scenarios #kim woojin imagines #kim woojin scenarios #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #omg ok good night KJADLKJSFL #woojin ily imy omg #i wanted to post this before the chan one but then i signed up for secret santa so that happened LMAO #lemme know what u think HEH

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