Setting: Seoul, Fall – crisp air, cozy neutrals, everyone’s in jackets and sneakers, dancing between cozy cafés and dim-lit studios.
The music is too loud for a Tuesday night, but Bada never cared about that. And honestly, neither do you, because you haven’t seen her in over a year and this random invite to her crew’s “light rehearsal + chill” session was overdue.
You tug your hoodie tighter around your shoulders and push open the studio door.
“YA! You’re late,” Bada says, already running up to hug you like she hasn’t just FaceTimed you two nights ago.
“I brought donuts,” you hold the box up like a peace offering, and instantly, the crew forgives you.
You're not exactly a dancer like them, but you’ve always loved the energy — creative, loud, chaotic in the best way. And you fit into that chaos like you were born for it, even if you keep most of yourself hidden unless you feel safe.
Tonight feels…safe.
“Jackson’s in the other room,” Bada says casually while grabbing a glazed twist. “You’ll meet him.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Jackson Jackson?”
She nods, mouth full. “He’s working on choreo for something. Chill though. He’s like, not that Jackson in person.”
You shrug. “I’m not worried.”
(You are a little worried.)
---
Jackson, sweating through a loose tee, baseball cap, body rolling in sync with his own voice blasting through the speaker.
He notices you before you notice him — just a flash of your reflection in the studio mirror. You’re laughing at something Bada said, head tilted back, that kind of laugh that isn’t about being loud, but being real. You look so... calm. Like you belong in this chaotic scene. Like you’ve always been here.
He doesn’t say anything yet. Just files that laugh away.
---
Later, when everyone’s grouped on the floor, drinking iced americanos at midnight. Jackson ends up across from you. Not by design. Not consciously, anyway.
“Do you dance?” he asks, out of nowhere, between a conversation about honey butter chips and why dancers hate baggy jeans.
You blink. “Not unless I’m drunk and at a wedding.”
Everyone laughs, including him. He leans back, watching you like you’re a puzzle with no picture on the box. You don’t think much of it.
You’re too busy noticing how loud he is in the best way. Goofy, magnetic, loud with intention. He doesn’t try to shrink himself for the room — and somehow, that makes you want to open up a little too.
---
A week later.
You’re meeting Mark for coffee. Seoul’s gotten colder since last week, and he’s wearing a beanie that doesn’t match but somehow works. You guys have that old friend kind of energy — years and years of shared secrets but zero weird tension. He was always like a brother.
He’s laughing at something stupid you said when Jackson walks in, invited by Mark, and freezes for a split second when he sees you.
“Wait, you two know each other?” you ask, looking between them.
Mark grins. “Bandmates, remember?”
You blink. Right. Jackson Wang, GOT7. Shit.
Jackson just smiles, relaxed, but something flickers in his eyes — the same thing you missed at the studio.
Summary: When Y/N starts working as a personal assistant for the director of TEAM WANG DESIGN: Jackson Wang himself, she finds it hard to hide her secret. After all, she used to be a massive stan of her boss! But she's not the only one holding back...
Warnings: Swearing, degradation, sir kink, namecalling, masturbation, obsessive!Jackson, dirty talk, corruption kink?, praising, sexual fantasies, fingering, posessive!Jackson, grinding/humping by both parties, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, use of sex toys, lots of teasing, orgasm denial, breeding/impreg kink?, WILL ADD MORE AS STORY ADVANCES, PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED ANY
Your heart was pounding in your chest.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Your legs felt heavy with each step.
Who could've thought?
Who would've dreamed?
Surely not you.
When your friends dared you to apply for the job as the personal assistant of Mr. Wang himself from Team Wang Design, who would've thought you'd actually be selected? You, just a plain young woman, fresh out from college.
You remembered vividly sitting there in the waiting room, surrounded by some of the prettiest girls you had ever seen in your life. You had been nervous before going there, but when you had sat there, surrounded by a bunch of women all probably much more capable than you were, you had somehow calmed down. Why would you be nervous anyway? It's not like you would get the job, as you had just replied to it as a dare. No, they definitely wouldn't pick you.
Except...
They did.
You had dropped your phone when they gave you the call, shattering the screen. But you didn't care. At first, you thought it was one of your friends pranking you. But after being assured several times and receiving the e-mail with the briefing, there was no way out. You HAD to believe it.
Team Wang Design had hired you as the personal assistant to Mr. Wang.
Of course, your friends had teased you about it. Threatening to show the company your old posters of their directed that you used to hang up in your dorm room above your bed. Because like most adolescent girls you had been head over heels with Jackson Wang. How could you not? An idol with the looks, the voice, the moves, and the talent. There wasn't a girl in your college who did not admire him. Though you had to admit that none of them had fangirled over him as hard as you used to.
Of course, those days were behind you. You had grown, and your obsessive fawning over the man had made way for real-life troubles and concerns that were more important.
However, being hired now, as his PERSONAL assistant. Yeah, your head was absolutely spinning.
There was no way you wouldn't screw it up. Wouldn't make a stupid mistake that would make you lose your job instantly.
But you didn't care.
Even if you would only get about an hour of working for the man you were once dreaming of every night, you would be able to die happily.
Your hand reached for the door and you noticed your fist was shaking. You took one last breath, ready to meet your downfall, and knocked.
A husky voice, one you only knew too well answered for you to come in. You opened the door and got into the room.
Sitting behind his desk, his eyes scanning one of the many designs that were laying there, was the man you once called the love of your life.
He looked up at you and your mind went blank.
His eyes were like dark pools of black night sky. His high defined cheekbones complimented his sharp jawline. His thick black eyebrows were slightly creased as he looked at you, his defined and soft looking lips slightly parted and relaxed. Then your eyes met.
Once again, you were under his spell.
--------
Jackson's POV
A soft knock sounded on the door.
'Come in,' I replied mindlesly. Someone came in but I paid them no mind. The drawings of the new designs were scattered on my desk. They were good but not great. Nor was the line coherent. After countless editing rounds, this was they came up with?
I sighed. This would only give me a headache.
Simply to have something else to do than staring at the disappointing designs I looked up. There was a girl standing in front of me. For a moment I wanted to ask her how she had gotten in here, as I had no idea who she was, but then I really saw her. She was wearing a suit from one of our older lines. It looked quite new for it's age. She had probably not worn it very often. Her heels were clearly new, offbrand but still expensive looking. But her hands gave her away. Her nails were slightly busted and too short. Clearly she was a biter. There were small scars and scratches here and there too and no rings nor bracelets. Her hair looked soft and had been done up with a hairclip in a simple way, and her face...
A weird feeling came over me.
I had seen so many models in my career is a designer, one even prettier than the next. Flawless skins, perfect teeth.
But this girl.
She was certainly far from perfect, face and body. But somehow, she was captivating. An unequalled beauty in her own league. And her eyes...
Her eyes seemed to be sparkling. Never had I seen such a vibrant look in anyones eyes. A fire, full of stars and joy. Desire and fierceness, and so alive...
I wanted to protect her. Needed to protect her. Needed her close to me. Needed her to touch me...
'Good morning,' I said the words without realising it.
'Good morning Mr. Wang,' the girl said. Even her voice sounded somehow magical. It was calm, but I could see her fingers twitching. Clearly she was nervous.
'My name is Y/N and I will be your new personal assistant,' she continued.
My jaws clenched together automatically.
My new personal assistant...
I could see the innocence in her eyes. The uncertainty of my acceptance of her.
➵❤︎ Type: Mini-Series
➵❤︎ Pairing: Jackson Wang x OC
➵❤︎ Warnings: Mature, Adult Content(Eventually), Explicit Language, Drugs, etc
➵❤︎Genre: Romance, Fanfiction, Smut, Interracial, Urban, Mini-Series
➵❤︎Synopsis: In which the girl he loves has spiraled down a destructive path.
One.
♣️
She could feel the alcohol course through her system.
This was her eighth shot since she first sat down at the bar only 20 minutes ago. The bartender had a look of concern on her pretty face, watching Milan drink her pain away. The young woman wasn’t a stranger at this particular club, especially on the weekends but tonight though, something was different.
Milan felt as though she had finally hit rock bottom.
She finally accepted just how alone she truly was, and she had only herself to blame. Karma finally came back to get her for all the wrong she has done, all the hearts she’s broken and the lies she’s told. All her past relationships ended because of her cold ways but in her defense, she was young and only doing what she felt was right.
Hurting them before they could hurt her, it was only fair.
At least in her mind, it was.
It was her latest victim that led her here and started her on her drinking binge. She had been “dating” Marc for a few months now and things were adequate between the two. Even surprised herself with how much she actually liked the businessman. Regardless, she should’ve known he couldn’t be trusted, he was just like the rest she’s dealt with.
Within only five months of talking, he had given her the passcode to his condo, saying she was more than welcome to stop by whether he was there or not, and tonight just so happen to one of those times. She was expecting it to be empty as it usually was but to her surprise, it was far from it.
After putting in the code, the first thing she noticed when she walked in was the soft music playing in the background. It wasn’t something she felt the need to be suspicious of, but upon walking further inside, she spotted two nearly empty wine glasses and plates on his marble countertops. Now that caused her to raise an eyebrow. Milan was far from stupid, so she put two and two together, coming to the conclusion this son of a bitch was cheating on her.
And once she walked down the hall to his bedroom, and peeked through the cracked door, she was indeed right. The couple rolled around in his bed; sweaty, grunting out their lust in what seemed to be an intense fuck session.
The same bed she was in only a few nights ago.
Milan unintentionally let out a humorless laugh that they just so happened to hear, causing them to abruptly stop their movements and look towards her. With a shake of her head, she stepped away, not wanting or feeling the need to confront the couple and went to make her exit instead. She could hear shuffling and him calling out her name but she was already close to the front door by the time he came rushing out in nothing but a pair of boxers looking thoroughly fucked.
“It’s no-”
“Save it. I don’t care, Marc,” Cutting his poor excuse off quickly. “I’ll see you around.” She threw over her shoulder and disappeared from his life completely.
A few minutes later she found herself here, sulking, not because she was cheated on but because she realized she knew better. And as always she was left alone. Milan didn’t even realize until now, she never had the pleasure of this thing called love…with the exception of him of course.
“That’s enough.” Said a familiar voice from behind her, a voice that always seemed to make her frozen heart flutter. “Let’s go.” Before her drunken brain could comprehend what he was doing, the shot glass she had was ripped away from her hands and she was moved from the bar carefully. She opened her mouth to protest but he ignored her, dropping a few bills for the bartender who called only a few moments ago.
He gave her a silent thank you, picking up Milan’s body bridal style and maneuvered through the crowded club and out the nearest exit.
Jackson was awoken out of his sleep from his phone ringing on his bedside table next to him. As soon as he saw the name pop up, he already knew what it was about before he even answered. A worried Jinnie urged him to come to get Milan who was drinking way past her normal limit.
Getting dressed, he was out of his apartment in less than five minutes and thankfully had one of his drivers drive him to club Seoul Nights. With a hat and black mask shielding most of his face, he entered the club and headed straight for the bar area where Milan sat with her head laying on her folded arms and drink number nine in one hand.
He stood there feeling a sense of irritation at her recent antics when something doesn’t go her way. Pushing those thoughts aside, he softly grabbed ahold of her, removing the drink she didn’t need and paid more than enough than what was needed to Jinnie and left the overly packed popular club.
Laying her short body across the backseat, he slid in next to her and placed her head on his lap while the driver pulled away and drove the short ride back to his apartment building.
It was quiet for a while, so Jackson assumed Milan had fallen asleep but her raspy tone hitting his ears caused him to look down at the beauty with an expression she couldn’t read. “You didn’t have to come to get me….” She trailed off, feeling guilty and ashamed that he had to see her in the state she was in. More than anything, she hated looking weak in front of him.
She didn’t deserve his pity or kindness for that matter.
“You’re right I didn’t but you needed me.” He stated in such a monotone manner, focusing his attention on the buildings as they passed by. She could feel the tears begin to fall down her face for numerous reasons. He shouldn’t have to be put in a position like this, especially now with his success.
He deserved better.
“I promise Jackson, this will be the last time. I’ll disappear forever after this.” She spoke weakly, already making up in her mind to follow through with her words.
Jackson smiled to himself already considering what she said to be pure bullshit. Besides, he wouldn’t ever allow her to go anywhere, he refused to. “No. Now stop talking.” He ordered, not really in the mood to discuss this right now. All he wanted was to get her back to his apartment and make sure she was alright.
But of course, Milan wasn’t finished.
“You’re so stupid. Why do you waste your time when you know I’m no good for you?” She fussed, trying to seat up but failing miserably, falling back onto his comfortable lap. Why couldn’t he just hate her already?
“You know why.” He answered after a while, still not sparing her the simple glance she wished he would.
When the car came to a stop, he carried her inside of the building and headed towards the elevator without anyone really paying them any attention. Not even a second after he unlocked the door, Milan began to make that retching noise, barely giving him time to make it to the bathroom to hover her head over the toilet as she released all the alcohol from her system. He carefully held her hair from her face until she was done.
She felt so disgusting but relieved all at once. Helping her up to her feet after flushing the toilet, he handed her a cup of water to wash out her mouth. Apart of her wanted to protest but thought against it. It would be pointless anyway.
He pulled her into the kitchen and sat her in one of the chairs before rummaging through the fridge for something to ease the hangover he knew she was already starting to fell. Settling for a Gatorade, he opened the bottle and handed it to her, watching her closely until she drunk every last drop.
Tossing the bottle in the plastic green bin, he gave her a banana and yogurt to eat just to be on the safe side. Milan gladly scarfed down the sweet tasting items in a matter of minutes, feeling somewhat better.
Once she was done, he bent down, removing the heels from her feet and disappeared down the hall for a few seconds, only to reappear with one of his shirts. “Change into this.” He told her, handing her the shirt, waiting for her to change out her clothes that smelled of exactly like the club they just left.
She eyed him, waiting for him to at least turnaround or leave the room so she could have some privacy but he wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ve seen you naked before Milan.” He reminded her, taking a step forward, unzipping the back her black tight dress. Her cheeks grew warm from remembering the one and only time they slept together two years ago.
The same day she realized he was too good for her.
She sighed to herself, quickly shimmering out of the dress and pulled on the shirt that smelled just like him. He picked it up and threw it into the washing machine, setting it to wash while he led the way towards his bedroom.
On slight wobbly legs, she made her way towards his bed while he closed the door behind him. Slipping underneath the cool bedsheets, she laid down and watched him join her soon after.
With their heads on the pillow, they faced each other in the dark as many thoughts ran through both of their minds. “Thank you.” She whispered, reaching up to run her fingers through his silky locks. Of course he didn’t say anything in return, instead, he kissed her forehead and pulled her closer to him.
This was the first time in a while that they cuddled, and even though Milan wouldn’t admit it, she missed being in his arms.
You were set on staying home, cleaning your brushes, maybe rewatching a documentary you’d only half-finished. But Bada had other plans — and when Bada Lee decides she wants a girls’ night, resistance is basically pointless.
“It’s not a club-club,” she insists, adjusting her silver hoops. “It’s just a chill lounge. Creative people, live music, candlelight vibes. You’ll love it.”
You sigh, but go anyway.
You throw on a low-effort fit: black silk skirt, tank, hair up. No heavy glam. Just lip gloss and a bit of blush.
The Uber ride is quiet. Seoul at night sparkles — and you're thinking about that studio moment with Jackson. The way he sat on your couch. The way he looked at your unfinished canvas like he actually saw it. Like he saw you.
You shake the thought off. It’s not like he followed up.
———
The bar is dimly lit and buzzing — a low thrum of conversation, ambient R&B playing in the background. You spot Bada instantly, surrounded by some of the Bebe girls, laughing over drinks. You head over, exchanging hugs, sliding into the booth.
You feel it before you see him. That shift. That energy.
And then—
Jackson.
Across the lounge. Sitting casually at a table. Black leather jacket. Chain peeking out under his shirt. He’s not facing you directly — but you can still see the smile he’s giving to the girl next to him.
She’s pretty. You’ll give her that. Long hair, designer bag, pouty lips. She’s leaning in a little too close, laughing a little too hard.
You look away, sip your drink.
Bada nudges you. “That wasn’t on purpose.”
You raise a brow. “What?”
She tilts her head, subtle. “Him. Being here. I didn’t know. He doesn’t usually come to these.”
You shrug. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. But you’ve practiced that cool-girl mask since high school.
———
He sees you five minutes later.
You’re mid-convo with Tatter, giggling about some TikTok she tried to teach you at the last practice run-through. Your laugh is real. Your smile is soft.
He freezes.
You don’t notice. You’re not performing. You’re just being.
That’s the part that gets him.
He doesn’t even hear what the girl next to him says — he’s too focused on how the light hits your cheekbones, how effortless you look, like you belong in a frame somewhere.
She notices the shift in his attention. Glances over her shoulder. Her expression hardens.
You finally look his way.
Lock eyes.
You don’t smile. Just a soft nod. Respectful. Distant.
Jackson suddenly hates that distance.
———
An hour passes.
You haven’t approached him. You’re not playing games — you just… don’t want to look pressed.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom. On your way back, he intercepts you near the bar.
“Hey.”
His voice is low, quieter than usual. Like he knows this moment needs to land right.
You pause, lean on the counter. “Hey.”
“She’s just a friend,” he says quickly, almost defensively. “PR stylist. I’m working on something and she’s helping.”
You raise a brow. “Didn’t ask.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Yeah, but I figured you might’ve wondered.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. The music is louder here. You lean in, just enough. “I don’t keep tabs on you, Jackson.”
He nods slowly, eyes on yours. “Maybe I wish you did.”
You freeze for half a beat. Then you smile — slow, effortless, unrevealing.
“Enjoy your night,” you say, turning on your heel.
And you swear you can feel his eyes on your back the whole walk back to the booth.
———
DM sent around 12:47 AM, a few hours after the lounge)
📲 jacksonwang852g7:
yo
not tryna be weird or anything
but i just wanted to say you looked nice tonight
like really nice
and also
i wasn’t tryna be rude or shady earlier
idk, felt like maybe you were mad? or distant?
maybe i’m reading it wrong
but i just didn’t want you to think anything weird about that girl
📲 jacksonwang852g7: okay serious question how did you get paint on your elbow in that video and not notice
📲 you: artistic genius doesn’t follow the rules also i was wearing black. betrayal.
📲 jacksonwang852g7: you’re hilarious lol do you paint full time or just casually make your elbow famous
📲 you: semi full time i had a couple shows last year but i don’t really talk about it much tbh
📲 jacksonwang852g7: why not?? your work is 🔥 that big pink/blue piece w the koi??? that’s insane
You pause. You posted that one months ago. It barely got much traction unless people really scrolled.
📲 you: you went deep on my page huh?
📲 jacksonwang852g7: it’s called research. don’t embarrass me.
📲 you: you’re smooth for no reason
📲 jacksonwang852g7: nah i’m just honest you’re dope i didn’t know you were like that tho art shows and all no wonder you walk like you know secrets
You stare at that one a second longer than you should.
📲 you: i don’t know what that means but i like it
📲 jacksonwang852g7: it means you got presence you look like you dream in color but keep your favorite ones to yourself
You pause. That one hits a little different.
📲 you: that’s poetic. you write often?
📲 jacksonwang852g7: only when i’m tryna impress someone 😎
📲 you: damn did it work?
...He doesn’t reply for five minutes. You think maybe you pushed it too far. Then:
📲 jacksonwang852g7: idk did it?
Your heart jumps.
You close the chat, throw your phone across the couch, and yell into a pillow.
———
Jackson, on the other side of the city, grinning at his phone like he just got away with something.
He taps on your profile again. Scrolls through photos of paint-stained hands, empty canvases, random mirror selfies, and a blurry group photo with Bada, Tatter, and a guy he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t “like” anything older. But he stares.
For longer than he wants to admit.
———
Your story the next morning — a boomerang of your latte, captioned “blue today.”
He replies again.
📲 jacksonwang852g7: is that blue as in sad or blue as in color of the week?
📲 you: wouldn’t you like to know interpret it how you want
📲 jacksonwang852g7: dangerous. i’ll go with…blue as in ocean depth. mood: floating
📲 you: who needs a therapist when you have a man who reads IG stories like horoscopes
📲 jacksonwang852g7: call it my love language interpretation & attention
📲 you: damn. you got those on deck huh
📲 jacksonwang852g7: only for people i actually want to talk to
You close your phone again. Heart? Doing backflips. Mind? Screaming. Face? Completely neutral — you’re in public, sipping your latte, looking like you’ve got your shit together.
You’re posted up at the edge of a rooftop party in Itaewon — something low-key thrown together by one of the streetwear brands your friends model for. The kind of event where everyone looks like they don’t care but also like they really care. You’re tucked next to Tatter and Kyma, picking at fries, when you hear it:
“Yo—! Wait a second.”
You turn. Jackson. Again.
This time, no cap, hair pushed back like he got tired of being undercover.
He’s already smiling.
“I didn’t expect to see you twice in one week.” You match his energy, lips curling. “And here I thought you were the one following me.”
Jackson laughs, full and unbothered. “Maybe I am.”
Kyma snorts into her drink. Tatter raises her brows at you, that look. The one that says girl… he’s so into you.
“Have you two met?” you ask, gesturing between him and your girls.
Tatter nudges you with her shoulder. “He remembers us. Right?” Jackson squints like he’s pretending to think. “Ah, the backup dancers from the donut night. Of course.”
They all burst out laughing — he’s charming, in that reckless way guys only get when they know they can back it up.
You’re smiling without realizing it.
———
Later that night, music softer, you’re standing near the railing, scrolling your phone half-heartedly.
He slides up beside you. Not too close, but close enough that your arms almost touch.
“I didn’t catch your full name the other night.” “You didn’t ask,” you say, glancing at him with a subtle smirk.
He grins like you just challenged him to something. “Well… now I’m asking.”
You tell him — and then add, “I actually know Mark, by the way. Grew up with him. Haven’t seen him in a minute though.”
Jackson blinks. “Wait — Mark Mark?”
You nod. “I figured you’d already made that connection.” He chuckles, a little sheepish. “I didn’t. But that explains the vibe. You got that Mark energy — cool but lowkey. People trust you.”
That surprises you, the way he says it so easily. Like it’s obvious. You glance away. “Didn’t realize that was a thing.”
He shrugs. “It is.”
There’s a pause — the kind that feels warm, not awkward. Like you’re both watching the same city lights in different ways.
Then he says it, casually:
“Hey, are you on Instagram?”
You look over, teasing. “Is that your way of getting my number?” He puts a hand to his chest like he’s wounded. “Whoa — I’d never just ask straight out. I’m a gentleman.”
You laugh. “Yeah, I’m on IG.”
He hands over his phone without saying more. No pressure. Just quiet confidence. You type in your handle, give it back, and he doesn’t check it right away.
Instead, he says, “Cool. I’ll follow you when I’m not being watched.” You look around dramatically. “You are being watched.”
“Exactly,” he winks.
———
Later that night, home in your apartment, curled up in a hoodie, no makeup, phone lighting up in the dark.
📲 jacksonwang852g7 just followed you 📲 jacksonwang852g7 liked your last three posts 📲 jacksonwang852g7 replied to your story: “you looked good tonight btw 👀 just sayin”
📲 yo. bored. you free? let’s catch up. i’ll grab coffee and swing by
You smile. The two of you haven’t properly hung out since you got back to Korea. Between your painting deadlines and his schedule, it’s been passing DMs and the occasional meme.
You reply: 📲 studio day. but swing by. i’ll feed you snacks
———
You’re in joggers and a tee when he arrives. Paint under your nails, music low, windows cracked open. Mark throws himself onto the couch like he owns the place — which, to be fair, he kind of does. You grew up together. Comfort looks like this.
He’s mid-rant about trying to learn how to cook when you hear it:
A knock. Then, a voice.
“Mark! Yo, bro, you forget your wallet again or—?”
You freeze. He didn’t.
Mark calls out, unfazed. “Not my fault you left it in my car, man!”
You turn your head, and there he is.
Jackson Wang. Hat, sweats, plain black tee. He’s casual. He’s comfortable. He’s in your space.
Again.
———
“Hey.” He says it directly to you. Not surprised to see you. But definitely glad.
You nod, keeping your face neutral. “Hey.”
Mark hops up, already explaining. “I told him I was coming here, he said he needed to grab something. Didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I don’t,” you say quickly, polite. Too polite. But your stomach’s doing somersaults.
Jackson wanders in like he’s been here before — hands in pockets, eyes scanning your studio. Paint-splattered floor. A canvas half-finished in the corner. Your playlist still humming low in the background.
“This is cool,” he says, eyes locking on a small painting near the window. “You working on this?”
You nod. “Yeah. It’s not done.”
He glances at you, smirking. “Looks kinda done to me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re suddenly an art critic?”
Mark’s already halfway through a bag of snacks, throwing out commentary like: “She’s always been like this. Never satisfied. Even when the piece is perfect.”
You roll your eyes. “Perfection’s a scam.”
———
20 minutes later.
Mark steps out to take a call — some producer in L.A. You and Jackson are left in the silence.
He sits on the edge of the couch, looking at your brushes drying in a jar.
“So,” he says, finally. “You still think I’m just some party-boy?”
You blink. “What?”
He doesn’t smile this time. He just looks at you. Curious. Careful.
“I know what people say,” he continues. “The flirting, the late nights. I get it. I’ve read the headlines too.”
You shrug, guarded. “I don’t make assumptions. I just… keep my distance.”
He leans forward, elbows on knees. “And yet, here I am. In your studio.”
You hold his gaze. He’s not being cocky. He’s being honest.
You shift your weight, trying to sound light. “Technically, you invited yourself.”
He grins. “Maybe. But I could’ve waited in the car.”
You go quiet. He’s not wrong.
And maybe that’s what makes your chest feel tight.
———
Mark re-enters, loud and breezy, snapping the moment in half.
“Yo, sorry. That was a whole thing.”
Jackson stands, stretches. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugs. “They just needed some files. You heading out?”
Jackson nods. But his eyes stay on you.
Before he leaves, he tosses you a look.
Not a smirk. Not a joke.
Something... warmer.
Then, under his breath: “You’re not what I expected, by the way.”
You don’t answer. But that night, when you're alone again, you think about it.
Summary: When Y/N starts working as a personal assistant for the director of TEAM WANG DESIGN: Jackson Wang himself, she finds it hard to hide her secret. After all, she used to be a massive stan of her boss! But she's not the only one holding back...
Warnings: Swearing, some angst, degradation, sir kink, namecalling, masturbation, obsessive!Jackson, dirty talk, corruption kink?, praising, sexual fantasies, fingering, posessive!Jackson, grinding/humping by both parties, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, use of sex toys, lots of teasing, orgasm denial, breeding/impreg kink?, WILL ADD MORE AS STORY ADVANCES, PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED ANY
The vibrating did not stop when he left, although you had hoped it would.
Ten minutes later you entered the conference room. Jackson was already there. His eyes instantly shot to yours and one of the corners of his mouth pulled upwards.
You sat down at the table next to him, not daring to look at him.
As soon as the meeting started something happened again. The toy inside of you upped its vibration level again, but this time it started vibrating in an off-beat rhythm.
Shocked you looked up at Jackson, but he didn't move a muscle.
Cursing him in your mind you quickly tried to look away, trying hard not to focus on the stimulation inside of you.
Although the meeting was hell and you missed half of what was said, you thought you were doing pretty well. When the meeting ended, the vibration lowered again, but the off-beat rhythm continued.
You endured the following hours, not getting too much work done and not leaving your desk as much as you possibly could.
But the second meeting was worse. Once again, you sat down next to Jackson, and once again, when the meeting started, the toy started vibrating, but this time much harder than before. Silently you clenched your jaws together and endured, trying not to fidget and keeping your face as neutral as you possibly could.
It was just bearable and when the meeting ended and everyone got up and left, you dared to let out a sigh. Jackson lingered slightly and you could feel the vibrations lessen again. It wasn't as low as before, but at least it was a little less.
Pretending like he was organizing his files on the desk, Jackson bent over to you.
'Doing so well for me so far,' he whispered in your ear before he left.
You could feel your wet panties sticking to your core, and prayed that you wouldn't leak through to the fabric of your clothes.
The rest of the day you simply pretended to work. Whenever you needed to look busy, you simply typed random words into a document on your computer. The stimulation was driving you to the edge of sanity and you weren't sure how much longer you could endure.
At last, the final meeting of the day was called. There wouldn't be as many people, and some employees were already packing their stuff to go home for the weekend.
Feeling tired, and knees that felt weak, you made your way to the smallest meeting room in the office.
Once more you took your place next to Jackson while the others sat down too and took out their stuff.
'Y/n,' Jackson suddenly spoke. You looked up at him in surprise. 'can you take the minutes for me?' he asked calmly.
Afraid of what would happen if you'd say no, you nodded and took out your laptop, opening a new document.
Jackson started speaking and you started typing.
Then all hell broke loose.
The vibrator seemed to go completely berserk. It started vibrating so hard and wildly in an on-and-off pattern that you almost couldn't believe it wasn't audible. What made it even worse what that its attack on your already tense walls seemed to be precisely in your soft spot…
Your hands started shaking and you stopped typing for a moment. You had to tense up every muscle in your body not to cry out in ecstasy.
The lacking sound of your typing made Jackson look up at you.
There was no trace of remorse in his eyes, no knowing look. He simply raised his eyebrows at you as if he had no idea what was going on inside of you.
Fuming, you put your shaking hands back on your keyboard and started to smash in random buttons without a thought.
This seemed to be good enough for Jackson, as he turned his face away from you again and continued speaking.
You had no idea what they were talking about, as you kept mashing buttons and clenched your jaw together so you wouldn't slip out a moan.
After what seemed an eternity, the lights suddenly dimmed slightly and the TV at the other end of the meeting room started playing. All heads turned that way.
You knew you could stop typing for the moment and the darkness gave you the opportunity to relax your face for a second.
A large hand squeezed your thigh and you turned your head. Jackson had slipped his hand under the table, the arm that he had dropped was invisible to outsiders, with the laptop in front of him blocking their view.
His hand slid upwards slightly and dipped into your pants. You quickly looked away from him and put your tongue between your teeth so as not to yelp. Through the lace fabric of your panties, he found your hard clit. With the toy inside you still on berserk setting, he started to rub slow circles over your clit.
You wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to run away from here.
The video stopped but Jackson didn't.
The lights turned on again and the conversation resumed. Meanwhile, Jackson increased the pressure on your clit while maintaining the slow circling pace.
Your hands now truly shaking, you started mashing the keyboard again, trying to breathe through your nose as best as you could.
Now and then Jackson spoke, with his voice calm and collected, as if he wasn't on the verge of making you cum.
You could feel the knot building in your stomach. Sweat was starting to form on the back of your neck and your legs were tensing up for dear life.
You wouldn't be able to hold out much longer.
Just when you started to think you might come undone at any second now, you heard the sounds of scraping chairs. People were leaving.
You quickly stopped pretending to type.
Jackson leaned over to you, pretending he was checking your computer screen and still not stopping his finger from circling your tormented clit.
When the last person closed the door behind them and the voices and footsteps faded away, you gasped.
'I'm impressed,' Jackson said lowly. 'I didn't think you were able to hold out for so long,'
'J-Jack-Jackson,' you whimpered tears of anger and exasperation forming in your eyes.
'Relax baby, you can cum for me now. Everyone is gone. Cum,' he commanded.
It hadn't been necessary for him to tell you as you couldn't hold back any longer. You gasped and started to shake. Jackson quickly put his free hand over your mouth, covering the sounds of your moans and cries as he finally made you come undone.
The orgasm seemed to last forever, partially because the vibrator didn't stop and Jackson kept rubbing you slowly. You started to feel overstimulated and your whole body started spasming. You tried to get away from his hand, but he used his arm to keep you down.
'Just a little more,' he teased. The overstimulation was driving you insane. You whimpered, whined, and squirmed but Jackson didn't seem satisfied just yet and continued his attack on your clit.
Then after half a minute of you trying to stifle your moans, out of nowhere a second orgasm overtook your body, even far more intense than the first one. Your muscles cramped up so bad it almost hurt, your eyes rolling back into your head with the blissful feeling.
'Good girl, good girl,' Jackson cooed while he made you ride out your second high. 'Very good, I knew you could do it. I knew you could cum for me again. So good. So obedient,'
When you started to return to earth again he finally let go of you, withdrawing his hand from your pants. The vibrator inside of you finally turned off.
You slumped into your chair, your body feeling like it had just run the marathon.
Jackson had gotten up from his chair and stroked your head while kissing your cheek.
'I'm so proud of you baby,' he whispered. You couldn't speak. Your mind was far too fucked out still to think.
'I think you deserve your reward now,' he said with a low voice.
