#like something inside of me is screaming that I need to do revision like its ingrained in me rn

[renjibozo]

a coherent (probably not) thought dump about the new buddy daddies PV 3 (and additionally, PV 2)

because i'm sitting crying and need people to hear what i'm thinking about this PV i am brocken

edit: we’re making a few edits because i realized PV 2 exists and now i need to revise some parts so i don’t look like an utter clown next week (and please don’t trust me 100% with translations i’m using my very limited knowledge)

ok so starting off with this from PV 3, you can hear miri telling rei something along the lines of "Papa Rei! Get home quick, 'kay? Because today's!" before it just cuts to the next voice line

a birthday mayhaps? it might be miri’s birthday, it might be rei’s birthday, or it might be kazuki’s birthday and they’re preparing a surprise. unless it’s something else then literally please ignore this entire section

in PV 2, you can see her wearing a party hat along with streamers strung up behind her off to the side + another party hat at the corner of the screen

this means there IS a birthday (like i thought earlier before the edit) and it’s rei’s because kazuki is in the same room as miri while they’re talking

“Papa Rei looks lonely sometimes...” - Miri “Isn’t that guy just always grumpy?” - Kazuki

moving on, kazuki saying something along the lines of "I don't like this season/weather..." and a shot of a drawer opened to reveal a polaroid in the middle of many many knickknacks

judging by one of the shots in the opening,

his wife probably died in the rain and we're getting more information about the incident because it's been hinted at in the early episodes before it became parenting focused

and adding onto this because of a nice person in the replies!

the building behind him looks exactly like aozora daycare, just not sure if its the front or back (maybe the front bc of the hint of a blue gate beside him) but there doesn’t seem to be bushes planted anywhere near the spot where you can see the hydrangeas, so maybe it got planted a while later?

considering the clothes he’s wearing, this has to be before the dinner scene and is what leads up to it... the connections are getting stronger

you cannot convince me that this isn't rei's brother and that he isn't the favorite child

even rei (as seen from a flashback) couldn't call his father "dad" and that he should refer to him as "boss", but then there's this guy fighting him that calls rei's father as "father"

and something something about "Didn't Father tell you to return to the organization?" which implies he escaped the organization and got hired by kyutaro somehow

how he managed to get an apartment? i'll probably just say kyutaro did it i have no idea if he can even make forgeries like kazuki does

additionally: in PV2 you can see more of the gunfight between who i assume to be rei’s brother (older or younger? who knows)

and i assume this is set while miri and kazuki are waiting for rei to come back because it’s his birthday and they set up a nice surprise party for him, so, hoping he hurries back home because he can’t just stand them up like that on his own birthday

OK. NOW. THE SCENE THAT SPAWNED THIS ENTIRE POST.

there must've been some kind of falling out between rei + miri and kazuki because he was screaming "I'm... not your housekeeper!" during dinner

i'm suspecting that they finally got on his nerves if they never pick up after themselves properly or just the small stuff piled up onto kazuki and he had enough despite usually not really minding the fact that he has to do most if not all of the house chores

but another theory i have is that the scene with the photograph is connected and because of the stress, it leads up to him taking it out on rei and miri. i'm distraught i don't want to see this episode but i have to. mfs gonna have a sk8 episode 7 situation and i'm powerless to stop it

already saw a post or two about this one and i also hope it's just a red herring but judging by the shirt that rei has on which is different from the shirt he wears inside the house in earlier episodes, this was probably right after kazuki's meltdown

maybe kazuki ran off somewhere? maybe miri tried following him and got sick in the process and rei had to come fetch her? i just wonder how desperate rei must've been to run to kyutaro for help even if he's not as wary about kyutaro like kazuki is

kyutaro's talking about something being a warning because the organization doesn't forgive something (possibly kazurei taking in miri and raising her)

this shot looks like it could've been a flashback from when his wife died because he was wearing a green shirt during the dinner scene

ignoring the crossed out line because it has to be during the birthday surprise episode because if it really was after kazuki’s meltdown, he has to have been wearing a green shirt. but in the scene where he’s standing in the rain looking a little roughed up, he’s wearing the same exact clothes as here

and then a shot of rei's father without the shadows mostly hiding his face from a flashback!

he's gonna be a major player in the second half and i am Not Here for it

bonus: i think karin's a spy tasked to idk infiltrate kazuki and rei's apartment and see what they're up to i just know she's gonna be a pain in the ass for them

that's all folks i just needed to get these out right now

#future yuzu i'm counting on you #may i be blessed with foresight #actually no i dont want these to come true im gonna be distraught #don't expect a high quality thought dump from me im just rambling #buddy daddies #buddy daddies spoilers #spoilers #(because of the PV) #edited because of new information i found

[onceandfutureoshainspector]

- somewhere deep inside me fester memories and dreams... i try to pin them down but i can’t hear beyond the screams...

- didn’t she say she was the victim of a mind wipe gone wrong? i assumed that the person doing the wipe must’ve been AMARI, but if JULE arrived on the same ship as those STORAGE DRIVES... there’s only one person on this ISLAND with that kind of tech :/

   - theory: FARADAY sent the mysterious VICTORIA to go hard drive shopping on the mainland - she was definitely on the boat, and i don’t think it extremely likely that she was just a random passenger, so i’m gonna assume she’s an ACADIAN. once clear of the ambient radiation of the FOG, the INSTITUTE managed to track her location and sent a COURSER after her. the COURSER attacked her boat while she was returning to the ISLAND, and during the altercation both boats were damaged to the point of crashing - the smaller vessel into SOUTHWEST HARBOUR, and its attacker further east, into the cliff below the HARBOUR GRAND HOTEL. FARADAY was unable to get an operative past the TRAPPERS at the first site, and thus couldn’t recover VICTORIA or his STORAGE DRIVES, but the SUPER MUTANT infested HOTEL was far enough up the cliff to allow the stealthy recovery of one wounded COURSER. DIMA (and possibly his husband and wife if they’re in on it (they’readifferentspeciesi’mnotthinkingaboutthisanymoretoday)) couldn’t just let the COURSER go, but also had one of his fits of handwringing and decided that he couldn’t just dispose of another synth who needed his help, so he tried to pull off a partial mind wipe, removing any memories of working for the INSTITUTE but keeping the personality intact. unfortunately, organic brains aren’t that easily partitioned, and the result was JULE. it’s kinda difficult to say exactly what symptoms she’s experiencing, but she’s very obviously not having a grand old time.

        - this theory leaves VICTORIA unaccounted for, unless she was the skeleton on the boat, but i don’t think so. maybe this quest will involve finding her. hopefully i can find her before she follows the fate of poor DERRICK.

- somehow JULE got close enough to VICTORIA to snag her luggage key, and after they’d set out from the mainland, going by the fact that the trunk is still locked.

    - revised theory: VICTORIA’s boat was run aground first, JULE scooped her up without regard for luggage, cargo, or the wounded/dead pilot, but on the way back something happened - VICTORIA grabbed the wheel, or a SUPER MUTANT took a pot shot with a FAT MAN, idk - and the second boat didn’t make it out either. the two crawled ashore, either together or one chasing the other, and from here there are like a dozen different possibilities, from VICTORIA dying in/immediately after the crash, to her taking care of wounded JULE and going to find help/getting snatched by enemies, to her running off into the woods and JULE finding her keys but being too wounded to get far.

- i really wish i could do some kind of super difficulty combined MEDIC/HACKER/ROBOTICS EXPERT check to heal her right now. i’ve got points above maximum in INTELLIGENCE right now, i’m not sure it’s possible for me to fail. let me help this lady TODD :(

#FALLOUT 4: THE RESURRECTION OF OSHA #fallout 4

[ktheist]

muses. familiar!cat-shifter!yoongi x witch!reader

83.“My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk sometimes.”

x

“i thought witches don’t have friends.” yoongi scratches his arm, opening the fridge and checking out what little sustenance you have in it.

not much.

“and i thought familiars are supposed to indulge in their masters needs and wants,” hands on your hips you look at him with knitted brows and a pout.

but exactly five heartbeats later, you hear your phone buzzing and you’re hurrying to grab your bag, “i’ll be back!”

a second after the door closes shut, your head pops back in, the sulking pout now gone and in its place, the most brilliant smile and brightest twinkle in your eyes, “let’s have chicken for dinner! i left the money on the counter so you can order it and we can eat together.”

and then you’re gone.

min yoongi grumbles, eyes burning holes in the fifty dollar note lying on the white countertop.

‘did she think i’m broke or something?’

well, yoongi was quite literally homeless and living on tree branches in the deepest part of south korea’s reserves. but he was only living there because his last witch died from greed.

take over the world. become queen of every species on earth.

that sort of greed.

but you?

this 20-something year old pays - well, the humans like to call it tuition fee - to be a slave to an education that isn’t even beneficial to witches.

huh.

yoongi feels sorry for your bodiless ancestors who got burned at the stakes. if they had graves, they would be turning in them but they don’t because they took the risk to learn and practice witchcraft even if it was forbidden in their times.

now you’ve got all the reasons to learn - humans got so stupid that they stopped believing in anything besides logic - but you’re using him to predict what’s going to come out in your tests.

x

“ugh, my tailbone’s about to liquidize from having to sit in that exam hall for five freaking hours.” mina grumbles, stretching her arms over her head.

“okay, but why the fuck do we have to write a 10 page essay on why plato think our end goal is happiness?” soyeon’s scrunches her nose, as if physically cringing at the remembrance of it.

“isn’t that like, a statement? weren’t we supposed to talk about rousseau?” nayeon’s brows knit together in utter confusion.

“shit.” you’d expect soyeon to be cursing but it’s mina.

after a series of mina freaking out and the rest of you trying to calm her down by saying whatever possible answer they discussed could very well be wrong because nobody recalled hearing the professor mention who this rousseau scholar-guy.

except you.

and it wasn’t the professor who mentioned it.

it was the grumpy shapeshifting cat you’ve taken in who also happens to have futuristic premonitions.

almost as if they could hear your thoughts, soyeon turns to you, “we should’ve trusted ___’s instincts.”

technically, you were doing some reading on rousseau’s natural law theory when the girls sneaked up on you and scared your literal soul out of your body. they were surprised that you were even studying so you passingly mentioned having a strong, unquestionable feeling that he’s going to make an appearance in finals.

“you girls should’ve listened to me,” you cheekily proclaim, hands on your hips and chin tilted so high up, you can almost see the sun.

“oh great finals goddess, please tell us what you think will come out for criminal procedures,” mina gets on her knees without a care in the world and starts praying for you.

it wasn’t hard to stroke your ego and your friends know that better than anyone. so you tell them what they want to know on a pretense of ‘just predictions! don’t put all your eggs in one basket. i might be wrong!’

“yoongi, i’m home,” you singsong, swinging the door open only to have your shoulders sag at the lack of a certain black haired grump who would usually be sleeping on the couch and grumble for you to ‘shut up, i’m taking a nap.’

“huh, he’s not here.” you kick off your shoes and pad over to your room only to have your heart flutter at the sight of a cat snugly curled up in your bed.

“yoongi!” you squeal, dropping your bag and books on the floor before bounding over to the bed and gathering the slumbering feline in your arms.

the cat’s golden slits seem to appear on guard until they soften at the sight of you. he yawns widely as he stretches in your arms.

“i’m home, yoongi.” this time, your voice is barely above whisper, hand scratching his furry body as you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling.

“you were right about rousseau and now my friends think i have some sixth sense,” you prattle on while the weight on your chest starts curling himself up - you have no strand of doubt that if you just looked down, the black feline will be snoring away as if he doesn’t have a single ounce of care for your story-telling.

not that yoongi’s ever showed an interest in your life besides the magic that you happen to bottle up and exploded the day he was walking around in seoul out of boredom.

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you wake up to the sound of ‘here’s your chicken’ and a ‘thanks’ before the door clicks shut.

“was that the chicken?” groggy but hungry, you march over the kitchen where yoongi - now in his human form - is taking out the boxes with your favorite swicy chicken restaurant symbol from the plastic bag.

“with the way you were snoring, i didn’t think i should order dinner at all,” he says nonchalantly.

“i-i don’t snore!” you almost scream, cheeks heating up.

“uh-huh,” there it is again, the nonchalant tone that almost drives you up the wall. then he turns to face you, index finger tapping the corner of his mouth, “you’ve got some drool there.”

almost as if possessed by a chaotic spirit, you trudge to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you in your haste. your reflection stares back at you with bed hair pointing everywhere and alarmed, round eyes as you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand only to notice nothing there. you repeat the motion once again and true enough, not a smidge of drool is present.

“that lying-!” you huff, marching back to the kitchen with one objective in mind.

“lying isn’t very nice, yoongi,” you say, barely putting a lid on the boiling anger.

“being too trustful isn’t very witch-like either.” he counters, a swicy chicken in hand and bright red sauce in the corner of his mouth.

“i curse you into a monkey!” you scream, index finger pointed in his direction.

but instead of the black haired familiar morphing and turning into the animal you cursed him into, he continues eating without even batting an eye.

“what- but-” you look at your hand and then back at him, “i cursed you!”

“you can’t curse your own familiar.” he finally says halfway into your quarter-ish life crisis, “now sit down and eat before your stomach starts grumbling too.”

you huff in bashful frustration. face too hot to even look at yoongi in eye but you’re too hungry to throw another fit.

believe it or not, this is just one of your routine in your daily life - him teasing you, completely nonchalantly and you getting worked up over it and end up making a fool out of yourself.

in a few hours, you’ll end up forgetting it ever happens and end up cuddling the cat that’s curled up on your pillow. you’ve just finished revising another topic of your next exam.

the next time you wake up, it’s to grown sized male snuggling into your chest, his arm slung over your back and your leg wedged between his. there’s not so much as a hair’s breadth between you.

“y-yoongi,” you stammer out, unable to think properly.

but when the aforementioned man simply groans and nuzzles his face in between your boobs, your cheeks hit up and your hand ends up swinging in the air before it hits its target.

his cheek.

now he sports a red handprint on his porcelain skin as he goes around, making coffee for himself while you diligently study at your desk. it’s some time in the afternoon that a furry ball leaps into your lap and kneads your thighs with his little paws before curling into a ball.

“aren’t you so cute?” your heart flutters at the adorable little fur ball, hand scratching the underside of his neck and giggling at how he’s purring in appreciation.

you end up dropping your apple pencil and shutting off your ipad. carrying the clingy furball in your arms, you plop down your bed.

“ugh, my back feels like it’s gonna crumble off like biscuit crumbs,” you lament, not caring if the sentence makes no sense.

but before you can think of any other sentence that makes no absolute sense, you feel the weight on your stomach shift, the furball you were caressing now turning into a lump of skull with actual human hair as it holds itself up and places its forehead on yours.

“how is it that you willingly take me to bed when i’m a cat and slap me in the face like i’m some pervert when i’m my human form?” this time, you know he’s teasing you because he’s smirking like he’s amused.

“it’s different because you were a cat!” you thank merlin that your voice comes out strong and certain.

“i’m still me no matter what form i take though,” his hand is warm on your thigh. his breath fans your skin, “still a man.”

“it’s different,” you know you sound meek compared to when you started out.

but your face is hot and your heart is palpitating inside your chest. all of a sudden you feel too shy to even look at him. so you cast your gaze to the side. relief floods your system when he lifts his head from yours. but it’s short-lived. teeth bite on the delicate skin of your neck. not enough to hurt but enough to incite a surprised yelp from you.

and a swing of your hand.

that’s how yoongi ends up with another red handprint on his other cheek. the first one is barely disappearing.

and you, with a hickey on your neck that you don’t know what to explain to your friends tomorrow when you meet them for the exam.

but one good thing comes out of it. after the slap, a rope materializes and wraps itself around yoongi. it’s pure magic and not even he can undo it.

“stop teasing me,” you start, sitting on the chair with your legs crossed.

“start treating me like i’m a man even in my cat form and i’ll consider that,” he counters.

at that, you lift an eyebrow, all of a sudden feeling a rush of confidence, “start acting like a man in your human form then.”

that’s when yoongi looks at you like you’ve challenged his essence. his existence.

“untie me and i’ll show you what a man is, master,” he challenges back.

it’s the word ‘master’ that gets your stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“you have two heads but you’re using the useless one to interpret what ‘a man’ means?” eyebrows rising to the ceiling, you pretend to be surprised.

“you’re a witch but you don’t even know how to use a spell,” he shrugs, reverted to his nonchalant self.

and that’s what irks you the most. how he acts like it has nothing to do with him but rubs your lacking in your face.

“lay down.” you order and his body is sent flying backwards, barely missing the wall in his abrupt descent.

yoongi groans, gathering himself once again.

“see, i know you can’t go against my words,” you say, triumphant.

“how did you find out?” he strains his neck, trying to look at you now that he’s laying down.

“the way you always did what i asked and last night, you ordered the chicken anyway even though i was sleeping and i could’ve slept through the entire night.” those were suspicions - you only confirmed it when you gave him the direct order.

“fine, you win,” he announces, barely caring about the argument.

“good.” you nod, mentally willing the rope to untie itself. but nothing happens.

you try again.

and again.

and again.

“can i please be released?” yoongi finally says after one too many mental tries.

“uh, wait,” you push yourself off the chair and tread over to manually undo the knot that keeps the rope tightly wrapped around yoongi.

“you can’t do it with magic?” comes the million dollar question.

you sigh, dejected, “i think i need to be angry - or feel strongly about something to get my magic to work.”

that’s what happened when yoongi met you. overstressed and barely focusing on your surroundings, you ended up getting run over someone who was on a bike. everything just kept going wrong. you ended up bawling your eyes out on the sidewalk - the man who ran over you started panicking thinking he broke a bone.

“i’m cool now though.” you shrug, easily dismissing the dejection and whatever that upset you before.

the rope comes undone and yoongi shimmies himself out. but before you can do anything, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist and pulling you down until your knee digs into the mattress in between his legs, your faces too close. if he’d just tilt his head, his lips would easily brush yours.

“yoongi,” you warn but he shushes you.

“try getting the rope to move with magic,” he instructs, voice uncharacteristically soft and soothing.

you take a deep breath, eyes trained on the rope lying around him whilst trying to ignore the millimeter distance between your faces.

you move your index finger and the rope lifts itself up. you motion to the left with your finger and the rope gradually slithers through the air in the direction you’re pointing.

“it’s working,” you almost squeal, beaming.

and in your excitement, you seek yoongi’s gaze, only to see the rope crashing against the ground in your periphery.

“good,” a smile plays on his lips.

all of a sudden, you’re out of breath, the perpetrator also being the cause of the rush of blood to your face.

thanks.

the words doesn’t really get passed your lips because his feel feather-light but his fingertips on your cheek is calloused but grounding. that’s how you know this isn’t just some dream.

then he pulls all of you down. the sudden shift of motion illicit a gasp out of you. but the shock stricken state is short lived. you find yourself breathing in his musky woody scent.

he leans down, kissing the delicate spot on your neck that makes your heart wretch inside your chest.

“yoongi, maybe we should take it slow and practice some other time?” you suggest and he chuckles, the sound ringing in your ear like a blissful melody.

“i’m not doing this for a practice run,” he confesses ever so casually, “i took on the form of a cat because you told me about the one you have back home. but you got too familiar with it that you forgot about me.”

he licks your flesh like a cat would. it’s supposed to be an innocent, cat-like gesture but something about the way his male body is hovering over you makes the fibers in your system go on panic mode. you wish the bed would open up and swallow you whole but you’re not powerful enough for that.

yet.

“i’m upset,” he sulkily says and sinks his teeth into your skin.

x

the fading redness on his left cheek where you first slap him is rosier than ever after your third slap landing on that one.

“when are you gonna let me go?” his voice echoes in the silence.

you turn around to see the man sitting cross-legged on your bed with his hands on his sides, the rope tightly wrapped around him. after he bit you, the rope ended shooting up and around him, as if it had a mind of its own and sought to protect you by disabling your neck-biting familiar.

oh, you sport similar hickey on the other side of your neck now too.

“hmm,” you tilt your head in contemplation, “after my last exam?”

“that’s like, in a week,” he grunts, “how am i gonna bathe? and eat?”

“you have two heads, yoongi. figure it out.” you shrug and turn back to your books and ipad.

x

note. this was requested by an anonymous as part of my drabble game.

#bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts x you #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts fluff #yoongi fluff #drabble game 1 #excerpt from a fic i'll never write

[baepsaesbae]

Office Hours

Pairing— Kim Namjoon x female reader

Genre— Smut, pwp, college au

Warnings— Inappropriate student/professor relationship, fingering, spanking, oral (male), dirty talk

Word count— ~3k

Summary— You visit your professor’s office hours to seek some help

A/N— Happy Birthday Namjoon! Fun fact: this story was the first time I ever attempted to write smut. Huge thank you to @taemaknae for making this pretty banner for me! Enjoy~

It’s just for the grade. Just for the grade. The words paced back and forth across your mind in the same chaotic motions that your own emotions took on. You made your way up the steps of the history hall, towards Professor Kim’s office. All your nerves were hyper aware of the surrounding and each step was deafening, threatening to pop your eardrums. The nervousness of it all flushed your cheeks with a warm glow that slowly grew into an uncontrollable forest fire.

And then it all climaxed as you stood at the closed door of Professor Kim’s office. Your heart skipped and sputtered and protested, but you vowed to push onward. It was just a meeting with a professor. No biggie, you tried to reassure yourself.

But the little angel on your right shoulder (the one you had always ignored up until now), whispered in your ear about how you got yourself into this predicament. Y/n, the social butterfly and socialite-to-be, was, admittedly, a flirt. Of course, this had always gotten you into predicaments that often left more to be desired, but they always resolved themselves. Besides, if you couldn’t concoct a solution for yourself, your parents always helped out their little. They both came from money so old the corners of the bills were fraying. But this time was different; this time you bit off more than you could chew. This time your parents wouldn’t be there to bail you out.

It all started the same way as always: with you being the ever flamboyant ___ and locking your eyes on the target of your next fling. Professor Kim Namjoon was a young professor, one with the worn down charm of an old bike, and he had just started teaching at your university. His hair was dark and fell in delicate waves, and his face was charmingly disheveled by the cute glasses he always wears. You knew since the first day of class that he would be your newest toy, and what’s more? You were tired of the boys your age.

Now, you were here, three months later, facing the door that led to the mess you created. Just for a grade. Your shaky hand knocked a nervous knock, one that begged the person on the other side to not open the door.

“Come in,” you heard his voice from the other side of the door.

God dammit why did I do this to myself? you thought. Although you had been quite flirty with Professor Kim ever since the semester started, any romantic interactions with him had all been just a fantasy. Well, romantic OR sexual interactions.

You put on your best smile in an attempt of exuding false confidence before opening the door. Once inside the office, you locked eyes with Professor Kim. He was wearing a light blue button up shirt with a cute tie that had a colorful paisley pattern. His black glasses were simple but only added to his charm. You began to wonder who chose the tie, whether it was him or maybe a significant other when your train of thought was interrupted.

“Ah, Miss ___. How are you? I assume you’re here to ask about the final paper? Please, sit down,” Professor Kim flashed you a smile. It was the type of smile that would have women of all ages swooning.

“Ah yes! I uh, have a rough draft that I wanted to review with you. If you have the time. I’m not sure if I’m addressing the prompt properly. I think I had an issue with that on the last essay,” you began to explain.

“Of course we can do that. Office hours are specifically set aside for students anyway. Whether that be for academic purposes or...other things…” his voice suddenly got lower and dropped off before he continued with his usual cadence, “Anywho, let’s take a look at your paper!”

You nodded and tried not to pay any mind to his odd remark. You chalked it up to him just not knowing how to end his sentence. You whipped out a printed rough draft and slid it over to Professor Kim. You found it more beneficial to make revisions on physical paper. You both sat in silence as he began to read your essay.

After what felt like the larger portion of a decade, Professor Kim’s eyes rose from the paper to meet yours, and they were murky with a mixture of amusement and something a bit darker. Your heart skipped as you scanned the dark brown pools for confirmation that what you had read in his eyes was a brewing lust.

“Miss ___, you have a fine craft for writing history papers don’t you?” his lips tugged at the corners into a charming half grin, “Have you written anyone’s papers for them for profit?”

You let out a breathy laugh that betrayed your false confidence, “Um, sir?”

He chuckled, “Just messing with ya. Lighten up, Miss ___.”

Again, you let out a breathy laugh and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, an annoying habit you had picked up when you were nervous (though it was rare anyone ever saw you nervous).

“S-sorry, sir,” you wanted to kick yourself for being such a wuss in front of him. I am ___, and I’m not supposed to lose my nerves!

Before you could collect your feelings, you felt your heart chase up your throat when Professor Kim suddenly leaned in and the distance between you two went from close to very close. You could smell the light musk of his cologne, a lovely scent that folded itself into a strange warmth in your chest.  Perhaps it was Aqua di Gio? A man of taste, you noted to yourself.

“You’re quite the social butterfly in lecture, and yet here you are stuttering,” he chuckled, his eyes betrayed nothing except a shadow of lust. You could almost see your own nestled desire in your reflection on his glasses. “Tell me, ___. Why are you really here? Surely, an excellent writer like yourself wouldn’t need my guidance on such an elementary paper?”

As if his direct confrontation wasn’t enough to send you into a frenzy, Namjoon’s hand shot out to tap the tip of your nose teasingly. You felt your lips part, in an unconscious expectation for him to run his fingers along them. He didn’t, but you could hear him chuckle again.

“I’m not quite sure,” you spoke, and as you continued to speak, you felt your confidence- your real confidence- sink back in, “I just thought it would be...entertaining. One for the books?” You even allowed a single eyebrow to make its way up, challenging him.

Professor Kim leaned in even closer, until his lips almost (but not quite) brushed your ear, “Go make sure the door is locked, Miss ___.” His breath was warm, and the musk of his cologne grew stronger, caressing you invitingly, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to reject it.

Slowly, you stood up from your seat to the door before turning the lock with a quick, deliberate movement. Your breath came in quick bursts, your legs pressed together tightly as you made your way back to the desk, and, for the first time since entering his office, your face slowly cracked into a slight, sly smile.

Professor Kim was leaning back in his chair, as if the situation hadn’t taken a turn at all. His calm demeanor put you on edge, especially when he beckoned you over to him with one finger. You arched a brow and smirked at his boldness, but nonetheless made your way to him. Raising the stakes, you plopped into his lap, straddling one of his thighs.

“Did I say sit down, Miss ___?” Professor Kim’s voice was deeper now, and the light aura about him had vanished.

You were taken by surprise and didn’t know how to react. Before you could reply, Professor Kim leaned in to whisper in your ear, “From now on, you'll do as you’re told, understand? Only good girls get rewarded.”

That sent chills down your spine. All the boys that you’ve been with before had tried to put on a dominant act. Some of them were more convincing than others, but none of them were as authentic as this. Your excitement grew and you became cheeky because of it.

“What if I wanna be a bad girl?” you teased, trying to place a kiss on Professor Kim’s neck.

“Then you can get the fuck out of my office,” Professor Kim said abruptly, and pushed you off his lap. Stumbling backwards before running into the desk, you were shocked again. You realized you had never met anyone like Kim Namjoon before, and he wasn’t going to put up with your antics. You were helplessly at his mercy, and you couldn’t be more turned on.

“Turn around and bend over,” Professor Kim commanded with a new edge to his voice. You did as you were told, thanking god that you chose to wear a seemingly innocent dress with red lacy underwear that day. From Namjoon’s angle, you were sure he could see everything. You heard Professor Kim click his tongue as he got up from his chair. He leaned over you and whispered into your ear, “You’re such a naughty thing. You think I don’t notice the skimpy outfits you wear to class? All the innocent little bends you do when you ‘accidentally’ drop something? I think I’m going to have to discipline you to act properly in class. I will not be disrespected in my own classroom, do you understand? Outside of class, however, you can act however you please.”

“Yes Professor Kim. Punish me however you like,” you decided to play along looking back at him with a smile. The smile didn’t last for long, as you felt a hard slap on your ass that stung like hell. You let out a loud gasp.

“I’m not playing around. I’ll be the one calling the shots, Miss ___. You can call me ‘Sir’ from now on, Professor Kim is too long, it’ll be hard to scream it out later,” Professor Kim landed another hard blow on your ass. You let out another whimper. Usually, you love getting your ass slapped, but no one has ever done it like this before. A few seconds pass another slap echoed throughout the room. The pain was starting to mix with pleasure.

“You didn’t answer me, Miss ___. I do not like being ignored,” Professor Kim admonished.

“I’m sorry, sir. Yes sir you will be calling the shots from now on,” you quickly responded. As good as the spanks were starting to feel, you would have preferred a more tender touch.

“Good girl. What do you want me to do now? You want me to touch you?” Professor Kim said with a deep sultry voice. His voice alone had you soaking through your panties. All you could do was whine in response and sway your hips in Namjoon’s direction. Namjoon chuckled at your reaction as he slipped off your panties.

“Already so wet for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet. Is this what you’ve been wanting all semester?” Professor Kim questioned.

“Yes, oh my god yes. Please sir, just touch me already!” you couldn’t help but cry out; you were dying from the anticipation. Without warning, you felt your professor rubbing your clit in circular motions. The sensation was pleasurable but left you wanting more. Moaning, you tried to push your hips closer to Professor Kim.

“Oh you want more? This isn’t good enough?” Professor Kim teased, slipping a finger into you. You gasped at the feeling, as Professor Kim pumped in and out of you slowly. Professor Kim took note at how easily he slipped his finger inside, as you were dripping for him.

“Do you think you can handle two fingers, princess?” Professor Kim asked, keeping his pace agonizingly slow.

“Please! Please I need more,” you begged.

“What a greedy girl,” Professor Kim growled, adding another finger in. His pace quickened at an alarming rate, curling his fingers at just the right spot. With each pump, he hit your sweet spot and soon you was having a hard time keeping quiet. Your whimpers turned into moans that were mixed in with your increasing panting. Namjoon listened to you and took your rapid panting as a signal to go faster.

“Oh my fuck. Oh god. Yes, right there,” you moaned out as you were reaching your climax.

“Do you deserve to cum?” Professor Kim asked without slowing his pace.

“Yes sir PLEASE I’m gonna- ahhhhh,” your body jerked involuntarily as waves of pleasure coursed throughout your entire body. Despite your cries, Professor Kim kept up the same pace, helping you ride out your orgasm. Afterwards, Professor Kim helped you into his chair. You looked up innocently at him before sweetly saying, “I’m ready for round 2, sir.”

Namjoon, who stood over you in his towering stature, allowed his face to betray a grin of delight, and he leaned in, placing a hand on each side of the arm rests. You didn’t even flinch as Namjoon established a dominating stance, but rather you teasingly leaned in and pressed your lips to his neck, just below his jaw.

This motion elicited a soft growl from Namjoon, and he grabbed you by the arms and gently pulled you up from the chair. His face was beginning to lose the structure and reserved nature that it had been carefully maintaining, and his eyes became dark with greed and lust. He loosened his button up from its tucked state in his trousers before beginning to undo the belt.

You caught on quickly with what he was about to do, and you took a kneeling position on the carpet. You looked up at him expectantly with your signature devious smile, and you were surprised at how pleased he was when his eyes narrowed in response.

“Look at you, Miss ___. Keep smiling cos in a few minutes you won’t be,” he threatened, “I’m going to shut that dirty mouth of yours up. God, your lips were meant to do that weren’t they?” He reached down and roughly moved his thumb over your plump, parted lips.

Namjoon finished up undoing his trousers, and he finally said, “Open your mouth, Miss ___.”

You obeyed without a word this time, because for some reason you were so eager to see his face wrinkle in pleasure. There was this burning need to please him that you had never felt in any other lukewarm hookup you had previously. Namjoon gently released his erection, and you were left to admire its length. But before too long, he slipped into your open mouth, and you could feel its warmth and texture. Experience kicked in, and your hands moved expertly over his erection. Your tongue played at his tip, and you watched as his face that was always so charming yet reserved crumpled into one of sheer pleasure.

You couldn’t help but smile as your mouth moved along his cock, and Namjoon responded by growling through quick breaths, “God, your mouth feels so good, princess. Keep going.” His hand became entangled into your locks, and he held your hair up to ease your movements. The ego boost of knowing you had this effect on him was a catalyst for you to speed up.

In response, Professor Kim groaned under his breath, and as your pace picked up, his hips began rhythmically moving along with you, driving his erection deeper into your mouth. Your own heart was racing as you felt him nearing his climax, and your face was warm as you felt the wetness from your mouth spilling onto your chin. You felt Namjoon’s grip on your hair tighten as he began to cum, releasing himself into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, as you continued your motions, his body sending rhythmic waves from his release. Through his heavy breathing Namjoon managed to command you, “Swallow.” Finally, he pulled out of your mouth and leaned over you, giving you several light smacks on your cheeks. His lips found yours, and you felt his kisses all over your chin, neck, and cheeks before traveling back to your lips. In that moment, your desire almost toppled over because there wasn’t enough skin, enough spit, or enough of him.

You giggled under his lips, and closed your eyes from the pleasure of his light smacks again. Namjoon then stood up and fixed himself, as much as he could after receiving such marvelous head, and then addressed you again, in a more collected voice, “What do you say, Miss ___?”

“Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir,” you responded promptly.

He arched an eyebrow, “Getting cheeky are we? If it weren’t for the end of my office hours I would’ve fucked you so hard it would knock that smile of yours off your pretty face.”

You pouted playfully, but there was a sense of urgency as you realized this might be all you would be getting from him, “Are you sure you can’t extend your hours?”

Namjoon smiled amusedly, his face carefully composed again. You knew then that he had the upper hand, and even though you were always used to being the flirt, the girl with men wrapped around Tiffany clad fingers, you yielded control to him.

“I believe your essay could use some extra guidance a different day,” he answered pointedly, “Oh, and Miss ___?”

“Yes, sir?” you perked up at his change in tone.

He tossed you a handkerchief from his trousers, “Clean up a little. We wouldn’t want our little secret out and about would we?”

Published September 11, 2020. No editing, copying, translating, or reposting allowed. All Rights Reserved © 2020 Baepsaesbae.

#bts smut #kim namjoon smut #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #namjoon pwp #kpop fanfic #namjoon x reader #bayanihanboost #bts fanfic

[shelbyshoe]

Garden and Lace

I've done a ton of revision and edits on this one, so I'm posting the better version here. Enjoy!

By the end of their mission, Levy is over Natsu and Lucy's arguing. She decides to take matters into her own hands. To finally have some peace and quiet, she traps them in her little glass bottle that houses her secret garden. With lots of time to kill, Natsu and Lucy must make up, but Lucy has other sensual plans of revenge.

Rated: Explicit

Some Explicit Tags: Smut, Light BDSM, Restraints, Ejaculation Denial, Edging :)

Words: 3940

FFN

AO3

Technically they had succeeded in their mission, but Levy Mcgarden felt far from successful on their way back to Magnolia. They completed the job, but in usual Fairy Tail fashion, they did not receive a reward. This didn't bother her. She only wanted to get out of her house. What irritated her was her partners' constant fighting. Natsu and Lucy were her close friends that she would lay down her life for, as they have done for her on many occasions. At that moment, however, all she wanted was to shove her fists in each one of their faces. This jarred her, as Levy was the nonviolent type. She needed to devise the perfect plan to ease her headache and still make it to Magnolia in time to see the next sunset. Levy sighed as their voices rose over the trees. She could barely pick up the sound of wings fluttering above them. Even the birds could not tolerate them. She hadn't expected much from their simple escort mission, only to get out of the house. Gajeel had left with Lily on another stealth mission for the master, so she felt compelled to depart on her own. She'd originally felt grateful for the extended invitation from Lucy. Her friends became a couple only a week ago, although not officially. Lucy sat down with her before their mission to explain. At first, this amused Levy. She thought it would be a quiet mission with the two love birds. She would get her hands on some extra cash and get out of town for a few days. Instead, Levy heard nothing but arguing.

"You didn't have to destroy the whole building!" Lucy complained. The trio took a break and sat on rocks near a once peaceful river. The day hot enough without them spitting words at each other.

"What was I supposed to do? Let him get away?"

"You could have taken it outside!"

"I can't always control that!" Natsu retorted. Levy's head pounded from the constant noise. She understood Lucy's frustration, but she also empathized with Natsu. For this reason, she stayed out of the entire argument. At least they didn't drag her into their discussion. They needed a valuable time out together in a quiet space. Levy remembered the small bottle she kept in her bag. She pulled the bag over her shoulder and inspected its contents. Levy shoved her arm into the mouth of leather all the way to her shoulder, glad she had created a bag with such an immense extension. She continued to rummage around for the bottle. The bold letters on the front spelled out "bag" and moved along with her arm inside. At that moment, Natsu picked Lucy up and threw her over his shoulder. "That's it," he said.

"You put me down right now!" she exclaimed. Levy watched out of the corner of her eye as Natsu began to walk Lucy over to the river. They had completely forgotten Levy's presence. She needed to find the bottle quickly before Natsu did what she thought he would do.

"Ah-ha!" Levy called out too late, as Natsu hopped into the river, and Lucy screamed. A great splash followed the sound. Natsu threw his head back, water dripped from his hair, and laughed as Lucy stood up and outstretched her arms to grab him.

"That's enough!" Levy cried, stood up from her rock, and stomped to the river's edge, "I can't take any more of your arguing!" The small mage watched as they both glanced in her direction. They were hip deep in the river, completely soaked. "Now, you both get into this bottle and deal with your problems before my head explodes."

"Now Levy, we can talk this out," Lucy said, trying to reason with her in vain. They must have seen something dangerous in her expression.

"Yes, you can," Levy said, her smile evil and wide, "once you get into this bottle!" Their eyes followed Levy's quill, as she began to form words in the air. S-H-R-I-N-K.

"Wait!" Natsu called. The smoky words darted toward them and slammed them back into the air. The world around them spun with a gust of wind.

Lucy closed her eyes and waited for her body to land but didn't fall as hard as she expected to. The patch of grass she landed on was soft. She squinted her eyes in the dim light when the day turned to night. Lights twinkled in the distance through the trees. She sat up slowly and recalled what Levy had said to them. Lucy would apologize to her later. She didn't realize how much she and Natsu fought. As much as she loved him, Natsu infuriated her at times. His destructive behavior always got them into trouble. This time, all the reward money from their mission went to pay for damages the dragon slayer created. She did understand where Natsu came from, but the excuses never ended.

Lucy stood in cast shadows, and spots of lights rustled with the light breeze around her. They reminded her of little fairies dashing in and out of the brush. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body with clothes still soaked from the river. The plants around her stretched out vast and foreign. Someone collected all of them and blended them together in one place. Lucy recalled the glass bottle in Levy's hand as the small woman lectured them. She must have sent them inside her bottle full of shrunken shrubs to get them out of her hair. Lucy brushed some grass off her blue skirt and pressed on through the strange foliage. Levy must have put a lot of work into her little terrarium. Some flowers Lucy had only seen in books. Some crawled up the trees, and some pushed through the dirt at her feet as she walked. She noticed the tiny purple petals sprouting from each step she took. She walked on with magic all around her—a chill against her skin. When the lights appeared closer, she moved a large jungle leaf to reveal the source of light.

A bright clearing between the massive plants revealed itself. An outdoor sitting area sat in the center draped in light netting. An inviting sizeable rug and pillows arranged on the lush grass. A short table with a turquoise tea set sat in the middle of the space. Above her, strung through the branches, tiny fairy lights lit everything in the clearing like stars. Bright insects weaved in and out of the tree canopies. Had Levy meant to punish them or reward them? Natsu. It was crucial she find him before he destroyed Levy's garden. Lucy inspected the opposite side of the clearing. She brushed the large leaves aside and stepped into the darkness.

"Natsu!" She waited for any other sound than the soft rustle from the wind through the trees. She heard something fall from a tree above her. With a small yelp, she backed up into the brush. Whatever fell from the sky had landed with a loud grunt. She heard a cough and knew what or who had fallen. "You scared me!" she said. Natsu lay on his back with furrowed brow and wet clothes. She stepped into the light and reached out her hand to him. His eyes opened slowly and gazed up at the tree where he had fallen.

"Lucy!" he exclaimed, taking her hand and hoisting himself up onto his feet, "Looks like there is no way out of here."

"What were you even doing up there?"

"Thought I could get a good look from the trees. Where are we exactly?" he asked.

"We're inside Levy's bottle," she replied, "I think this is her garden."

"How long do you think she'll keep us in here?"

"I assume until we get back to Magnolia." Lucy pushed past Natsu toward the sitting area. She wrapped her arms around her again with a shiver. He inspected her body with the movement. A light against her skin, warm and golden, cast shadows across her features.

"Lucy you're cold," he said. She continued to tremble; her eyes narrowed.

"Whose fault is that?" she accused. Natsu strolled around the sitting area—observed the plants around them. He squatted beside the tree line and squinted at a small twig that inched toward a bush like a caterpillar.

"This place is really cool," he decided. Lucy gazed at him from where she sat. His exquisite muscles moved suggestively beneath the soaked dark fabric against his tanned skin. The anger she felt for his usual antics subsided for the time being. Instead, her eyes darkened with the possibilities. She recalled all their intimate moments since they started seeing each other. She imagined the way his body moved beneath her thighs as she straddled him. If they were to spend hours together, trapped in a glass bottle of plants, she thought she would take advantage of it. Instead of pouting about Natsu's dunk in the river, her mind bloomed with ideas of revenge.

Natsu had never seen a place like this, more vivid than his own imagination. He wanted to ask Levy how she had created it all. Lucy might know. When he turned to her to ask, his mind silenced at the sight of her. Lucy's arms outstretched over the pillows, her hair draped around her in a golden display, and her eyes roamed his body like a hungry predator. Nothing grabbed his attention more than her white top, drenched from the river, clung to her skin to reveal hard pink nipples beneath the impeding fabric. Her eyes revealed no embarrassment, in fact, they invited him. He gravitated toward her like a moth.

"Lucy," he almost growled, "If you don't stop looking at me like that." If she invited him to take her here, could he promise her he wouldn't lose control?

"You'll what?" she teased. The look he gave her caused her to squirm. She'd play the temptress to catch him in her trap.

"Do I even have to answer that question?" he said. He didn't know what changed in Lucy to forget their argument, but he wasn't about to remind her. The hem of her skirt rose slowly to her upper thigh as she spread her legs. Natsu sunk down on his knees before her, desperate for the treasure between them. His fingers slid beneath her skirt when she stopped him.

"Not until I say so," Lucy said. She reached down and cupped his face in her palms and lifted his mouth to meet hers. His hunger seized her as soon as she pressed her lips to his. A soft breeze sent a shiver up his spine. The drenched clothes they wore now felt like heavy lead against their skin. Lucy placed both palms on his shoulders and guided his back to the floor. Natsu obliged without hesitation, his eyes heavy lidded, and waited to see what she would do. Lucy slid her fingers beneath his top to peel it from his skin. She tossed the fabric to the side without a glance, sat up, and gazed down at his bronzed skin. His arms above his head in surrender and chest bare as it rose and fell heavily with his excitement. His lips barely parted, invited her. She knew this look. A concentrated expression he would give his enemies, but with Lucy, it was to conquer not destroy. She had seen it whenever they made love. The images she conjured sent a wave of heat to her sex. Natsu's eyes darkened as he scented her, his length stiffened beneath her.

"Lucy, let me touch you." His voice husky with need and his hands curled into fists— fighting restraint. She only grinned in return. She reached around her waist, pulled off her belt, and tossed it to the side. Her familiar whip left in her firm grasp. He knew the custom leather weapon from every battle they entered together but never had he seen it in her hands with such a look in her eye. She pulled the leather between her fingers and leaned in to take his wrists, her breasts in perfect view. He leaned in and pressed his lips against one of them and heard a soft groan leave her body as he kissed her breast through the thin soaked fabric. She inspected the whip that firmly bound to his wrists together. Lucy slid her hands against his muscular chest. Her fingers leisurely glided against every ridge of muscle. Natsu closed his eyes with the irresistible sensation. This woman drove him crazy and surprised him every time they were together.

Lucy dipped lower to undo his belt, dropped the belt beside her own. His heart raced as she worked his pants open. With a firm grip on his waistline, she pulled down both his pants and boxers over his painful erection, starved for her touch. She gazed greedily at his body like a prize she had won and sat on her knees between his legs. Before she leaned into trail kisses down his chest, Natsu swore he heard her whisper, "lucky." He arched his back when her tongue darted out and trailed along his torso with her plump lips. The scent of her arousal permeated all around him. He groaned beneath her soft touch, his instinct screamed to claim her—to rip out of her precious whip and take her on the rug. "Lucy, please," he said between gritted teeth. He heard her chuckle before she wrapped a small hand around his cock. Natsu moaned with exquisite pleasure and bucked into her grasp.

The sight of him in her palm was one of the sexiest things she had ever witnessed. A powerful dragon slayer writhed in her grasp. Natsu lay naked, tied up, and completely helpless to her. The power intoxicating enough to embolden her. She rubbed his head slowly with her thumb. The tip glistened with his precum and throbbed with the need to release. Her other hand gripped the inside of his well-built thighs. Fuck.

"Don't worry Natsu, you'll like this," Lucy promised. She licked her palm and slid it over his immense length. His wrists struggled in their binding and his fingers dug into the grass. She gripped tighter over his velvet shaft and pressed her thumb against the vein beneath. He lifted his gaze to her hand in the way she worked. Her name fell from his lips as she upped the pace. Lucy wanted to burst into evil laughter with absolute power. She knew he was close when he bucked wildly against her hand and her name replaced with pleas. He finally seemed to fall apart when she cupped his scrotum and squeezed gently.

"I'm coming," he said, almost unable to speak the words clearly between ragged breaths. On a good day, Lucy would have happily obliged. Nothing pleased her more than getting him off and blowing his mind. Today was not a good day. She had prepared for this moment and almost pat herself on the back with how satisfying her revenge would be. Not only would she get her way in the end, and eventually allow him to come, but she would also punish him in the process. Plus, the whole thing was so hot she could feel her heat spill into her panties. When she felt the pulse against her palm, she tightly squeezed her fingers around the base of his phallus. Lucy knew the moment he realized what she was doing. His eyes grew wide, he moaned loudly and bucked his hips as hard as he could for the release that never came. When the ache subsided and his hips no longer moved, she let go of his shaft.

"Huh," she said, "It worked."

"Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded. She had expected the irritation in his eyes, but not the pure arousal from the act. He liked this.

"Maybe." Lucy needed him. She knew she wouldn't be able to last long without him inside her. Her core tightened to the point of ache as she sank lower between his legs.

"You're the death of me, Lucy Heartfilia." Natsu couldn't take his eyes off her, maddened with the need to bury himself inside her. Whenever she released him from his restraints, he swore, he would take her so hard she would scream his name. The anticipation set his blood on fire. She lowered herself between his thighs and trailed kisses down to his length, her mouth like flame against his skin. She gazed up at him in deep brown as she took his cock in her greedy hands once again. Lucy wrapped her lips around the head of his shaft, and her tongue lapped at the sensitive tip. Natsu arched his back again pulling at his restraints.

Lucy couldn't take her eyes off him. His chest moved up and down with his erratic breathing as he moaned. His face and chest flushed with the pleasure of her. The whole image so erotic she couldn't stand it anymore. She reached down with one hand to pull down her skirt and underwear. Natsu's gaze glued to the pair of pink lace panties. They were, in fact, his favorite pair. They fell before his eyes and lay on the ground beside her. Her hand moved to her weeping sex to touch herself, and he bit his lip at the sight. Don't lose control. He repeated the word like a mantra. She slowly took him into her mouth as she stroked her sensitive clit with her fingers. She was so wet, they slid easily over the throbbing nub. She couldn't help but moan against his cock. The vibrations made a curse slip from his lips. Lucy knew he was too big to fit entirely into her mouth, so she placed her other hand below her lips and squeezed tightly.

"Fuck. You suck me so good," Natsu said. She groaned when praises fell repeatedly from his lips, and she upped her pace. She sucked his shaft into her mouth with sloppy wet sounds in her ears and rubbed her drenched clit in a frenzy, spreading her knees wider for herself. She could feel her climax coming as his shaft began to pulse. This time she pulled her mouth away as he came and clamped her hand around the base of his cock once more. Without concern, she continued to reach her limit. Natsu shouted out with his denied release as she came against her own fingers. He watched helplessly as she rode her orgasm.

"Fuck," he groaned. His shaft cold and wet with the absence of her hot tight mouth. She stilled between his legs to catch her breath. Natsu took the opening and sat up. She gasped when he leaned into her and pressed her back to the ground. Natsu pulled free from his restraints while beads of sweat formed over his skin. With free hands, he placed both on either side of her head. "My turn." One hand reached up to restrain her wrists in a tight grip. With the other, he pushed his fingers between her folds and drove into her tight little cunt. She whimpered with his touch and thrust her hips into his hand. Natsu was relentless. He worked his fingers against her sweetest places until she became a puddle in his grasp. She cried out for her coming climax. Instead, he pulled his hand away and allowed her to wiggle her thighs together for relief. She groaned loudly at his gesture and frowned at Natsu's victorious grin.

"Natsu," she pleaded. He let her wrists go and moved down to her blouse. The fabric teased her peaked nipples since they got there, and it didn't sit well with him. He took little time to free them from her blouse. Natsu tossed her top over his shoulder, and his eyes roamed her pale and perfect breasts before lowering his lips to one of them. He sucked her chilled nipple into the heat of his mouth. Lucy cried out when his tongue lapped at them, and his teeth grazed against her skin. The sound like a melody in his sensitive ears. He left soft kisses beneath one full breast and moved to the other, pleased with her reactions. Usually, he'd take his time and savor her, but after what she did to him, he had no more patience. He released her nipples and positioned his cock against her entrance. Her mouth hung open in an empty cry as he sheathed himself inside her. Her eyes rolled back with the sweet feeling of him filling her to the brim.

"Fuck Lucy." His control shattered and he squeezed his eyes shut as her walls tightened around him in a vice grip. He knew he would come sooner than he would like, and it was all a part of her plan. He took a deep breath to calm himself, readied for what came next. As soon as she adjusted, he pulled out of her to the tip and proceeded to slam into her dripping sex. Her breasts bounced with the force and a resounding slap of wet flushed skin filled the air. She was the most erotic and beautiful woman he had ever seen. All he wanted was to show her how he would worship her body. His name tumbled from her lips as he rode her hard. Her fingers dug into his back—implored him to continue. Natsu slid his hands beneath her and grasped her firm buttocks. He pulled her hips up to meet his and buried himself fully into her. "God Lucy, I can't," he said desperately.

"Come for me, Natsu." With her words, he crumbled. Their cries echoed around them as they came together. Natsu rolled his hips with languid motion, her tight walls squeezed around him in her orgasm. He all but collapsed to the side and pulled her close to his chest. He wrapped his legs around her possessively with his sex within her.

"Are we even? No more fighting?" he asked breathlessly.

"No more fighting," she agreed. If this was how all their arguments ended, she may not mind.

It took them a while, beneath the darkened canopy of trees and foliage, to unlock from each other. Lucy picked up her clothes and began to dress, as she watched the fireflies dash in and around the fairy lights. The place was like a walk in a dream. The two lay in a heap amongst the pillows. Lucy spread her arms out and leaned her head back against their softness. Natsu laid his head in her lap gazing up at her.

"I'm beat," he said.

"Me too." They sat together for a while and talked about everything and nothing. They almost dozed off with the sounds of the forest when they heard footsteps coming toward them.

"Geez, you guys really fight, don't you?" Levy said walking through the brush. She was in a fresh set of clothes and followed by a tall dark shadow. They knew she made it to Magnolia.

"Damn Salamander, what do you do, get into fistfights with the girl?" Gajeel's familiar voice said, "You both look exhausted." Natsu and Lucy glanced at each other and laughed.

"Something like that," Lucy said.

#nalu #fairy tail #ft fan fiction #nalu fan fiction #natsu x lucy #garden and lace #my writing

[dropsofletters]

unintended consequences

title: unintended consequences pairing: kim dongyoung/reader genre: meet messy!au/interviewer!au/actor!au/enemies to coworkers to lovers!au summary: kim dongyoung, kim dongyoung...who the hell is kim dongyoung? the question ran through her head endlessly when she was in the middle of a red carpet, having studied enough about everyone to take place on any interview, but something about his name just didn’t connect to her memory. the recording of their interview, extremely awkward and improvised, ends up in the most well-known of sites, viral thanks to its awkward repetition from phone to phone. oh, she knows who kim dongyoung is—the reason why she lost her job as an interviewer. type: fluff/angst/romance/humor/drama word count: 26,229

Everything is about imagination. Romance is, in a way, part of our imagination. With our own very nerves, we craft images of who we imagine to be our soulmate—the reception of our interests in said person translates into connections of love and desire. Working is about imagination, too. Those who are creative will, forever and always, end up at the very top of work ladders. The reason? Simplistic. People love a good image, a nice daydream, a mind that will always look ahead, more profoundly, whose mind will always be running and creating more and more. Endless, this cycle is, but in her line of work…reality is reality.

Gossip magazines are known for their exaggerations. Two actors could be dating and suddenly it’s blasted as some irrationality. People could simply smoke a cigarette and it’s already on every headline. Nonetheless, this is the side that people judge—paparazzi with cameras, interviewers that pry too much, non-studious people who make money out of exploiting the real artistic essence of interest. Plucking those misconceptions away is as tough as the word can get. Hated. Ignored.

Forgotten.

Typical journalists never last in her environment. The box is already complicated; three-dimensional, understandably so, and she has to stand out from that. Her strong fingertips—all caused by endless hours of typing on a computer to get her column to be filled with interesting, yet professionally acceptable articles—are holding onto a pen. Ink-less, it is, glistening on its platinum glow when she holds it close to the man in front of her. Sprawled on a love-seat, to be exact, eyes widened with adoration the more she repeats the questions that shall be delivered elegantly to actors and actresses alike in less than twenty-four hours.

“Mr. Lim, it’s a pleasure to see you here on our red carpet today,” This is typical. Studied. The type of interviewer greeting that comes with those who are fashion enthusiasts or simply socialites asking surface-level questions. However, this is not who she is.

The ups and downs of her cameraman’s voice sounds like puberty. Growth of a twenty-seven-year-old man, in a way, someone who clearly keeps his youth even with the passage of time. Nothing like the actor she has in mind, but no less intriguing than any other celebrity could be. Jason fixes his glasses, plays with the strands of his bleached hair before speaking. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Your last movie was inspired on a memoir written in 2004. What do you think are the correlations between yourself and this character, inspired on a real person?” Like an arrow, questions should be aimed to celebrities to judge them as thinking and reasonable beings. To be a performer, there needs to be some capability of learning lines—but the strength of the delivery of emotions is worth studying. While her articles may not be the most popular in between headlines, for they are not captivating enough or filled with drama, they are…hers. They study what real actors want to be asked; about their performance, not their personal lives.

This imaginary microphone—a pen, if she’s honest—is taken in between the long and skinny fingertips of her partner in crime. Jason, whose face is normally behind a camera pointed at her, and who has accompanied her through thick and thin while building her career. The skies suddenly changed their dulled colors when her boss, finally, rang her phone for something else other than complaining about lack of substance in her articles. For the first time in her journalistic career, she gets to do something important. Interview celebrities live while on the red carpet. “Oh my fucking— You’re going to kill this. I claim it.” Jason’s high voice speaks through the air, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head just when he stands up.

Other than him, no one would know that her eyes can barely stay open after endless studying of the latest works of each of the invitees to the red carpet. Every single one of them, written down on a document, read by her at any given time in which she doesn’t have to work on articles. From movies, to shows, to musicals, to personal relationships, to anything of the like; confirmed invitees were studied by her, ready to ask just the right questions for cinematography enthusiasts. “You really think so?” The hopefulness of her voice shouldn’t have showed through in such a lightweight matter. Her pen rests on her chest, hands clasped together in what seems to be naivety. “Because I’ve been studying every question for the past two months.”

“Well, duh,” Jason’s voice rings through the hotel room when he leans over her vanity, playing with the strands of his hair to fix it. Hours of the journalist interviewing him must have taken a toll on his look, tired beyond relief. “You’re the most intelligent of our team. Only you would prepare this much.”

Questionable, really. She is the most enthusiastic of her team; the only one that remembers the exact day in which journalists are celebrated worldwide, the only one that reads articles and departs them as books, whose diction battled the ones that beauty pageant contestants had to practice, because she believes in the magic of interviewing. It shouldn’t be about asking: ‘Who designed your dress?’ if it’s not Fashion Week. Talking to actors should deal with acting. “I prepare this much because I’m not exactly the smartest of the bunch, you know?”

With a quick motion of his legs, Jason turns around to look at her, long body seated on top of the vanity. “Don’t steal my title. I’m a cameraman for a reason.”

A small smack to his shoulder should suffice, much more now that she can finally close the document on her tablet and let out that one breath that had been suffocating her for the past hour of asking Jason any possible question to every invitee of the red carpet. “Now that this is over…I should really start worrying about what to wear tomorrow.”

Freeze-frame worthy is Jason’s face when he hears those words escaping her lips. “Y—You still haven’t thought of your outfit?”

Staring down at her t-shirt and leggings, the shake of her head is given. “I’m not much of a fashion lady.” She replies, quite clear in the way she seems to have, at least, three gray t-shirts in her wardrobe and a lot more leggings than she’d like to admit. “Hyoyeon sent me some clothing for me to wear. Some dresses and whatnot, but I haven’t even opened the box. I’ve been too busy revising—”

“Where’s the box?”

“On top of my luggage, why—?” The question is not finished when she watches Jason overtake the room with long, purposeful strides, taking the big box in between certain fingers before dropping the package on top of her undone hotel bed. “…Okay, let’s look at what I have here, I guess.”

“I am the one deciding.”

“Uh…why?” She asks, resting her hand on top of the lid before Jason could open it, but for someone so skinny he seems to have a bit of strength in him, popping it open even through her attempts of stopping him.

“You’d pick whatever is most similar to t-shirts and leggings, and let me tell you something: you’re going to be live to the world tomorrow. Through YouTube or the TV, people are going to look at you.” As if the constant names, questions and reminders inside her head are not stressful enough, Jason’s words seem to deflate her confidence a bit. Maybe…she should have taken more care of what she is going to wear tomorrow. “And I may not look like it, but my girlfriend is a columnist in the fashion area of our magazine, and also the one that sent you this package, so I get to pick.”

The blossoming love between the tech enthusiast, sci-fi lover, cameraman Jason and Hyoyeon, a fashionable woman with love for Louis Vuitton more than life itself, will never be understood by her. But, in comparison, Jason does dress slightly better than her, and he plays around with patterns and colors more than she does. “I’ll let you as long as you pick something nice.”

His fingers wrap around the last piece of clothing, a violet dress that screams ‘90’s diva’. Fitted all around, with a few shining spots under the faux lights of the hotel room (is it nighttime already? She wonders), the straps show support to the delicate, yet there, neckline, length supposed to reach a little bit under the middle of her thighs. “I know mad shit about dresses, but this one looks like it could make you look good—”

“And like I’d want to show my boobs to the entire country in a live interview.” She concludes, deep frown only highlighted when she realizes how her arms are crossed over her chest. “Hyoyeon always wants to get me in dresses, but I swear to God—” Still, plastered on Jason’s face, is a look that tells her to wear it. “I haven’t even shaved my legs and I’m not going to wear something that will make me look bad.”

“You’ve never tried a dress like this.” Jason says. “Besides, don’t you think it’s pretty?”

“It is,” The mumble she gives out is cut short when her hand reaches forward to feel the fabric. Soft, tight, it looks like it’d give a nice shape, too. “Should I just go for it?”

“If Hyoyeon picked it, I’m sure no one is going to think it’s a bad look.” The cameraman conquers, reaching inside the box to point out different dresses. “And the rest are even more revealing.”

“What’s with Hyoyeon and having me wear revealing dresses?”

“Ask her, not me.” Jason points out, tossing the dress towards her way before she sighs.

“If this dress doesn’t work out, I’m wearing a t-shirt and some leggings.”

“It’ll work out.”

She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her that about the interview or the dress, but with her mind preoccupied with other matters, her hands hook around the dress, moving to the bathroom to try it on and forget about the pressure of her interview program for the slightest bit.

###

The energy is buzzing, even for everyone who watches through a screen. Translated into absolute delight; a night of recognition and love to the most given and talented of actors, actresses and performers, all given to a red carpet. If someone dared to squint and look at her, they’d see just how confident she is, despite the dress that has her shying away with her body language. One arm crossed over her chest, taking leverage on the elbow that crooks up to hold the microphone up to the actors and actresses that come over to her; legs crossed, some would think her heels must be killing her in the position she is, but the choice made by Hyoyeon in what shoes consist of is not necessarily uncomfortable. If anything, the breeze is what makes her feel most uneasy, as well as the weight of the jewelry falling from her earlobes, the necklace resting in between her collarbones and down her chest. Of course, not to forget the tightness of the dress, just a little bit too revealing for her liking.

Glitter in everyone’s gazes. Shining. Rich. Everyone on there is dressed to utmost perfection, pride on their faces from the hard work, earned through recording, shooting, scripting, producing, acting and the words are told by themselves. The invitees drop one by one, specially in the order that she had studied—the sources of her magazine are rarely wrong, after all. The camera is pointed at her, but most of the time concentrating on the celebrity ahead of them. The questions flow from her lips elegantly, smartly, at one point she really thinks she is just simply having fun, jitters of happiness fluttering up her stomach and bringing a smile to her face.

This is what hard work looks like. Rather, the conclusion of it.

Thunder is not what breaks the atmosphere of tranquility, for the afternoon is too heated to change weathers so suddenly, but the shouts and screams of overexcited fans could have made her fall out of pure surprise. Scanning the red carpet, in between the masses of photographers going crazy to take pictures of this one celebrity, her eyes meet the person that seemed to have destroyed the afternoon—and night—for other fellow performers.

An angel in disguise, some would call him, with that serious look on the expression of the man now standing on the red carpet. The white suit on his body is fitted, put exactly to the width of his shoulders, to fit the length of his long legs and make him look like the epitome of a daydream. She can already imagine the magazines going crazy about this one outfit on this…unknown celebrity. This…whoever this is.

No companion, she notices. The black-haired angel moves further in front of the cameras, now approaching interviewers one by one, but she can’t still find a name for him. Of course, he has to be known—the cheers for him say so much about it, of fame and overrated-ness, but the name never comes up to her mind, or it never reads in her mental image of the list of invites.

Who, out of the invitees, would have such a face? Such physique, that she can’t find words in the tip of her tongue, can’t speak like the skilled journalist she is.

That comma hairstyle frames his oval-shaped face perfectly, as if made for him. His eyes, leaned upwards, are the most powerful point of his face, paired with straight eyebrows that, in one way or another, give him an air of mightiness. His nose, short, small, as if crafted by an artist—and those lips, that had little to no importance for her, until he gave a smile to the interviewer next to her, moving closer and closer to her spot.

And who the fuck is this guy?!

What can she even ask him?

Taking Jason by the shoulder, and thankful that they are on commercial break, she leans over to talk to him away from the microphone. Better, it is, to avoid mistakes. “Who is this guy?”

“Kim Dongyoung. Duh.” Jason says in a hushed whisper, earning a glare from her and a scrunch of her nose.

“Who the hell is Kim Dongyoung?”

Not enough time is given to her when cheers get closer to where she is and once, she turns, the sight of the unknown celebrity has her swallowing harshly. Throughout her two years of her professional journalistic career, she has never been the type to embark in small, fast conversation in interviews. Not even for the written ones. In the depths of her brain, asking for something simplistic just speaks wonders about her research skills, but in this one occasion, she’s left stranded, looking ahead at the man who shares a smile with her before looking towards the camera—

“We’re on air.”

With numb fingers, her microphone goes forward for Dongyoung to speak. She has one of her own, practically pressed to the side of her face. Much to her distaste, however, her shaking motions must have caught him off guard, immensely so now that his lip is hit by the microphone, that precious gummy grin of his long forgotten. “Oh, sorry.” She speaks fast, as quickly as she can without making it suspicious. “Welcome, Kim Dongyoung. It’s a pleasure to have you on our show.”

Dongyoung, whose face is now filled with seriousness, tries to give a tight-lipped smile as he raises his hand to shush the waves of fans cheering for him. “The pleasure is mine. I’m a huge fan.”

Oh. Oh, fuck, he shouldn’t have said that. This is a clear sign that he wants a nice interview, one that cannot be made up from the ignorance of her brain. Since when was he invited?! “So are we.” Lying through her teeth seems like the fitted option as of now. One look at his brown eyes has her breath caught on her throat, her free hand twisting behind her back. “Dongyoung, who designed your suit?”

…This is not the kind of journalist she is, much less the kind of interviewer she desires to be, and the stare Dongyoung gives to his body is brief before parting his lips to answer, equally as monotone as her voice: “Prada.” His fingers toy with the edge of his white blazer, making her speak into her microphone.

“It looks good.”

“Thank you. This night is very special for me, so me and my team had been working to put this look together for so long.”

“So…” A trailing voice, uncertain eyes, an actor like him must have noticed the tightness of her movements, the sweat pooling by her forehead, the absolute fear of fucking this up. Her mind, however, going a million miles per hour, tries to think of movies or shows that he has been in. “That’s nice, actually. Yeah, pretty nice. It’s rare to see someone like you without a companion, is anyone going to join you soon?”

Dongyoung’s eyebrows turn into a frown, body visibly tensing the more he straightens his back, as if wanting to pull away from her. One stare into his group of fans has her realizing that they’ve fallen quiet, much like the actor in front of her. This is the moment she feels as though her walls are crumbling down, knees shaking and failing to control the weight on her heels, wanting nothing more than to erase herself out of existence. For a second. A brief one. “Not really. I—Uh, I’m in a moment of my life where I consider I should be judged by my talent, not who I’m accompanied by.”

“Of course,” And then, it clicks. That name…that name sounds similar to one she had read, perhaps she could come up with something— “In the movie Homme Fatale, you were bound to mix the historical genre with comedy? What were the hardships of mixing the comedic relief of your character along with such a serious matter—?”

In the blink of an eye, Dongyoung leans over the microphone. Face vacant of that liveliness that represented him at the beginning of the interview, lips quirking up in a sarcastic smile that barely lasts when he says. “Well, I wouldn’t know, because that’s a movie my brother was in. Not me.”

Shit, Kim Gong Myung, not Kim Dongyoung— “Ah, yeah, my bad,” A brief chuckle leaves her lips, staring towards the camera before resting her hand against her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Dongyoung says, looking over to the side where his manager is making signs for him to pull away as soon as possible, simply giving a curt nod. “Thanks for the support to my brother, either way.”

“I—”

“Everyone, have a nice night.” The speech is given to the camera, a wave of his hand and soon after, he’s gone into the masses of people, leaving her with her heart racing rapidly when—thankfully—another commercial break resurfaces. Fear, all coming from embarrassment, the tears that threaten to appear on her eyes are blown away by Jason. Quite literally. The man that supports her through everything is blowing soft gushes of air on her eyes while she looks up to stop the crying.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You still have other interviews to do—”

“I’m going to fuck it up. Let’s just cut it right here.” Her voice breaks, long gone that posture of a journalist she had, and it takes a few movements of her hands to blow air at her eyes to stop the tears. Though, the shaking continues to be there. “I didn’t even know who he was.”

“How didn’t you—? You know what? Whatever. It happens. You just need to move on and pretend nothing happened.”

Though, there are matters in life that are meant to be lessons, and with her nose still sniffling away the embarrassment from before, she continues on with this huge lesson of life. Mistakes are made by everyone, just that not a lot of people end up doing them on live TV. It will be alright, as long as not that many people were tuning it, it is going to be a forgettable interview.

…Or, she hopes the twenty-five thousand viewers think the same way.

###

You know, for someone who didn’t give two shits about multiplication back in elementary school, it has become a huge karma in her life. Twenty-five thousand views on a livestream of a red carpet had turned into one hundred thousand views on a YouTube video, soon after reaching the one-million-views milestone. At this point, five days after the incident, she is terrified of even looking at her phone, much less searching her name up on YouTube to see the amount of views on her worst, most memorable interview.

Her bet goes on five million views, but she may lose her money at this point.

Not to say that she had not looked at the video of her imminent death, the moment her soul left her body and dissipated into the limbo, a hell so much worse than Dante’s inferno; because, in retrospect, she has, a bunch of times on the day after the red carpet. Her pride teared apart just a little bit more when she saw the expressions on Dongyoung’s face, lips parted in an uncomfortable smile, eyes widened when her words ruined the moment a little bit more. His body tensed, broad shoulders moving uncontrollably at one point, needing to find a way to get out of there as soon as possible. His image could have been tainted by this, perhaps his expressions would be laughed at on the internet once the initial shock passes by, but he would never lose as much as she did. Her job, to be exact, coming from the text her boss had sent her three days ago.

This is what people fail to express after putting celebrities on a pedestal. That they, on the long run, could be the cause of someone’s destruction with the power they have. Dongyoung, though looking like an angel that night, had destroyed her entire career in the blink of an eye, like a wrecking ball that overtook everything in her life. The world hated to see one of the most beloved actors not be recognized by someone who did their best on an interview with someone they didn’t even know, and as always, journalists are placed on the villain role. It’s fitted for them. It’s fitted for her.

It’s the reason why, even as of now, seated in front of Hyoyeon and Jason, there are people looking at her. Young fans, to be exact, perhaps teenagers, going crazy over the fact that actor Kim Dongyoung had an awkward moment once in his life.

What about her?

What about her job?

The clicking of cameras is what has her sighing, stabbing more of the greasy, soy-sauce coated noodles in front of her, not caring that they are steaming when she plops them inside her mouth with a devastated sigh soon after. It’s even more pathetic that, once she pays for this meal, it will mean a negative sign in her savings, which she should be taking into consideration for paying her rent. Who would even want her as a journalist anymore? After all, she embarrassed the ‘it-boy’ of acting in public television.

The first person to react is Hyoyeon, already dragging her seat with a loud shriek before sticking her chest forward at the group of teenagers harassing them with pictures. “They better not bother you in here. You’ve barely eaten the past few days and I’m going to kick their asses if they make you feel any worse.” But Hyoyeon doesn’t realize that being protected by the ‘mom-friend’ of the group is even more degrading. Once back on her seat, with her left hand resting on top of Jason’s thigh under the table, Hyoyeon’s eyes look for hers, but she doesn’t relent. “Don’t pay attention to them—”

“How can I not? I get death threats in the mail, Hyoyeon. People hate me around the entire country.” She points out, watching the noodles swirl on her plate, leaving imprints of sauce on the white ceramic. “It’s not my fault I just didn’t know who Kim Dongyoung was. Sorry, I’m not one of the women that gets their panties wet while watching one of his movies. I haven’t even watched any of them.”

Jason, as dumbly charming as he is, speaks from his spot, fixing the thick bottle-lenses glasses from falling from the bridge of his nose. “You actually should. Dongyoung is an expert in mystery movies. I haven’t watched any actor do it like him—ouch.”

A sharp pinch on his thigh from his girlfriend must be what cut his sentence short, having Hyoyeon give her a faint smile. “They’re not that good, honey. If he has not made a statement to the public after that awkward interview, that means he’s not a good person.”

Does it? Lately, she has been questioning that endlessly. Maybe, she should have really studied more—let the confidence slide and grip onto some nervousness. Perhaps, Dongyoung was equally as uncomfortable as her. Not because she didn’t recognize him, but because she had asked him exactly what would have hurt him at the time— “I get him, though. He just got out a break-up scandal, I’m sure his team is telling him to let the wolves eat me alive and then, he’s off the hook.”

Hyoyeon, now even more interested, picks a nice amount of noodles up with her chopsticks before speaking up once again. “About that…Yuno was the one to write an article about Dongyoung’s break-up in our magazine, and the sources say that he’s the one who cheated. Though, it has always seemed fishy to me.”

The adoration in Jason’s face is clear when he nods at his girlfriend. “Yeah, I also read over it. It is told that he cheated, but it’s never said with who or why or when or how.”

“Guys, he’s a celebrity.” She cuts the chase, the past few days making her hyperaware of her surroundings, of the reality she has lived and the world that she had tried to push herself into. “Celebrities are like that. They have everything but they always want more. I’m not surprised.” Though, part of her mind had always wanted to treat celebrities more than an image. Thinking individuals, able to feel passion and love for what they do, humans just like her that are excited about cinematography, art, speaking, and anything of the like. Wrong, she had been.

“True…” Jason mumbles, lips puckered up when he hears another shutter of the cameras, now widening his eyes towards the group of teenagers.

“Hey!” Hyoyeon calls out loudly, ready to scold the teenagers when she rests her hand on top of the woman’s.

“Let them.” Must be the loss speaking, the tiredness of her brain after so much turmoil. Dongyoung is probably somewhere in his mansion, watching the pictures that are released of her, or reading over his next script and his prepared answers for interviews. Once Hyoyeon is seated again, not forgetting to send a glare to the other people by the restaurant, she speaks. “I may move to Argentina at this point. Just run away, become some newspaper girl there, not stay here and wait for one of his fans to kill me.”

“Don’t say that,” Jason, the voice of reasoning, the person that had been there with her when everything happened, speaks softly. The delusion she feels tears at her, hopelessness shown in her unkempt hair—she hasn’t washed it, hasn’t brushed it, much less has she put on a drop of makeup. She doesn’t feel like it, all she feels like doing is standing up and stomp over all the judgements, running far, far away from the articles made by her own people. “Just…try for other magazines. Your talent is phenomenal, you understand movies like no other, and have studied cinematography for long enough. I’m sure a lot of people would want you with them.”

Reminiscent of the reason why she wanted to become a journalist, she wonders if that’s the case. A young girl, she had been, watching fairytales on television and enjoying the craft of the characters, their quirks and perks, the lines that made them memorable forever engraved in her brain. Movies moved her to different parts of the world, brought back feelings that she had never known, and that’s the magic of a good performer. Actors bend or make the movie. “…Maybe—”

“Besides, you don’t have enough money to go to Argentina.”

“Jason!” Hyoyeon scowls, getting a faint, shameful grin from her boyfriend.

“It’s the truth—”

Watching the noodles in her plate, she thinks she needs to fight for this. For the meals she needs to eat, for the apartment she wants to keep, for the lifestyle that she has given herself through her hard work, the name that she has made only to have it torn apart. There is a reason to exist, there will always be, and if her existence annoyed someone once, it’s not her problem. “You know what? Argentina can wait.”

###

The light swirls in the thin air. Bright, matching the stars in the posters around the office. People are going from one edge of the room to other, shoes that are far too expensive for however much these journalists get paid, holding big stacks of paper on their hands of articles that may never be released, at least not as honestly as they should. Journalists are, sometimes, fiction authors. They need to make a reality so fantastic that books such as the Iliad would be ashamed of their mythology history. To gain interest, there needs to be a narrative, but nothing about this place or the many others she has gone to has caught her attention.

White are the walls of the seventeenth place she has gone to in the past two weeks, all of which have served her to miss her past job equally as much. The posters are of different artists; from Elvis Presley to local bands that she has no idea about, to some actors that she can’t even look at without feeling pressured. Her hands, clampy at this point, hold onto her resume for dear life, seated on the uncomfortable metal seats in front of the boss’ office. Too occupied, the boss seems to be, chattering and laughing loudly and casting the sound towards the outside, whatever celebrity that is there with her making it much too obvious that they are sharing a pop-able bottle of champagne, enough to make the interview that much more…interesting.

That, or whoever this is just wants good traction, and to be on the journalist’s side always.

The coffee machine by her side works, but no matter how many times she presses the button that reads ‘latte’, she gets the same Americano as always. The bitter taste has already woken her up, but not in the best of mindsets, looking down at her resume and her goals, all of which had been absolutely destroyed. No one looked at her as just a fellow journalist anymore, she was ‘Doyoung’s enemy’, the one interviewer that hated him so much that she had compared him to his brother, and had asked about a companion when he had gotten out of a longtime relationship.

Come to think of it, she sounds like the devil with a microphone in hand, and this all happens when asking the questions that everyone else asks. What works for everyone, maybe, just doesn’t work for her.

And she can’t even get a free latte, as it seems, because this fucking coffee machine only knows what an Americano is—

“Oh, Dongyoung, you really have a way with words.” The laughter of the boss in question has her looking up. Slowly, almost as if she’s in a thriller movie and needs the monster to disappear before she fully looks at it. Her life is not a movie, quite clearly, so she ends up making direct eye-contact with the man that had stomped on her life, danced a flamenco song, and left it in shambles. Dongyoung, with his hair still parted perfectly, now looks more casual. Gray hoodie on top of a black t-shirt, ripped jeans that show those legs that she had checked out on the red carpet, but the mere sight of him has her standing up.

The owner of the magazine in question may have noticed the struggle of both people in the same room. Dongyoung, whose face gets filled with recognition, his smile changing to a frown as rapidly as it changes to a look of pity. And she, of course, is the one that can’t hide the absolute fear she feels at that moment. Fear and hatred, mind her, because all she needed was a statement from him to fix her reputation. “I—” She starts, not finding the words in her to say anything else, because the owner of the magazine now seems to be drenched in shame. If anything, she may start apologizing to Doyoung for the mere presence of the journalist. “Here’s my resume, but I know you won’t call me.”

Her rushed steps are only heightened when she hears someone following her, looking over her shoulder by the time her name is called. Dongyoung’s hand is lifted in the air, as if to catch her attention, but the troubled stance inside of herself settles a fire alarm in her brain, making her rush down the set of stairs instead of taking the elevator. The ceramic glides against her sneakers easily, running and running down the endless number of stairs while Dongyoung speaks.

“Hey, wait up! I need to talk to you!”

“Don’t you dare get close to me!” And it’s even more of a surprise when Dongyoung’s long legs are able to skip two or three stairs per step, leaving her at disadvantage no matter how fast she tries to move. “What do you want? Do you need to ridicule me more? Isn’t it enough that half the country hates me because of you?” This exact mindset is what has her stopping, because this man, this man in front of her, breathing rapidly after rushing behind her, is the one that had made her life lose meaning, lose the North that had characterized her for so many years, the only passion that she ever had lost in time and essence because of his mere existence.

“I’m so sorry you’ve been getting hate.” But he doesn’t know that there’s nothing she hates more than that pitiful look on his face, eyes glistening, eyebrows turned downwards, lips pressed in a sly pout, absentminded at that. “I didn’t mean for it to get viral, but you should’ve denied the interview if you didn’t know who I was. You literally made a fool of me on air and—”

“Of you?!” Now, without a job, she can treat a celebrity exactly like who they are. Human beings, just like her, just like the one man in front of her who feels remorse because his image was slightly tainted. “You only care about your image? Every show on TV has been making fun of my mistakes. Fans take pictures of me and ask me why I even did that to you…” Her voice lowers, headache thumping on her temples the more she looks at him. “And you dare to tell me I made a fool of you on TV? No one will hate you, you’re the victim here, I’m left as some villain—”

“I want to mend it, just let me speak!” Dongyoung tells her, moving to stand in front of the stairs when she tries to walk away from him once again. Now closer, she gets to see the droplets of sweat on his collarbones, the rosiness of his lips when he talks softly. “I’ve been in scandals, with my ex, at least. The public will always see what the celebrity wants them to see, I just need you to play along with me and in some months, you’ll have your job back.”

“You don’t mean it—”

“I mean it. I’ll get you back in your magazine if you just stop insulting me and let me tell you my plan. Well, the one I came up with just a few minutes ago when I saw you in front of that office.” Dongyoung rushes to get his words out, eyelashes softly fluttering on top of his cheekbones, catching her full attention when she gives a step back and crosses her arms over her t-shirt cladded body.

“What do you have in mind?” Though, the resentment in her tone has not subsided in any way, glaring at him as if all the pain her mind has gone through for the past few weeks could be thrown his way in the form of baggage.

“My personal assistant left the job after my scandal with my ex, so…I need a personal assistant.”

“I’m a journalist, Dongyoung. I may not have looked like a good one in your eyes, but I’ve done some pretty good articles—”

“Let me speak.”

“You just say nonsense.”

“Well, fuck, look who is talking. You confused me with my brother.” Her lips get sealed by those words, looking over to the side simply not to smack his face away from her trip down the stairs. “Normally, personal assistants tend to appear in pictures taken by the paparazzi, or in ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, or even in the background of interviews, but no one pays attention to them. They are the closest to celebrities, almost like a confidante, and still people don’t care…” His voice trails, certainty shown in his expressive features, lips quirking up in a small smile when he says: “If people saw you in pictures with me, in videos, in whatever it is that you can get on, as my personal assistant, they’d think we just ended up becoming friends even after the interview. If I forgive you, the world forgives you.”

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, suddenly interested in his words, the rational part of her decides to intervene. “Why can’t you just make a statement saying you forgive me and I’ll be off to my old job sooner?”

“Because people won’t see a growth. If they see us acting closer, like we’re friends and you’ve grown to know me, they’ll think that we truly changed from the first time we met. Besides, not to sound like a stuck-up asshole, but…my friends get good opportunities in this business.”

A scoff leaves her lips, shaking her head at him. “How long would I be your personal assistant for?”

“…Until people eat up that we’re friends, I guess.”

Her eyes are starting to hurt from the migraine that creeps up on her, rubbing them furiously to the point she sees stars behind her vision. Or maybe, it’s the radiant smile he gives her, gummy as always, pleading her in that awkward and expressive way of his to just let him mend things. “Well…it’s either this or starving in Argentina. Deal.” With an extended hand, she grips his. The skin is soft, clear as day that he hasn’t worked a day in his life, and the coldness of his rings caresses the crevices on her dermis. Her other hand looks for her phone, however, eager to start a job that actually pays rent. “Give me your number and I’ll get on working.”

Dongyoung takes the phone in between his hands, speaking while he looks down. “A—Argentina? You were going to Argentina?”

“It’s sarcasm.” She replies, making him look up before nodding once.

“Ah…I see…”

And he expects someone to believe that they’ve become friends and gotten over the initial shock of the interview?

He better put that supposed acting skill to good use, then.

###

“Oh, my Goodness, you’re the new personal assistant, right?!”

Upon entering the set, the least she would have expected is to hear the overexcited tone of a male. Her eyes that had been inspecting the place, from the high ceilings, the tremendously bright lights, to the flooring with the decorations in wooden and darkened tones for what seems to be a police department, are suddenly settling on paying attention to the person before her. A little bit over thirty, rounded cheeks with freckles falling along them, his height serves to make him look taller, that buff body of his different from his sweet-looking face.

Oh, but she knows him, and a nod from her is enough for the cables in her brain to connect in images of revindication. The manager that had called out for Dongyoung in that red carpet, that’s who this man is, though his clothing was a lot posher at the time she saw him, his hair far more styled than the straight cut that it is right now. “Sweet.” He adds, perhaps unfamiliar with the amount of hate she has gotten, or far more interested, to the point of being blinded by the news, by the fact that there is someone new on the team. “I couldn’t wait for the day I’d stop being his manager and his personal assistant. I’m glad it happened sooner than later.” He speaks in a rushed manner, moving somewhere and leaving her stranded, not until he turns on his heels and points for her to follow him. “You’re coming, you know?”

Still, far too interested in the sights around her, she follows after him. Dongyoung had not texted her until a week later, after informing his team and sending a contract her way, one that had been read by one of her lawyer friends and approved thanks to her lack of employment. Nonetheless, his comment was brief once he did talk to her—to meet him on Monday, at nine in the morning, in the set for his newest series. A crime TV show, at that, something so unlike him and yet, extremely fitting for his thriller and mysterious ways in acting.

“I’m Moon Sujin. Dongyoung’s manager, by the way. Well aware of who you are, too.” The lively man says with a big smile on his face, as if it could never disappear from his features. Good for him, she thinks. “His idea was…interesting, once he told me, but I read over your resume and I think you’d be intelligent enough to be his personal assistant.”

He says it as if this is supposed to be more difficult than majoring on something, than following a career on journalism, than writing article over article based on facts. A smile graces her features when they enter the small cafeteria by the set. New electronics, to be expected, are there, glistening in gray colors and almost too pristine looking until Sujin opens the door of the refrigerator, getting out what seems to be some breakfast. “I think I can manage. Being some celebrity’s personal assistant shouldn’t be so difficult.”

“Dongyoung is nice, don’t get me wrong. But he’s picky.” Sujin says, fingers working on placing the meals on the containers in a plate before settling them inside the microwave. The minutes read two, to be exact. “Loves his sleep more than one would think. Oh, he doesn’t like messing up his free time, so he likes to have everything scheduled out. You got here a little early, that’s good, because he likes his breakfast to be at nine before his real schedule starts at nine fifteen.”

Of course. Of course, Kim Dongyoung just had to be picky and selective over anything else. At this point, a little voice, faint in the distance of her brain, is telling her that he probably picked her as his personal assistant just to make her life even harder to deal with. “…What if I don’t do stuff how he wants me to?”

“He’d probably get a bit pissed. Though, it’s not that scary, to be honest.” Sujin’s happy tone is starting to get to her nerves, much more when he gets the food out soon after. “So, typical breakfast for Dongyoung.”

“Alright, shoot. Is it crème brulé or something?”

Sujin pushes the plate towards her hands, the heat of it connecting to her skin and making her hiss. A bag is placed over her shoulders, her arm lifting up just so he can slot it around her body. “His breakfast has to be full, because sometimes he eats lunch late, depends on how the recording or the schedule goes. He likes to have sandwiches, but since he doesn’t like the cheese to be cold, I heat them up. I’ll make sure to send you the recipe of the type of sandwiches he likes, it’s his mom’s recipe.” The image of Dongyoung being picky about sandwiches brings a groan from the depths of her soul, looking to the side to see the black bag now resting against her waist. “Those are the cold things he likes to eat. He doesn’t like green vegetables on their own, so I make them into a smoothie. I’ll also send you the recipe. Uh…he likes his fruits sliced, make sure they don’t get too brown, and it should be fine.”

“Wha—? Why?” She asks, lifting her eyebrows in complete trigger at the fact that this is the angel that the country adored, that had made her seem like the worst person alive. “…Can’t he just eat normal sandwiches? Why do they have to be his mom’s recipe?”

Knowing more than she ever could, clear from his features when he sighs candidly, he leans his weight against the refrigerator. “He’s homesick.”

He’s not the only one. What would he feel if he was in her position, ignoring every call from her family members after the incident with the interview? She’s too ashamed to tell them that she’s struggling with money, to start with. “Yeah, so?”

“So, he likes to feel like he’s home through his food.”

“I can see that much. Anything else that he may need? Do I have to do a dance when I deliver his food?” That sarcasm, typical of her now that she is out of the journalism world, has Sujin chuckling.

At least, he does get sarcasm. Unlike some actor—

“He’ll tell you what he wants. He’s a man of routine, so you’ll see the pattern with each day that you spend with him.” Sujin answers, slipping away from the refrigerator before moving towards the door, opening it wide for her. “The cheese’s getting cold. Go to the end of this hallway, turn right and read over the names of the dressing rooms. The one has a paper that says ‘Kim Dongyoung’ is where you’ll find him.”

Difficult. Oh, it is extremely difficult just to stand there and watch Sujin say all these things with so much certainty, a daily routine to be exact. There is a reason as to why that personal assistant left, after all. Closing her eyes, she steps away from the cafeteria and looks at the hallway ahead. Empty, the faint chatter from outside is everything that can be heard after Sujin’s footsteps are too far away for her to hear. The gray walls and white lights lead the way the more she follows after Sujin’s instructions, name after name on the door suddenly coming to the halting conclusion of Kim Dongyoung. A nightmare, this is what this needs to be and if she pinches herself another time and doesn’t wake up, she might actually lose it—

The first problem of the day surfaces when she realizes she can’t actually open the door, both hands resting under the plate, and if she puts it down, he may actually not eat it, saying it’s germ-filled or something. Once again, patience overtakes her, thinking of this as a job that will help her pay rent, get her journalist reputation back and then, forget about the existence of actor Kim Dongyoung. With this mindset, one of her hands lets go of the plate to balance it on only one, opening the door with one swift twist of the gold doorknob, not having enough time to gush at the decorations of Dongyoung’s clearly expensive dressing room.

“Morning, Dongyoung. I brought you your food and met your manager—” Once she opens the door fully and looks away from the plate on her hands, she feels her throat going dry and her plate almost slipping from her fingertips. There he is, the heartthrob of the mystery genre, leaning over his vanity and reaching for a graphic t-shirt, fingers dumbly wrapped around it when he stares at her with a surprised expression on his features. It is at this exact moment that she forgets the normal mannerism of knocking before entering any place.

Dongyoung’s torso is highlighted by the golden lights of the vanity, a thin silver chain glistening under the light. His broad shoulders look soft in texture, trailing down to his subtly toned abdomen and the pair of leather pants that hug his long legs. There is a leather jacket on top of the vanity, maybe it is meant to match with that, but the more she looks at his features—the elegant, soft makeup that covered his handsome face in more glow, the less she wants to stay there for a second longer.

“Oh shit, sorry, my bad!” She exclaims far too quickly, hand coming in contact with the doorknob once again and twisting it just in time to close the door behind her, back leaning against the material before slowly dragging herself down on it, just a little bit, not enough to rest her weight against the floor.

The reality is, there is a reason as to why women—and men—go crazy for Kim Dongyoung and if his shirtless body is anything to go by, she may understand it, but she doesn’t want to be one of those people. The least she wanted was to work for him, and there she is, standing outside and waiting for Earth to eat her alive along with the imminent awkwardness that just has to linger in between the two. She is a journalist, she knows how to speak to people without stuttering, but what is it about Dongyoung and herself that makes her act, sound and talk so irrationally and stupidly?

Not only did she compare him to his brother—or confuse him, really—, not recognize him, asked him—unknowingly—about his ex…but now she had also invaded his privacy and seen him shirtless.

Getting dressed, rather.

The door opens with softness, almost as if he expects her to give up on the job right then and there, and she may have had it not been for that pitiful look on his features thrown her way. His face softens at the sight of her, sighing deeply when he opens the door wider, enough for her to catch a glimpse of the dressing room. Big mirrors, a few seats, a TV and a leather couch. Some hats for his character, probably a police officer according to the rumors Hyoyeon had gotten from the magazine she worked for.

Her eyes automatically trail down to his chest, seeing it cladded on that shirt he was trying to put on in the first place, and the leather jacket does match the pants. “Knock next time, will you? And don’t look at me as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Dongyoung comments, tilting his head to the side before pointing to the dressing room. “Did Sujin send my food with you?”

The door closes the moment she steps inside, all thanks to Dongyoung who moves towards the vanity after taking the plate from her hands. Her fingers hook around the strap of her bag, settling it down on the vanity beside his food to get his green smoothie out, as well as his container filled with fruits; apples, pears, watermelon and some strawberries, as it seems. “He did. I only had gotten here when he was already so happy about me being your assistant.”

“He’s my manager, but he can’t stand some ordering around.” Dongyoung’s answer is cut short when he stabs the lid of his smoothie with his straw, putting it up to his lips before giving it a sip. His face clearly shows that he really doesn’t like green vegetables, scrunching up at his nose and parting his lips in a silent gag.

With the silence settling around them, she decides to speak up on the only thing that has been going through her head for the past few minutes. “I’m sorry for not knocking and for walking in on you changing.” Though, she looks anywhere else but his eyes when she admits so.

“No worries.” Dongyoung swats the matter away softly before taking a bite of his sandwich. Awkward, once again, Dongyoung has to clear his throat to catch her attention and have her looking at him. “I need you to do some things for me today, though.”

“What would that be?” She asks, already looking for her phone to write down what she has to do, only to hear Dongyoung chuckling. “What?”

“Do you type fast?”

“Of course, I’m a journalist. Why?”

“Because I ask for a lot of things.” Dongyoung confesses, thinking of it as the best of comedies when he laughs at her, head thrown back and eyes closed tightly before breathing out softly.

“You’re such a celebrity.”

“And you’re such a whiner.” Dongyoung retorts back, looking at her from the corner of his eye before muffling his own voice with his sandwich. “First, I would like for you to go pick up my dog from the hairdresser in a bit. Also, I already ordered lunch ahead and you have to pick it up, as well. There’s a car for my personal assistant, by the way, I’ll give you the keys in a second.” Oh, and the job comes with more and more perks…everything sounds absolutely delightful, so much so than the more she types, the more she feels like writing at the end: Kim Dongyoung is a privileged asshole with a nice face and damn me, a nice body. “Uh…you forgot my scripts, by the way, but it’s okay, I snatched them away from Sujin before I came here.”

“Y—Your scripts?” She asks, quirking one of her eyebrows up to see Dongyoung getting something out of the drawers of the vanity before settling it down on it with a loud thump. “Jesus Christ—”

A folder, as thick as a textbook, is now seated on top of the white ceramic. “This is my folder of scripts. I’m working on a historical film later this year, so I’ve been reading that. There’s this show, so I have all the scripts for the next fifteen episodes here. I also have some variety shows to attend to and they, also, have scripts. Without counting some comedy film I’ve already done, but Sujin has forgotten to get that out of this folder.” Dongyoung comments, the amount of projects under his belt enough to make her head wonder how in the world he is able to remember so many characters, all those words— “Most actors don’t ask for this, but I’m afraid I’ll forget my lines so I ask my personal assistant to bring it along everywhere. It may be a heavy folder, but it has my entire life in it.”

That, she can understand. Though, she’s more of a technological woman if anything, but for how hard she studied the questions for her latest interview, only to be ruined by him, she could understand his fear of forgetting one of his lines. “I’ll carry it.” She answers, already reaching for it and resting the plastic against her chest. “So, dog, lunch, scripts. What else?”

“Cancel the dinner I was supposed to have with my acting committee today. I’m not feeling it and I’m also busy with shooting, so send an email.” Jotting that down on her phone, now with the weight of that folder on her arms, she is surprised when she watches Dongyoung stand up from his seat, standing in front of her with a smile. “And I’ll give you until two to be back here. That should be enough.”

“Dongyoung, do you know I am technically not a personal assistant and that I’m doing this to get my career back?”

He gives her an ashamed smile, his teeth shown in it when he whispers a small: “I’m sorry. I’ll give you until five past two?” The thought alone has her wanting to rub her temples, but with the weight of a two-year-old in the shape of a folder now on her arms, she doesn’t think she can even muster to do such thing. “Listen, I know I sound like an asshole, but all these things are important things. We’ll have fun along the way.”

His face says it all. Dongyoung, outside of acting, can’t hide his expressions on what he feels. Remorse, as if he’s a child that broke a vase and now wants to glue it back together. She may give him the benefit of the doubt but only because— “I’m sure your dog will make me feel better once I got pick them up.”

“…And I ordered lunch for both of us, so it shouldn’t be that bad being my personal assistant.” Dongyoung says, looking down at his phone before rushing towards the door. “I have to go. Recording should have started by now.” She is about to comment on his food, for he’s only taking his green smoothie with him, but once she turns to look at his plate, it’s empty. The sandwich is long gone, along with the fruits.

Maybe, she should pay more attention to the job instead of arguing with him.

“Good luck?” She asks, though it’s meant to be an affirmation. While walking alongside him on the hallway, Dongyoung lets out a chuckle, taking a sip of that disgusting smoothie.

“Thank you. You, too.”

###

With her back directly pressed to the backrest of the couch, her legs part non-elegantly, head leaned back, a rough sigh leaving her nostrils. Granted, Dongyoung’s household is as equally as comfortable as the first time she was there, nine days ago to be exact, and while it’s nine at night—the usual time in which Dongyoung is back home, has eaten, and can finally spare her the benefit of going back home—the chattering around the mansion’s living room is enough to make her feel tired, as well as interested.

From the ceiling to the floor, the big windows in Dongyoung’s household show the stars, casting down on the extremely clean piano in front of it. The living room, however, departs from that elegant spot into something more leaned back. The interior designer definitely made a study of Dongyoung’s personality—gray and whites, a few blacks, so elegant that it almost hurts the eyes, but has the essence of a young guy, spacious enough for him to bring anyone he wants, for party-goers to get far too close in this place because they want to, not because they need to, and while she often gawks at the new spots she gets to discover of Dongyoung’s glass home, crafted at the excellence of him, his friends don’t seem to mind.

If she really studies them from up close, there is no reason why they would care. Johnny’s wrist is perfectly wrapped by a Rolex, holding a flute glass up to his lips to take a sip of his drink, sharing that enormous couch with her and another man and not being even remotely close to each other. The other man in question, Jungwoo, sports that new unreleased Gucci collection that Hyoyeon had not stopped talking about all over his body. Wealth, both of them just exude privilege.

Though, both of them have clicking links in her mind, more than Dongyoung ever did before their dramatic interview. Johnny can be seen with one-liners in movies, matched with upbeat tunes that are meant to accelerate the heart, more often than not cladded in clothing that shows his hard work on the gym, the stunts he does enough to gain him some recognition. An actor, just like Dongyoung, just for more of a different genre—action. The way he holds himself shows his pride in his craft, though that does not make him unapproachable, a smirk had plastered on his face the moment he met her not too long ago.

Jungwoo, she is more of a fan of. Not necessarily as much of a fan of him as her ex-editor, Sungmin, was, but she has watched all his movies. The rom-com actor, the one that has anyone muffling their screams into their pillows, wishing that they had someone that loved them. The sincerity in his tone has the watcher falling in the traps of his plush lips, delving into the intense romances that he is put in, and his eyes are the trappers of his movies, matching him into any possible desirable character. Looking at him is even more difficult when she is reminiscent of her past relationship, for she had watched too many of his movies in hopes of seeking that warmth that seemed to lack back in the day.

Her name is called into the thin air, dreaming cut to a short and bursting her out of her bubble when she realizes that there may have been a possibility that she was halfway into passing out on Dongyoung’s couch until Johnny called her. Opening her eyes groggily, she looks at the man with a movement of her head before he smiles. “I’m your biggest fan, you know?”

“Fan?!” Dongyoung and her ask in unison, turning to look at each other just in time to catch their states. Dongyoung is sprawled on the couch across from them, drinking from his own flute glass while he speaks to his friends. His legs are parted, one of top of the headrest, the other caressing the ground, one hand placed on top of his abdomen, body cladded on a casual outfit. “Sorry.” He utters, looking at her for a brief second before she returns her gaze to Johnny.

“You have to be joking.” She says with a half-smile, only to have Jungwoo shaking his head from the other end of the couch.

“He’s not. We had the best laugh with your interview.” Jungwoo says excitedly in that soft tone of his, her smile dropping and making her cheeks deflate almost immediately. Sometimes, she even forgets about the interview that happened a little bit over a month ago. Perhaps, it’s the self-protection system inside her brain that is trying to make her feel better, or it simply is starting to become irrelevant to her. A mistake, one of too many.

Though, this hurts her, leaving her with a short mumble that says: “I see…”

“Guys, don’t say that.” Dongyoung points out, a lift on his tone when he sits up on his couch. “She was taking it seriously. It’s mean of you to tell her that it was funny—”

“Because of your face, asshole.” Johnny interrupts him, searching for something on his phone as he smiles to himself. “You just made it difficult for her, but thanks to that moment we got the best pictures from Dongyoung. We have been using it in the group-chat endlessly.” The screen of his phone is turned towards her, cropped images of the funniest facial expressions from Dongyoung made for everyone to see.

“We admire you. You really made Dongyoung uncomfortable.” Jungwoo says, that little glint of mischief in his eyes unexpected from him. Once he takes the last sip of his glass, cheeks tinted thanks to his tipsiness, he rests his hands on his knees. “Ever since his girlfriend broke up with him, we haven’t been able to have a good laugh with him. The moment that interview happened; we saw some expression on Dongyoung’s face that looked…alive, for the first time in a while, at least.”

But, what a way to be alive. The moment she saw him on the red carpet, she would have thought of Dongyoung to be the happiest man in the world, and for her to step over it thanks to ignorance had made her feel a bit guilty. She had ruined his night, just like how he had ruined hers. “Damn, thanks, I guess?” She scratches the back of her head, looking towards Dongyoung who seems to be ready to argue.

“I was not acting as if I was dead. I was just going through a scandal—”

“A fake scandal, at that.” Johnny answers, making her turn to him. The image of Hyoyeon talking about Dongyoung’s scandal appears inside her brain. Dongyoung had supposedly cheated, putting him as the bad man of the relationship, though there was little to no information about it. Would asking be wrong…?

Dongyoung leans back on his couch, the leather rustling when he rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Tabloids blew it out of proportion.”

“Did they?” She asks, too softly that she thinks she was the only one who heard it, but Dongyoung opens his eyes just in time to look at her.

“You may think they didn’t because I’m a celebrity and you’re a journalist, but most of your people really just want a story out there, so they create anything—”

“I know, but I’m not like that.” She says, trying to clear her name because, most likely, those men in the room only knew her as that one woman that had gone viral for embarrassing Kim Dongyoung. Or disrespecting him, rather. Her love for journalism goes past gossip. “Gossip exists for a reason, and most of the time my people—like you said—write articles and our bosses tell us to make it more interesting. I was actually against that. I’m a cinematography-based interviewer and journalist. I am more worried about your talent than I could ever be about who you were with.”

Dongyoung frowns at that, seemingly interested in what she is saying, as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders. “Then…why did you ask who was my companion in the red carpet? Weren’t you trying to get me to talk about my break-up?”

“No. Dongyoung, I was not trying to compare you to your brother or get you to talk about your ex. I just didn’t know who you were. Entirely. Nothing. Zero. I had to ask the common stuff.” She replies, biting the inside of her cheek before she hears Johnny whistling from beside her.

“You want to know the details about Dongyoung’s break up, though?”

Dongyoung’s face stops showing a small smile, thrown her way to be exact, when he hears those words. Taking the few droplets of alcohol inside his flute glass, he throws it Johnny’s way and it clings to his face, thankfully not landing inside his eyes. “Do not dare paint me in a bad light in front of my personal assistant.”

“…And our hero.” Jungwoo corrects, bringing a smile up her features before she stands up.

“Actually, to spare Dongyoung the headache if you drunkenly confess something to me, I’m just going to go home.” She pulls the fabric of her t-shirt down, moving away from the couch and going over to where Dongyoung is seated. Her hand reaches forward to pat his head, a way of showing him to be weary of how much he drinks. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful, okay?”

“I will. Good night.”

“Good night.” She tells him, moving towards the set of stairs that lead to the excellently protected door with, like, a hundred codes, but not before throwing a wave of her hand over her shoulder. “It was a pleasure to meet you, guys!”

“Same!” She hears Johnny say, but her mind is too occupied in connecting the dots of the story that is Dongyoung and his ex. It’s none of her business, it shouldn’t be, to pry on personal information has never been like herself. Gossip is not part of her, actually, but that curiousness that overtakes her only comes because of Dongyoung. He seems serious, in most occasions, easy to tease and to anger, but overall…he’s inoffensive. Nothing about him screams cheater, though faces can be seen but souls can never be discovered. That thought lingers inside her head, for his friends find it funny and Dongyoung seems ashamed of it.

…Do they think it’s fun that he cheated?

Or did he really cheat?

Johnny did say it was fake—

The crisp air of the night touches her skin, moving towards the car in a hassle, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. Celebrities are the same—they are heartless beings, looking for more and more to take, and he shouldn’t be any different. If anything, he’s the most celebrity-esque person to ever exist. In some way or another, she’ll get a confirmation that the angel-faced actor is nothing more than a cheater.

###

“Hello, class.” The person in front of her, an instructor at that, extends their hands freely, landing all fingers together in a curve as a way of relaxation. A deep breath in that she is supposed to mimic—if Dongyoung doing the same action by her side is anything to go by—is given by the yoga instructor, spreading her fingertips once again. “Today, we’re doing friendship yoga. This will strengthen professional bonds along with friendships.”

The trails of sleepiness cling to her eyelids, shown in her body with how relaxed it was before the yoga instructor spoke up about whatever ‘friendship yoga’ is supposed to mean. For such an early morning in Dongyoung’s free day, the least she would expect him to do is yoga. His sleep is almost a sacred thing for him, if not the only thing that he will ever love more than anyone, so for him to wake up early when there are no recordings and to invite her to join him along the way seems suspicious. Enough for her to stop rubbing at her eyes, staring at Dongyoung inside his own personal gym with fire beneath her eyes, burning with the rampant hatred she feels for him right at that moment.

“What?” She utters in a whisper, nearing him, now realizing the exact reason why he had asked her to come in comfortable clothing. Wearing an oversized shirt and sweatpants, Dongyoung seems to get ready, but her most comfortable outfit is, surprisingly but also not at all, a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. “…You never told me we were doing yoga. We—You have friends to do this with!”

“We’re always arguing, so I thought doing something together would help us…stop arguing. Let everything go, you know?” While the excuse makes sense, much more when her sleepy state has her looking at Dongyoung for a second longer, collarbones peaking from his white t-shirt and making her stare down momentarily, reminiscent of the time she saw him without that white fabric on top of him, it still doesn’t settle well with her. The yoga instructor in front of her, however, sporting a relaxed smile on her features, seems to find the situation funny, if the smile is anything to go by. “Do it for me, please?”

“…I get a little bit more of money at the end of this month.”

“Wow, is spending time with me really that tedious? Enough for you to ask for more payment in your salary?”

“Dongyoung, I don’t need friendship yoga. We just need to—”

Her voice is cut to a halt when she feels someone’s hands resting on top of her shoulders, kneading the muscles there only to feel the tightness hurting to the most profound particles of her being. Her eyes widen in surprise, hearing the soft hum of the instructor, Duri, who starts to talk after rubbing at her trapezius. “You need to let go of this pent-up tension you have with you. It’s only dragging feelings of negativity towards your soul. You have the same issue as Dongyoung, too explosive…” The slow tone of her voice has her sighing, pulling away from her with a tug before standing in front of Dongyoung.

“I don’t have any problem, because I’m doing this and then, I’m getting out of here.” Duri seems to be pleased by her answer, moving towards her laptop to hit the space bar, the Bluetooth speakers bathing the sun-lit gym in a soft, relaxing tune, mixed with the sounds of rain. Faux, at that, the day is as shiny as ever.

“I need you two to trust each other…place your hands together, mimic the motions of the other…”

Dongyoung splays his hands in front of her, extending her own fingertips to match the circular motions he is doing in the air, the warmth of his skin seeping into hers when she starts talking: “Where did you even find her? I didn’t know you practiced yoga.”

“Jungwoo does, he recommended her to me once and I never called her again.” He whispers back, only to have her snorting out a laugh.

“And you’re getting me into this?”

“He said it would strengthen—”

“No talking, we’re relaxing…” Duri sighs the words out, making her straighten her back before the instructor’s fingers point towards the electric blue yoga mat on the flooring. “I need you to kneel there, in front of each other.”

By his sweet face, there is a look of annoyance, kneeling down at the same time that she does and looking her way. The sunrays lay on top of his tired expression, probably not getting enough hours of sleep just to strengthen whatever friendship they don’t have. If getting him to drink his greens, picking up his dog and spending time with him at almost every hour of the day is friendship…then, she has a new concept of it.

“Closer.” Duri instructs, almost gasping when Dongyoung moves closer to her, his face looking ahead at her when his chest presses to hers. The expanse of his body clouds her, vision becoming blurry when inspecting his face to the point she has to look to the side. “Now, grab each other’s arms around the elbow area and lean back slowly. This will show that you trust each other…and it will also release any remorse inside of you.” The dramatic punctuation of the word release has her pressing her lips together, reaching for Dongyoung’s skinny arms and gripping them in between her fingertips, leaning back by the time she feels the muscles of his abdomen pressing against hers.

His chuckle is drowned by the music, much more when he says—and sarcasm has finally made a way to his voice—. “This is so relaxing, Duri.”

“Release that hate. Come on.” Duri, taking it far too seriously because it’s her job, would probably lose her cool if she saw the expression on her face, but a minute or so pass by before she asks them to go back in position. “Now, sit down on the mat.”

Following after her instructions, she looks over her shoulder to talk to Duri. “…What do we do after?”

“Rest your feet against the other’s. Place your legs up high, without bending your knees.”

“I don’t think I can do that.” Dongyoung mutters, pressing her feet to hers before she lifts them up in a hassle, straightening her legs to the point Dongyoung’s feet slip away from their position against hers and she ends up resting hers against his calves. “Oh shit, wait, I can’t extend my legs that much—”

“Ooh, I’m more athletic than Kim Dongyoung? Who would have thought?”

“I don’t put my legs up in the air all the time!” Dongyoung complains, placing his legs down before pushing at her shoulder, almost making her lose her balance, but she retaliates soon enough, pushing at his shoulder as well.

With a frown on her features, though playful, she answers his comment: “And you mean to tell me I do?!”

“That’s—That’s not what I said!” The blush on his features is funny, making her push her lips together when Duri rests her hands against Dongyoung’s shoulders, leaning him back on his mat without saying much. Her annoyance levels must be higher than Dongyoung’s mansion itself.

“Please, try not to raise your voice, we’re in a moment of relaxation…” This is serious for Duri, enough to have the smile erasing from her features when Duri pulls away from Dongyoung, now laying down on the mat, to look at her. “We’ll do some carrying yoga positions. Dongyoung will be under you, his feet supporting your weight by your center,” Duri’s hands place themselves on top of her own abdomen, showing exactly where they should be located. One look to Dongyoung’s face shows the same mortified expression that must be on hers, the closeness in between the two unbearable when they are face to face. Eyes widened, lips parted, they can barely speak when Duri continues explaining. “And you’ll get to do several positions of your own. Extending your back, your legs. This will make you trust him. Jungwoo told me Dongyoung trusts you a lot with his life, so you need to trust him as well.”

The rumor that goes around Duri’s lips brings confusion to her. Dongyoung trusts her, that much should be knowledgeable but still, it surprises her. He trusts her enough to carry one of his oldest cars around when working, to listen to what his friends say and to be around him, even when she’s a journalist. He trusts her enough to let paparazzi take pictures of the two together, never thinking about it twice. These thoughts go through her brain when she stands in front of Doyoung’s extended legs, her fingers slotting in between his when his feet prop themselves on her abdomen.

“Do you trust me?” She asks, and soon after Dongyoung lifts her up in the air. From the position, the air is knocked out of her lungs, Dongyoung’s legs wobbling a bit before he gains his balance again. Her fingers tighten around his, looking at his expression while he bites down on his bottom lip to keep his strength.

“I do,” He huffs out, finally learning how to find his equilibrium, looking up at Duri to wait for more instructions, but when the woman starts speaking, something seems to bite at his curiousness. “Do you trust me?”

“…I don’t know.” She utters softly, the air in between them cut by Duri’s voice.

“You’ll trail your feet down her thighs and she’ll have to straighten her back. The only way to keep that position is if she wraps her calves around your legs and you two keep the equilibrium. Once you do, let go of her hands.”

Why can’t she trust Dongyoung? Is it because she feels like she knows so much about him that she doesn’t know him? She knows his daily routines; that he brushes his teeth far more than he should, that he simply can’t stand that green smoothie that Sujin keeps making, and that he calls his mother in the middle of the day to ask how she’s doing. He’s sharp, but he’s not prickly—he’ll never hurt anyone he loves, practically beaming the moment he talks to his family. She knows he is irregular with his exercising, that he rolls his eyes at whatever Johnny says but that he inherently listens. There is so much she acknowledges about him, but there are plenty of things in his story that are inconclusive, as if, in a way, he doesn’t trust her as much as he claims to say.

She straightens her back, but immediately loses her balance even when Dongyoung feet are propped on her thighs. “Do this properly, you got us in this position!” She tells him, a little bit enraged at the faux relaxing music, at herself, at Dongyoung for even thinking that this was going to unite them, but she gets a scowl from him.

“If I put my feet any further up your thighs, I’m going to end up tying your tubes.” The comment has her closing her eyes as if not to laugh, the seriousness of the situation cut short when she wraps her calves around his own legs, hands shaking while they hold onto his. “I’m sorry I got you into this. For making you lose your job, for having your as my personal assistant and for making you do questionable yoga.”

She leans forward, not sure if she wants to let go of his hands at this moment, because it feels warm and safe. Warmth, safety, two things that she would have never compared Dongyoung to, but now looking at him from above, she sees the peaceful on his gaze. Part of her knows that he never meant it, for all of this to happen, it took two to dance into this mess that they are now in. “I’d trust you more if—” A gasp leaves her lips when Dongyoung lets go of her hands, mixed with the squeal she lets out when she extends her arms to keep her balance. “If you just opened up to me more.”

“I feel like I know nothing about you, as well.” Dongyoung complains, her eyes trailing down to look at his extended hands, just in case she falls. Would he do the same if something went wrong now that they are a team? “M—Maybe it was a bad idea to try to get to know you more through yoga.”

She chuckles at that, for the first time feeling like she is not tied to Dongyoung simply because of her job. This thread of lines around her chest, all burning into her skin, hurting her in prickly grips, lets go with a liberating force. “It was not the conventional method, but I think it’s…fun.”

“I think so, too.” The sound of Duri pushing the space bar on her laptop is the only thing that is heard after she turns the music off. The tall woman places her hands on top of her hips, one leg jolted forward to show her distaste. “So, are you going to actually pay attention and have fun or should I just tell Jungwoo that his plans of having you two become friends are pointless?”

Jungwoo, the man that had called her his hero. Of course, this couldn’t have been only Dongyoung’s idea.

Speaking of the man himself, his legs give in finally, bolting her body forward until his legs are resting on each side of her body, parted, and her elbows dig into his chest uncomfortably, stealing a breath away from him. Dongyoung’s ears are closed in pain, rubbing at his thighs when he speaks to Duri. “Yeah, Duri, I’m sorry…but I don’t think neither of us are fitted for this.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll just pick my stuff up and go.” Duri’s relaxed tone says before taking her by the arm, dragging her up and away from Dongyoung in a matter of seconds. “If I were you, I wouldn’t trust him. There’s a saying about men with weak knees; they never support anybody.”

Dongyoung frowns at that, two lines forming on top of his nose when he sits up on the yoga mat. “Well, it’s not always I have to support my personal assistant on my feet, thank you very much.”

Absentmindedly, he had done something. In the depths of her soul, she feels as though Dongyoung is not much of an enigmatic, well-prepared, immaculately logical villain that waits for the right moment to stab her in the back. He is, just like he said that time by the stairs, simply trying to mend a mistake he made.

But now, at the beginning of their day together as personal assistant and actor, the uncertainty of it all falls on the fact that she doesn’t know if that makes her feel better or worse.

###

The security system beeps after she inserts the code, opening the door with her free hand, the other holding the container that includes Dongyoung’s food, ready for another day or recording. This time around for his movie, just a clarification that her phone brightened her mind with once she had woken up, alarm sounding like the shrilling touch of nails against a whiteboard. Once the door closes behind her, she basks in the mere silence of the dimly lit room—big windows, this mansion may have, but with Dongyoung using black curtains to keep his privacy to the highest amount, the place looks as if it was the doom when he is not awake, bathed in the glow of his security system only.

The more she walks into the place, up the stairs carefully and into the living room, her fingers trail over the curtains and pull them slightly, the welcomed sight of the Sun bringing warmth to her body. This routine of the past two months has been liberating in a way—different, like an intern in some magazine that works immensely different from the other ones, but refreshing in its outcome. Walking up another set of stairs, the playroom is the first thing she sees—too many videogames that she’d rather skip looking, she has already been threatened by her own thoughts to simply skip work and play there for a while. You know, just for fun.

Though, fun it is to work with Dongyoung. Watching a new sight of an actor such as himself, too well-prepared and obsessed with following the script, is something any journalist would wish for. Sometimes, when they do get to his mansion to share dinner—just like they do with lunch—, she swears she sees him opening up more. Not about his past, itself, but about his beliefs. What he finds right, wrong, annoying, interesting. What movie he likes, her opinion on it taken into consideration, and the films will even be played in the background if they have time.

Opening the door to Dongyoung’s room, not knocking after he told her that he’s a, through and through, heavy sleeper long ago, the same darkness has her sighing. Her fingers touch around the place to find any kind of surface; whether it is his desk or his vanity. Much to her delight, his desk comes in contact with her hands, feeling his laptop and his phone on top of it. Once the bag is settled down softly, the curtains are pulled in a hassle, trying to make as much as noise possible to wake up Dongyoung.

Or annoy him, God only knows what she wants.

…But maybe, it’s to annoy him.

For someone whose color-scheme around his mansion is white, gray, more shades of white and some black, his bedroom seems to be livelier. Brown shades, some beiges, some darker, all around the decorations, from the cushions on his bed to the blanket thrown over his body, fluffy enough to make his slim body disappear on the king-sized bed. The wood of the desks looks rich, barely even rough under her fingertips, sturdy for the amount of pictures he has around it, as well as some of those expensive matters that he keeps lying around—some jewelry, a ring that he always likes wearing without meaning at all, and his laptop that could very well have android qualities and speak to her one of these days with how expensive it is.

“Morning, morning, Dongyoung. We have a movie shoot today, and Sujin said you have to be there early because paparazzi are already crowding the street and you’d get there late if you don’t wake up now.” She speaks, voice quick when she goes over the first bit of his day, the patter of his dog’s paws making her smile softly as she picks the white poodle toy dog from the floor, lifting her up until she is resting on her waist. “Dongyoung, I said good morning. Even your daughter is asking for you—”

When she pulls the covers away from his body, she doesn’t expect him to let out the noise he makes. A soft, guttural moan that falls in the back of his throat. Resting on his abdomen, arms sprawled on top of his pillows, Dongyoung’s cheek is squished against the material, barely opening one eye to look at her. The worst part is that she feels her heart pick up when he closes his eyes again, giving her a smile in the softest but slowest of matters when he realizes it is her.

Once his body twists, the sleeve of his tank top falls off, showcasing his shoulder for her to look at before clearing her throat. Dongyoung reaches forward, patting all over her body blindly, patting around her arm and knee. “Where’s the booze button? I need to shut you up for, like, five more minutes.”

“You don’t have five more minutes.” The hardest part is to not concentrate on Dongyoung. She excels at it in most occasions, rushing through everything just to not stay there for too long and hence, not being able to look at how absolutely breathtaking Dongyoung is even early in the morning, void of any trace of makeup, hair done a mess.

He sighs, rubbing at his eyes and extending his limbs with a soft gush of breath escaping his lips. “Can’t you just be pretty and not tell me anything once?”

“That’s not my job.” She tells him, putting his dog down before moving towards where he is. Kneeling beside the bed, she runs her fingertips through Dongyoung’s hair until he is smiling once again, utterly pleased by her ministrations. That is until she tugs at the strands, bringing that beautiful frown out of him. “My job is to get you out of your bed so you can have millions of women around the country dying for you, so…wake up.”

When she stands up, Dongyoung gives one final turn on his bed, finally sitting up just in time for her to look at the way he runs his fingers through his achy scalp, yawning softly and extending his arms over his head. He may not be regular on the gym, but his physique has always been quite artistic to her. As if, in a way, he’d never realize just how some sculptures could envy the beauty that he holds. “Joke’s on you.” Dongyoung says, ignored by her when she moves towards the door and opens it quickly, Dongyoung’s dog—Mio—following after her.

“Why?”

“You’re still pretty even when you’re talking shit endlessly.” The comment falls on deaf ears. An actor like him, who probably saw women of the highest of calibers every day, could never consider the interviewer obsessed with t-shirts and leggings as a pretty woman. A normal man? Probably, the type to have a nine-to-five job and probably two women liking him, not someone like…Kim Dongyoung, the country’s heartthrob.

For, uncertainty will always be a dress she wears around him, and it has been settled by her to always hate the garment. “…Just s—shut up.” She fails on keeping her stutter in when she shuts the door behind her, and she swears she hears Dongyoung chuckling to himself.

The more she spends days with Dongyoung, the more she realizes just how different they are, and no matter how much he tries to integrate her into his world, she’ll never match. The darkness of his mansion is not for her, much less is it the coding system. The van is a little bit too much and the shutters of cameras when the two of them get out of the automobile makes her squint her eyes, while he is looking ahead as if the blinding lights don’t bother him. Dongyoung talks to her as if there are not hundreds of people around them, as if the paparazzi could not hear what they are saying, and she has to pretend like she is not bothered about the people that step on her feet or that point their cameras more at her because: the scandal of having her, that one interviewer that everyone thought Dongyoung hated, around him is just too much to bear, too beautiful to grasp.

But this is what this is. A scandal, a call for attention, nothing more, nothing less. Dongyoung would never be seen, even when dead, around someone like her in a normal setting—with an average outcome, a love for cinematography and journalism. Dongyoung is seen around actors, dating models and actresses, be-friending those who are around his net-worth, not because he needs it…but because that’s his line of work. Those are all the people he knows.

And had she not committed such a mistake, he would have never given her the time of the day, much less would have become friends with her. They would have been kept separated, sufficiently close for an interview, but never enough to have everyone shooting pictures of them looking for answers.

He doesn’t realize it, either, when she walks a little bit quicker just to get away from the cameras. They have enough pictures, hopefully his plan works soon and she can have her job back…because spending more time with Dongyoung will only bring her closer to this feeling she can’t quite explain, that tightness around her heart that only keeps her at ease when he is around.

###

“Hey!” Dongyoung calls out for her, typical, much more when he’s about to shoot. Seated by the makeup artists, she looks up from her phone to see Dongyoung waving at her, right in front of the cameras with a faint smile on his features. The set today looks different—a bed, dimly lit, with red covers and what seems to be a mess around it. One of the most difficult scenes for the actors, and even for her to watch. “Care to help me practice my lines?”

Her eyebrows shoot up, laughing at Dongyoung straight to his face. Absentmindedly, her fingers point at her chest, settling her phone down in the process. “Me? I’m your personal assistant, not your co-star. Let me be.”

“Come on, the actress hasn’t gotten here and I want to see if I can say things well.” Dongyoung utters, the reason as to why the makeup artists behind her sigh dreamily. The Dongyoung effect, maybe, or maybe she just keeps that sigh to herself whenever the man smiles at her a little too sincerely. “I’ll give you my script, you’ll play the prostitute.”

Those words make her halter her steps even when she has already stood up from her seat, scoffing at his words right after he says them: “Way to go, I’ll be the hooker.” Though, she snatches the script away from his hands. The lights of the set feel even harsher in that spot, the camera pointed directly at her, making her freeze in fear. A soft breath leaves her lips, barely audible and shaky, ripping through her chest while she tries not to remember the last time she was in front of a camera. It all went badly; clammy hands, stuttered words, blank spaces in her brain. “The cameras are not going to be on, right?”

“No, no, they will not.” Dongyoung tells her, looking at her face for any signs of discomfort before calling the cameraman. “Hey, care to point it another way while she helps me practice?”

His realization, sharp and intelligent, has her lessening the tension on her muscles when she looks down at the script at hand. There it is, the hooker character that she is supposed to play. “Tell me this is not the sex scene, please.”

Dongyoung laughs at her words, wholeheartedly, one hand brought to his chest when he lets the sound live in a free manner in such a filled and cramped space. “Pre-sex scene. Why? Want to help me out with the other one?”

Groaning, she tilts her head back, covering her face with the script. “It’s already difficult for me to have to watch you shooting that softcore sex scene. I don’t need you reminding me that I’ll be here for it.”

“Whatever,” He mumbles, taking his seat on top of the bed before pointing at his script with his hand. “Read the first line. It’s yours.”

This may be serious for him. To be under the lights must not be difficult for him, much less in front of a camera. Her confidence, now further deflated with the death of her job, becomes even lower the moment she reads the first line. Acting is just that; the unity of words, scene, camera-work and storyline to make everything function as if it was part of real life, a story to be told, but when she reads over the first scene, perhaps expertly played by the real actress, but not like herself, the words die down on the tip of her tongue. “Aren’t you—?” She cuts herself short, shaking her head. “I can’t do it.”

Dongyoung looks around at that, crossing his arms over his chest when saying: “It’s just a line.” But it’s definitely not a line that she’d say in front of people, much less when she remembers that someone is going to say this line to Dongyoung’s character, while dressed in that leather jacket that will always have a spot in her heart—even more so now that they added badges to it. This is just a line, part of what the character has to say, and the image of Dongyoung kissing this character—the first one in the season, is enough to have her blood boiling, just the slightest bit. Enough for it to be noticeable to her, at least. “…Why is it so difficult? We’re just acting.”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” She says, looking down at the blurring script when she reads out. “Aren’t you supposed to be the officer here? Go ahead, handcuff me—” Once she reads over the line, she tosses the script at his chest, watching him laugh with glee and bringing a grin up and out of her. “How do you expect me to say that line?! The only thing that needed to be added there to make it even more cringe-worthy is something along the lines of ‘daddy’, like what the hell is this?!”

Even someone from the production team seems to be laughing at her reaction, and Dongyoung has very well spread his body on top of the bed while laughing. “It’s not supposed to be sexual yet, oh my God—!”

His fingers hook around the script, resting it on top of her thigh just as he hears her speak. Adoration is written on his features, perhaps enjoying too much the fact that he gets to fluster her. “Yeah, what is it supposed to be?”

“A legit handcuffing scene. You’re on the wrong page. I realized when you picked up the script, but I let your mind reel whichever way you wanted it to go.” Dongyoung answers, giving her just enough time to launch her fists forward and hit his chest softly, his ribcage vibrating with every ounce of his laughter. “You’re so dirty without letting anyone know.”

“Shut up. I thought it was something else.” She answers, only to have Dongyoung wiggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, I know.” He answers, soon after patting the spot beside him before she takes it, looking into his concentrated eyes while he moves to the right page. “You don’t have to act them out…or say the entire sentence, you can just say the initiation and make sure that I say mine properly, word by word.”

This is the part of him that people never evaluate; that, had she known of him at the time, she would have loved to interview and question the time they met. He’s given to his work, entranced in the worlds of bringing a character to life, make it his, but also differentiate himself from the person that he is in front of the camera. The few undone buttons of his shirt under the leather jacket are not enough to take her gaze away from his concentrated eyes when he says line after line, perfectly, his hours of studying the script coming to a good conclusion for this show. Once it launches, people are going to fall in love for his character…but, who knows? Her problem may not fall on the character, per say, but on Kim Dongyoung himself.

###

May the laughter never die down, she hopes. May his always remain loud and clear, with a gummy smile paired in between even when she doesn’t get a front row sight of it just like now. Duri would have been proud of them if she saw them, time after her class, limbs interlocking with one another while they toss and torn on the flooring. His punches are soft against her face, and she lands some kicks on his side in this play-fighting thing that has been going around for the slightest of whiles. After all, when Dongyoung said ‘fight me’, she loved to take the literacy of it and turn it into a reality.

But not a lot of people get to see this—the raw side of Dongyoung, the one that shows just how ticklish he is, or that one moment of the night in which his retainers are on and he looks a thousand times less…celebrity-like. Gorgeous beyond explanation, he will always be, but this sight of him as she lands a soft punch on his gut, one that has him faking a gasp, is one that she doesn’t want anyone else to see.

Hyoyeon questions her reality at times, and Sujin turns a blind eye into the situation. Her take on it? She doesn’t want to conceptualize it. Days without Dongyoung are rare, but how can they not be when he calls her just for everything and anything. She doesn’t want to think of the fact that play-fighting with him feels as though she is fighting with herself, because she would love to be able to wrap her arms around him and simply hold him close for eternity. For once, she’d like for him to laugh with her and never again feel like she shouldn’t get too close. This flutter in her soul makes her think if this is as endless as it feels, or it’s just a matter of time before magazines start calling for her and she has to leave.

Now, seated beside Dongyoung and tickling his sides, the sound of his laughter is addictive, so much so that she feels egotistic simply holding him here. With her. People love to think that they have become friends, that he has forgiven her, but no one would ever dare to look too close. Hyoyeon and Jason may be right, questioning her intentions of ever wanting to go back to interviewing when she has been so happy there, with Dongyoung, attending him but also having attending her.

Making sure she eats.

Always sending her a goodnight text.

Boosting her confidence with little comments here and there.

When she stops, Dongyoung is still laughing, but he may not realize that she is smiling—but not enjoying this moment as much. Journalism will always be her one lover, but…this she feels has been dead long before, only to be brought alive for him. This sense of passion for something else that isn’t cinematography, instead of looking for movies to live a life of her own, she has…a story. A story that initiates, develops and ends.

“D—Did I punch you for real?” Dongyoung asks, bottom lip stuck in between his teeth when he asks her such thing, and she wants nothing more than to punch some sense into him. For him to fire her so she doesn’t have to look at him for longer and wonder what it would be like if famous actor Kim Dongyoung fell for her. If, for once, she would be as confident as she was back then and ask him the questions she has always wanted to unthread from its confines.

What happened with your last relationship?

Why does everyone think you cheated, Dongyoung?

…If you did, would you do it again?

Has your nice-guy image only been a glimpse of my imagination?

“No,” She answers, patting his abdomen just by the time she stands up, pointing towards the kitchen with a soft shrug of her shoulders. “I just got hungry. Maybe, we should be eating instead of playing around like that.”

“Come on, don’t be boring.” Dongyoung points out, reaching for a strand of her hair and pulling it softly. “You were the one that started the physical fight. I’m more of a debate guy myself.”

Though, she can only give him a short chuckle, hoping that he doesn’t realize that she already knows the matter…knows him for the person he is daily, and yet fears ever knowing him more, because these glimpses of his life have been enough to have her falling in love.

And he’ll never fall for someone like her.

###

Movement will always be a strange matter to her; how electricity deals even with the slightest of glides of her fingertips against the fabric of his tie, rubbing the soft and delicate material in between them before tying it snugly. Some movements can’t be felt, like the one that her heart is doing to go unnoticed by him, and the faint buzz of the elevator that holds them up and towards Dongyoung’s interview. The brown walls, dim golden lights, will never do justice to the man in front of her, always so polished when cladded on a suit, never close enough for her to remember everything about him.

Dongyoung holds beauty in him, he must know this, or at least she hopes he does. In him, even in the most intricate parts of his personality that he never gets to enjoy, and a word will never be told about this to him out loud, much less when she is talking about other things to him. Like, let’s say, how he needs to talk in this interview—how to avoid questions, how not to, how to answer some of the most difficult ones perfectly, how to probably become one of the wittiest celebrities nowadays. While voicing out the turning gears inside her head that are telling her, begging her, to compliment him is as difficult as it can get, speaking about journalism and interviews…not so much.

“What do I do if they ask about you? What do I say?” Dongyoung asks, this elevator going far too slow or the skyscraper just has too many floors. His eyes are what captivate her first when she finds herself still holding onto his tie, the elevator not powerful enough to move her out of her spot there, in front of him.

Everything with him feels like it shouldn’t electrify her this much, that it shouldn’t feel as though her hands are cramping and her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. As if, for some odd reason of the complexities in the chemistry of the human body, she can’t help but smile in most occasions when around him. “You just say we’re friends,” She tells him, tugging at the tie on his neck and hearing a breath getting caught in his throat. “And that I have to do your ties when you loosen them because you’re a poor excuse of a celebrity.”

Dongyoung frowns at that, pressing his index finger to her forehead in a teasing manner, making sure to rub it on the skin and bring a chuckle out of her. “You’re my assistant, you have to do something.”

“Oh, I do something.” But, one simple glance at him already feels like he is pulling her closer and closer to the depths of the masses that fall for him. For this image that Dongyoung has that exudes comfort, that screams romanticism in the oddest of ways—the type of man that will probably most likely prefer to stab his tongue with a fork than to say something remotely cheesy, but on the long run…will probably sneak in something romantic.

“Like what?” He prompts, still staring at her and her hands surprise her when they glide down to rest on the fabric of his black blazer, matching his hair, parted exactly how she met him—how she likes it, really.

“…Like trying to forget that you look this good right now.” She whispers, fingertips splaying across his heart, as if hoping to hear a heartbeat equally as rushed as hers. She can’t feel him, but her eyes can make out the figure of him when his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, lips parting ever so slightly just when his eyes glide to look at her features, everything around her face that can have the lights on top of them glistening even more on his brown irises.

“Is that so?” Dongyoung asks, face growing closer to hers when his eyes connect to her lips, his tongue slotting out to lick at his. “Because I have an image in my head I can’t really forget, and it’s all your fault.”

That breathlessness that characterizes her when around him makes its presence known when she breaths out the question: “What is that image you’re talking about?”

“You, the afternoon we met.”

Her fingers push together, suddenly hyperaware of where she is. The numbers on the elevator get closer to their floor, she is far too close to him, and she’s there because of that damned afternoon, not because of anything else— “Yeah, I don’t think you’ll ever forget that, I embarrassed us—”

Dongyoung’s fingers spread around her waist, thumb coming in contact with her ribcage, soft caresses of the digit against the fabric of her t-shirt. So unkempt, yet in her most natural stance. “It’s not about that. Why don’t you ever let me speak?”

“…Because you always say something stupid.”

“Either way,” Dongyoung rolls his eyes, a small smile appearing on his features. The elevator keeps buzzing in the background, softly, almost not perceivable if it was not for the overdrive of the adoring nature that blooms inside her chest when around him. “I never got the chance to tell you that you looked like a dream that time around. That violet dress…” His voice trails, his thumb pressing down on her skin softly, stopping his ministrations as if to ground himself. His body is close, close enough for the warmth of him to radiate over her, abdomens pressed together, and if she looks at him close enough, she swears she can see a blush under all that makeup. “All I kept thinking about was you in that dress the entire night.”

“Yeah, and also our interview.” She replies, breathy enough that the laughter that follows soon after dies down when she realizes the closeness of him. A thick gulp of her own is enough to showcase just how affected she is—thanks to his existence itself, to the way they met, to the situation in which they are in, in which she can feel every movement of his lungs against hers, back dipped to be closer to him, wanting to wrap her cold fingertips on the back of his suit, trailing down his shoulders, give him that one kiss that he seems to silently be begging for.

“Also, our interview.” Dongyoung replies. “Though, no matter how cringe-worthy it was, it got us to meet.”

“I’m glad it happened.” The situation falls on her like a bucket of cold water, because she was glad it happened. As in, Dongyoung had brought so much joy into her life that, in a way, it was meant to happen to her that said interview went wrongly.

“Huh, what did you say?” Dongyoung questions, one of his big smiles on his face and just when she is about to return it, the sound of the elevator doors opening dings rather too loudly, like the shatter of glass against the flooring as Sujin speaks in a cheery tone.

“Dongyoung, people are already waiting for you!”

Nothing would hurt more than the slip of his fingertips on her waist, like the sigh that left his lips when their bodies were no longer pushed together, when the pure magnetism of him is enough to make her feel powerless only she sees him slipping away from her. Not for long, however, because she needs to follow after Sujin and Dongyoung when the manager’s fingers reach for her wrist, dragging her away from the elevator that welcomed a sense of realization. Dongyoung had been equally as captivated with her as she had been with him the time they met. Or so she wants to believe.

###

After-parties are, to put it simply, the culprit of most of the scandals that celebrities get involved in. There are too many secrets to be discovered when being a journalist in the middle of an after-party event, but since the title just simply stands as her degree and not her occupation currently, she has to act as Dongyoung’s personal assistant only. Standing near the bar with him, a bottle of beer brought up to his lips while they converse about this and that, she finds herself leaning away from the gossip her eyes could capture—and could possibly confirm to Hyoyeon for a premise—to instead concentrate on him. What’s new? She doesn’t know, but it always feels as though watching him is a refreshing moment each time. Different, Dongyoung will always be different from the rest, and in the best of ways.

The buttons of his white shirt are opened, giving a glimpse of the necklace around his neck, that one ring he likes shining far too brightly when resting against the freezing cold bottle of beer. After hiding away from the world for the season finale, barely doing so much as eating if she doesn’t pressure him to do so. As it seems, now that the first season is recorded and will eventually be released to the world, Dongyoung has some time to enjoy a cold treat, though the tiredness in his features is far too much for her to bear. Still beautiful, yet endlessly tired, enough to have him complaining about it every once in a while.

At least, he voices out his concerns.

Dongyoung’s eyes widen momentarily while he is speaking, something behind of her making him widen his eyes and this is enough to be denoted with how expressive he is. Maybe, he’s a good actor—but he’s not good enough to lie to her. His body grows uncomfortable at that moment, leaning forward to where he is as if to cage her from whatever is behind her, a protection of sorts that she despises the moment she sees the tight-lipped smile he gives her.

Whoever Kim Dongyoung is, whether a character or not, he always tries to shelter her. Guilt may be the reason why he does this, but she has never been made of glass. The journalism world is not easy; it’s all about competition, about stepping over someone and getting that one column in the magazine—Dongyoung, though sweet, could never protect her for long enough. Even then, when the ache of her mistake at the interview had subsided, there is still hate thrown her way, fingers pointing at her lying ways, as if she’s some gold-digger that is trying to cling to him. Nothing will ever be sunshine and rainbows, and this is what shatters her about him, what keeps her away from falling fundamentally into his arms, even when it’s not reciprocated.

Dongyoung will hide anything just to protect her.

Once she turns, the body of a woman she recognizes fully is the first thing she sees. Too far away for her to fully see the smile on this woman’s face, but it’s there, a wave sent her way that has Dongyoung scoffing beside her. His ex, that infamous ex that she had little to no information about, at least no more than what she knew as a journalist. His co-star three years ago in some movie that he was part of, the romance on the screen showcased into his real life and turning everything around for him. The scandal—with not enough details, as well—consisted on Dongyoung cheating on her, the cause of their break-up.

And she’s tired of Dongyoung, in a way, of this protective band that he keeps around him in case someone gets too close. There has been enough time for them to meet, for her to talk about past experiences with him over dinner, for them to share enough words that she doesn’t think there could ever be enough time to express just how close they had gotten. At least, on her part. Just now, it downs on her the reason as to why it’s so difficult to trust Dongyoung, why the world will always feel too artificial when around him—

He is just mending a scandal, but he never speaks about the reason why the scandal happened on the first place.

The actress is gorgeous; typical as typical can get. Long hair cascading in waves, beautiful eyes enticed by her elongated eyelashes, the redness of her lips could be caused by the drink on her hand, but not enough information about Jo Seoyeon will ever be enough for her to get interested on anything she does. What keeps clouding her brain in uncertainty right now is Dongyoung, now fully aware that she has looked at his ex.

“Did you really cheat on her?” Cutting the chase, the confidence that had once took over her when on interviews resurfaces simply to ask that question, but she’s not asking as an interviewer—she’s asking from the point of view of a person that likes Dongyoung, that has seen him at his best and worst in the past few months, and needs the answer of a part of the situation that had wrapped her up with him, on the first place.

Dongyoung’s eyes grow cold at that, the inside of his cheek bitten expertly when he places his bottle of beer down on the pristine and black counter by the bar. “No, of course not,” He complains, a tilt to his voice that comes with a raspy tone. All thanks to the drink, his first one of the night; he seems to have grown unused to the alcohol. “Do you really think I would—?”

“That’s the thing Dongyoung, one thing is what I think and the other one is what you plan to tell me.” She replies, biting down on her bottom lip to stop herself, but this is not enough to water the rampant fire inside of her. “Because—you’ve been telling the world, the paparazzi, the country, everyone that we are friends and sometimes, I really do think that we are friends—that is, until I realize that you keep things hidden from me.”

“You’re going to think I’m a pussy.” Dongyoung squints his eyes, looking at her after he babbles that nonsense her way. Truthfully, maybe he is ignorant to the advances he has in her heart, that almost absolutely nothing about him could make her think he’s a coward—only this, this hiding he does is cowardly enough for her to point it out.

“I’m not the kind to call you a pussy,” She quirks an eyebrow. “You know what you could be a pussy for? Not talking about this. Whatever happened needs to be sorted out, not with the world, but with yourself—”

“That I got cheated on? That’s what you want to know?” The strain on his voice could very well belong to one of his most dramatic scenes, but the edge of his tone is so much like Dongyoung that she knows she has hit a nerve. More than hit, stepped on it repeatedly, like hitting an elbow but instead of a hit it’s a whole fracture. His chest rises and falls, looking into her eyes as he speaks. “That her team did everything and anything to put me as the bad guy, gaining me a whole lot of backlash? I had two scandals all in less than a month, and I didn’t even defend myself for neither of them. I was scared. Is that what you want to hear?”

“If it’s the truth, it’s exactly what I want to hear from you.” She bites back, placing one hand over his back and surprisingly, he doesn’t pull away. “What really happened?”

“I—I was travelling for…for some movie.” Dongyoung indicates, hand lifting up to swat into the air as if the memory is worthless. “Got to her mansion to surprise her, saw her with a guy, made sure to tell her just how much of a scumbag she is, left. Next thing I knew, I was on all tabloids painted as a cheater, without proof, but people seem to believe her because she’s so nice, and so small, and so sweet.” His eyes roll at that, running his fingers through his hair and rubbing at his scalp. “I had to own it, what else could I do?”

To imagine Dongyoung in such a situation—happy, ready to enter the household of a loved one, and to have his hopes crushed by the sight of his girlfriend cheating on him makes her blood boil. Skin to skin, soul to soul, whichever way the cheating was, it had destroyed him romantically and…professionally. “You could have given your side of the story, Dongyoung. Just because you’re a guy…you shouldn’t be targeted as the cheater.”

“Ah, but I was. If I complained, I’d only be seen as a liar…” Dongyoung says, looking over to the side when the bottle of beer lifts up to his lips, taking a swig before sighing heavily. “I’m sorry I never told you. I thought you’d be pointing fingers at me because you’re a journalist, you’d probably believe the tabloids more. Dongyoung, can’t keep his dick in his pants, cheated on his girlfriend.”

Her fingers reach forward until her arm is wrapped around his shoulder, bringing him closer as if to, for once, shelter him as well. Being in the eye of the paparazzi while going through a break-up, betrayal mixing with anger, must have taken such a huge toll on him that it could have turned him into a bitter, rotten man. “I know you...all I need is some honesty for me to know whether you did or did not do something. If we’re friends, you need to open up to me.”

Dongyoung smiles at that, the edge of his bottle of beer resting in between his lips when they meet gazes. “I’m sorry if I was not entirely honest—”

“Ah, I wasn’t entirely honest either.”

“How so?” Dongyoung’s smile drops, her own appearing on her face when she nudges his side, his own hand coming to rest at her waist when she whispers.

“That I prefer Jungwoo’s movies over yours.” The comment is supposed to cut the ice that is now falling into droplets of water in between them, comfort settled into the once enemies as Dongyoung chuckles at her words.

“Hey, me too.” He answers, as always filling her with laughter absentmindedly. One look at him is enough to satiate this feeling inside her, craving for more of him but settling for what’s closer…to have him as a friend.

###

The harsh tug on her shoulder should be a clear indicator of who is touching her, too harsh and with hands too calloused, though that can only be felt through the slots of the gloves on this person’s hands. The kitchen is packed by four people now; Sujin, who is already placing a green smoothie on Dongyoung’s hands, the actor himself and this person, who speaks her name in a soft tone.

“Ouch, hello to you too, Youngha.” The mumble that lips her lips has Dongyoung laughing from the other side of the room. His chauffeur, a person that she has gotten to know quite too well, goes by the name of Youngha and while everything about her screams ruggedness, there is some kind of sweet nature deep in her soul. Though, her strength is something else, she should probably consider leaving Dongyoung stranded with the chauffeur project and simply dedicate her life to professional boxing.

“Is my boy over there bothering you too much?” The woman over her forties say, ruffling her hair when she looks ahead at the man already making a face to the smoothie wrapped by his long fingertips. Sujin is already talking to him about the lengths of his day, and she should really be paying more attention—but in her defense, she is paying attention to him. Dongyoung, cladded in a black shirt and sweatpants, his weight pushed forward slightly thanks to his leaning-back posture on the counter, arms more prominent, the muscles in them defining themselves softly. His hair is falling in bangs over his forehead today, dreamy beyond relief, one of his legs crossed over the other and elongating them even more.

She does deserve an award, for standing him and for not accidentally confessing to him. “He’s been treating me fine, but you know…he’s always bothering me either way. Too picky.” She answers, watching as Dongyoung takes big bites of the sandwich in between his fingertips. The recipe is aced by her hands by now.

“I know,” Youngha answers, pointing at her phone resting on the table. “It’s vibrating. I think you’re getting a call.”

Ever since she got the password to the shared business e-mail for Dongyoung, she has kept her phone silent. Too many emails, which she doesn’t really feel like answering most of the time, and she shouldn’t in the first place, either. However, the screen illuminates with a contact name that she’d never thought she’d see again when she lifts the device up to her face, jumping out of her seat when she voices out her concerns.

“It’s my ex-boss, oh my God!” Though, she picks up immediately, eager to know that Dongyoung’s plan may have worked for something, three months after its start. The button to put her on speaker is glided by her fingertip, watching as Dongyoung nears her with an astounded expression on his face, lips settled in an ‘o’ shape and eyebrows joined together when she speaks onto the phone. “Hello, Mr. Han. Why do I get the pleasure to receive your call?”

The joyous sound of a coo from her elderly ex-boss has her smiling, much more when she says: “Ah, my darling columnist, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” Enough now that Dongyoung has hired her as his personal assistant, that her name is more known and her face is more recognized. People know of her now, of course Mr. Han would miss her. “How have you been? I’ve seen you around Kim Dongyoung nowadays.”

“I’ve been good. Thank you for asking.” She answers. “How are the children?”

Dongyoung sighs audibly at the sound of the woman’s voice. “Lovely. They have been asking about you nonstop.”

“Is that so? I thought they didn’t even know about my existence.”

“They do now!” Mr. Han laughs joyfully, dramatically, just like any other woman that has lived her life through gossip. Not to be misunderstood, Mr. Han has been around the scene since the sixties, practically tuning the entire journalism scene into its own axis to make it her own. “By the way, honey, I won’t take any more time from you…do you think you could meet up with me one of these days? I was reading over your denied articles and I can’t believe I passed these gems by.”

This is what Dongyoung had promised at the beginning of their plan—his friends will always get great opportunities. The image of her white desk, her old laptop, the pencils and pens she kept on some holder nearby in her office is enticing enough for her to part her lips to speak, but one glance up has her seeing Dongyoung’s angry expression. His hands snatch her phone away from her hands, her eyebrows raising in anger when she tries to go over the counter to snatch the phone away from him.

“Hi, Mr. Han, it’s very nice to hear from you. It’s Kim Dongyoung here.” Before Mr. Han could say any more of her hypocritical greetings, Dongyoung continues speaking. “I’d love for you to keep talking with my friend, but after firing her on the spot without even considering how it would ruin her economically…I don’t think you even deserve a columnist like her with you. All you’re doing right now is bringing someone popular along with you, even though when she was only known as a journalist, not as my friend, you could not give two fucks about her.” The sincerity in him is to be expected, but her eyes widen frantically as she tries to get him to stop, hands colliding against his forearm to have him release her phone.

“Dongyoung, shut up—!”

“Ah, Kim Dongyoung, you have some attitude to you.” Mr. Han scolds him in that tutted tone of her, as if she’s trying to play the situation off lightly.

“She doesn’t need you or your magazine. I’d give her a magazine of her own if she asked me to. Just…don’t go around and pretend like now she’s such a worthy journalist for you, when you never cared for her.” Dongyoung answers, pressing his finger against the red button on her phone to end the call.

The air feels dense, one last smack landing on his chest when she realizes exactly what he had done. That one opportunity to get her job back, exactly what he intended to have happening on the first place, is suddenly thrown into the trash, leaving her in the turmoil of being Dongyoung’s personal assistant for…however long he wants. “Dongyoung, you don’t get to have choices in my life like that.” She says, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear

Dongyoung, now breathing rapidly, leans over the counter until they are face to face. “I meant it. When I said I’d get you your journalism job back, when I said I’d give you your own magazine if you wanted to…just give me time. I don’t need you taking any job, much less one that never appreciated you, just because you want to get away from me.”

“It’s not about getting away from you, you know this.” Her voice is soft, understanding the caring nature under his actions, before sighing deeply. “It’s about…I’m not a personal assistant, Dongyoung, I love journalism and I don’t want to have this job forever. I want you as a friend, I just don’t want to leave my passion behind, either.”

“And you won’t,” Dongyoung says, his eyes skimming over her features before sighing deeply. “I can promise you that much.”

Sujin points at his watch, the tapping of his fingernail against the glass sounding softly around the kitchen. “Dongyoung, we have things to do. Leave the drama for later.”

His eyes, filled with guilt, give her his utmost sincerity when he says: “Just give me a little bit more time.”

###  

Two days is all it takes to have Dongyoung texting her to meet him at the dressing room. This time around, however, the set is different—his historical movie is going to start its recordings soon, at least the ones that can be done in the city currently, and the dressing room is in some field instead of a set with a ceiling itself. The rush is still there, however, opening the doors of the moving dressing room in a hassle just to see over three women working on Dongyoung’s makeup, hair and that gorgeous outfit that makes him look as if he was taken out of the 1600’s.

The extensions on his black hair are a look that she isn’t sure if she likes, but the delicacy of his features when she moves towards him, getting a good glimpse of the makeup being patted to his face, is something she will never be able to forget. His hand comes forward even when his eyes are closed, patting around the surfaces until he gets to her knee, touching it softly.

“Dongyoung, did you just text me to touch my knee? You said it was an emergency.” She replies quickly, earning well-deserved laughter from Dongyoung as he opens his eyes. The gold eyeshadow could barely seen had it not been for the bright lights of the vanity illuminating them for her, or maybe she just noticed because her intent is always on Dongyoung.

“I wish it was for that,” Dongyoung replies, reaching for his phone and unlocking it in a quickened manner. “I had a few calls with magazines I had interviews with. I’ve been calling the entire morning, which is why I had you away from here looking for my favorite vintage Versace jacket. Which I am guessing you didn’t find.” The playful tone of his voice has her cursing out loud, because he said it was necessary and she had been looking everywhere for that Versace jacket that he said was in his closet, but his closet is far too big for her to find something specific. “Because it’s actually here.”

“You fucking asshole—” She mumbles, half of her body resting on top of her vanity before nodding at him. “What was that for?”

Dongyoung turns the screen of his phone towards her then, having her squint to read the fine black letter of an email. God, she hates those. “I’ve been calling magazines and I had Sujin send me your resume, so I’ve been looking for a good position for you in some magazine, as an interviewer as well as a columnist. You’d have your own spot in cinematography in the magazine, will give you an editor and whatnot…I found you a job.” Those last few words are only heightened in excitement when her surprise is even bigger, watching the name of the magazine at the end of the e-mail that takes her in. That’s the biggest magazine on the whole country, over sixty years of absolute delight in the journalism field—

Her hand comes up to her mouth, fingers shaking when she realizes just exactly what Dongyoung had done. He had kept his promise, but not only that—he had given her more than he had initially promised. The sadness on his features is there, a little pout in his smile when, for some reason, she doesn’t even care about the makeup artists around him and latches herself into his arms, his own wrapping around her waist when she clings onto his shoulders. Hugs shouldn’t feel this good, this tight, like she’s letting go of him to go to something bigger, something better…something that was entirely planned by Dongyoung.

“Oh my God, I love you! How could you do this?” She asks, tears already prickling at her eyes by the time Dongyoung chuckles. He doesn’t realize that the first few words may mean something else, his fingers caressing at the skin of her waist, now uncovered because of the hug and the raise of her t-shirt.

“I know you wouldn’t be happy being my personal assistant forever, so I had to let go of you.” Dongyoung answers, making her sigh when she lets go of him and takes him by the cheeks. One of the makeup artists whines at her action, making her pull away with her hands lifted up in the air.

“Sorry.” She says, taking his phone from his hand and reading the e-mail again. “Oh shit, I’m really—”

“Yes, you’re going. You start in three days. They’re preparing your office.”

“My own personal office?”

“Your own personal office.” Dongyoung complies, patting his makeup artists’ hands away to push them away. “Come give me another hug, I’m going to miss you so much.” His voice is serious, his hands spreading just in time for her to go to his arms again and hug him as she will never see him again, which may not be the case at all, at least not from her part. His arms take her in securely, making her feel safe when he rests his chin against her shoulder, chuckling softly at her quivering form. “Don’t cry.”

But how can she not cry when the realization of being in love with Dongyoung downs on her with whiplash, leaving her dizzied and romanticizing him? “…I will miss you so much, too.”

###

“You did not.”

Eating with her group of friends once again, though from different magazines at this point, is more than she could have ever asked for. Months ago, she had that same meal of noodles practically bathed in soy sauce, wondering if she’d be able to pay for something like this again—and with the payment Dongyoung gave her as his personal assistant, along with her new salary as a journalist and interviewer in the country’s most prestigious magazine, she is more than thankful to have a meal with Jason and Hyoyeon once again. Spending a lot of time in the celebrity world seemed to have pulled her away from this.

Jason’s hair is now longer, not bleached anymore but in its natural black color, tied behind his head to show an undercut, probably something that Hyoyeon recommended for him to try. Hyoyeon, equally as gorgeous, not wears an engagement ring on the hand that holds Jason’s under the table, looking at her with nothing less than distaste after telling her the entire details of what Dongyoung had done, not forgetting the adventures that had gone through since the beginning of their job together as…coworkers?

Celebrity and personal assistant?

Friends?

Hyoyeon pats her fiancé’s thigh, absolutely mortified by what she said, her thin eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “You mean to tell me that a guy treats you like this and you still consider that he’s not into you?” She asks. Oh, of course, she must have slipped somewhere into the story how endlessly in love she is with Dongyoung, and how okay she is with the unrequited love as long as she continues to have him in her life. Warmth is necessary, and instead of going back to the snow, she’d rather have the sun and never reach it.

“Oh, he’s so into her.” Jason says, playing around with his chopsticks as if a set of drums is on the table. “You should’ve seen his face when he was approaching us for the interview. He couldn’t get his eyes off her.”

Reminiscent of that confession at the elevator, she twists on her seat and muffles her sigh with a bit of her food, munching on it as she speaks. No longer does she have to worry about people taking pictures of her without her consent, thankfully. “That’s because someone,” A pointed glare thrown towards Hyoyeon. “Gave me a dress that had half of my boobs slipping out.”

“Ah, you looked hot, come on. Even you know this.” Hyoyeon complains, taking one of the noodles on her plate and tossing it at her, landing on her hair before she swats it off. “Stop being childish and recognize that he is so into you.”

Though the image of waking up to Dongyoung in his king-sized bed, only to see his sculptured face and gummy grin early in the morning, is more than she could ever wish for and a desire that she has deep in her soul, it’s too…impossible. “He’s not. He probably likes actresses like his ex—”

“He likes you.” Jason says. “He gave you the best job ever, he has told you things he hasn’t told anyone, not to mention that all those pictures released of the two of you have him looking at you as if you’re the universe itself.”

Whoever has seen Dongyoung from up close knows that, if anything, she was the one that looked at him as if he held the entirety of the universe, never-ending, scary on its way but enticing in another, in his eyes. She plays around with her food, shaking her head at his words with a smile on her face. “He just sees me as a friend, that’s it. He’s a celebrity and—”

“You’ll never know until you ask him!” Hyoyeon points out, shaking the table when she lands a palm on it. “Listen, with you he wasn’t a celebrity, or the country’s most loved actor…he was himself with you.” Still, this gets no reaction our of her, the conversation has been going around it for long enough for her to convince herself that she is never going to tell him, too afraid of rejection. “…You cried when you left your job as his assistant.”

A gasp masks this. “I cried because he got me a job.”

Hyoyeon, always smart, shakes her head. “No, you cried because you were afraid that after leaving that job you weren’t going to see him again. And you fear this because you love him. Why don’t you want to just accept you love him and just tell him?”

The room falls silent, though it doesn’t, it just feels like it may have. The restaurant is still packed, with families feeding their youngest ones, couples spending time together, friends joining in laughter…and she’s there, feeling alone even when she’s accompanied, so thankful but still longing to see Dongyoung after weeks of working at a magazine. Texts are not enough, neither are videocalls, and meeting up with him has been almost impossible when he’s in France for the release of his latest movie, one that he recorded last year. “Ah, it doesn’t matter,” She tries to play off, swatting her hand as if it is nothing. “He’s in Paris, either way. He’s going to be having his movie released and he’s going to attend some red carpet, possibly a party after, and now that I’m not there…he may find someone.”

Jason widens his eyes at that, snapping his fingers at the idea that crosses his head. “Tell your magazine to have you interview him and his cast on the red carpet. It would gain lots of traction, which is good for the magazine, for your past scandal and he would get to see you.”

The idea of seeing Dongyoung again, on the red carpet, to make up for that one time in which she ruined it all, and to see him again, brings a flutter up her spine when she stops chewing on her food to say. “Should I?”

Now more excited than ever, Hyoyeon stands up from her spot, the chair dragging in the process when she claps her hands together. “Yes, yes, call your magazine! I already have the dress that you’re going to use in mind and oh my God, how many days do we have to prepare for this?”

“Four…if my magazine says yes…” Taken away by the narrative her friends propose, she follows after Hyoyeon’s steps, leaving Jason behind to pay. She’ll pay the half after. “Should I even do this?” Though her phone is already up her ear, and she may be even more eager than them to just see Dongyoung.

“Oh, not only you should,” Hyoyeon confidently says. “You will.”

###

With a new cameraman rushing behind her, not sufficiently comfortable with him yet to scream at him to hurry up like she would with Jason, the sole of her heels digs into her skin the more she runs into the red carpet, searching for that perfect spot that could capture the cast’s—and Dongyoung’s attention—. Nonetheless, the jetlag and the hours of last-minute studying had made her wake up late and without the help of either Jason or Hyoyeon to help her with that damned dress, she had gotten out of the hotel a little bit later than expected.

Exactly by the left corner of the red carpet, near where the limousines and cars would park when delivering the celebrities one by one, is where she ends up standing and only then does she realize just how heavy this necklace is on her neck, patting it with her fingers to make sure it stays there. Hyoyeon had made it sufficiently clear for her to know that this necklace is worth, at least, seven of her salaries and she should protect it with all her might. The leverage is well-welcomed, much more with the spurts of nervousness growing like flowers all over her body, but not enough to have her covering herself like the first time.

When Hyoyeon said she had the perfect dress, she meant it. Red, this time it’s the color of passion, like the one Dongyoung had both taken from her but given it back from her with her journalism job, the sleeves long even when they are trailing down her shoulders. The length is elegant, but it snatches her waist a little too harshly, leaving her with shortened breaths that capture themselves on her chest. Or…is that because she is genuinely nervous of seeing Dongyoung, not after years but after weeks of not meeting up with him, and to see the surprise on his features?

The most she hopes is for him to be happy, at least relieved to see her, for having her magazine send her there last minute had taken a toll on her. Playing on her hands is her career, one that could be absolutely destroyed if the expression on Dongyoung’s face is of distaste. That thought crosses her head over and over again, making her move backwards and forward with those heels, the straps digging on her skin like restraints, but not powerful enough to keep her in place.

When the cameras start flashing immediately, cheers being heard in the forms of screeches and shouts of his name, her heart picks up its pace so rapidly that she almost swore she had a mini heart attack then. Her hands, clammy like the first time, hold onto the microphone with tight fingertips as he nears the red carpet. His poses are simple, one hand resting on the pocket of his gray suit, the color of his tie in a color of orange—an odd combination, but it looks good, something that she would have never thought of him using, too much of a lover of black and white.

His hair is sleeked back, just how she likes it, and just when he nears the masses of interviewers, she steps forward. Calling his name comes easily, professionally, at least this interview is not live and that may be the reason why she is so confident. Dongyoung’s ears, as if perked up by her voice, check around the groups of journalists until he finds her. His eyes meet with hers, breathing heavily for a second longer than she imagined, a smile caressing his features when he rushes towards her, his arm extending to wrap around her shoulders, his other hand waving at the masses of people going crazy for him.

But even from up close, and not screaming, there is someone going crazy for him…not the man in the suit, but the man inside that soul. The man that had given everything to her in the form of friendship.

“Kim Dongyoung, it’s so nice to see you again. You look amazing this evening.” She comments into her microphone, earning a smile worth a million diamond rings from Dongyoung, who takes the microphone from her hands and speaks into it with glee.

“I’m so happy to see you here, you don’t know.” He pulls away for a moment, his eyes inspecting her body before chuckling at her. “Red, that’s a nice look on you.”

“Thank you. So, Dongyoung, your latest movie includes—”

The redemption tastes sweeter than she imagined, but the departure of the man after such a successful and full interview is what hurts the most. Dongyoung’s broad shoulders is the last thing she sees when he goes onto another interviewer, far enough until he is inside the place in which his movie is going to be broadcasted in. He’s a celebrity, and she’s just an interviewer…but there is a lingering memory there, not of being his personal assistant or his friend…but something else…

As if his eyes hold something that she doesn’t quite know how to express. Gratitude? Adoration? Respect?

From the expanse of the couch on her hotel room, bigger than the one she was in before the disastrous red carpet with Dongyoung when they first met, she gets to see the recap of her interview. Everything looks fine, but from up close and paying attention to it, putting that observational eye that journalists have into it…she does see glimpses of what Jason and Hyoyeon had been talking about. Dongyoung’s eyes never leave hers, nodding intently to her words, smiling so brightly that the flashes of the camera could never hurt him…because he’ll always shine brighter. His arm never left her shoulder until the interview was over and even then, Dongyoung’s eyes lingered on her a little bit longer.

But it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be that Dongyoung had some kind of interest in her, and it couldn’t be that when she hears a knock on her hotel door, standing up with a groan and opening it with a harsh pull, she sees him, out of all people, standing in front of a cheap hotel’s room with his hands interlocked in front of his body. Dongyoung nods as a greeting, leaving her more dumbfounded when his suit is long gone, just like her dress is, now changed for casual clothing and—

“Shouldn’t you be in some party?”

“I skipped it, but I also locked myself out of my hotel room accidentally. Had to call Sujin, he told me he had been texting you and also, I asked him for your hotel’s address so I could visit you.” Dongyoung explains in a monotone voice, moving his hands the more he delves into the story. Laughter is caught in her lips, shaking her head at his antics before opening the door wider.

“I’ll let you in.” She says, looking up and down his body when he enters. That typical black-on-black outfit choice of his will be the death of her. “What did you bring with you?”

Dongyoung’s fingers hook around the CD on his fingers, swaying it in front of her with glee. “It’s my favorite early 2000’s movie. I was hoping we could watch it.” He says, splaying himself on the couch with extended arms before waving his fingers at her, as if calling out for her to take the seat beside him. “You didn’t expect me to see you in that dress, and red, out of all colors…and not want to see you, right?” The question is muffled when she lays down by his side, taking his hand that is on the headrest and putting it over her shoulder before sighing.

“Only the dress?” She prompts, lifting an eyebrow at Dongyoung, who clearly matches the atmosphere of Paris. The jetlag, the hard work, the running…everything is worth it when she gets to see that gummy smile again.

“…And you. I missed you like crazy.”

“I missed you, too.”

The movie, though interesting enough to have her paying attention to the storyline, is not the main thing on her mind. The feeling of his body by her side is what keeps her tranced, watching the movie with him and a little bit over the one-hour mark when she starts to feel the aftereffects of being so close. Dongyoung is a pillar, a guard in a way, the one person that had taken her confidence with him and brought it back full force, mainly because he didn’t mean to snatch it away on the first place. Months ago, she would not have hesitated to put him in his place, but now she finds herself hesitating to get closer…to admit to him that she wants nothing more than to have him for herself and herself only.

Because she’s egotistic, but she’s naïve enough to not act upon it. It’s only when his hand trails down to her waist, grasping on the fabric of her t-shirt like he always does, that her gaze finally pulls away from the movie to look at him. The horrid lights of the hotel room don’t take away his beauty, looking at her with curiousness in his eyes the more he inspects her features, head tilted back just slightly before he nears her. The couch ruffles under his weight, sounds softly when he is looming over her just slightly.

The way he looks at her, brown eyes settling on her lips, is enough to take her breath away. Much more when those lips—one that she had never even paid attention to when they met—near hers until he is speaking so closely that a gush of his breath is oxygen for her lungs. “You know…I’m not good with words.” Dongyoung whispers, his other hand parting on her thigh until his fingers grab on it softly. “…Which is why I always compliment the dresses, and never the person that wears them.”

She chuckles, airily, albeit a bit scared of the situation…of him, swallowing her whole with the feelings she has for him. “What does that mean?”

Dongyoung looks down, rubbing his lips softly against hers, the shadow of a kiss falling on top of her skin, enough to have her puckering her own as if to reach him, but the contact is cut too soon. That does not mean he pulls away, however, because he doesn’t. “That all this time, from the beginning, I’ve been not going crazy for the dresses…but for you.”

This moment, she wants to treasure forever. This moment is the consequence of something that was once unintended, but has now all her intention when she says. “…You say that as if you didn’t know already that I was in love with you.”

Dongyoung’s lips trail from the corner of her lips, leaving soft and dreamy kisses on her cheeks, her jaw, down to kiss a small flower of growth on her neck before going up to her lips again. He laughs, actually, though too soft for it to be funny. “I didn’t know until you said so.”

“Everyone is in love with you…” She answers, craving for him to finally kiss her, but also fearing the conclusion of it. “How are you going to even add me into your life? Your fans are going to hate me again if I dare touch you as something more than your friend.”

“…Do you really think I care about that?”

“You may.”

“I don’t,” Dongyoung answers, pressing another fleeting kiss to her lips before sighing against them. “I care about you because I’m, also, in love with you and if I keep talking, I’m going to ruin the mood, so let me kiss you before I go insane—”

Just like how she had always dreamed of since the time her feelings for Dongyoung blossomed into something else—though, she may never know when that happened in all those months of being together daily—, her hands connect to his back when his lips finally lay down on hers. His mouth parts softly, jaw tightening the slightest when he takes his precious time into kissing her profoundly, like he wants to thread her soul with his and leave it there forever. In a way, she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to forget the feeling of his chest to hers, his hand caressing her thigh, his grounding palm on her waist, tongue running over her bottom lip slowly before he takes the lead again. By the time her breathing is ragged, kissing him with more fervor just to keep him there—with her, in that moment in which he is not a huge celebrity but hers instead, she finally hears the echo of his words inside her head.

I’m, also, in love with you.

That means…Dongyoung loves her. It’s difficult to think about—an interviewer, who almost lost her entire career to him, loves him back.

His teeth are grazing against her bottom lip when she speaks in between a chuckle, grabbing his cheeks with her extended palms. “I hope this means you’re my boyfriend now, because if it isn’t…I’m going to kick you out.”

Dongyoung smiles, that cheery grin that she will never get enough of, when he presses a smooch to her lips before saying: “That was my intention all along.”

#doyoung scenarios #doyoung #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #writing #doyoung angst #doyoung fluff #doyoung au #nct fluff #nct angst #nct au #actor!doyoung #interviewer!au #meet messy!au #mannnn i'd love to hear opinions about this one!

[vrednic]

favors | collateral damage (pt.3)

Teen Wolf x Vampire Diaries AU

Prompt: Teen Wolf, but with a twist. Scott McCall has a twin sister… and she falls in love with Derek Hale.

Summary: Derek finds himself in trouble, and Scott is nowhere to be found. Will Serena be the one to save the day?

Word Count: 3,026

Author’s Note: I hope you all enjoy part 3! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading :)

*PART ONE*

*PART TWO*

-----------------------------------------------------

Two weeks had passed since my first full moon. Scott and I still weren’t on speaking terms, and we both seemed to prefer it that way. On school days, he’d leave the house early to avoid running into me. We didn’t have any classes together, so that made it easy to stay out of each other’s way at school. He had lacrosse practice most days, and they usually ran late, so by the time he got home, I was already in bed. He had also made things official with Allison, so naturally she consumed every other spare second of his life. Part of me felt immense relief because I was able to delay the inevitable confrontation that we would have to have at some point. However, the other part of me also longed for her best friend. I wanted to blame the full moon for the harsh words I said and the dismissive manner that I treated him, but I couldn’t. It was all me.

Scott was the “It” boy when it came to the supernatural. Someway, somehow, he always found himself in the middle of whatever supernatural crisis threatened Beacon Hills. He was a reliable friend and a fantastic leader in-the-making. I recognized that Scott now held the responsibility to save and protect those who were oblivious to our world, as well as those who were a part of it, but my jealousy obstructed all rational thought. I wanted my brother to be there for me the way he was there for complete strangers; the way he meddled in situations that didn’t even concern him. When he didn’t show up the one time I needed him, the disappointment was simply too much to bear.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I was sitting in biology, filling in the bubble for the second to last question of the test we were taking. The room was completely silent except for the swift sound of pencil on paper. I looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, and the hands indicated that there were forty-five minutes remaining in class. I flipped back through the booklet and revised all of my answers. When I was content with all of my responses, I pushed up from my desk and walked towards the front to turn in my test. As I neared the front of the classroom, the smell of blood invaded my nostrils. The scent was too faint to be coming from within the room, so that meant that its source was somewhere on the other side of the classroom door. I finally reached the teacher’s desk and placed my booklet on top of the thin pile of completed tests that were already there. I grabbed a copy of tonight’s homework located on the podium next to the desk, and made my way back to my seat.

As I tucked the homework sheet into my biology notebook, my supernatural hearing picked up the sound of two distinct voices coming from the hallway.

“Where’s Scott McCall?” asked the first voice.

The second person shut their locker, the sound of metal on metal ringing in my ears. They spoke gruffly. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because I asked you politely, and I only do that once.” This time I was able to identify the first voice immediately. It was Derek.

“Hm. Okay, tough guy,” responded the second voice. It was low and laced with arrogance, just like Jackson’s. “How about I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him? 

There was a pause. Then, “Well? What is it? Is it Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids?” responded Derek, his tone unimpressed.

“No, Girl Scout cookies,” scoffed Jackson. “What the hell do you think I’m talking about? Oh, and, by the way, whatever it is that you’re selling, I’d probably stop sampling the merchandise. You look wrecked.”

There were a few counts of silence. I closed my eyes and focused my hearing, not wanting to miss a single word.

“I’ll find him myself,” said Derek at last.

“No, we’re not done here!” growled Jackson. There was a sound of movement, and then I heard a body slam up against the lockers. I heard Jackson’s soft groans of discomfort as Derek walked away, his feet dragging slightly as he did.

I knew that it was none of my business, but curiosity got the best of me. I got up from my seat and walked swiftly, but subtly, towards the teacher’s desk.

“Can I use the bathroom?”

Mrs. Grey stopped typing at her computer long enough to peer up at me through her glasses. “Sure, just take the--”

“Great, thanks!” I said, wasting no time to rush out into the hall. Jackson was leaning against a row of lockers on the opposite side of the hall, clutching the back of his neck. I smelled blood on him, but the scent didn’t match up with the one from earlier. We made eye contact for just a moment.

“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped at me.

I shrugged.

I looked down both ends of the hall, but Derek was already gone. Luckily for me, he left a trail of blood in his wake. I followed the scent past the double doors that led to the soccer and lacrosse fields. I walked onto the middle of the grass and scanned my surroundings. At first glance, both fields seemed empty, but the scent was still present. The only problem was that I could no longer pinpoint which direction it was coming from. The wind had picked up, so now the scent seemed to be coming from everywhere. I decided to move my search onto the perimeter of the field. I checked under the bleachers, by the concession stands, and in the bathrooms, but there was still no sign of Derek. I let out a sigh of frustration and began walking back to the school.

I stopped mid stride when I thought I saw movement from the corner of my eye. I turned, and my breath caught in my throat. Derek was slumped against the side of the storage shed, thick black blood dripping down his left arm. There was a pool of it right beside him growing by the minute. His face was pale and slicked with sweat, and there were dark grey bags under his eyes. If I didn’t know he was a werewolf with supernatural healing abilities, I’d probably think he was dead. I ran over to him and crouched down to his eye level. His eyes found mine; they were no longer cold, but pleading.

“Scott,” he mumbled. “Find Scott.”

I ignored him and instead examined the bullet wound in his arm. The bullet itself seemed to have melted into his skin, glowing a sickly silver-green color. The area around it was swollen and his veins were turning black, a clear sign of a fast-spreading infection.

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” I told him matter-of-factly. “Whatever it is you were shot with, it doesn’t look good. I need to get you someplace safe so we can find a way to fix this.”

“You need to find Scott,” he repeated, breathless.

“I’ll find Scott,” I assured him. “But after I get you out of here. There’s no way I’m leaving for dead here.”

He looked up at me with those beautiful, tired eyes. He knew there was no point in protesting, so he mobilized every ounce of strength within him and tried to slide up to a standing position. I came over next to him, positioning his good arm around my shoulders, wrapped my arm around his torso, and attempted to begin walking. We made it a few steps before I felt him leaning out of my grasp. I stopped and gazed up at him.

“Okay, big guy. I know I’m a werewolf and all, but I’m still only 5’4. You’re almost an entire foot taller than me, so I’m gonna need you to help me out as much as you can.”

He nodded and we resumed walking. I led him across the field into the student parking lot. I found my car in the maze of vehicles and unlocked the passenger side door. As soon as Derek eased into the seat, I shut the door and came around to the other side. I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot onto the road, heading towards Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. If we were lucky, traffic would be light at this hour, and we’d arrive in a matter of minutes. Derek looked around alarmingly and reached for the steering wheel. I stomped on the brake to stop us from veering into oncoming traffic.

“Are you crazy?” I screamed at him. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“You can’t take me to the hospital. Anything they give me could potentially speed up the infection and kill me,” he said. He sounded exhausted, but his tone was firm nonetheless. “That, and the Argents are probably looking for me. I’m sure they’d love to finish me off before the infection gets the chance to.”

I blew out a sigh. “Where am I supposed to take you, then?”

“The animal clinic. Hopefully Deaton hasn’t left for the day. Maybe he knows about something that’ll help.”

I did as I was told and quickly made a U-turn in the opposite direction. I drove frantically, stealing glances at Derek here and there to make sure he was still breathing. His eyes remained closed the entire way, but I found comfort in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

---------------------------------------------------------

Once we arrived at the clinic, my heart sunk. Deaton’s car wasn’t in the lot, which meant we were alone and running out of time. I retrieved the spare key from behind the dumpster and hauled Derek inside, leading him to one of the nearest chairs so he could sit while I called Scott. I patted my back pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I ran out to my car and searched the floor and seats for its location, but it was futile. I must have dropped it in the field while I was carrying Derek to my car. I sprinted back inside, where Derek was clutching his arm in agony. I brushed the hair from his forehead gently, which caused him to open his eyes.

“I lost my phone,” I admitted nervously. “Do you have yours?”

He shook his head. “I lost it last night after I was shot.”

Great, just great.

I stopped for a moment to collect myself. After my moment was up, I left the room to find Deaton’s office. I turned on the light and waited a moment so my eyes could adjust. When they did, I found the office phone sitting right by his computer. I picked up the phone and dialed Scott’s number. It rang for several seconds, and just when I thought the voicemail was going to cut the call short, I heard someone pick up on the other end.

“Hey, Doc,” Scott answered. “Is everything okay?”

“Scott,” I said. “You need to get to the animal clinic now. Derek’s dying.”  

There was a momentary pause of confusion. “Serena? Why are you calling me from the clinic? What’s going on?”

I walked back over to Derek and handed him the phone. “It’s Scott.”

“Listen to me carefully,” said Derek. “You need to get me the bullet, or I’m as good as dead.”

“What are you talking about? What bullet?” I heard Scott say.

I paced around the room, trying to keep my anxiety in check. I wasn’t entirely sure why I felt so affected. It’s not like Derek and I were friends. So why did the thought of him dying suddenly seem so unbearable? I could no longer stand to look at Derek. The infection was running its course, eating him from the inside out. He had begun to resemble a rotting corpse. I turned my back to him and focused my attention to the desolate road outside the window, trying to flush out any and all thoughts of death from my mind. I bit my lip, hoping that Scott would walk through the door any second now and save the day, just like he always did.

“Last night when I was looking for Peter… the Argents were there,” Derek explained. “Kate shot me with a bullet laced with wolfsbane. It’s causing some sort of infection that’ll kill me once it reaches my heart. That bullet is the only antidote.”

“Okay, I’m on it. But, uh, do you happen to know what it looks like?” asked Scott.

Derek didn’t reply. I turned around just as he fell sideways onto the floor. The phone slid out of his grasp and across the room. I heard Scott begin to panic over the line. 

“Scott, hurry!” I yelled, loud enough so he could hear. 

I dropped down on my knees next to Derek and gently patted him on the cheek, urging him to wake up, but he remained unconscious. I pressed my ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat, but I heard nothing but silence. My own heart hammered in my ribcage and tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

“You’re not dying on me, you bastard,” I whispered, wiping away the tears that had managed to escape from the corner of my eyes.

I placed the heel of my hand in the center of his chest and began doing chest compressions. After thirty compressions, I lowered my lips down onto his, giving him two rescue breaths. I was surprised by how soft and warm his lips felt against mine. I continued administering steady compressions, but there was no sign of resuscitation.

I stopped and stared at his lifeless body. I refused to let him fade away just like that, but I had no idea what else to do. Scott would have figured something out; he always did. But I wasn’t Scott.

I felt so small, so useless.

So defeated.

Derek jerked abruptly, gasping for air. His eyes fluttered open and scanned the room until they met mine. I flashed a small smile and gave his hand a small squeeze of reassurance. I helped him up to a sitting position on the floor.

He tipped his head back against the wall and gave a low groan. “I know you thought you lost me there for a minute, but trust me. I don’t go so easily.”

I managed a soft laugh. “I know.”

--------------------------------------------------------

What seemed like an eternity later, Scott finally strolled through the front door of the clinic with Stiles in tow, holding a small golden bullet in his hand. He crouched down next to Derek, who took the bullet immediately and screwed off the tip to release its contents. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the wolfsbane on fire. Ignited, it emitted a dark blue smoke, which irritated my nasal passages. I set my discomfort aside and focused my attention on Derek, who gathered the ashes into his hand and rubbed them onto his wound. He let out a sharp roar of pain that lasted several seconds, but he healed almost instantaneously. I let out an audible sigh of relief which seemed to go unnoticed by all the boys in the room.

Scott extended his hand and helped Derek up. He still looked a little worse for wear, but the rosy hue of his cheeks was starting to return. The eyebags were gone, leaving behind the olive green eyes that were once again fixed into a hard stare.

“Glad you’re okay, man. I’ll see you around,” Scott told Derek.

Stiles mumbled under his breath. “Hopefully not anytime soon.”

Derek shook Scott’s hand firmly-- an expression of silent gratitude.

Scott and Stiles walked past me toward the front door. Just when I thought Scott was about to walk out, he turned and walked back, stopping in front of me. He gave me a bear hug and kissed my right temple. 

“I’ll see you at home.” He pulled away and walked outside to Stiles’ Jeep. I was about to walk out myself when I heard Derek call my name. I whipped my head around to face him and found him looking at me with those sharp, penetrating eyes. There was an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Why did you do it?” He asked me softly.

“Do what?” But I knew exactly what he meant.

“Save me.”

I felt my pulse quicken and my cheeks heat up. I looked down at my feet and cleared my throat. I hated the thought of potentially stumbling over my words after one small sign of attention from Derek Hale. After a few counts I finally mustered up the courage to look up again. He was still staring.

“I never got the chance to say thank you,” I told him. “For risking your life on the night of my first full moon. You saved me.”

He took this into consideration. “Well, I didn’t do it--”

“For me?” I asked. “I know.” I recognized deep down why Derek did what he did that night, but it hurt much more to admit it out loud. “I know that you did it for Scott, and that’s okay. I know his alliance is important to you.”

He opened his mouth to protest. “That’s not what I was--”

I suddenly felt hyper aware of how ridiculous I sounded trying to explain myself to him. The warm, fuzzy feeling of attraction was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a hollow emptiness and a fiery desire to get the hell away from here-- from him.

“A life for a life, Derek,” I stated bluntly. “You saved my life, and now I’ve saved yours. Don’t read too much into it. I was simply returning the favor.”

Without so much as a goodbye, I turned on my heel and walked out into the cold autumn night. Every fiber of my body wanted to look back, to fetch for some sort of reaction, but I couldn’t go down that path. Not with Derek. I knew better than that.

I needed to be better than that.

TAGS

@broco8​

@slytherinrising​

#teen wolf #scott mcall #derek hale #lydia martin #stiles stilinski #derek hale x reader #teen wolf imagine #jackson whittemore #beacon hills #vampire diaries #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #stefan x reader #damon x reader #stiles x reader #scott x reader #modern au #vampire diaries imagine #elena gilbert #kai parker #kai parker x reader #derek x oc #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett #imagine #werewolf #mysticfalls #katherine pierce #vampire #kanima

[smolthealmighty]

Spinaraki Week Level 2 Day 1: Chase

Give Myself To You

When Spinner had the idea to visit his hometown and show off his old hideaways to Tomura, he thought it would be romantic. He could turn these sad places where he went to cry into secluded havens where he could spend some quality alone time with the love of his life, and do something he's wanted to do since their third date. He was not expecting a neon orange pickup truck to interrupt the date by hurtling towards them at high speed.

In which Spinner's old bullies want to run him over with their truck, Tomura wants to beat the shit out of them for daring to try, and Spinner just wants to pop the question.

~~~~~

This was not how this date was supposed go. Spinner just wanted to show his boyfriend around his hometown, give him a tour of all the isolated spots he would hide away in before he eventually shut himself up inside the Iguchi house. It was gonna be a nice romantic getaway, where the places he associated with some of his worst memories could be re-contextualized as he turned them into secluded little havens where he could woo his boyfriend –and eventually propose to him– in peace.

There they were, sitting together at the edge of the forest that semi-surrounded the town, watching the sun start to set over the hilly meadow that lay below them. Tomura was fully relaxed for once, leaning heavily on his boyfriend as he reminisced about the utter disaster that was the one time they tried to go clubbing, while Spinner was mustering up his courage and fidgeting with the rings in his jacket’s pocket. Just as he turned to face Tomura and was about to start the speech he had been revising in his mind since –admittedly– their third date, he saw the unmistakable neon orange pickup truck that belonged to Spinner’s worst nightmares, Nōtarin, Iyaga, and Rase, speeding in the background. And the truck was gunning straight for them!

“Oh no.”

“Hm, what do you mean ‘oh no’?” asked Tomura, who also uttered an “oh no” once Spinner pointed towards the truck that was now only a hundred meters away. With reflexes that were still etched into his bones after years of dealing with the trio, Spinner clutched his boyfriend close and launched the both of them down the hill in a barrel roll, barely missing the thick tires of the truck as it blew past them.

“What the hell was that shit?” yelled Tomura, as Spinner shot up, grabbed his hand, and lead them towards one of the few trees that dotted the meadow.

“Those are the assholes I told you about, the ones who always went after me. One of them must’ve seen me and recognized me, and now they’re picking back up from where we last left off!”

“You last left off with them trying to turn you into roadkill?!”

As they ducked into the hollow, a chorus of brash voices with heavy country accents boomed across the meadow.

“Shuichi, you purse designer’s wet dream! Why don’t you let us mount your lizard head to the wall like the hunting trophy you are!”

“Nōtarin, I saw someone with him, hey gecko geek, do you mind if we mount your friend too?”

“Damn Iyaga, keep it in your pants. Though to be fair, compared to talon-hands you’d probably be a better fit!”

At this point Tomura was already struggling against Spinner to march out of the hollow and wreak vengeance. “C’mon Spinner, I’ll mount their heads on our base’s wall!”

“Would you just gimme a sec to cool down a bit?!” Tomura relented and stopped squirming, letting Spinner hold him as he tried to stop trembling.

“Ugh, I swear, they always know how to get under my skin. And I really thought I’d be over them by now.”

Tomura turned to face Spinner and squeezed him back, taking his boyfriend’s scaly beak and pressing it into his scarred neck. “You’ll be alright. You’re just a little stuck, I’m right here if you need a push you know.”

Spinner sighed as he nuzzled the curve of Tomura’s shoulder. “I know I’m not the pinnacle of dating material but damn, people can have different tastes.”

Tomura snorted, “Oh please, as if those hillbilly bitches know anything about ‘good taste’. If your loyalty and empathy for empty husks like me aren’t enough to prove ‘em wrong, then you having the muscles to be able to wield a giant ‘fuck you’ sword should’ve done the job. The fact they can’t see any of that just shows that their IQ scores are all in the negatives.”

Looking up and seeing Tomura’s self-assured smile, the smile graced his face whenever he was so sure that he was right, knowing that he truly believed that his boyfriend was really all that, melted Spinner’s heart into a puddle of goo.

“Marry me.”

Maybe melted it a little too much.

“Huh?”

Realizing what just came out of his mouth, Spinner blushed violently and tried to start some damage control. “Uh shoot I mean um-”

“Hey Nōtarin, let’s ram into that tree! I think I hear them over there!”

Hearing that brought Spinner back to his senses, and he dragged Tomura out of the hollow, Nōtarin swerving just enough to only nick one of the headlights off the truck before resuming the chase.

“Son of a bitch, I had it all planned out and I messed it up!”

“Had what planned out?” asked Tomura, still in a whirl from what he was pretty sure he heard Spinner blurt just seconds ago.

“You know what, it’s fine, I’ll just do it on the fly. Follow me!”

They booked it across the meadow, Spinner weaving them around the hidden hills and valleys camouflaged beneath the waist-high grass. The truck kept slowly gaining on them, but the constant bangs and thumps of the truck bouncing against the uneven ground and the arguing between the driver and his passengers betrayed how little the tormentors knew about the terrain.

“Dammit, stay still you lizard-fuck!”

“Nah, let him keep running. Makes the chase more exciting!”

“Maybe if you’d gotten your driver’s license, you’d actually be able to hit him Nōtarin!”

“Fuck off Rase!”

Jumping over a particularly thick mud puddle, Spinner finally began the speech that had been previously interrupted.

“I’m sure you already know that I fell for you pretty fast-”

“Understatement of the year, but I’m not one to talk.”

The neon orange paint was splattered with mud, with the new coat of brown getting bigger as the wheels spun, sluggishly making its way through the puddle.

Spinner laughed breathlessly as he continued, “-yeah, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able put how much the love you gave me in return means to me into words. I couldn’t do it even if the ocean was made of ink and the earth was paper, it just wouldn’t be enough.”

“Shuichi…”

“And, well, since I can’t use words, I thought I’d show my devotion with some kind of gift, but I don’t really have much to give you except myself. Still, I’ll give that to you for the rest of my life if you want it.”

By this point they had stopped just a few feet in front of a moss-covered boulder, one that blended in with the green grass and was in the direct pathway of the truck that continued driving towards them at top speed.

Ignoring the oncoming truck, Spinner took Tomura’s other hand into his own, and softly asked, “Tomura, will you marry me?”

The truck hit the rock, skyrocketing up and over the couple. The screams of the driver and his passengers fell on deaf ears as Tomura gazed into bright, cherry-petal eyes and answered the proposal:

“You’re more than enough for me, you’re more than I could ever dream of asking for. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Not even a moment after he accepted, a loud crash echoed across the meadow as the truck collided with the ground, flipping over as it did so. The bullies were quick to exit the wreck and make their way towards the still lovestruck duo to attack them. It was a farce from the start, the newly established fiancés barely paying them any attention as they began to brawl.

“Look at you all smiley and shit,” said Tomura as he kicked Rase across the field.

“Why wouldn’t I be all smiles? I’m gonna get to marry to the love of my life! You should see your face right now, looks like your smile’s gonna split your face in two with how big it is!” exclaimed Spinner, dodging Nōtarin’s sluggish punches with ease.

“Touché, fiancé. I bet you’ve already got a plan for everything that comes next, you gooey romantic.”

“Well, I was thinking we could have a small ceremony, just us and the league. Nothing too fancy, we’d just do the vows, ring exchange, ‘I do’s’, and sealing it with a kiss, all within fifteen minutes tops. That way we can splurge on the reception, the best music-” Nōtarin screamed as his arm was sliced by Spinner’s hunting knife.

“-the most delicious food and drinks-” Nōtarin gurgled as the knife ran through his neck.

“-and a cake so big that’ll make everyone sick. We’d just have to grab someone to officiate the thing and make it official.”

“We can get Giran to do it, he’s got just enough connections that he could make it happen.” Iyaga howled as his chest caved in.

“And for the honeymoon, I was thinking about taking a joyride on the coastline. We could stock up the van and make stops at all the beaches, and maybe get rid of a few heroes along the way if we’re up for it.”

“That sounds good to me, I’m certainly looking forward to having some fun alone time to ourselves!” Tomura cried happily, as Rase joined Iyaga in the pile of dust that lay at his feet.

~

By the time they came down from the high of the fight, the sun was dipping below the tree line, Tomura and Spinner sprawled out next to each other on the bloodstained earth.

“Ah shit,” said Tomura, “I just realized that there goes my future date idea of murdering your hometown bullies.”

Spinner chuckled at his fiancé’s annoyed tone, “That’s okay, we only murdered a couple of them. Next time we can take down the town leaders who encouraged everything, make a day out of it.”

“Hmm, alright, but I’m planning it. It’s only fair.”

Satisfied, Spinner let out a sigh before suddenly sitting up. “Oh right, I gotcha these,” he said as he pulled the rings out of his pocket.

“It’s just a pair of those plastic rings from the arcade we went to a while back, but I figure we’re not gonna wear these for too long because they’re just engagement rings. We can rob a jewelry store together to pick out the wedding rings.”

“Sounds perfect,” said Tomura, as they each took turns slipping the rings onto each other’s fingers. Taking a second to let the presence of a ring on his finger sink in, Tomura smiled and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been more grateful that Re-Destro only snapped off my first three fingers.”

“Well, that’s one way to say you’re happy to be engaged,” Spinner joked.

“Hm. Then I’ll say it more romantically, just for you.” This time, it was Tomura who took Spinner’s hands into his own as he spoke his piece:

“Shuichi, you are one thing in this world that I could never hate, and the only person I will ever promise myself to. I’ll do whatever it takes to give you the life you want to live. I love you, and I’ll continue to love you until the stars grow cold, and even after that.”

If that speech hadn’t already swept Spinner off his feet, then the deep kiss Tomura initiated sent his heart skyward with how much it fluttered. When they both came down to earth, they went about flipping the thoroughly beat-up truck right side up, and as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon, the newly engaged couple drove off into the ink and lavender sky.

#SpinarakiWeekLevel2 #SpinarakiWeek2021 #spinaraki #shigaraki tomura #spinner #shuichi iguchi #smol’s stuff #smol's stories

[littlegiantposts]

pilot (~revised~)

Kageyama x f!reader

may contain spoilers!

description: In which Y/n is a new addition to Karasuno’s Girl’s Volleyball Club

warning: I’m sure there are some curse words in there.

A/N: yeah so there is another version of this on my blog, but that was really like a test run/rough draft, so here is the revised one that I like better and I added more scenes. ALSO, just ask if you wanna be added to like a taglist. I already stated this in the previous pilot post i will state it again to make sure. 

This started off as just as a nice story to play in my head, but I really wanted to see if I could write it down. First things first, I am raised in California. Thus, I am quite incompetent in knowledge about Japan schooling. All my knowledge is really from me googling stuff and ofc, watching haikyuu. With that said, if I made a mistake on the take of Japan schooling, I do not mean to cause any offense. This is solely for entertainment purposes. With that said, I do not own the characters of haikyuu. However, there are some characters I made up with my own imagination. In addition, this is an “x reader” sort of story but I will be defining some of her characteristics so I am sorry if it hinders you from imagining its you. Finally, I am not that good at writing stories lol but im trying. I hope you enjoy.

I hate introductions. Y/n thought to herself as she sat back down in her seat after standing in front of the class, stating her name and her previous school. Her gaze shifted towards the window. The sun was out and shining and she had the perfect view of the gymnasium. Oh how she just wanted to get up from her uncomfy chair and leave the boring lecture and head towards the gym. 

It was the first day of school for Y/n at Karasuno High. It’s not like she started in the middle of the semester, no, she was just about a month late into the school year. With her work ethic, she didn’t feel any pressure in order to catch up with everyone else. She knew she would get it done.

It’s not really her fault she came a bit late into the school year either. Her dad’s job required a small move, not that she was complaining. She didn’t really feel tied down at her old high school because: she wasn’t there for that long and she didn’t really make any friends, despite joining a sport. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to make friends. It seems that her track record, or the lack thereof, from junior high with meeting new people has left an imprint on her.

Y/n looks down at the worksheet that was passed out in the beginning of class. The assignment was already completed due to Y/n’s eagerness to finish any homework that would take away time from her main passion.

Some people would say she was obsessed. Some would say dedicated. She simply sees volleyball as an opportunity. The class bell rings, signaling for lunch. Before she realizes it, she is walking towards the gym, in which she would meet the girl’s volleyball captain. As she is switching shoes, she can hear screaming from inside. 

“-What did I tell you about touching my onigiri! You are going to pay for that!” “I really didn’t mean it this time, I promise! I didn’t know it was yours!” The voices were muffled, yet she was still able to hear the sincerity in both of the voices. Y/n was about to open the gymnasium’s door when the door swung open by a tall pink-haired girl. She was being chased by another tall girl with long blonde hair, but she was a bit shorter than the pink one. Before Y/n could process stepping aside because it seemed the pink-haired girl had no inclination in stopping, she was tumbled to the ground by the girl who she can only guess took an onigiri without permission. As well, the blonde clumsily tripped and fell on top of the two.

“You idiots! Will you stop it! We already told you, we got a guest coming today and we want to make a good first impression!” A stern voice called out inside the gym.

“Um, Moa-san, I think our wishes are already soiled.” Another voice chimed in from the gym.

“Wha- You dumbasses! Hey, are you okay?” A girl with dirty blonde hair came out from the entrance and offered a hand towards Y/n as the two perpetrators started to get up with apologies towards Y/n. 

“Yeah, I am good.” Despite just being tackled to the ground, Y/n remains as neutral as ever. 

“Aren’t you going to ask if we are okay?” The energetic, pink haired spoke.

“As if I care when you collide into our guest! You really need to be more cautious, Etsuko!” She barked. “I am Aihara Moa. Pleasure to meet you. You’re the first year that turned that application past the deadline, right?” she states more calmly than her previous statement. 

“Pleasure is all mine. And, yes. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Y/n states with quite the unfazed face. 

Does this kid crack a smile once in a while? Moa asked in her mind. She seems quite different than the other first years we have. Her thoughts continue.

“I am Oba Yuma and this is Morita Etsuko.” Yuma, who had the pretty, long blonde hair, spoke with a warm smile.

“Why did you introduce me?! I wanted to have a cool introduction!” Etsuko huffed with a small pout. 

“Well, it’s not like you can recover your so-called ‘cool introduction’ from that full-body collision.” Yuma smoothly replied. Etsuko’s eyes widened and cheeks heated up as she couldn’t come up with a sly comeback to her logic. 

“You guys are just lucky that Rinko isn’t here to scold you.” Moa warned the 2 first years. With the mention of the scary third year that wasn’t even the captain, yet she reigned supreme in the disciplinary department, they shivered at the thought of the punishment. 

As Y/n stepped further into the big, bright court, she spotted that she could only assume was the captain as she looked so appalled at what happened. 

“Hello, you must be Michimiya Yui.” Y/n knew she had to say something to pull the worried captain from her thoughts. 

“Hi! Yes, that’s me! I am so sorry for those two. I would say they aren’t always like that, but I don’t want to lie to a potential teammate.” Yui spoke with an uneasy smile.

Yuma and Etsuko’s interests peaked when they heard “a potential teammate” come out of their captains' mouths. They were the only first years on the team, so the thought of another person in the same boat as them made them excited and wanted to join the conversation. The two first years gave each other a look and started to walk towards Yui, and hopefully their new friend. However, before they could even be in ear-shot, the pair got pulled away by Sasaki Chizuru, another third year.

“Oh, no. Don’t think you will be bombarding her with questions right off the bat.” She bluntly states.

“Oh, c’mon Sasaki, aren’t you curious about her? Like how did she get into volleyball? Or even, is she a beginner? Or maybe she is an absolute monster who dominates the court!” Etsuko proclaimed as her mind went too fast for her mouth to follow.

“As of right now, it’s not our business. All we can do, and are allowed to do”, emphasizing the word ‘allowed’, “is to watch from the sidelines and quietly eat our lunches.” Chizuru instructed the first years and pointed at the far corner of the gym. 

Despite her own words, Chizuru couldn’t help but glance at Y/n and wonder the same things that the first year questioned. At face value, Y/n was quite the enigma. The 2 first years gave a pout, but headed towards their desired location.

“So, you came from Niiyama Girls' High? That’s a really good school for volleyball. What made you come to Karasuno?” Yui asked.

“It was the most ideal school in terms of my dad’s work location.” Y/n states plainly. She didn’t technically lie. It was an ideal school in terms to the proximity to her new apartment, but that was not the only reason. She saw videos of their interhigh-prelims last year and to be quite frank, Y/n was not entirely impressed with the state of their team. However, she knew that this meant there was room to grow for them. She knew very well that she could have gone to Shiratorizawa and joined their girls’ volleyball. Objectively, with her skill set, Shiratorizawa made sense. Nonetheless, Y/n didn’t know what compelled her to pick this one. She convinced herself it was because she is a sucker for rooting the underdog. 

Does this kid show any emotion? Yui thought in her mind. It’s like nothing affects her. 

“How long have you been playing volleyball?” Yui curiously asked.

“Since the 2nd grade.” Y/n quickly states. As much as she wasn’t showing it, she was just itching to show what she can do. The court was right there in front of her, after all.

“That’s impressive, alright, well if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see some serves and sets from you. After school, we can hold a three on three since we all aren’t really in the right clothes to play.” 

“Sounds good.” To say Y/n was excited would be an understatement. As she removed her cream sweater, she could feel a set of eyes burning a hole on her back. She turned around to put her sweater down and realized that she was wrong. It wasn’t one pair of eyes, it was all of them, curious to see how good she really is. She could feel her heart pounding at the thought of holding everyone’s attention. She knew if she let her mind continue, the nerves would get to her and hinder her performance. She took deep breaths and started to quietly humm a song that was previously playing on her phone from her morning ride to school. 

Yui passed a volleyball to her and ran to the other side of the net, and yelled, “Let’s see what ya got!”

Y/n carried herself behind the serve line, taking one deep breath to keep her hands from shaking. With that exhale, she opened her eyes and focused her sights on Yui. The captain wouldn’t admit it, but she could already feel herself sweating under the first year’s gaze.  

She looks so intimidating. I’m not even on the court, yet I’m scared. Yuma viewed Y/n’s determined look. For Y/n, it was as if everything crumbled away and the only thing remained was the court. She starts her run up.

A jump serve?! Yuma, Etsuko, and Chizuru incredulously thought simultaneously with eyes basically bugging out of their head. They watch in amazement as she jumps with severe height and reeled her arm back. After that, all that could be sensed was a loud snap and then the ball smacked the ground next to the wide-eyed captain. The impact from the ball gave a small breeze through Yui’s short hair. The deafening silence that followed her serve filled the room in an instant. Those watching from the sidelines had to pick up their jaws from the floor.

“She’s a first year?! Are you sure?!” Etsuko broke the silence with her curiosity getting the best of her. 

“Boke Etsuko! That was already clarified, don’t make her repeat herself!” Yuma scolded. While Yui read your capabilities on your application form, it was nothing like actually being on the receiving end in real time. 

“That’s quite a serve she got in her arsenal.” A voice startled the three high school students, sitting on the sidelines. Etsuko and Yuma were the most startled, but Chizuru was quite used to her fellow classmate popping in every now and then.

“Seriously, Sudou. We have to put a bell on you or something because I don’t think my heart can take any of your surprise entrances.” Sudou Rinko only slyly chuckles at Etsuko remark. She looks over at Y/n and Yui on the court.

“Did you guys see the precision on that serve?” Rinko posed to the other three sitting on the ground, munching on their lunch.

“Well, not really, but it landed, like, near Michimiya, right?” Etsuko tries to come up with the answer that Rinko was looking for. 

“It landed right next to her left foot. I think that pipsqueak is able to aim her serve.”

“What?! That’s insane.”

“Yeah, insane, but not impossible.”

“With her, maybe we can win more games!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Etsuko, a team is only good if everyone is giving their all.” Yuma reminds. “After all, there’s not only one person on the court, there’s six.”

“I heard she came from Niiyama Girls' High.” Sudou stated as she reverted her gaze back to her fellow teammates. They stared at her after she gave more information on the stranger in their gym. 

“Why would she come to Karasuno then?” Yuma asked honestly. She knew that her team had strengths, but she also knew that other teams had strengths that overpowered them.

“How could you diss your own school like that?” Etsuko was almost angry at how her teammate was treating their school. She always was the one to take pride in everything she does. 

“No, that’s a valid question. It makes sense that a player with her caliber would be well-suited in a powerhouse school.” Rinko supported Yuma in her question. All four look ahead and see that Y/n is beginning to set for Yui.

“Her precision and accuracy are so on point, it almost makes me sick.” Yuma commented on how your form for setting only held the necessities. Y/n stepped with purpose, and it showed as she passed a nice set for Yui, allowing her to have optimal choices in where she can place her spike.

The bell rang, ending lunch. Etsuko couldn’t wait for practice. She wanted to play against Y/n on the three on three. As for Yuma, she always wanted to learn how to set, but with her grand height, most people would assume she would be great as a spiker. Everyone started to pack their belongings up, heading to their respected classes. Y/n started to head towards class 1-5. Etsuko and Yuma caught up with Y/n, standing on the sides of her.

“Do you guys need something?” Y/n poses the question bluntly, yet she was quite startled. Y/n never expected to have people purposefully come up to her.

“Yeah, where did you learn to serve like that? It’s crazy!” Etsuko praises.

“Don’t you remember what Sasaki said? Don’t crowd her with questions, dumbass!” Yuma scolded, which Etsuko already had an irritated look on her face.

“It’s only one question! It’s not like she’s going to fall apart by it, and I just wanna know because I want be strong as well!” Etsuko’s vain on her forehead looked like it was having a field day.

“Yeah, like that would ever happen.” Yuma remarks.

“What did you just say?! I’m going to make you eat your words!” 

“Ooo Frenchie has me shaking in my boots” Yuma taunts with the famous pink haired character from Grease. Etsuko started to jump at Yuma. Because Y/n was between them, she raised an arm.

“Please do not fight, you may cause a ruckus.” Y/n chimed in. The first years returned to their previous spots. Etsuko huffed a little and crossed her arms and slightly turned her head away.

“So, what class are you in? I am in class 1-4. I don’t think I have seen you in the hallways.” Yuma tries to maneuver the conversation to something other than volleyball. Y/n was honestly confused. It’s been awhile when someone her age, someone in her grade asked her a genuine question about herself. She almost felt it was some sort of joke.

“Um, I have class 1-5. And that’s because today’s my first day. Transferred a bit late.” Y/n had pauses in between her words, still not used to people going out of their way to talk to her.

“Woah! You must be pretty smart! That’s a college-prep class, right?” Yuma genuinely comments with a warm smile. Y/n nods, complements on stuff other than volleyball made Y/n short-circuit. The trio walks inside the main school building, the air condition changing the atmosphere. Y/n didn’t notice, but she received some stares from other students as the three walk through hallways. While Y/n remained oblivious, Yuma and Etsuko realized immediately and looked at each other with perplexed looks, not because of the stares that were directed towards you, but the fact that you seemed unfazed by it. 

“Woah, who is that? She’s really pretty.” a student spoke to their friend.

“She’s new I’m pretty sure.” another commented.

“I heard she has a famous dad. She’s like loaded.”

“I wonder if she’s taken”

“I heard she came from California.”

“Someone told me she’s snooty.”

“Her looks certainly make up for it”

“Why is she hanging out with those weird volleyball girls?”

Etsuko physically jolted at that last comment, anyone can physically see the irritation on her face. She turned her head towards the voice of the last comment, wanting to immediately put them in their place. On the other hand, Y/n was too much in her head at the moment.

Shoot, I haven’t asked them a question. Well, that’s what I should do, right? That’s what friends do? Wait, we aren’t even friends, I just met them. They probably think I’m weird. Oh great, now I haven’t said anything for the past 3 minutes. They probably think I don’t like them. Y/n felt that this was weird foreign territory. 

“So, what’s your favorite subject?” Y/n broke the silence, just wanting to say anything to make sure that her two future teammates knew that she was still invested in this conversation.

Are you serious, Y/n?! No one wants to talk about school, that’s so lame! They probably think you’re a smart ass. Uhg. You’re terrible at this. Y/n wanted to groan and bow her head in shame, but all she could do is hold her head high and follow through with her question.

“I like math, and you won’t get an actual subject out of Etsuko, she will probably say something stupid like lunch.” Yuma answered.

“Hey! Why do you keep answering for me?! I am fully capable of answering!” Etsuko barked at her snarky teammate.

“Yeah, your English grade can clearly vouch for you.” Yuma sarcastically stated. Etsuko looked like all the blood from her face left, looking quite pale due to her not so great English grade. Y/n didn’t realize it, but a small smile was on her face as she saw the two interact.

“Well, this is my stop, And, Etsuko, your stop was awhile ago.” Yuma stated as she didn’t really know if she should just send a wave your way or a handshake because Y/n seemed so formal. She settled with a pat on the back. Etsuko copied Yuma, but her pat was a bit more forceful and it really just turned into a smack. Y/n didn’t say anything, but noted that Etsuko has one hell of an arm on her. 

“I already knew that! I wanted to talk to our new friend!” Etsuko looked like she was going to cross her arms and stomp her foot like a small child throwing a tantrum. Y/n stopped her walking when she heard the word “friend” come out of Etsuko’s mouth. Y/n turned to look at Etsuko and Yuma with a surprised look. Etsuko and Yuma instinctively thought they misspoke and perhaps angered you.

“We’re friends?” Y/n held a pause between the two words. Her incredulous face kept switching eye contact between the 2 first years in front of her. “You don’t even know if I will be your teammate yet.” Y/n stated. Etsuko bursted out in laughter and it caused Y/n’s face to turn beet red, embarrassed. Yuma’s face looked like she wanted to backhand Etsuko, but before she could, Etsuko spoke “You don’t have to be our teammate for us to be friends! There isn’t criteria the last time I checked to be friends. Besides, you’re really cool!”

Yuma retracted her arm, despite Etsuko being a dumbass, she somehow always knew what to say in awkward situations. Y/n felt something that spread through her chest. It was a warm, fuzzy feeling. Etsuko and Yuma bid there goodbye’s to Y/n, leaving her to get to her class. The feeling in her chest was not new, it’s just a feeling that she has not felt in a long time.

Y/n sat down in her seat and pulled out her notebook. Everyone started to take their seats. Right before the teacher reached to close the door, a short girl with a small blue hair tie in her short blonde hair just managed to slip through the door. She was out of breath and sweaty, muttering an apology and quickly sat at her desk, which was coincidentally on Y/n’s left side. The teacher began lecturing, instructing to open a page in their textbook.

The end of the school day approached rather quickly. Because of her most recent interaction with Etsuko and Yuma, she couldn’t wait for the three on three. Specifically, who would she be playing against. While thinking of possible offense moves to coordinate, Y/n grabs her volleyball bag from her locker and makes her way to the girl’s gym. The door was already open and she peaked through to make sure there was no way she will be tackled again. She makes eye contact with a girl with short black hair, which she vaguely remembers as Sudou Rinko. 

“Hello! I’m sorry I am a bit early, I just wanted to get a head start in warming up because I do take awhile for those.” Y/n quickly explains with a hint of timidness.

“That’s alright! I already setted up the net so you’re welcome to warm up in here or outside, whichever you prefer.” Sudou stated, making sure she didn’t seem to overbearing as others perceive her to be. 

“Okay, thank you. I do prefer outside.” As much as Y/n’s face held a deadpan look, she was nervous in front of the third year. She didn’t know if she could just head out or bow. Unfortunately, she went with the latter. Sudou cheeks turned red. She didn’t really expect that, I mean in her eyes, she’s just a third year. But, your formality was appreciated.

“Heh, no need to be so formal. I’ve seen what you can do even without warming up, and we would be lucky to have you on our team.” Sudou reassured.

Now it was Y/n’s turn to turn slightly red. She’s new to accepting genuine compliments. So, all she did was a weird salute with a firm nod of her head, and headed out.

That kid has an interesting way of interacting with people. Sudou thought to herself. Hopefully, she’ll be able to open up more. Sudou busied herself by warming up as well.

In the meantime, Y/n found a spot near the side of the gym where there were no trees and the sun just perfectly drenched the scenery with natural light. It was as if the sun placed a golden film over everything and settled on a calm atmosphere. Here, Y/n began stretching. 

After awhile, Y/n was tossing a volleyball up in the air, getting comfortable with how the ball fit perfectly in her hands as she set it in the air. After a couple of sets, she got into the rhythm of bumping, setting, and spiking against a wall. While she was focused on the ball, out of her peripheral vision, she notices someone. After a spike, rather than bumping it, she catches it.

“If you are going to stare any longer, I expect a name out of you.” Y/n stated with a calm yet stern tone while still staring at the wall in front of her. 

“I-I’m sorry. You just seem so focused.” The stranger spoke.

Y/n closes her eyes, when she opens them, she turns to look at the stranger. He’s tall, way taller than her. He’s got a beard and his hair is pulled into a tight bun. If Y/n didn’t know any better, she would have assumed he was a teacher, but he was wearing a school uniform after all. With her eyes set on him, it was as if the guy visibly shook in fear and eyes widened.

“Well, you have to be, in an actual game of course.” Y/n responded.

“You play?” The mysterious guy asks. He does have a calming voice for someone who looks like the opposite.

“In order for me to answer, you should give me your name. I’ve been taught to not talk to strangers.” 

“Oh r-right. I’m Azumane Asahi.”

There was a beat of silence as Y/n kept staring at him, deciding how she should approach this conversation. In Asahi’s eyes, he thought she was judging him and he started to wonder why didn’t he just mind his own business. 

“Yes, I play.” Y/n answered his previous question. Asahi perked up at her answer like a little puppy. 

“You seem like you’re really dedicated.” Asahi offered his observation to her. Y/n chuckles. Asahi’s eyes widened once more at the sudden reaction out of the girl.

“I’m guessing you play as well.” Asahi was dumbfounded at your observation. He was scared at how you were able to pick that up quickly.

“H-how did you-”

“Someone who is able to easily recognize the dedication in one person, also finds that same dedication within themselves” 

Damn, this girl is wise. Asahi thought.

“However, volleyball was just a guess.” Y/n continued. “And I was lucky enough to be right.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

Y/n looked at him again. Y/n wasn’t one to let someone divulge into their personal life. Mainly because no one really came up to her for advice since she was quite the nonchalant person. However, if today is any indication, it seems her social interaction skills has been given a second shot. Y/n analyzed Asahi’s troubled face.

“Are you having an internal battle?”

How unfortunate that you phrased it that way, Y/n. Jeez. You can be so formal sometimes. Y/n scolded herself.

“Yeah, of some sorts.” Asahi responded with a puzzling look at the ground.

“About volleyball?” Y/n specified.

“Uh, yeah.” he reluctantly responded.

“What’s up?” Y/n knew that was more informal and she mentally high-fived herself for talking like a normal teenager.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah”

“Have you ever not wanted to do something because you failed at it?”

A beat of silence.

“No.” Y/n said confidently. However, she knew what he was trying to ask, so she added, “But, I’ve felt frustrated at it before.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Well, tell me, can you be frustrated at something yet you want keep trying it?”

Asahi didn’t respond, just thinking of what she said.

“The answer is yes, by the way. Volleyball is a sport where you are constantly improving yourself, just like any other sport really.” Y/n started to blabber on. “Volleyball provides that uncomfortable tension of not being enough. For some people, it discourages them completely, leaving them to quit or be stagnant. But, there are rare cases where the person is strongly encouraged by it. Those are the people who really do succeed.”

Asahi was deep in thought as he processed your words. As Y/n looks at Asahi, he looks like he’s going to hurt himself if he thinks any harder. 

“Here, stand over there. Let me set for you.” Y/n commanded. Asahi Looks up, “h-how did you know I spike?” At this point, he thought you were some sort of psychic.

Y/n shrugs, “Only an ace would have that mindset and label a simple mistake as a “failure”. You feel like you’re whole team depends on you, right?” Asahi nods with shame. “Well, I think you need to understand that the other 5 people on your side have their own jobs as well. Sure, they know that you are capable of grabbing a point, but that’s because they are supporting you in the process.”

Asahi is quite overwhelmed at all the truth you are speaking, but it makes sense to him. Asahi obeys and walks where you pointed to.

“Now, run up like you are going to spike. You’re job is to knock,” Y/n grabs an apple from her lunch box, “this off of this trashcan.” Y/n places the apple on the the tin can and positions it in the way where a blocker would be in terms of where Asahi is standing. “Imagine this,” she draws a line in the dirt with her foot, “is the net. And, I don’t doubt that you are able to hit over the net.”

“O-oh I don’t know, you see, I haven’t really-”

“Just do it.” Y/n cuts him off with a sigh. Asahi gulps and catches the ball from Y/n. 

He takes a deep breathe in. And a deep breathe out. He tosses the ball to you. Of course, Y/n perfectly sets the ball for him.

She notices after those deep breathes, it seems Asahi is a completely different person. He looks more focused and confident. His eyes are concentrated on the ball. 

After the set, Y/n quickly looks over at the tin trashcan. And lo and behold, her apple is now on the dirt floor. Y/n smiles fondly. Asahi carries the most precious smile on his face. 

“Now, how did that feel?” Y/n questions him.

“Makes me want to do another.” Asahi was staring at his hand as if the key to life was written on his hand. He then looked over at Y/n with a glint of inspiration in his eyes.

“The boys volleyball team should still be practicing, right? I still have to start my own practice.” Y/n shares a soft smile, which she hasn’t done in awhile. Asahi reverts back to a nervous state. Y/n’s guessing there is some awkward tension between that relationship.

“Just go to them. It never hurts to just try, right?” Y/n tries her best to be encouraging, but not too pushy.

“I-I don’t know I left them so suddenly-”

“Just go! Or else.” Y/n knew she shouldn’t use fear as a tactic to push him, but to be quite frank, it’s useful in these rare occasions. Asahi fervently nods, he didn’t want to hear what came after ‘what else’ so he quickly grabs his bag and starts his jog to the boy’s gym.

“Oh wait! What’s your name?” Asahi was already a bit far, so she had to yell, “Y/n! Good luck!” She cups her mouth as if that will totally help her voice travel to him. “Well, thank you, Y/n!”

Y/n picks up her things and heads towards the gym, where she has her own journey to embark on.

Taglist: @riceballsandanime

#haikyuu!! #kageyama #hinata #asahi #haikyuuxreader #haikyuu imagines #nishinoya #sugawara kōshi #yachi #kiyoko #daichi sawamura #kageyamatobio #tobio x reader #kageyama x f!reader #tanaka ryuunosuke #tanaka #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #ennoshita #karasuno #karasunohigh

[evermorehaikyuu]

▬◊☆One More Time

A/N: This has been one of the most requested second parts to one of my fics in angstember and it took me a while because I kept thinking of how to write a second part and chances are I’ll write a third part of fluff because this is angst again. Here’s the first part to the angst, let’s get started! 

Warning: Blood and details of surgery, proceed with caution 

~

One year had gone by and Shirabu was living in solitude. Maybe that was too little of a word. He felt like he was locked up in chains as every single day he glanced at the door in the hopes that Y/N would come in and hold him like she used to. It never did happen.

How many times did his own words come back to haunt him in the times where he sat alone in the middle of the night, revising his textbooks? It was the main reason why he always tried to go back to work, even during his break time and his days off. His supervisor had noticed that something was up with him everytime he had left his group to go and get back to work. What was worse was that Y/N had left to go to another hospital. Perhaps if she hadn’t left, they could’ve fixed it. However, when she put her mind to something, she went through with it. 

Nothing was ever going to help him go back to what he wanted, he had decided. Every night after she left he would study craniectomy, but from his exhaustion, he couldn’t focus. He could barely tell anyone anything other than the basics. He was a surgeon, he should’ve known everything. But Shirabu was only human.

On a day where everything was going slower than usual, something had to come up right as he was going to go home. There was an ambulance right outside of the hospital, the red siren flashing over the walls as the paramedics started rolling someone in as quickly and smoothly as they could. Shirabu’s supervisor grabbed his arm and said, “Someone got into an accident. They need a craniotomy right away. Shirabu, I need you to do this, they look like they’re in really bad shape.” 

Shirabu looked at his supervisor and in a split second, he knew what he needed to do, albeit feeling like all was going to fail. He decided to go into the operation. 

Inside of the room, the tension was thick and so was the smell of blood. The surgeons were all going around the patient like ants on sugar and speaking in medical terms that Shirabu had come to learn a while ago. As he walked over, one of the nurses stopped him. “Hold on. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, of course. They’re a patient and they need to be saved right now.” Shirabu could barely contain his emotions within him, patience was not a virtue he had when it came to someone stopping him from doing his job. “What’s their name?” He reached out for the clipboard near one of the tables and the nurse tried to stop him until he saw who it was.

Y/N was on the table. If he didn’t move now, she would die.

Moving as quickly as he could over to her, he could see her face shriveled up in pain but her eyes were glossed over. The anesthesia was doing its job well as her expression slowly shifted and she started dozing off. Shirabu gulped and looked up at his team of doctors. “What happened to her? Where was she hurt?”

“Got into an accident. Brain damage.” Another nurse said, handing him the craniotome. “Shall we begin?”

Shirabu took the instrument from her and looked down at Y/N. She was on the verge of death and here he was hesitating. Even though she didn’t love him anymore, would he be so petty as to let her die?

No, he said to himself, I’m not someone who will take the life of someone else just because they left me. With the instrument in his hand, he started his procedure, drilling the hole into her head to see what the injury was. 

~

“Doctor, I think we’re--” The nurse who had warned him glanced at him with fear in her eyes. This would be his second time to let someone die. He’d get fired at the very least, banished from the hospital. Why did they let him do this operation again? Just because she was his ex-girlfriend and all of a sudden, the pieces would be put into place inside of his mind? 

Shirabu’s concentrated gaze was soon blurred by his own emotions as panic settled in his chest, realizing that his efforts were futile. He was killing her. She was dying anyways and instead of giving her a peaceful death, Shirabu was assassinating Y/N L/N, the only person he had ever truly loved. “No. Don’t finish that sentence until we’re done. Get the AED ready if her heart rate goes down.”

Even though he refused to let the knowledge of her dying enter his mind, it was becoming very clear to everyone in the room that she was going to pass away. “Please...please don’t die, Y/N, please…,” he whispered to himself, his voice breaking at the last word as he kept trying to keep her alive. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done anything that I did and I missed you so much, please, Y/N, stay with me…”

“Her heart rate is going down.” The buzz of the defibrillators filled the air but Shirabu could barely hear it over the sound of his own heart pounding inside of his chest as he bit his lip and tried to continue his procedure. His hands were shaking as he kept cutting, the blood pooling on his hands, a symbol for the crime he was about to execute.

Execute, he thought, that’s a strange word. It could be used as an act, but most of the time it’s seen as something to fear, a wrongdoing. Maybe I am not supposed to be here. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention.

“She’s at 40, she’s going further down, we’re losing her!” The nurses were all rushing, trying to get Y/N back to life. The constant beeping of the ECG started slowing down before there was a flatline, telling everyone in the room that they had failed. 

“Time of death, 11:39 pm.” Someone muttered, scribbling it down before all of them stared at each other, defeated. All of them turned to look at Shirabu and regretted it immediately.

Shirabu was staring at Y/N’s dead body on the table and looked at his shaking crimson hands, his vision now filled with tears as he gazed at her closed eyes. They’d stay shut forever. It was his fault again. He had killed another person and this was the person he had loved the most. 

His supervisor, when meeting with Shirabu outside, asked him what had happened and Shirabu stared at him with the most broken look he had ever seen in his life. “I lost her. I was too late.”

~

Getting back home was a blur and it was much faster than he had expected as he slammed the door shut and threw his jacket aside, breathing shakily. He couldn’t look at his hands again without seeing the redness blooming on them. Everytime he heard the words “time of death”, it made the reality of her being gone from this world face him. 

Shirabu didn’t know when he fell to the floor. He didn’t know when the tears started coming out of him as he hugged himself, pitiful wails coming out of him before a fist came down on the floor as he screamed. He screamed at himself for not knowing enough. He screamed at himself for not keeping her. He screamed at the heavens for notting letting him keep her for enough time to apologize. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Y/N….” Shirabu said before bursting into tears again, his hands covered his face before sliding up to grip his hair as his tears continued falling and he started shaking as he hugged himself.

Shirabu had a chance to apologize beforehand. She was gone now. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. As he looked at the ring on the corner of the room, so many memories came rushing back to him, causing him more pain. 

“What do you think about marriage?” Y/N had asked him.

“Hmm….I wouldn’t mind it.” He didn’t tell her that it was her that he wanted to marry. The promise ring he had given her was not only to seal his vow that he’d protect and love her forever, it was the promise that someday, he would marry her. 

The ring symbolized what would never happen.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #shirabu x reader #shirabu kenjirou x reader #shirabu x y/n #shirabu kenjirou x y/n #shirabu x you #shirabu kenjirou x you #shirabu imagines #shirabu kenjirou imagines #shirabu angst #shirabu kenjirou angst #the way this one lowkey got me #bye i'm done here #okay update because i wrote the post beforehand #IT HURT SO MUCH #i had to search all these medical things but GODDAMNIT IT HURTS

[welcometoherdomain]

Chapter 6

"So? Any plans this weekend?" Kiyoko asks in their call between YN who is now busy looking at her computer, finishing their presentation for the next advertisement. "hey, YN we will be having a short meeting later okay? for the presentation." YN's one of her officemates said while she hands the folder on her table, "What's this?" YN asked as she raised the folder, "the paper needs revision." she said and completely vanished after she answered. "Hey Y/N still there?" Kiyoko said again on the phone, YN sighed in frustration because not just the presentation also the revisions of papers and contracts to be submitted to other companies are always her obligation. "Yeah, I'm here, actually I do have plans, Kenma's mom gives me this ticket for this musical that I like," she answered while massaging her forehead and after her eyes, because of too much exposure on her screen.

"Oh we do have tickets in that musical also, we can come together and hang out after." Kiyoko added, "Just don't bring Ryu, he's a troublemaker!" YN said, then she heard Tanaka yelled, "No! I'm not, you are!" he yelled,  Kiyoko laughed. "so? I'll ask Yachi, Yamaguchi, Daichi, and Suga to come." she added. "Okay! this weekend then see you!" she bid them goodbye's on their phone and they end it. After the call, YN leaned on her chair and closed her eyes to rest it out a little bit, she's been stressed this past few days, also Kozume, she often see him because he's busy with the new incoming equipment will be released and adding to that is his scheduled streams. Then YN got an idea, she got up and stretched for a bit. "Where are you going YN? Finished already?" one of her officemates beside her. She smirked looking at her, "I don't like that smile,  going to spy at the CEO again?" she asked, YN smiled widely and flipped her hair.

"How about this revision  then?" She teased, YN snorted and rolled her eyes.  "that can wait tsk." she answered now making her way to the CEO's office, not making such a scene, she slowly makes small steps outside his office, one she got at the glass door of the office, she slowly peak at the door, seeing Kenma talking with her secretary,  admiring him make her smile, 'so handsome~' she thought, as she continues to admire him, she can literally see how the secretary flirt with him, her eyebrows raised. "tsk showing your short skirt won't work on him." she whispered. "Damn that suit~" she added again in a whisper, her heart goes wild as she continues admiring him with a suit. Perfect shoulder hair length, cat yellow eyes, long eyelashes, not too thin lips that are so kissable. Then all of a sudden, the secretary handed him a folder, with her flirty hands touching his fingers, YN groans softly and puts her arms crossed, still maintaining her posture on hiding beside the plants near the office. "this bitch. I'm going to rip your fingers out of your hands if you don't stop touching his hands." she whined, as she makes sounds on her knuckles. Kenma moved his hand away and glared at her secretary, YN smiled and stood up, slowly patting and caressed her skirt on folded areas,  still looking at the door.

"What's with his fingers?" YN jumped making her stumble on the plant with her left foot. It was Kuroo holding two coffee, YN falls down with her butt, Kuroo laughed making a small scene in the front of Kenma's office. "Are you stalking Kenma-" YN quickly got up and leaped on him to cover his mouth because he's tall. "What's happening here? Kuroo?" Kenma is now outside opening his door to his office while his secretary is beside him. Kuroo smiled while YN's hand is on his mouth, Kuroo''s hand now sneaked in on YN's waist making her eyes widened,  some of the staff are now looking at them. YN slapped Kuroo's hand away and fix her posture, Kuroo laughed he lifts his coffee, and offered Kenma one, "I already have one."  Kenma said still looking at YN who is not looking at her. "Do you need something YN?" Kenma asked. She quickly looked at him and shooked her head and smiled. "Well, she's just stal-OW!" Kuroo didn't finish his sentence because YN elbowed his side. YN glared at him, mouthing 'don't you dare.'

"By the way, since Kenma has one already here YN.," Kuroo said and offered her a coffee, YN blinked, she thanked him and get it to his hand but he never let it go. YN looked at him confusedly. "Stop with the flirting Kuroo, YN you can now go and  you Kuroo come in, stop flirting with HER." Kenma said and he looked at his secretary, signaling it to get out. Then he closed his glass door. Kuroo laughed again, YN's cheeks burned, she doesn't know if it's excitement or embarrassment,  maybe both she thought.

"jealous kenma, bye-bye yn."' Kuroo teased,   giving now the coffee, and went into his office.YN smiled for no reason with her coffee and went back to her department happily.

---

"So, this advertisement that we're going to present plans to advertise worldwide?" Yuqi asks, an officemate of YN, as she continues to type on her laptop. "yeah, that's why we need to make sure our team we'll ace this presentation, it will give us recognization for sure." Anzu added as he draws a circle on the success on their whiteboard. "So, if you have any ideas  that we can add, spill." He added, now crossing his arms and lean on the whiteboard. Four of them on the seat went quiet, tired and exhaustion filled them, Anzu looked at YN, who is focused on her laptop as she skimmed the paper for the presentation.

"What? I don't have ideas, we already revised the things we need to revise, all we need now is trust each other and..." she then stands and puts her fist on the air. "COURAGE THAT WE'LL GET THIS RECOGNITION!, AND PROMOTION!" she yelled making all of them laughed and stand up screaming. They're in one of the empty office cubicles for a meeting, since 4 pm. "Omyghod its already 11 pm and we didn't get to have dinner, come on it's on me!' Kisho said,  now fixing his bag and things ready to go out. All of them nod and say yes but YN wants to go home early and she was also shocked that it was 11 pm already.

"Oh come on! We need this please YN!" Mayumi pulled her and pleaded YN more and so as the other, she looked at her phone, thinking if she should text Kenma or his mother instead. "Come on!" Anzu now pleaded,  she sighed and smiled, then she nods getting her bag, and close her laptop. They all cheered and got up, fix their things, other staffs of the company have already left, office hours are only at 10 pm. As we got out and went to the elevator, Kenma just got out of his office. They greeted him and bowed. "So how was the presentation?" He asked looking at Anzu, now they're at the elevator, Kenma is in the middle and at his back was YN,  with Kisho, Yuqi, and Mayumi. Anzu and Ryo are beside Kenma. "We're doing good~" YN whispered in his ear, making her officemate widened their eyes. Kenma moved away, and cleared his throat, YN smiled. "We're doing good Sir. You can count on us, the presentation is halfway there." Anzu said,  glaring at YN to behave,  she giggled. Kenma nodded and continue looking at his phone, YN open her phone and text him to tease him again.

'You smell good.' she texted. After that she put her phone in her pocket quickly, as the elevator door open, Kenma looked at YN,  she smiled. Yuqi elbowed Yn, she just winked at her. As they got out of the elevator, they bid goodbye to Kenma but before that Kenma asked something first. "Not going home?" he asked. Looking at them, while YN keeps smiling at him. Anzu nodded, "we didn't get to have dinner, and might as well hang out a little bit." Anzu said. Kenma nodded, they again say their goodbyes and part ways with Kenma, waiting for his car while YN and her officemates take a cab to a hangout place. As they were about to went into their two cabs, someone halted them. It was Kenma again,  all of them looked at each other, YN looked at him.

"Where will be your hangout place?" he asked, as he loosened his tie. "Uhm~ in some cheaper place,  I guess?" Ryo said. "Are you going to join us?" YN asked, her officemate glared at her, because they don't want to bond with the CEO, maybe they're scared or hate him for being authoritative on the office.  "Yes. Let me treat my team," he said, all of them blinked and before they knew the two cabs they stopped already left, and they're now inside Kenma's Jeep Wrangler.

---

All of YN officemate widened their eyes, one of the high-end clubs is what they're going to hang out with, YN smirked and pulled all of them.  Before they can go in, the guards halted them, Kenma pulled out something, a black card. They nodded and they let them in. YN smiled at them, and give them high fives and they give it back. "You're often here?" Anzu asked YN, YN winked, as they went inside, it was a non-ordinary club. The dancefloor is filled with off-course people but not just people, with known names. Yuqi almost screamed when she saw one of the artists in one of her favorite movies. "VIP please," Kenma said, and the staff guides them to the 2nd floor wherein there's a private lounge room for them and a huge couch, they can vividly see the 1st floor widely, they all flopped down on the couch while Kenma ordered some drinks and food.

"Hey YN, how rich is your brother?" Ryo asked, YN elbowed making a hush sound. " We're not related,"  she stated. "Still."   Ryo continued. YN glared at him. "You like him too much," Yuqi whispered as Kenma continue to talk to the waitress. Not a minute has passed the food come, with drinks and wine. "Go ahead don't go shy on me." Kenma now smiled making them at ease. "You deserved this, for working on the presentation yet I didn't say it yet. I trust all of you." He added Anzu stand and bowed repeatedly,  making a whining crying sound, they laughed.

An hour passed, all of them is now being hyped up and drunk at the same time, dancing and singing on the karaoke at the same time but  YN still sober, not getting into to much alcohol because of her health. Kenma is busy with his laptop and talking to his phone, YN whined and pouted. 'He's not even drinking, not partying with us, why did he come then?' she thought, then Kisho pulled her and hugged her. YN eye's widened. "I'm gay. I like you." YN laughed and pulled away, making Kisho whined. "Okay you're just drunk," YN said as she tries to pull away the wine glass from Kisho, half  empty."Sir Kenma! Did you know that YN likes you? Like a lot?!" YN's eyes widened as she can see Mayumi pointing at her. Kenma is now looking at Mayumi then to YN. He smiled making YN blushed. "I know.' he simply said,  Yuqi and Mayumi make shocked faces and seat next to YN, making cutesy sounds. "And did you know, half of the boys in our company like her? Even me!' Ryo yelled drunk, YN's eyes widened. "even me!" Anzo yelled but still laying on the sofa. Kenma just nodded.

"So! If you don't like her then tell her already!  so that I can court her already!' Ryo said, pointing at YN and smiling, YN makes him sit down and drink water. YN is now embarrassed. "I can't," Kenma said now looking at them while Ryo is drinking water. "What?' Mayumi said as she put her hands together, YN is now looking at her. "Because I like her too," he added making YN's knees weak, and her stomach goes wobbly with her butterflies going crazy in it, the girls screamed and clap their hands, YN smiled shyly and looked away.

"I need to go the bathroom!' Yuqi yelled as she tripped on the table, YN caught her so as Kenma, who is now holding YN's hand. "Dissgursting!' Mayumi yelled as she dramatically covered her eyes, Kenma laughed and make Yuqi stand up, still looking at YN who can't look at her. Then before they went to the bathroom, YN gives Kenma a kiss on the cheek making the two girls inside scream again. "We'll be back." Kenma smiled and nodded.

"Now I KNOW WHY YOU COME BECAUSE YOU WANT TO PROTECT YN!" Mayumi yelled making YN happier as they went to the restroom, letting Yuqi in the cubicle waiting for her in the sink as YN looked at herself in the mirror, she smiled and hod her cheeks.

"Omyghosh." she said and start jumping happily. Her jumping was cut off by a phone call, she gets in her pocket and without looking at the caller she answered it happily. "YN?" her jumping and face change,  it was her doctor.

"Dr. Akihiko." she answered in a whisper. "How are you?" she asked. She smiled, "I'm okay, how's the experiment? any findings?' she hopefully asked. "Yes, we find something." her eyes widened, and even smiled more widely.

"But it is not a treatment, a transplant. A donor needed," she added, YN nodded. "That's easier!"  she said. Silenced for a minute, YN nervously gulped. "What's the matter Dr.?" She asked softly. "20/80," she said.  "20 of you making it alive and 80 for not .uhmm..." YN lost her smile. "the riskiness is above average means the durability on your body might not work., They're will be putting some treatments for your preparation and that is also risky." she stopped for a minute. "But there's still a chance for you to live if the transplant after the prep will work." she added. "and if that happens major treatments also will occur, and yet we're still not sure if the medications will work on your body, it will heal you for sure if you're body is strong and can take it but...if it doesn't..death." she said. YN now feel weak and her eyes became heavier.

"It's a choice YN, don't worry," she added. YN is now crying softly, "I can wait for your answer YN, I'm sorry." she said and ended the call, YN's hand fall down beside her,   her tears are nonstop until Yuqi come out of the cubicle, she quickly wipes her tears and helped her. "WHY YOU'RE WET?' Yuqi yelled, YN just laughed and washed her face quickly. She takes a deep breath and gets herself together. As they got back, Kenma is now laughing with the rest of her officemates.

"Why you're eyes red?  " Kenma asked worriedly, looking at her closely as he helped her with Yuqi. "Yuqi sticks out her fingers on my eyes because I was watching her doing her wee wee." YN joked, Yuqi nodded and slapped me. "You watched me wee wee?~!" She yelled YN laughed. As she put Yuqi on the sofa, Kenma hugged her from behind. "I love you," he said softly She smiled looking at him, he's a little bit drunk she thought, she sighed and excuse herself. She looked back at Kenma who is now talking to his officemates while drinking she smiled.

'It is still a chance. A chance to be with him forever. Hurting him will be a part of it, but it will pay off. Risky or not as long as the chance that I'm going to be with him forever then I'll take it.'

Then she sends her text to Dr. Akihiko.

A message comes quickly without 2minutes.

"Okay, come to my clinic tomorrow we'll talk." YN smiled, another text YN send again.

"It's going to work right?" send in the text.

"We will do everything. And we know so as you." YN smiled, hoping and praying.

#haikyuu kenma #kenma #haikyuu #kozume x reader

[ketsuyuki-hibana-typed]

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader (Modern Domestic AU) (NSFWish warning)

300 followers hc!!!

Oh My, 300 followers!!! Yaaaaaay!!!! Thank you! Thank you so much, I'm really grateful that I got so many loves and supports from you all! I like the enthusiasms in my askbox, and I really appreciated it from my deepest heart!! I always read your replies and gaaaahhh it always made me happy!! 💮🌸🌺

Warning: Sexual abuse on train, and Trauma

You worked at laboratorium and Sanemi is a math teacher.

Sanemi will wake up first in the morning.

He glanced at your side, you still sleep peacefully. He stroke your hair one or two times and scratched his tummy while yawning. He went to the bathroom.

After some push-ups and sit-ups, he will back with full consciousness and energy

Ready to torture you.

"Wake up." He slapped your arm.

"Wake up." One poke on cheek

"Wake up, dummy." Two poke on cheek.

You groaned and covered yourself with blanket. "Shut up."

"Get rekt you little shit" He pulled out your blanket and started to tickling you

You were a little bit agitated but eventually laugh and beg for your mercy

Both of you fell down from the bed, but he put his palm under your head on time, so you didn't hit the floor

"Sanemi, that's dangerous!"

"Haha, nope." He bites your nose and stood up. "Morning, ugly."

"SANEMI!!!!"

After getting ready on your work suit, you cooked breakfast for both of you and Genya. Nothing really special, just some bread with sunny side on top

But for Sanemi, peeking you with your apron from his newspaper is a blessing in the morning.

"Morning, Nee-san, Aniki."

"Morning, Genya." He helped you pouring coffees. "You have exam today right?"

"Yeah." He grabbed the bread and put them on his mouth, about to dashed out. You hold his shoulder

"Ah, no running while eating. Sit down." Genya hesitated a bit but eventually sit down with Sanemi too. "Hm~ good boy." You patted his head

He blushed and chewed his bread fast before Sanemi noticed.

After Genya went to school, Sanemi and you finally finished the breakfast.

"Why don't you drop him off at school? Both of you work and study in the same place." You said as you locked out the door.

"Nah, he doesn't want to."

"Really? It must be fun if three of us went together."

You hopped into his car.

Sanemi won't let you go to work by train

Because one time, there was incident

You insisted to take the train. He was a little bit hesitating but eventually went with you too

It was really cramped, both of you didn't have choice but to stand. Sanemi nagged while grabbing your hand but his handgrip was slipped off, he seems didn't realize it yet. Now, you were behind him and faced his back with some distance aparting you.

That's okay, you thought. I'll reach him when we arrive to the next station.

Suddenly, a strange hand poked your back, stroking and touching you. That someone dragged his fingers down to your hip. You flinched

'Molester?!" You were panicked but didn't say or do anything. 'But... I'm wearing long skirt and it's not even tight today... So why..."

You tried to distance yourself with that somebody behind you by stepping forward a little, but it's too cramped.

No one seems noticed. You just want to cry

"Sa.." You tried to call Sanemi with your squeaky voice. "Ne..Mi... Help..."

Of course, he didn't hear that.

The molester continued his act and started groping your ass. Something risen and wet even poked your hip.

You felt disgusted but still froze on your stand, too scared to scream. 'Please, please no. Sanemi, please help me.' You squeezed your bag and looked down.

Meanwhile, the train almost arrived at next station. Sanemi felt like something missing from his hand and looked back

"Hey-"

He finally saw you.

Your body trembled, your face was red and tears started to accumulated on your eyes.

Your eyes finally met his. You moved your lips

"Sane... Mi.... Help..."

Something burning inside his body. He bursted in to your place, didn't care if people groaned angrily when he accidentally stepped their shoes

"FUCK YOU!"

He punched that guy right in the face. He even didn't give that guy rest or pulled his pants for awhile. He didn't care and beat him mercilessly

"Sanemi, Stop!! He will die!" You pulled his shirt but he seems didn't want to listen to you

"Hey! What are you doing there!!" The train officer suddenly came from afar.

The automatic door train opened.

"Hehe, next time." This fucking molester didn't regret his action.

Sanemi kicked his face once again and pulled your hand, getting out from there. Both of you ran from the station.

You stopped on a park.

"Sanemi... I'm sorry... I didn't-"

"Show me your back." You turned around.

There is a white stain on your skirt

"Fuck..." He wiped your lower hip with wet handkerchief. He took off his jacket, knelt down and wrapped it around your hip

"Sanemi."

"What? Did something hurt? Did he-"

You suddenly let out fat tears streaming down your face. You never felt disgusted for your entire life. Sanemi must be so upset.

"I'm scared, I'm sorry I didn't do nothing, I'm sorry if I-"

"It's okay, I'm here. You don't have to say sorry." He hugged you, gently caressed your back and kissed your cheek. "I promise there will be no 'next time'." He gritted his teeth. Until today, he always thought that he failed to protect you.

That's why, he will drive you up to place you wanted to go. No matter how busy he is, he'll try to drop and pick you up. Or at least, took taxi.

When you arrived, you will arrange his necktie before went off because he's so damn suck at it.

"Ok, handsome. You're good to go."

"Hey." He holds your arm. "Don't overdo your work. Call me at lunch."

"Will do!" You patted his head.

"Oi, I did my hair for hours."

"Haha, okay, sorry." You waved your hands. "Bye-bye!"

He secretly likes his 'now-kinda-messy' hair, and lets it be until he arrived at school

When he stressed out and angry at his workplace, he will sit at his table, and listen to your recorded voice (He secretly recorded it lol)

"Ok, guess what I draw on your back. Hehe. Nope, that's not it. I write 'I like you'."

"Nemi!" (Fyi, the only peope who could called him like this are you and Genya)

"Sa! Ne! Mi!"

"Sanemi. Hehehe, nothing! Just calling you"

This fucker of you will smile so bright, the teacher room blinded by the lights.

You called him on lunch, and praised the food he made for both of you.

"But why do you put the carrot again."

"In this house, we didn't acknowledge a picky eater."

The students were shocked to death when they found that killer teacher has wife.

"What?! That Shinazugawa-sensei? Really?! wtf this world gonna end soon."

"...but the real question is, did he called her dumb and started to throwing chalk when she can't answer his math question or what."

Okay, did he?

Yes, he did. Except the chalk part, it replaced with "Pinched her cheek"

"THIS IS BASIC MATH. YOU ARE A RESEARCHER!!"

"I DON'T KNOW! IT'S NOT MY PART AND IT'S ALMOST 5 YEARS AGO, WHAT ARE YOU EXPECTING FROM ME?!"

He taught you how to do two math questions while you're about to cry and sniffled, that your tears started to wet your paper.

"All I ask is you're helping me to solve my work... *sobs*"

Both of you basically 'Genya Protecting Squad'

Random People: *complaining about his scary face and hair*

Both of you: DID YOU JUST TALK SHIT TO MY BROTHER?

When it's cold, he likes to make you sit on his lap and.... Err... Put his hand inside your shirt and groping your boobs

"...what are you doing."

"My hands are cold."

"There's heater."

"No, the sensation is different."

Revision, both of you are pervert

You get into his shirt and stick your cheek onto his bare chest while tapping his abs

You: *inhales* WALKING BARA TIDDIES

Him: I am what?

When you're sick because of overworking, he's the one who took care of you. He will 'guard' you 24/7 and will always ready in any case if you need him. Plus the scolding level will increase.

"Say aaah." He pushed a spoonful of soup he made to your lips. You shook your head and pushed back his hand. You sniffled, and coughed. You could feel your sore throat

"I'm sorry, but I can't-"

"Eat." He ordered you. You sniffled once again and make sad puppy face.

Not effective

"Look." He came closer to your face and sticked his forehead onto yours. "I won't leave until you eat this."

Your phone was ringing, it was from your boss. You are about to take the the call, but Sanemi turned off your smartphone.

"Rest." You pouted. "What's with that attitude." He frowned. Like it or not, you finally received his food

"Good girl." He caressed your cooling-pad on your forehead. Your half opened eyes-lid seems so weak, you just put your chin on his hand and mewled like a cat

CUTE SO CUTE, Sanemi holds his chest and hurriedly took a photo.

On day off, you usually went together to movies, parks, mall, book store, aquariums, etc. But mostly, you will invite Genya to go with you two

He didn't mind if you walked beside or in front/behind him on ordinary walking or shopping. He simply hold your hand when you walked beside him

When you walked in front of him, he could fully look at your figure, while you busy to look at behind for some time, in case he stopped

And it's cute because you look like a chick looking for its mother

Or, when you walked behind him, you grabbed his shirt or jacket fabric, afraid if you lose him

And it's.. still so fucking cute

This is funny, but you and Sanemi often showing disgusted face and judging when both of you saw an over limit lovey dovey couple

Random people you met on the way (especially waitress or shopkeepers) sometimes saying words like, "Is your boyfriend a model?"

You shook your head. "Ah, no. He's math teacher."

"And let me correct you." He suddenly popped out. "She's my ex."

You sighed. "Stop telling people I'm your ex." You smiled towards that person. "I'm his wife."

Or if Sanemi was lazy, both of you will stay in the house, being lazy all day. Sometimes you made Ohagi or he invited you to play UNO cards

"If you lose, you had to say goodbye to your favourite hoodie." You smirked while shuffling the cards,

"Fair enough." He calmly took the cards while chewing Ohagi. "If you lose, you had to wear that wireless vibra-"

"ABORT MISSION! ABORT MISSION!"

He tend to kiss you on the lips deeply in a long time. No desire. Just simply a gesture of loving you.

Or kiss you quickly while throwing cheesy lines while doing Kabedon

He will make sudden move when you were casually walked in the house and BAM! His hand slapped on the wall, right beside your ear. He lets his two or three front-button opened

"Hello, single." He looked at your eyes and gave you a quick kiss on your lips, sticking his forehead onto yours

"What is it now?" You sighed.

"I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers. Tell you what, give me yours and watch what I can do with it."

"You are basically math teacher, Sanemi. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Are you my math homework? You seem hard and ready to be done on my desk."

And that's when he loses it and you already know what happens next

He first discovered things called menstruation when he accidentally spotted tampons on the table

"What is this?"

"AAAAAHHHH WAIT WAIT" You snatch that thing from his hand.

"??? What is that?"

"You- you don't know? It's for girls! On- on period!"

"What is period?"

"....are you even science."

You explained him about 'red day' and he nodded.

"Did it hurt your stomach? Because it's bleeding."

"Yeah, sometimes."

"You need warm tea?"

"Um, prob-"

"Is there anything that could reduce the pain?"

"I tend to-"

"Wait, lemme Google this."

After that, he treated you like a princess everytime you had period.

You usually went for coffees in the evening with him after works. Both of you like to sit together while telling each other stories even opinions

And you will never make up your mind for the coffees. So he usually took the role.

"Uh, I- I'll take-"

"I'll take Quad, Venti, 2 pumps, breve, extra-hot, no-whip, Toasted White Mocha. And she will take Solo, 1-pump, whole milk, light ice, Caramel Brulée Latte."

You just stand there like a dumb person

After coffees, both of you will shop together for dinner. He usually the one who decided the food.

"Kare, but I'm tired."

"I'll be the one who cook then."

"Hm, maybe... Shirt and apron only will be good on-"

"SHUT UP."

Three of you will eat together on the dinner table. Genya loves your food, so he usually gave his bowl to you and asked for seconds.

Sometimes bathe together. You will scrub his back. He likes it when both of you dipped in bathtub and with you laid your back on his chest.

"I don't like your panda eyes." You looked up and poked his cheek.

"Don't mind that."

"I DO mind."

So after bathe, you will put Aloe Vera sheet-mask on his under eyes. He didn't really like it at first, but after you put off his mask, his face became relaxing and he liked it.

Both of you tend to go to your shared bedroom first than Genya, because he still wanted to watch TV.

"Sanemi, you haven't sleep yet?"

When you about to pulled your blanket, you saw him with his anti-radiation eyeglasses, still facing his laptop.

"No. Go first." Your eyes are settled at his cup

"Stop the caffeine, I'll make you tea."

You get up and go to the kitchen. You found Genya asleep on the couch.

You turned off the TV and woke Genya from his sleep, telling him to move to his room.

You came back to your room with two cups of Darjeeling tea and some cookies, putting the tray beside him

You opened a novel book and put your head on his shoulder

You didn't say anything but humming a slow song beside him.

And sometimes, if he knew the song, he will hum together with you.

You stayed with him until he finished, no matter how much hours he spended on his works.

"It's strange."

Both of you now under the blanket, intertwined your fingers and facing each other

"What is it?"

"I never dream of living with wife before, I always thought I'll just live with Genya, and being single for the rest of my life."

You chuckled. "Me too, never thought someone really picked me up because I'm a potato."

"Dummy." He kissed your forehead and nuzzled his nose on your neck.

"Sweet dreams."

#demon slayer sanemi #demon slayer #kimetsu anime #kny sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kny imagine #kny x reader #kny #kny imagines #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi x reader #shinazugawa sanemi #shinazugawa sanemi x s/o #sanemi x reader #citruish #special followers

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 14

A Ferry Good Experience

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party finally wrapped up their business in the small town of Barley, and headed back to Cauterdale to catch the ferry to Thunderbrush across the Bay of Uneasy Repose. In this session, they make a few more last-minute preparations, and embark on a nautical voyage!

Said nautical voyage is swiftly set upon by a few different kinds of trouble.

Before they leave for the docks, Looseleaf catches Orluthe alone while he's having some trouble with street food. There's some sort of tough overcooked octopus dish he can't quite figure out how to eat.

Looseleaf: "You could, maybe, use a knife?" "Or, I guess, maybe you're not supposed to because overcoming a challenge like extremely overcooked seafood is, like, a triumph or something and you're not supposed to back down from those?" "Is that how the cleric thing works?" Orluthe Chokorov: "Sorry, um..." He looks around nervously. "What, um, makes you say that?" Looseleaf: "Well, you know, the fact that, all your combat cantrips involve you declaring how victory is certain or whatever, the fact that after Oyobi dealt with that bobbledragon you channeled your divine avatar to heal Mr. Cutter and your god was all like 'ah, that great beast you have overcome and slain is a honorable offering and you're super cool for having overcome this challenge my man' or whatever..." "Like, I'm just, puttin' all my cards on the table here, it's pretty obvious?" Orluthe Chokorov: "..." "You, uh..." "That's not... something you can, um, prove," he says, unsure.

Looseleaf manages to talk Orluthe into putting his cards on the table, too. Apparently he's next in line to be the head of the Temple of Diamode in his hometown, and he's been sent to study at Blacksky to prepare. Only problem is- he's not a cleric of Diamode. Or even a cleric, for that matter- he's something else, instead. His disposition is noticeably non-Iska-Peakstrider-Goddess-of-Triumph-ish, you might've noticed.

Remember how Orluthe is a shifter? Apparently he thinks of his other form as a different person, and that person is way more in line with Iska and her obsession with victory and superiority. Iska chose his feral warball champion alter ego- the Alpha Doomhound- and has been helping his more mild-mannered side fake being a cleric of Diamode in order to help him attain the headship of the temple for some reason.

Looseleaf... attempts to pry a little more.

After asking a few more questions about how exactly channeling divinity works and feels (kind of incomprehensible sometimes, since godthoughts connect to godmemories you don't have when the channeling ends), Looseleaf reassures Orluthe she'll keep his secret, and the party sets off for the docks.

At the docks, they meet a few goblins from Cauterdale Harbor Management, who tell them all about the amazing deals! Ferry vouchers (like those provided by Blacksky) are four gold, good for any ferry at the harbor- but some ferries cost extra on top of the voucher. Their options are:

The Satellite Islands Transit Company is the budget option, which will get you across the bay for only the price of the voucher- if you're fine riding a crowded and dubiously-seaworthy old tub.

The Cauterdale Armored Navy operate a smaller and more secure ferry- an armored military vessel with advanced protection against sea monsters, for an extra two gold.

Cabana Jim's Pleasure Cruise is an enormous yacht with an onboard spa, for an extra ten gold on top of the voucher- and comes with a coupon for half-off at Cabana Jim's Luxury Resort and Spa.

Looseleaf sees no reason not to cheap out, so they pick the SITC- except Vayen, who goes for the Armored Navy so as not to be on a crowded boat with the rest of the party. Until... the surprise reveal that oops, they've got fantasy airport security, and in order to go on the SITC ferry, they need to submit to an inspection due to an "elevated maritime threat level".

The inspection is pretty thorough, and Saelhen's sleight-of-hand rolls to conceal her knives fail- which they apparently don't care about. What they care about are the party's magic items. The cloak, rug, and pillow all check out, apparently- too minor, not waterproof.

Unfortunately, Saelhen is unable to conceal her bracer, and as it's apparently an ancestral heirloom. They're going to need to put it in a lead carrying case, which costs extra- and also, oops, it doesn't come off Saelhen's arm, so it's going to cost extra extra to stow her entire body in a lead vault.

Why? Because Darkflame Retribution Everwatchful Black Sapphire, Mistress of Turbulent Waters might be out there, and she has a habit of attacking ships to steal powerful magic items. Unnessie just likes fish, and Krakalackie "plays with boats" but is harmless, but "Darkie" is a genuine threat if she senses a magic item.

So, the party instead springs for the Cauterdale Armored Navy ferry, since they have certain measures in case of dragon attack. They head to the boat and find it manned by Medd Cutter, the guardsman they rescued! Also, they find a rich dwarf, a family of gnomes, and Vayen, who is unpleasantly surprised that the party changed their minds and followed him.

Medd explains the security measures on the ship:

The mess hall inside the cabin, which locks with an airtight seal

The recessed seating area on the deck, featuring seatbelts

The diving-bell helmets under the seats, which have an air supply if they get pulled underwater

The magical water-repelling forcefield that holds out long enough to get everyone's helmets on

The levers on the helmets that switch on to make them soundproof in case of dragon

There's a cacophany of acknowledgment from the load of gnome children, and the ferry gets underway.

As they're traveling, Saelhen and Looseleaf ask Kensa why exactly she's so excited to get to Corolos.

They show Kensa the Anycloak, and she immediately loses her entire got damn mind. She offers to do ANYTHING, ANYTHING to have it! Saelhen... takes this as a teachable moment. Kensa needs to learn to haggle.

She doesn't do a particularly good job, and Saelhen gives her some pointers- and eventually agrees to four conjurations per fashion lesson. With that, she puts on the cloak... and makes the Wisdom save that using the cloak triggers.

She gets a 1.

And what happens is... the last thing the cloak transformed into, a super-opulent fancy armored winged battledress... bleeds into the sundress Kensa imagines up. And those elements of the design, leftover from Looseleaf's imagination, seem to Kensa to have been her idea, somehow.

That's... probably... safe??

And soon after Kensa revises her design again, she looks out at the sea, and points at something in the distance, and asks "What's that?"

It's some sort of huge mutant plesiosaur, sniffing at the SITC ferry.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Yamatake, I swear to heaven, if you try this again I will tell the dean that you tried to murder me in my sleep for my valuables." Oyobi Yamatake: "Gods, don't freak out. It's not like I could even fight it anyway! It's under the water!"

Then Unnessie cries out in pain and dives back below the water, leaving the SITC ferry alone. Just as a giant tentacle spears out of the water right next to the party.

Everyone scrambles to get on their seatbelts and helmets as the tentacles wrap around the ship and begin pulling it underwater. The gnome kids scream in terror and/or delight as the parents try to corral them, and the dwarf retreats into the cabin. The party stays out on the deck, and the layers of magic forcefield begin to fail as they're pulled underwater.

So, this incomprehensible warball-field-sized eldritch abomination pulls both the CAN and Cabana Jim ferries underwater, and starts swinging them around. Everyone but Saelhen passes their CON save against nausea!

Saelhen du Fishercrown: "I AM A DELICATE FLOWER AND DO NOT DESERVE THIS TREATMENT."

They both roll high on perception, though, and are able to notice...

Benedict I. (GM): After about ten minutes, as promised, the tentacles retract, and the boats begin their ascent back to the surface. The horror retreats back into the depths. Looseleaf: A very timely horror! Most children aren't so fastidious about keeping to their deadline promises. Benedict I. (GM): You break the surface, and after a minute of checks, the magic fields turn off. Water drains out the edges of the boat. Looseleaf: Is this not another example of the marvelous beauty inherent to this world? "That was... actually a lot more- a lot of fun!" "Nobody got hurt, right?" Orluthe Chokorov: "I'm all good!" Oyobi Yamatake: "Oh I have to kill one of those someday." Looseleaf: "Oyobi noooooo. It's just a little baby." Kensa Kanthalga: "That... was fun, right? That was fun? I'm not traumatized?" Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Well, I had a nice time."

And then, because two sea monsters wasn't enough, something huge and made of deep-blue crystal breaches the surface of the water right next to them, and lazily leans its upper body on the deck.

Everyone immediately switches on their soundproof helmets, and the dragon... pulls out from the water a terrified-looking sahuagin dressed in rags, holding a sign reading "Parley". The dragon performs a lip-zipping gesture, and points at the fishman.

Next time: oh my god a DRAGON in this DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS campaign

#twofaced jewel #tfj log

[parachutingkitten]

Day 1 - Past: I Forgot

Surprise, surprise, I’m late for @ninjago-angst-week. I was a bit shorter on time than I thought I would be, but also this short just wasn’t coming out like I wanted it to, and it took a few long breaks and revisions to get it to a point where I feel good about posting it. Hopefully I can catch up. 

Anyway, post season 11 ice emperor-related Zangst. I mean, y’all are wondering why Zane doesn’t address it ever and... this is my hc why.

~1000 words

Zane glanced over his shoulder one last time before entering the room. He wasn’t exactly sure why. It’s not like he wasn’t allowed there. The equipment was designed for the droids of the team specifically. But although he was familiar with this space, it decidedly wasn’t his. It was Pixal’s. It was her cave with her tech and her control board. But he just needed to borrow it. Just for a moment. I wouldn’t take long, and then it would all be over. 

He reached the giant screen at the edge of the room. He paused a moment, staring back at his reflection on the black screens that surrounded him. The room was so big- such a large space to be in on your own. Is this how Pixal felt? Trapped by herself all day in this temple of emptiness with nothing but the lifeless machinery to keep her company. He started up the computer, the screens springing to life around him. There were lots of windows open: A schematic of the Bounty, a radar of Ninjago, security footage from Kryptarium Prison, the beginnings of a mech blueprint… Pixal’s setting controls. His mouse hovered over it a few seconds before his curiosity got the better of him. His eyes glanced over her stats as his mind wandered and an unavoidable feeling of dread washed over him.

The feeling of actually going through with this task was a prospect he hadn’t fully confronted yet. It seemed like such an obvious thing to avoid, something he had sworn to never do, and yet this source of so much pain and darkness in his life seemed now like the only strand of hope in this infinitely darker abyss he had drowned himself in. Was he really about to do it? Would it even work? Could it really take away everything? All the pain and suffering and guilt. All those lonely years. All the emptiness that had completely saturated his soul. Was it even possible to get rid of feelings like that?

The team wouldn’t like it. He knew they wouldn’t. They would be angry with him. But he had to. He didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t live like this anymore. It was eating away at him from the inside and it wouldn’t stop until it had consumed him. He needed a way out. It was part of his design for a reason. He had every right to use it if he wanted to. 

...Right?

His eyes were stuck on one number, one statistic of Pixal’s that seemed odd to him and yet simultaneously made everything seem so much clearer. His gaze narrowed on it as his decision was cemented.

He was going to do this.

Pixal would understand.

He glanced back down at the control board, connecting himself to the computer’s systems, his own control settings replacing Pixal’s on the screen. There were so many more than he remembered. He felt his breaths quicken as he searched for the one he was looking for, the moment of no return growing ever nearer. He had to be careful about it. It would be a thin line to balance, but if he could do it right, it would work. All of it would be gone in the blink of an eye. He felt water gathering in his eyes as his chest tightened. It was all so close now. Just a few more seconds and he’d be fine.

“Zane?” Her soft voice came from behind him, his body refusing to turn to meet her eyes. “Is something wrong? What are you looking at?”

He could hear her voice draw nearer to him; his mind now locked onto the control he had been searching for. The whole of his systems seemed paralyzed with her in the room, his heart shattering as the truth spilled through his mind and out of his lips.

“...My memory switch”

He could feel her presence next to him now, looking up at the screen. “Is it glitching on you or something?” 

“No.” he shook his head. 

“Then why…” She turned to look at him as the realization hit her. “Zane, you’re not really thinking of using it, are you?”

Zane could feel his emotions reach their boiling point as the tears finally spilled from his eyes. “I can’t live like this anymore! It’s become who I am! I can’t leave it behind on my own!”

“Zane,” She took his hand into hers “You told me you wanted to remove your memory switch, remember?”

“It’s my hardware! I can do what I want with it!” he tugged his hand away from hers, stepping back.

“What’s gotten into you? Why would you ever want to-”

“I don’t know Pixal, why have you been using your emotion suppressor?”

Pixal glanced back up at the screen, taken back by his revelation. “You’re not… That’s none of your business.” She crossed her arms. 

“Please, I know you know what it’s like to have to go out there and focus on saving the city when everything inside you feels like it’s broken.” Pixal could feel tears forming in her own eyes now. “I have to do this; you have to let me.”

“Zane, what if you hurt yourself? What if you forget more than you want to? I don’t want you to forget me, or the team or-”

“I already did!” he screamed at her. “Don’t you get it?! I did! When I was out there, stranded by myself, I did forget! That’s how I got into this whole mess, I forgot! And I’m sick of remembering it!”

“Zane,” Pixal took a careful step towards him. “Please-”

“I don’t even want to really forget it.” Zane sighed, turning away from her, and looking longingly towards the screen. “I just want to fuzzy it a bit. Put it behind a bit of memory fog. Make it so it’s not so vibrant and defined inside my head.  Remove it from its burning place on the back of my eyelids. Just…  make it seem like some long distant past.”

Pixal wrapped her arm around his, her head leaning on his shoulder, both of them beginning to calm. “It is in the past, Zane.”

Zane leaned into her, his eyes sliding down to see their hands meet. 

“Then why won’t it just stay there?”

#ninjago #zane julien #pixal borg #pixane #ninjago angst week #writing