#/slash wishing you had a more interesting life than you have

[clottedscream]

Hello! I absolutely love love love your nell vance art...I was wondering if it would be alright if I used it for a nell vance spotify playlist cover with credit? Thanks, and love your art!

Sure! also omg send me the playlist!

[nanaminokanojo]

Honey, Oh Sugar, Sugar

JJK men as your sugar daddies and what happens when you tell them you're breaking​ things off cause you've secretly fallen for them and "breached" the contract. Or me just being hung up on the whole concept of sugar daddies cause I don’t wanna work anymore and I need Nanami in my life.

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo x you/afab reader TW/CW: angst | smut/implied smut | sorta dubcon | age gaps | aged up characters | kind fluffy | mentions of alcohol/drugs | some mafia stuff | mdni Word Count: 8.1k

MASTERLIST

NANAMI

'I can't see you right now.'

Those words glared at you, sharp black slashes that marred the white backdrop of your screen. They may not carry much weight without context, but they broke you a thousand times weighed on you like the sky had fallen over, crushing you as you heard the voice behind the words, making you regret every other choice you've made so far.

They blurred out as tears started to flood your eyes, falling on the device in your hand, but the pain they caused didn't fade in the least. If anything, you felt exponentially worse, enough to make you wish for death. It was more for the fact that you knew it was your fault, a result of your weakness and lack of prudence, your over-estimation of yourself and biting off more than you can chew. 

Still, how were you to know back then? How the fuck were you supposed to know that things would end up making you feel as miserable as you did? How the fuck could you have been able to tell that you'd be wishing to tear yourself away from the only thing that seemed to make your life make sense? 

If you were told that gods existed and walked in Prussian blue button-downs and khaki shorts as they surveyed their domain from the balcony of their private beach houses, you wouldn't have believed it. But Nanami Kento came into your life in that same exact form, a stoic, tall blonde, ten years your senior, successful in all his endeavors but always too busy for anything. 

Nanami Kento was your best friend's neighbor �� at least at their beach-front rest house. It was funny how he was supposed to be this well-known yet aloof individual in the community. And yet, the moment you were introduced to him, he purposefully made a way to be around you where you fell into easy conversation with him. Your friend told you their neighbor hardly ever stayed at his summer retreat for longer than two days, popping out one day only to be replaced by the caretakers who would then tell them that "Nanami-san had an emergency business trip." On top of that, he never really showed up when your friend's parents would invite him for whatever, consistently declining politely, but because of you, he finally honored one of their invitations. 

However, it made you wonder what he found so interesting in a university student like you when his life was so much more exciting, being the founder of his own company. He was a bachelor at thirty two, and he's got everything figured out while you were in the final year of your higher education, and you still didn't know what to do with your life. 

The reason became evident when you met him again after insisting that you should before you parted that evening at the beach, even leaving you his calling card. 

How your conversation went from how his work was going and how your studies were to his proposition for you to be basically his sugar baby was something you couldn't fathom at that time. He just went on about coming clean and expressing his real intentions, then later asked you to think about it before dishing out a conversation about how the two of you should meet again to draft the parameters of your arrangement. Nanami later apologized, smiling apologetically for startling you – the biggest understatement of the century – adding that he wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

"I hope I didn't scare you away," he said when dropping you off to campus.

A week later, you signed a contract with him, and then he kissed you, taking your breath away instead of shaking your hand to seal your pact. Everything went smoothly. It seemed a good idea back then. Boy you wished there was a time when you could have been more mistaken in your life. 

You let out a mirthless laugh as you realized you were at the end of the rope regarding Nanami. You cannot handle it anymore when, for the past half year, you've been putting off talking to him about the state of matters from your end. You know you're breaching your agreement, which is a testament to the reality of your liaisons. You failed at keeping it emotionless, evidently, and every single time you think about coming clean and facing rejection, you felt like cowering in fear. 

You already know how binding those agreements were. Nanami had been clear about what he wanted, and you also agreed because you thought you wanted precisely that – an arrangement without commitment, one you can easily get out of without issues. He would not want you if he knew the truth, and although it took far too much strength and courage to accept it, you managed. But now that you have finally decided to speak to him, he tells you he can't be there. Then again, you didn't even have the right to demand his time. 

It came in a cocktail of emotions when you realized you didn't want his money or anything else he had to offer. You only wanted one thing: his heart. Too bad it was off the table. It's not something he offered to ever be in your contract. 

You hated yourself for being weak, for opening up when you should have remained frozen even towards him. But you couldn't help it when your heart started confusing his caring side for actual feelings over his usual acts of reminding you that he was still the older one between you and actually had the responsibility to take care of you whether you've got an arrangement or not.

You sure as hell didn't regret the perks that came with it – trips to any place you could name, things you get with just one word, and the amazing love-making that came with it. Nanami was a great lover. It never just felt like sex in a transactional manner. It always showed how much of a sensitive soul he is, how much he cared for you. But it's not exactly in the way you wanted it.

"I like you, and I enjoy your company, but being me, this is all I can offer at the moment."

Those were his words, and though it's not explicitly written in the contract, you knew it was over when you started perceiving him as the center of your universe. That was no good, and maybe he knew, considering how he had been "too preoccupied" when you said you wanted to talk. Suddenly, he didn't have time for you, but you wanted to tell him of your decision to end matters in person. He deserved that, at least. Nanami was just too good, and you didn't want him to do the guesswork.

That same night, you walked out of the luxury flat he rented for you, packing a bottle of wine, which you ended up drinking at your best friend's house.

You woke up the next day, still groggy from all the alcohol you drank, to the sound of your best friend speaking angrily to someone in hushed tones. She was telling someone off and threatening them about answering if something ends badly, but then you hear your name.

"Y/N's a really sensitive person underneath regardless of what she says," she tells whoever she is talking to. You don't hear the response to her statement, but there was a long pause, and then you hear the front door open and close with her declaration to give this person their space.

It wasn't long before the guest room door opened, and you found yourself face-to-face with Nanami. You motioned to get up, but he shook his head and sat beside you on the bed.

"Why did you leave?" he asked, straight to the point as always. You didn't expect anything less, but you couldn't look him in the eye as you said, "I can't do this anymore." 

Much to his surprise, you started crying the moment you spoke. It was so atypical of you to show him any kind of weakness, always so independent in your actions and words that he felt useless at times, so he found the need to reach out and hold you.

You flinched. "Please don't."

Nanami sighed, running his fingers through his usually perfect hair. For the first time, you notice how it's not fixed the way it should be and how he has dark rings under his eyes, his cheeks a bit sunken. He looked at you, expressions unfathomable, but you saw how he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Why not?"

His question angered you, that much he could tell, and it was obvious how you were trying your very best to calm down. You sat up and he felt the need to brace himself for whatever you will say.

"I'm ending this...this..."

"Arrangement," he supplied for you, to which you nodded, the sting of that word evident on your face. "Yes, that."

He nodded in understanding, but he stared you down with a pensive look on his handsome face, and you wanted just to run before you fell even harder. "May I at least know why?"

You bit your lower lip, looking elsewhere but him as your eyes filled with fresh tears. You didn't know how on earth you were going to explain it to him in detail, but as he gave it to you straight and simple, you thought it best to do the same. It would be self-explanatory anyway.

Wringing your fingers, you all but whispered, "Kento, I'm in love with you." When he didn't speak, you started rambling on about how you knew things wouldn't change if you said it and that he's got more important things to deal with over your "childish feelings" but that you can't help it.

"Say that again," he told you.

"What?" You didn't realize he had moved closer, his face merely inches from yours and his other arm caging you on your spot.

"The first thing you said. Say it again." He sounded commanding as he was used to, but then he let his forehead rest on your shoulder, feeling defeated. "Please?" he said, sounding small, unsure.

You wiped the tears off your face, sniffling. You've resigned yourself to the bad outcomes of your actions. "I'm in love with you."

"If that's the case, wouldn't you want to be with me?"

"Because you said you could only offer me this arrangement."

At that, he looked up at you, cupping your face with his hands and staring you straight in the eyes, eyes you couldn't lie to. You were somewhat surprised that he didn't have a single clue as to what had been ailing you as perceptive as he was. Then again, maybe you were just too good at hiding it until you weren't, everything hidden behind the smokescreen of your physical intimacy and the pretty smiles you would offer his way.

"Be honest with me. Did it ever feel like it's just that?" he asked cautiously, groping for words.

This time, you couldn't hold back and began tearing up again, your anger finally rearing itself on the surface. "That's exactly the problem!" You pried his hands off of you and stood up. "I can't figure you out, and I don't want to be confused anymore. We had an agreement, I know that, and I'm sorry, but it hurts too much knowing you can give me anything I ask for but not what I want the most."

He also stood up, invading your space and pulling you towards him. He wasn't about to just lose you, not without a fight. Nanami made you look at him, his arm around your waist tight as he commanded your attention but still gentle and giving you your leeway to run if you wanted. You, on the other hand, didn't need much restraining nor convincing as you found yourself looking into his eyes and wanting nothing but to be close and be able to hold him, own him and all that he is, love him, and love him hard, love him over and over again, surrender your heart and let him have you even if you knew he could never give it back.

But all your notions were dispelled with a few choice words. "You never asked."

"I – what?"

"The thing you want the most that you claimed I can't give you. You never asked for it."

Ah. You chuckled without humor. Of course, it's on you for not asking. "Because I can't! That's not how it works. It's not my place to ask. I've no place of that nature in your life."

"Really now, Y/N?" Nanami looked stung, annoyed even, when typically, he wouldn't even show you a disapproving look at your worst behavior around him.

"It's okay. This is on me." You stepped back from him, resigning yourself to the idea of not seeing him again and saying goodbye. "And I know you're busy, so don't worry about me. I just really wanted to tell you personally, at least. I'll be fine."

"I won't be..."

"Stop it! You said so yourself –"

"I said 'at the moment' back then if I remember it correctly?"

You shrugged. "Kento, you don't have to hyper-analyze what you said back then. Don't stress –"

At that, his expressions changed, and he appeared manic, so different from his calm and composed demeanor. "This is stressing me out."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

You shook your head. Pity was the last thing you needed, and hearing those words in such a context, even less so. "No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You can't just assume things like that. And though I detest confrontations like this, I'm prepared to be in conflict with you for it if it means you stay with me."

You smiled ruefully at him, coming closer to hug him, holding onto whatever you could while you still had time, taking in the way he smelled, the way his hair felt against your palms. "You're really too nice. Don't say things like that even if you feel bad for me. You don't have to."

Nanami sighed again, looking absolutely tired, but had it in him to smile despite your words. "Y/N, I just got the shovel talk with your best friend after I told her I love you – rather graphic, too – and you're telling me you don't have a place in my life? I would not even be here if you didn't matter to me. You, of all people, should know that I don't waste my time on things I don't find worthwhile, but I am here, am I not?"

You felt your heart thundering in your chest as you minced his words, unable to process everything at the moment, but you found yourself overwhelmed with joy that your feelings weren't one-sided. "You are."

"But you're right, so let's end this arrangement."

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

"Let's make this the real thing without agreements and roles. What do you say about that?" He tilted his head to have a closer look at you. 

Everything be damned, but you were taking your chances. "Okay," you whispered.

"I love you. I'm in love with you, too. If it's my heart you want, you can have it. It's yours. All yours, my sweet."

You bit your lower lip, fighting a smile as you glanced at him from under your lashes, not trusting yourself to speak.

Nanami leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he held you closer. "I love you," he repeated.

"I know."

He chuckled. "Now you know. But that's not what I want to hear, Y/N. I said, I love you."

Instead of a response, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close as you stood on your toes to claim his lips with yours, your toes curling as he reciprocated in kind. This one felt different, not like some sort of transaction or a thank you for the things he provides for you. It felt like the real thing...like love.

"Then I love you, too."

TOJI

"She's an associate, Y/N. Stop being such a brat," Toji tells you the moment he arrived at the penthouse where he was housing you a good hour after you stormed out of the party he was hosting. You looked over your shoulder to find his tall, broad form leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and...smirking.

"Or are you doing this on purpose 'cause you want daddy to punish you, hmm?"

You scoffed as you angrily wiped your tears, entering the walk-in wardrobe and slamming the door shut. You just wanted to be away from him, be able to think without him influencing your thoughts. If Fushiguro Toji was a drug, he'd most certainly be heroin – absolutely addictive with slim chances to none in terms of recovery, but you still wanted more, more, and some more. And you fell right into that trap, very much aware of it all.

You were a budding freelance journalist who got into a tangle with his organization after a wrong lead. He had been nice to you on the get-go, the understanding and very accommodating kumicho letting Miss Nosey off the hook. You kept running into him after that until one drunken evening at one of his clubs, where he had to rescue you from a guy who couldn't take no for an answer.

He drove you home, and instead of getting out of his car, the two of you got talking, and he started showing you pictures of his adorable son. And after fucking you senseless in that same car, he offered you an arrangement you thought you couldn't refuse at that time.

Slowly, you found yourself weaving into Toji's complicated life and seeing beyond just the ruthless gang leader who showered you with everything and anything he could give. The sky is the limit where Toji was concerned, and he was outrageous about the presents he would give you. But that always came with a catch. He took as much as he gave, probably more, and he was possessive of you. It wasn't healthy how he could do whatever the fuck he wanted while your rewards came with limitations attached to them.

Still, you stayed and got lost in the maze that was the workings of his mind and his personal life, which was just about his little boy. You instantly fell in love with Megumi and, in the process, with Toji himself. You know that now without a doubt, and it scared the living daylights out of you.

That realization came gradually. At first, you chalked it up to just a physical response, inducing chemicals in your head that gave you the illusion and delusion of emotional affection. What's love got to do with it, right? At first, it was little things like wanting to see him at the most random times of the day, missing him, and such. Then it escalated into incremental degrees of possessiveness, which you thought was fair given his inclination to call you his, be that in words while he's balls-deep in you or the way he would suddenly hold onto you with those large hands in the presence of others.

And quite frankly, you seemed to have picked up on that habit the wrong way, learning to reciprocate in the same way. It was messy business at best, but then again, it started just as messy.

The thought and reality of it hadn't felt as real as it did when you saw another woman clutching just as possessively at his arm. It seemed innocent, but seeing those blood-red nails brushing on his muscled arms as if their owner had any right to do it or had probably staked their claim made your blood boil, and your heart break. All the while, in your head, you were repetitively saying, "He's mine. I had him first."

You're in love with him, and that's a fact. Because why else would you be having such intense emotional outbursts over the fact that he was dangling another woman in his arms? It's a fact you didn't want to face anyway. He's supposed to be your sugar daddy, nothing else. It came with its perks, but you're human, and Toji is irresistible in more ways than one and never limited to just how he satisfies you physically. You loved him, his son and everything that he is included.

And you thought it had to stop. He didn't see you that way.

You emerged from the wardrobe, pulling a suitcase behind you, and suddenly, tension filled the air as Toji straightened to his full height, sapphire eyes shifting between you and the luggage. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. Gone was his playful mood from earlier, replaced by something darker. He wasn't expressive, almost always looking bored out of his wits, and his facial muscles only rearranging in minute details to convey change, but it was enough to tell you to be on guard.

You walked towards him, mustering all your courage as you said, "I think we should end this."

"Because you're jealous?" He arched a brow at you. "I already told you –"

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his cheek, smiling as you traced downward before running your thumb against the scar at the side of his lips. While it made him look like a hooligan, you always thought it was a part of his charm. "That's hardly the issue here. As cliché as it is, it's not you; it's me. Thank you for everything, Toji. Give my love to Megumi."

At that, he chuckled. "And you expect me to just sit back with that sorry excuse? What do you take me for?"

Your eyes flashed in anger at the way he was undermining the circumstances. "Toji, I'm serious. It may be a sorry excuse for you, but it's not the same for me."

He stepped closer, looming over you. "So, speak up. Do I look like I'm playing here, sweetheart?"

"I...I can't..."

"What now?" He smirked, but you saw hurt cross his features, making you hesitate. It was too late when you realized you were stuck between a hard place and Toji, literally and figuratively. Your back hit the wall, and a second after, he slammed a palm just beside your head, staring you down. "I'm just a lowlife so I don't even deserve any proper explanation, is that it?"

"What? No! That's the last thing on my mind!" you retorted.

"So what? You're done writing your little reveal-all piece on me, so you're cutting me loose?"

How dare he, you thought. You were faithful to your agreement with him, and not once did you ever think of betraying him like that. Again, you were overwhelmed by the intensity of how you felt for him. You shook your head, trying to hold it in when your feelings were close to slipping out of your lips from the tip of your tongue. You didn't like the way he was looking at you as if you murdered his son and only family, but why were you making him angrier?

"If that's what you want to think, then fine."

"So fucking tell me, woman!"

"You should know by now that your intimidation tactic doesn't work on me," you told him dryly.

"You really are my woman," he says proudly, almost love-struck, but you weren't about to buy it.

"Let me go."

"And if I don't?"

"You wouldn't like what I will do, Toji."

"Oh, is that so?" Toji wasn't a patient man, but he always took his time with you, and that trait of his was proven to you for the first time when, in the next moment, you found yourself upside down after he hauled you onto his shoulder and easily carried you to the bed.

Before you knew it, you were on the mattress, but upon realizing what he was about to do, you started beating him on the chest with your fists, tears spilling out of your eyes. It was futile, you knew that, but you still wanted to get away from him. He easily pinned your hands down, silencing your protests with his lips as he took possession of yours. And just like that, you were docile as a kitten under his mercy and the heat of his touch.

"Do you still wanna leave me?" You just glared at him, your lack of response making him grit his teeth and tear the dress you were wearing off of you.

"Toji, what the – mmph!"

Again, he swallowed your words, his hands roaming over your now naked body. He pulled back only to say, "I'm giving you a chance to talk now, darling. Don't waste it." He then started kissing your neck, going lower and lower, the sounds he was making distracting you. "I'm listening, Y/N. And don't give me another bullshit excuse."

Your misery mingled with the carnal pleasure he was pulling out of you, coming in rivulets of tears as you half-sobbed, half-moaned at the way he was touching everything his hands could reach while he ground his crotch against yours.

"Toji, please stop," you pleaded, and he did, flashing you a pained look. For the first time, it seems that he was showing you the real person behind all the facade, the version of Fushiguro Toji exclusively reserved for Megumi.

He sat on his haunches, looking down at your vulnerable form as you covered your face with your arms and continued to sob. "I-I'm sorry..."

"No. I'm sorry," you answered between deep draws of breath. You weren't crying because of what he was doing. It was more for the fact that you were hurting him as much as your arrangement was hurting you. "But what the hell can I do?"

He hovered over you, prying your hands away from your face as gently as he could and peppering your face with kisses. "What is it, darling? Come on, tell me."

"I broke our agreement..." You looked away from him.

He eyed you quizzically. "And how did you do that?"

"By falling in love with you." You finally met his gaze. "I know you said our liaisons will not go beyond just what we really are to each other, but I couldn't help it. I care for you and Megumi, so much so that I want to be a genuine part of your lives. And it's not my place to ask, so I'm sorry."

To your surprise, he laughed, like really laughed, and you haven't felt so embarrassed in your life after pouring your heart out to him. You wanted the whole place to crumble into a pit and take you with it. 

When he was calm enough, he said, "Fucking finally!"

"What?"

He sighed, leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. "Do you know how long I've waited for you to say that to me?"

You paled but at the same time, you felt your face getting hot, realizing what he meant. "You knew?"

"From the moment it happened, yes. You think you can just walk out on me like that?" He shook his head. "Don't act like you don't know me at all."

"Y-you –" You didn't know what to say, getting up halfway only to be met with a scorching kiss that left you breathless.

Toji undid his pants, letting his cock spring free, and then lifted you onto his lap, holding you close. "I knew you were made for me the moment Megumi's eyes lit up the first time he asked if you were gonna be his new mommy."

"He did?" you asked in muffled tones against the crook of his neck.

"So what do you say? 'Cause I was dying to say yes." He kissed your temple, and underneath, you could feel him preparing to align himself with you.

You pulled away, holding his head between your hands as you looked at him in disbelief. "You were?"

He rolled his eyes. He really wasn't good at this. "Yes, darling. Now, are you still gonna leave me? Us?"

You pouted. "You're not just using Megumi to make me stay, right?" You gasped when he nudged your entrance, knowing he's got you in the bag. "I won't even let you near my son if I didn't want you as much as I do. But I got the best wingman, no?"

You just stared at him in disbelief but he prompted you by thrusting upward and breaking you away from your reverie, a high-pitched moan ripping out of your throat.

"Come on, Y/N. Decide so I can love you as much as you want me to." He grinned deviously at you. "Not that I plan to do otherwise if you decide to go."

"And if I go anyway?"

He smirked. "I don't know, love. I'm yakuza after all."

"Is that a threat?!" You smacked him on the chest, earning you a chuckle and a kiss to your forehead. "Yes. Can I love you now?" he asked and you swore he looked just like Megumi when he would beg you for goodies. So, how can you say no to that?

~*~

GOJO

"Where have you been?"

The silence you expected to arrive to at the penthouse was broken the moment you walked by the vast living room. You almost dropped the red heels you held when you heard that familiar voice echo through the room, quiet yet deadly.

You visibly froze before turning around to see the owner of the voice. He looked upset, those usually bright orbs of aquamarine having turned into cold, hard gems as they regarded you. The darkness of the room that surrounded him like a miasma didn't help in quelling the tension in the room. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru hated, it's when he is disobeyed, and you flouting his orders and going out to party wasn't an exception. Sure, he doted on you and always showered you with gifts and affection, but being part of his world meant you needed to follow strict rules in exchange for the lavish life he provided for you.

You knew you should not have gone anywhere apart from your university and the place you called home. You knew you should not have given his men trouble by thinking you were at home after you snuck out, but you thought, why not? Gojo wasn't supposed to be back until the following day anyway, "Negotiations," he called them. You didn't want to feel alone in such an empty space, which was becoming more frequent as of late. You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you refused to and you wanted to act out.

Choosing to aggravate his foul mood further, you shrugged and attempted to walk past without saying anything, but you effectively stopped when he said, "Stop right there. We're not done talking."

Veering to look at him with the coldest expression you could muster, you retorted, "I went out with my friends. What's the big deal?"

He stood up from his seat, evidently pissed off at your attitude. "I thought I told you. It's dangerous, Y/N. I'm just trying to protect you. What if something happened to you?"

"They're your enemies, Satoru, not mine."

"It doesn't change the fact that they will hurt you if they can!" He had such a menacing look on his face when he was angry which you thought never belonged with those easy smiles and generally perfect visage of his. Someone so beautiful being shrouded in darkness was a violation to nature, and Gojo was just so.

"Well then, maybe I shouldn't have gotten together with you!" you shouted back, throwing your expensive shoes on the floor, imagining it was an extension of him you wished to hurt. "I could be in danger; I understand that. I'm not stupid, but I never cared for any of that as long as I have you, but you're never there! Why should I stay put when you tell me to?"

Gojo was evidently taken aback at your outburst, not believing that this was the welcome he gets after being away. At the same time, he felt guilty and deserving of your harsh treatment of him, feeling his heart sinking at your words. "You'll be safer that way," was all he could say.

You smirked at him, shaking your head. "And lonely. You forgot lonely." You shrugged, walking away from him. "I'm tired."

Having ended up in the bathroom where you found solace from Gojo, you leaned your arms and propped your chin on the rim of the huge tub, staring at the city lights through the glass walls. It seemed like a good idea to get tangled up with an older male who wanted to take care of you at your darkest moments, having been fired from your job and thrown out of your apartment which made you resort to sleeping in your car. 

That's how you met in the first place, making the mistake of parking around the outskirts of the city, hugging a can of pepper spray in your sleep when Gojo and his men decided to make an exchange at the empty parking lot of the warehouse nearby. Safe to say, it went awry when men started to pull out guns.

He took you home after his right-hand man spotted you in the car when your phone lit up at the wrong time. At first, he was suspicious of you, thinking you were an asset for an enemy clan. You were probably traumatized or in utter shock when your first reaction to him after seeing him break someone's neck a few yards from your car was to tell him he was beautiful while also shivering at the thought of how easily those gloved hands could murder you.

Gojo had been straightforward from the get-go, never hiding his intentions the moment he thumbed at your chin, forcing you to behold his beauty in all its glory which was just a bonus with how gentle, kind and caring he was towards you. And you clung to the dark angel who offered you a comfortable life away from the dangers of the streets, even offering to pay for your studies when he found out just how well you did in them. It seemed you were embroiled in more danger than you anticipated, however.

To say that you didn't know what kind of life you have entangled yourself in would be a lie. You knew just what kind of person Gojo Satoru is, his pretty hands and his very name stained in blood. The tattoos that adorned his beautiful alabaster skin were a dead ringer of just what kind of clan he belonged to, and it didn't help that he was surrounded by ruffians like a lone rose in a sea of thorns all the time.

They called him The Prince, even his enemies, and what a fitting name, at least to you with whom he showed his better side and true self underneath the emotionally constipated yakuza overlord that he is. But that was the very thing that broke your heart.

You had an agreement. Blatantly put, you are his pet, and he is your owner who poured money on trinkets he thought would make you happy in exchange for favors. That's it. You give him your body, and you get to have him for all those moments he is available. You wouldn't deny that it was an economically good proposition and beggars probably can never be choosers as was the case for you, but you never anticipated just what a lonely existence it would be on top of it being dangerous when you were deemed his weakness.

What a laugh. You weren't his weakness, not even remotely close. It was all for naught when your life is being put in line because of stupid assumptions his enemies resorted to. You will die if you don't toe the line according to Gojo's standards, and for what? They'd probably think they hurt him, but really, they're just giving him an excuse to go on a rampage, which will be for reasons vastly different from their thoughts.

But more than anything, the most significant matter at stake was your heart, if not your sanity. Letting that information out during your outburst was a faux pas on your part, and you emotionally prepared yourself to leave the kind of life Gojo granted you in the first place. You've fallen for him, and that wasn't a good thing when he made it clear just what purpose you served for him.

The sound of water droplets from the faucet was suddenly interrupted by the glass doors sliding open to accommodate Gojo, who had already changed into a fluffy, white robe, shedding it off as he approached you. You didn't acknowledge his presence and merely watched his reflection through the wall. That didn't deter him from coming into the bathtub behind you and pulling you close.

"Would you please look at me, sweetheart?" he asked, his melodious voice making every fiber of your being tense. He wrapped an arm around you, his breath ghosting over your nape. "Did I make you that upset while I was away? I'm sorry, my pet."

His apology always came with a catch. You didn't have to enumerate them when you're only supposed to understand.

"Still mad at me? What does my Y/N want, hmm?" Gojo started placing kisses on your shoulder, moving upwards to your neck, but before it could cloud your judgment, you moved forward, gently taking his arm off of you, much to his dissatisfaction. He sighed, letting you have your space. "What's the problem?"

You hugged your knees to yourself, feeling the coldness of the air when you lost contact with him. "It's not something you could fix by kissing me." As if on cue, you absently scooped some soapy water and rubbed it over the areas he touched.

Being the brat used to having his way, Gojo scoffed. "Are you literally washing away my kisses?" It's just like him to ask about the trivial things when he feels like it. He reached out to touch you when you didn't answer but stopped when you flinched. He immediately turned serious, the air around you becoming charged with tension. "Y/N, will you please tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are."

"What?"

You leaned your forehead on your knees, feeling vulnerable to the whole world as you calmed your inner turmoil and tried to put in words how you felt, how things would end by your hand before he casts you away.

"I breached our contract."

Silence followed your words, and those mere seconds of pause felt like an eternity as you feared the worst. But then he said, "Will you elaborate on that?"

You lifted your head, throwing it back as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "I know I don't have any right to be demanding things from you, least of all hold it against you when I miss you in your absence."

"You miss me?"

"But I have no control over how I started feeling the way I do, becoming more pronounced whenever you're not with me. We had an agreement, I know that, but because I broke it, I guess I'll have to take it upon myself to end this."

"End what?" He straightened up, his blue eyes filling with dread. "What – what are you talking about?" He sounded angry this time but like that of an animal cornered as opposed to being the hunter.

You looked at him from over your shoulder. "I'm leaving you, Satoru."

A mix of emotions started to take shape with every nuance in his expression, as if he could not make up his mind about how he would feel about what you just said. For a split second, he looked at you as if you had obliterated his whole being, but then he calmed down, massaging the point between his blue eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I know my role, and I should just walk away before it gets out of hand."

"What role?"

You laughed without humor. "I am, in essence, just your sugar baby, Satoru. You give me things that you see fit. I don't get to demand anything from you."

"Is that how you see yourself?" His tone was scathing but calming at the same time. It makes things easier for you.

"Let's not pretend anymore, okay?"

"So what exactly are you telling me?"

"Do I have to spell everything out for you?" you asked in exasperation, your tears finally dripping from your eyes.

He let up on the harsh expression on his face upon seeing them. "Y/N, baby, don't cry. Please. I just need you to explain. I deserve at least that when you're telling me you want to –"

"I love you, Satoru." You smiled at him through your tears, the most sincere one you gave his way since you realized how you felt.

"You do?"

"I don't regret it regardless of the consequences."

"Y/N, I'm confused."

You didn't address that. Gojo was probably one of the most brilliant people you knew, but it was always easy to feign ignorance, regardless of that. Without addressing it, you motioned to get out of the tub, wondering where you'll start with packing, but then almost everything you owned was technically Gojo's. It would be easy, you thought.

"Anyway, you know now. I should go." 

Gojo wasn't having any of it. He stopped you, pulling you towards him. "You just told me you love me, and you're leaving me behind?"

You blinked. "Am I...not supposed to?"

Gojo smirked at you. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?"

You sank into the water, creating splashes in your wake. You didn't know how to feel about that. It was a choice between succumbing to that false sense of security you learned to accept during the three years you've been with him or relief over the possibility that he reciprocated your feelings. However, before you could even decide, Gojo chose to addle your brain by leaning in and taking possession of your lips, giving you no choice but to melt and submit to his touches.

It was passionate as usual, setting every ounce of your existence aflame while his hands roamed around every inch of your skin, marking his territory. You appreciated that about him, not holding back and giving you what you wanted without inhibitions, but you've always accepted that what you wanted the most, he could never ever give. You've resigned yourself to that fact, and yet, whenever he touches you, you are convinced otherwise because his actions always contrast his words. You hated how hope started to grow in your chest, and although he quickly turned you on, you fought against it and pulled away from him.

"N-no. Stop."

"Why?" He looked at you, kiss-drunk and dazed.

"I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to force you to be beholden to me." You inched backward. "Just let me go."

Gojo clucked his tongue, sighing profoundly and covering his face with his hands in utter frustration. "What have I done?"

You shook your head. "It's not your fault."

"No..."

It was your turn to reach out to him, forcing his hands off of his face as you kneeled before him. "Satoru, you can hardly be blamed for how I feel. It's okay. I am not mad at you."

"Yeah, but I sure as hell am mad at myself." He let you take his hands but immediately reversed roles and held your hand in his. "Oh, Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N." His broad shoulders drooped down. "It's my fault why you're doing this right now for making you feel like you had to toe boundaries with me where your emotions are concerned."

"We signed a contract..."

He lifted his hand to tenderly graze your cheek, his icy blue eyes showing that misplaced warmth you've become familiar with even when he made someone beg for mercy. Gojo Satoru always shone brilliantly amid the darkness that surrounded him. You gravitated towards that light no matter how twisted it was.

"This is my doing."

"No –"

"But it's true." He smiled sadly at you. "I know what I am, and I am so deep in it that nothing could right the wrongs I've done. That contract was supposed to be a shield for you against me, Y/N, not the other way around."

"What?" Now you're confused.

"The moment you called me beautiful despite seeing what you did all those years ago, I knew I had to have you with me to have someone to see past the fear I instill in anyone who crosses paths with me." He shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to feel for me, nor did I want you to feel responsible for anything that involves me. I'm not so cruel that I'll subject you to that, but it's too late, no? I put you in danger, and you don't owe it to me that I am protecting you or giving you everything I thought you would want while keeping a safe distance. Turns out I've hurt you more."

You were taken aback, to say the least.

"But I do care for you more than I can admit or fathom." He beamed disarmingly as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I am in too deep, and maybe I should just accept that I do love you."

"Satoru..." 

"I love you, Y/N. Words are cheap, and it may be too late, but I really do." He placed his head on your shoulder as he embraced you, holding you tight, skin on skin. "But if you want to leave, I will let you. I will not be selfish and ask you to stay with me. I want you to do whatever you think is best for you without thinking of me."

Laughter wanted to escape from your throat, not because of mirth but from relief. But with that came the realization that you weren't free anymore, not where Gojo was concerned. He's setting you free, but the lock to your prison wasn't his to hold in the first place. You held yourself captive to him in the first place, locked yourself in, and threw the key away. Knowing he reciprocated your affection towards him just sealed you in a reinforced vault, dunked into the deepest trenches of the ocean that was his warmth. How the hell were you supposed to leave him now when you mistakenly thought you were grasping at straws when he was shackled to you all along?

Shrugging, you wrapped your arms around him, shaking your head at your foolishness. At this point, saying you didn't know what you were getting yourself into is a big, fat lie, and it was probably one you will never make the mistake of doing anyway, unable to deny yourself of what you wanted...what you needed.

"You really are a piece of work," you muttered.

"What did I do?" he whined like a child. In such moments, you almost always forget he was shy of a year to a decade older than you.

You chuckled, returning his words to him. "What makes you think you can just walk away now that I know?" 

Gojo's head snapped up, now wearing a cheeky grin as he regarded you, his hands climbing up the back of your thighs before cupping your bare ass. "Is that so? I'm letting you do what you want, Y/N."

You scoffed. He's back to his usual self, toying with you, but you see the subtle difference in how he deals with you. "I am doing what I want right now."

"Going once..."

You relaxed in his hold.

"Twice?"

"No."

His expression turned dark, eyes hazy with lust as he drew you closer, making you sit directly on his half-hard cock. "You can't complain after this, you are aware, my love?"

Ah, the sound of that endearment rolling out of his tongue was music to your ears. Winding your arms around his neck, you leaned forward and ground your hips against his, relishing the soft groan that escaped his lips at the pressure. "Where do I sign?"

He pointed at his lips. "It's a lifetime agreement, mind you."

You wasted no time sealing your new pact, crashing your lips against his, a kiss that was sloppy at best, excitement and a mix of love and lust heavy on your tongue as you sought his, reveling in the taste of him which felt like the first time. Gojo was almost always dominant, but he didn't seem to mind that you were taking the lead this time, asserting your claim over him, unable to resist now that you've both gotten what you wanted from each other.

"Lucky for you, I don't want out."

~*~

I had fun with these. Wonder if I should do Geto, Sukuna and Choso as well... A little treat to quell the time I'm taking off of writing my ongoing Gojo smau cause I lost all my fucking files. Yay, me!

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI'S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20231019]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

[lividstar]

🎞️ — ♡ BULLSEYE!

៚ wc: 35.9k

៚ fluff, angst, student athlete!wooyoung x photojournalist!reader, enemies to lovers, hurt -> comfort, you’re both in love and everyone knows except for you yourselves, zb1 cameo

៚ playlist !

៚ Being part of your university’s journalism publication as the head photojournalist has its own ups and downs. The pros are having the right to roam around campus freely even when there’s no reason to do so—you could just come up with an excuse and say you were exploring the halls for some sort of documentation project, being able to express your passion for photography for a good cause, and your duties demanding you to technically be work partners with your best friend, Yeosang, who belongs to the sportswriting column. You mainly experience the highs of it, though on some days, however, you find yourself wishing you had just chosen a different profession instead. Caused by what—or who, rather, might you ask? Well, that’s none other than the so-called star football athlete Jung Wooyoung. His carefree demeanor and reckless actions irk you to no end, leading you to always involuntarily playing an escape game against him every single day inside the school buildings. Too bad your duties will never allow him to be completely out of sight, though.

Furious.

You were absolutely furious.

The campus buzzed with the energy of yet another eventful day as you navigated the crowded halls, your camera slung over your shoulder with a scowl on your face. A group of friends slash through the crowd, huge smiles on their faces as they chase each other, the sound of their shoes squeaking due to the newly waxed tiled floors making your ears bleed. The one at the very last of the line—you could only assume they were playing a game of tag and he was “it”—accidentally bumps his shoulder against yours as you walk, and you look behind your back at him with an offended expression, but all you were met with was the sight of the boy continuing to run, not even sparing a glance at you.

What a great way to make your day even worse, isn’t it?

As the head photojournalist for your university’s journalism publication, you had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of student life, capturing moments that told the story of your school with a discerning eye. From documenting large occasions like various extracurricular activities to taking snaps of the rare quiet moments you treasure like a diamond such as coming up to the highest floor to capture photographs of the university’s building as the golden hour paints a warm hue all over it while students leave the campus one by one, progressively making your surroundings more silent as the minutes pass—you cherished it all.

Your favorite part of being a photojournalist is the moments when you’re snuggled up in your bed, continuously clicking the next button of your camera while checking the photos in its files—a few of them being ones you don’t quite remember taking—and stumbling upon photoshoots that capture the emotion of happiness conveyed all over people’s faces. You find comfort in the fact that you’re able to capture what could only possibly be their favorite memory to look back to every once in a while in the future.

Today, however, that sense of purpose was clouded by a sense of dread. You had been assigned to cover the football team’s practice for an upcoming sports article of Yeosang on the daily lives of student athletes. It was a topic that always garnered interest, especially with the team's recent winning streak. But for you, it meant spending time around Jung Wooyoung and his friends—the embodiment of every single trait you couldn’t stand in people.

Your journalism advisor, Mr. Kim, had been insistent. “We need fresh, dynamic shots for this article. The football team is perfect for that. You’re the best we have—quite literally the only one, so I’m counting on you.”

Well, of course. Your publication is short of a few people as the majority don’t quite seem to find the duties of being a journalist to be an essential part of making their college lives memorable. They like what you do, but the idea of being put in your position? Not so much.

You nodded, masking your irritation with a professional demeanor. “Of course, Mr. Kim,” you had said, though deep inside, you were fuming. There were a million other things you’d rather be doing than spending your afternoon with a bunch of overgrown children who thought they ruled the school.

As you made your way to the field, each step felt heavier than the last. The crisp autumn air did little to lighten your mood. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant shouts and laughter of athletes warming up only served to remind you of where you were headed and who you would be dealing with.

You spotted the team easily, their figures a blur of motion and color against the green expanse of the field. At the center of it all was Jung Wooyoung, the star athlete whose charisma and energy seemed to draw everyone in. His presence is impossible to ignore—you have to admit, yet not in a good way. He’s loud, rowdy, and always the center of attention. He was everything you typically found irritating in a person, and you already had plenty of reasons to dislike him. And you think that even if you didn’t, you’d still hate him just as much.

Adjusting the settings on your camera, you positioned yourself by the sidelines, focusing the lens on the players. Through the viewfinder, you watched as their captain, Kim Hongjoong, led the team in a series of drills, his voice ringing out with commands and encouragement. It was clear that these guys lived and breathed football, and while it may be impressive, it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re a constant source of annoyance.

You snapped a few shots, capturing the intensity of the practice, the sweat and determination etched on each player's face. Each click of the shutter was a reminder of how much you resented this assignment. Why did it always have to be them? Why not cover something, anything, else? The theater kids would’ve been much more worth your time, you think, even if they’re just as rowdy as the football team. The only difference is they don’t have someone like Wooyoung.

Lost in your work, you almost didn’t notice when the practice session ended, the players breaking off into small groups to cool down. Wooyoung, ever the social butterfly, was in the midst of a lively conversation with his teammates when his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he jogged over, his energy undiminished despite the rigorous practice.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Hey, photo girl!” he called out, his voice carrying easily across the field. “Getting some good shots?”

Photo girl? You grimace, judging him heavily inside your head. You lowered your camera, looking up at him from where you sat with a steady, unimpressed gaze.

“Just doing my job,” you replied, your tone professional but laced with an edge of irritation in hopes of him noticing your need to be left alone. But then again, you can’t be foolish enough to actually expect him to know how to read the room now, can you? Or maybe he does, yet simply doesn’t bother to do so.

Wooyoung’s grin doesn’t falter. “Well, make sure you get my good side,” he said with a wink, pointing finger guns at you.

You nearly roll your eyes, your expression remaining stoic. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, you turned back to your camera, trying to ignore the lingering annoyance. This was just another assignment, another day in the life of a university photojournalist. You didn’t have to like it, and you certainly didn’t have to like them. All you had to do was get the shots, get out, and hope you won’t have to be in the same space as them again any time in the future.

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, a chorus of teasing comments greeted him. Seonghwa was the first to speak up, a teasing grin on his face.

“What?”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for stoic girls who look like they could ruin your life.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, laughing it off. “Please, I’d never date a girl like that. I like those who can match my energy.”

“Wow, that’s boring,” Jongho chimed in, shaking his head. “You’re so old school, Woo. It’s the 21st century!” Everyone proceeded to laugh at Jongho’s comment, making Wooyoung land a hard hit on his shoulder.

He meant it, really. Wooyoung was well aware of the way students all over the campus describe his persona—at first, he thought the adjectives they always used whenever he was the topic brought to their table were absolutely stupidly inaccurate, but in a way, after a long while of getting used to being in the very center of the spotlight, he had started to embody the traits people paint on him—no one told him to do so, though. He just felt like he had to twist and turn himself to fit their ideals, is all. Now, he’s widely known as a carefree person who doesn’t care about whatever goes on in his life—well, he used to. Just way before people started thinking they knew him better than himself to make up their own idealized versions of him in their head, at least.

The laughter then died down, and for a moment, Yunho looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “I don’t get your issue, Woo. She’s actually really pretty. I see her taking documentations of everything that happens on campus all the time.”

Wooyoung shrugged, brushing off the comment. “I never said anything about her not looking good. She’s just… not my type, is all,” he immediately replied smugly, yet his confusion with himself appeared just as quick. For what reason did he have to hesitate with saying that?

At this, Mingi sensed an opportunity to push Wooyoung’s buttons, jumping in with a teasing smirk. “Please, like you’re her type. I bet she doesn’t like you just as much.”

Laughter erupted from the group once more, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but join in, though he shot Mingi a glare. “Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m everyone’s type,” he said with profound confidence, making everyone sigh.

“And by everyone you mean that creepy old lady in the cafeteria as well?”

“Gross!”

“Seriously though,” Yunho continued, “she’s really cool. She always seems so focused and serious no matter what she does—like she can easily adapt to her surroundings.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wooyoung asked, tilting his head.

“She’s one of the top students as well, remember? I don’t know how she balances her studies and duties, but it seems like she does it with such ease. It’s kind of impressive, especially to someone like me who doesn’t know how to breathe in an air that doesn’t reek of my sport.”

Jongho nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on. People like that are like rare gems these days—not to mention, in this university. It’s different.”

“Different is one way to put it,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head. “She looks like she’d tear apart anyone who dares to get in her way.”

San smirked, nudging Wooyoung. “Maybe that’s what you need, someone to keep you and your tendencies of being a brainless prick even during the times you need to get yourself together on check.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “Nah, I’m good. Besides, she clearly doesn't like us. Did you see the way she looked at me earlier? It was like I was some kind of pest. Not even just earlier—all the time. I don’t get what her deal is.”

“Can you blame her?” Seonghwa shrugged. “You did interrupt her work. I’d be mad, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s all sunshine and rainbows either,” Wooyoung countered. “I mean, she barely even smiles—scratch that, she never does!”

“Maybe she just needs a reason to smile,” Yunho suggested, giving Wooyoung a pointed look.

“Oh, here we go,” Wooyoung groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some knight in shining armor who’s going to make her see the bright side of life. She’s not interested, and neither am I. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” San said with a chuckle. “But don’t be surprised if she starts showing up in your thoughts more often.”

Wooyoung laughed it off, shaking his head. “Trust me, I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on my plate with football and classes I’m barely even passing.”

He said with such confidence, yet did so while keeping his focus on your blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

From where you sat by the bleachers, you could see the expressions on their faces—everyone had a wide smile on their lips, whereas Wooyoung was frowning. You don’t have a single idea of what topic they could possibly be discussing, but somehow, the look on Wooyoung’s face brought you a sense of satisfaction. Regardless of what they were talking about, if it was pissing off Wooyoung a massive amount, then you definitely have to thank whoever uttered out the first word that started the conversation.

You figured you’ve taken more than enough shots for your publication’s article already, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to start a practice match once more any time soon, either, so you start tidying your things up, placing a hand on your knee for support as you stand up. A gust of wind passes by, and a few strands of your hair cover your face. You tuck them behind your air, immediately making your way outside the field, grateful that your suffering will finally come to an end.

Making your way towards the school gates, you spot Yeosang waiting for you at a nearby bench, his eyes lightening up the moment he notices you walking towards him. He stood up, and as you got closer, the image of the frown you held became clearer to him.

“Didn’t go well, I assume?” he asked, taking your bag off your shoulder and slinging it on his as you both walked out side by side.

“Well, it could’ve, had Mr. Star Of The Show not interrupted me in the middle of checking my shots.” You roll your eyes, and a sigh comes soon after. “Seriously, who the hell does finger guns these days? That has to be the biggest sin one could ever commit.”

“It’s Wooyoung again, huh?” he mused, seemingly more used to the star athlete’s antics than you are. “Well, the fact that he embodies the stereotype of a typical jock should’ve been enough to tell you that he’d be that type of person.” Yeosang shrugged.

“I don’t even know what to expect from him and his friends anymore. They never fail to surprise me—and I mean that in a bad way.” You take the lace of the camera off your neck, giving it to Yeosang so he could check the shots you had taken.

“For someone who claims to hate the football team, your shots have turned out to be really good,” he said while looking through the photos, stopping at a particular image of San’s foot up in the air with the ball right at the tip of his shoe. “This one’s my personal favorite so far.”

“Professionalism is a crucial tactic in journalism,” you replied, clasping your hands together. “There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.”

“You say that, but I know that deep inside, you wanted to lash out at Mr. Kim earlier for personally picking you to be the football team’s official photographer,” he teased.

“I am not their official photographer, Yeo. I would rather eat a rock.”

“Well, with the amount of times you have been chosen to conduct documentation of the football team, you might as well be.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. He stumbles to the side, nearly clashing with a tree. You turn to look the other way, whistling with your hands intertwined behind your back.

“So we’re just going to pretend you didn’t do anything?” he deadpanned, stopping in his tracks. You looked behind him, a blank expression on your face. “What are you talking about?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, we’re gonna pretend nothing happened. Got it,” he replied, catching up to you.

“How’s your sports article going, by the way?”

“Please don’t ask about that.”

—

Your eyes felt as if there was a fire igniting within them as you nearly dropped your head down on your study table, the dim, warm light of your lamp not being of any help with keeping your spirits wide awake. Had you known the amount of times you’d be robbed off your resting hours the moment you step foot into the college life, you probably would’ve constantly messed things up during high school just so you could repeat the year all over again and postpone the date of the official confirmation that you’re no longer a little child running through the playground.

You love to pick up pens and scribble words on blank papers even if your duty lies in clicking the buttons on a camera, but not on days like this wherein you’re doing not because you want to, but because you need to.

You hate being told what to do.

Mr Kim seems to have a knack for letting you carry all the burdens of those who are part of the publication of the campus, based on your past observations. The editorial writer has to publish an article due on Wednesday but she has to attend a family occasion on the same day? Sure, just swap her out with you. It’s totally fine, she totally didn’t have a chance to already start working on the paper for one whole week before it’s due at all. Sure, you’re fine with it—you should be.

People have always relied on you too much, and after a while, it made you start believing you weren’t brought upon this world to have struggles of your own, rather, you were here with a purpose to solve every conflict that occurs around you. You kept being pushed to validate others, so often to the point where the one you’re invalidating is yourself.

It’s not that you don’t bother to stand up for yourself, because you do—every single time, actually. But whenever such events happen, you’re always meeting a dead end with the same response from everyone.

“You won’t do it for me? You’re a horrible person, then.”

You’ve always been the problem solver, the go-to person when things go wrong. It started in high school, where you found yourself at the very top of a tower of extracurricular activities, balancing them with ease while also helping classmates with their assignments. Back then, you didn’t mind helping out. It felt good to be needed, to be the one people could rely on. It felt nice witnessing people’s success knowing you played a part in helping them improve, regardless of whether they expressed gratitude for it or not.

But somewhere along the way, that very role had become a cage, trapping you in a cycle of constant giving without receiving anything in return. You couldn’t afford to be carefree; you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had to be perfect, always. You thought college might be different, a place where people would finally stand on their own two feet, but hey, it turns out—it was worse.

Mr. Kim’s persistent habit of delegating others’ responsibilities to you was grating on your nerves. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. You felt like a machine, expected to churn out results without a moment’s pause for your own needs or desires.

The papers and notes scattered across your desk were a testament to your never-ending workload. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering back to the football field, to Wooyoung and his friends. The thought of them made you grind your teeth in frustration.

Your hatred for Wooyoung and his friends wasn’t just about their behavior on the field. It was about the deeper, more painful realization that they had yet another thing you might never have: the ability to live freely. They could be themselves without fear, while you had to conform to the expectations of others. Their lives seemed perfect in their imperfection, while yours felt like a never-ending quest for unattainable perfection.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the very thing you despised in them was something you secretly longed for.

You wonder what it would be like to switch places, to live a day in their shoes. But it was a futile thought, one that only served to remind you of the stark difference between their world and yours. With a sigh, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was always more work to be done, and little time to dwell on what could never be.

You glanced at the clock. It was way past midnight. The silence of your room was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers. You knew you should be sleeping, but sleep was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not when there was always another deadline looming, another responsibility thrust upon you without warning.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your pen again. The words flowed, albeit reluctantly, as you forced yourself to finish the editorial story. Each sentence felt like a burden, each paragraph a reminder of the countless hours you had sacrificed for the sake of others. You really could’ve been snuggled up in bed right now.

Your phone buzzed out of nowhere, dragging you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to the right side of the table where you placed it, and a message notification from Yeosang lit up your lockscreen.

“Are you alright?”

And that’s when the last string fell apart.

You put your pen down once more, and it fell to the ground. The weight of everything—the constant pressure, the endless responsibilities, the relentless need to be perfect—crashed down on you all at once. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your face.

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the sobs, not wanting anyone to hear. Even in your most vulnerable moments, you couldn’t afford to let anyone see you break. It was a cruel irony that the one person everyone relied on had no one to lean on themselves.

The message from Yeosang was still on your phone, the simple words cutting right through your defenses. He always knew when something was wrong, even if you never said a word. But this time, you couldn’t muster the strength to reply. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you weren’t alright, that you were drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations.

You hunched over, shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked your body. The room felt cold and empty, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows that seemed to close in on you. It was as if the world had shrunk to this one moment of pain and exhaustion, where nothing else existed but the overwhelming need to just let it all out.

For a long time, you stayed like that, silently crying, letting the tears wash away the frustration and the bitterness that had built up inside you. It felt like an eternity before you finally began to calm down, the sobs slowing to quiet sniffles. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, taking deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself.

You glanced at your phone again, Yeosang's message still glowing softly on the screen. With a shaky hand, you typed out a reply.

“I will be.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You would be alright, eventually. You always found a way to pick yourself back up, to keep going no matter how hard it got. But right now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of it all—because you know it’ll be a long while before you can do so again.

You let out a long sigh, picking up your pen from the floor and placing it back on the table. The work was still there, waiting for you, but for now, you gave yourself a moment of respite. You needed it more than you cared to admit.

After a few more minutes, you straightened up, took another deep breath, and wiped the last of the tears from your face. There was no time for self-pity; you had work to do. And as always, you would find a way to get through it. One step at a time.

—

You were so tired and stressed while writing the article last night that you forgot to proofread each paragraph, and now Mr. Kim was endlessly nagging at you for the—mind you, two—mistakes you had made. His voice droned on, a relentless tirade that made you want to disappear into the floor.

“This is so unusual for you,” he said from his seat, as you stood in front of his desk with your hands intertwined in front of you. “You’ve shown me nothing but perfection for the past few months. Why can’t you live up to your reputation?”

“I... I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you muttered, not knowing what else to say. “Sorry? Do you think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it? You are supposed to set the standard here. Aren’t you one of the top students? What happened to the meticulous work you usually deliver?” he asked, clearly upset.

One of the top students, there it goes again. At this point, you can no longer recall how many times you’ve been called the exact same term. Funny how it always happens when you fail to live up to people’s expectations.

Each word felt like a hammer, pounding away at your already fragile sense of self. You kept your head down, murmuring apologies, wishing desperately for this to end. Mr. Kim continued, his disappointment evident in every syllable.

“This kind of sloppiness is unacceptable. I don’t care what your excuse is, this cannot happen again. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

When he finally gave you permission to leave, you hurriedly left the room, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. It was lunch break, and knowing that the football team didn’t have practice matches scheduled on Wednesdays, you headed for the quiet field. It was the only place you could think of to let it all out without anyone seeing.

Sitting at one of the bleachers, the tears began to fall softly. You weren’t shaking or sobbing like you were the night before—just silent tears streaming down your face. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone past your limit and had become completely numb. The pressure, the expectations, the constant need to be perfect—it was all too much.

Just then, a familiar voice called out of nowhere.

“Photo girl?”

You quickly wiped your tears, pretending not to notice him. You kept your eyes fixed on the greenery of the field, willing yourself to stay composed. Wooyoung approached and sat down behind you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion.

“Were you crying?” he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“No,” you replied almost immediately, voice flat and unconvincing.

“Yes, you were. I saw it,” he countered, undeterred.

“Then pretend you didn’t see anything,” you snapped, looking away once more.

He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “What’s the matter?”

You wanted to laugh at his face. “It’s not like someone like you would get it, anyway.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “What’s so different about me that I wouldn’t understand?”

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and emptiness—and it caught him off guard.

“Everything.”

“What do you-” he was about to ask for further elaboration, but you were already on your feet.

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to explain yourself to someone like him. Without another word, you walked away, leaving a very confused Wooyoung sitting alone on the bleachers. He watched you go, a frown creasing his forehead. There was clearly a lot he didn’t understand about you.

Class hours passed by like a blur, and now, you were on your way home, desperate for at least just a few minutes of rest. Looking back, it seems nothing had gone well for you today—to start off, Yeosang, the only person you like within the confines of the university, wasn’t around today because he and his family had to attend a relative’s birthday party.

When he told you about it earlier in the morning, you had considered calling in sick because truthfully, without him, the only thing that balances your dull life with half an amount of light, you’re not really sure how you’re supposed to survive the entire day without someone ‘accidentally’ ending up dead. Not that you’d actually do that, but the idea is, without Yeosang, you know you’d be a hundred percent more comfortable with lashing out at whoever dares to push your buttons.

But then again, perfect students don’t skip school no matter the intensity of circumstances, do they?

Coming in second is the conversation—if you could even call it that—you had with Mr. Kim in his office earlier. You genuinely believe he really didn’t have to say all that, betting every single penny in your pockets that if it were to have been a different student in your shoes, he wouldn’t even bother calling them to his office—he’d simply scribble corrections over the text written on their output with a bright red pen he once borrowed from a student and forgot to give back.

And last, but definitely not the least, Wooyoung’s unsolicited presence by the bleachers earlier. The words he let come out of his mouth were yet another testament to just how out of touch with reality he was—who in their right mind would ask a person who clearly wants to be left alone why they’re crying? The nerve he had to call you that horrendous nickname once again, too.

Finally reaching your most awaited location, you shoved your hand inside your bag, brows slightly furrowed while waiting for the tips of your fingers to feel the cool, metallic touch of your keys. Once you found it, you hurriedly inserted it in its designated hole on your doorknob, twisting your hand a few degrees so it would open. The sight that greeted you the moment you pushed the door open brought a soft sigh to your lips—at last, you were home.

Just a couple floors above your apartment, a group of boys were lounged lazily in the living room, a few of them busying themselves with watching the movie playing on the television, while the others engrossed themselves in a conversation with one another.

“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung called out from the sofa, his loud voice overtaking the quiet whispers of the two main characters of the dystopian movie playing on the screen.

Yunho, who was in the kitchen, answered back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wooyoung stood up and made his way to the kitchen. “What does it mean when you ask someone why they’re crying and they tell you, ��It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway’?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, dropping the kitchen knife down on the cutting board. “Where did that question come from? Did you come across someone crying?”

Wooyoung shrugged, not wanting to give away too much. “It’s a hypothetical situation. Just answer the question.”

Yunho leaned against the counter, contemplating. “Well, it could mean two things. One, what they’re going through is too complex for anyone to understand, so they feel like it’s pointless to explain it.”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, considering this. “And the other?”

Yunho shrugged. “The other is that they think you’re too stupid to understand.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, clearly offended. “Low blow, dude.”

Yunho chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t say that’s what they actually meant. Just a possibility, you know? Sometimes, people go through things that they don’t think others can relate to. It’s not always about intelligence. It’s about experience and perspective. Maybe this person just feels like you haven’t been through what they’re dealing with.”

Wooyoung remained silent for a few seconds, considering the possibilities behind your statement earlier being what Yunho was explaining to him.

He found himself thinking too deeply about it, which puzzled him even more. He and his friends knew you as that one quiet, smart photojournalist who never seemed to smile and hated everyone who wasn’t Yeosang. You were an enigma to him, someone who always seemed to float above the petty dramas and trivial concerns that occupied most students’ lives. He had always thought you were just like that because you didn’t know how to have fun with your life, or maybe you just chose not to. To Wooyoung, you were a constant—a fixture in the background who never wavered or showed any sign of vulnerability.

So seeing you in such a vulnerable state earlier left him perplexed, hence why he was deep in thought about it. The image of you sitting alone on the bleachers, tears silently falling, replayed in his mind. He couldn’t reconcile that image with the stoic, composed person he’d always seen you as. It didn’t make sense. People who didn’t care about anything or anyone weren’t supposed to break down like that, right?

He wondered if he had misjudged you all along. Maybe there was more to your story than he had ever considered. Maybe your silence and apparent disdain for others were a shield, protecting you from something he couldn’t see. The thought left him unsettled. It challenged his perception of you and, by extension, of himself.

Was he really so shallow that he couldn’t see beyond the surface? Had he been too quick to dismiss you as just another uptight overachiever who couldn’t loosen up? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he actually knew about you. He didn’t know what your interests were, what made you laugh, or what made you cry—except now he knew you did cry, and that knowledge gnawed at him.

Yunho noticed his friend’s unusual silence and gently nudged him. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re lost in your own head.”

Wooyoung blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... thinking.”

Yunho gave him a curious look. “About the ‘hypothetical’ person?”

Wooyoung nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, she—I mean, they—always seemed so... untouchable. Like nothing could get to them. It was weird, you know, seeing someone like that break down.”

Yunho tilted his head, observing Wooyoung’s troubled expression. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they’re not as untouchable as you think. Sometimes the people who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the heaviest of burdens. There are layers to everyone’s lives—the only reason it often doesn’t seem like it is because people tend to only show to the masses what they want them to see, and not the whole picture.”

Wooyoung remained silent, absorbing Yunho’s words. He found himself questioning his previous assumptions about you, wondering if there was more to your story than he had ever considered. He felt a strange mix of curiosity and guilt. Curiosity about what lay beneath your stoic exterior and guilt for having judged you so harshly without ever trying to understand you.

—

Is it possible to still feel lonely, even when you’re surrounded by a swarm of people at all times?

No matter what the answer to that question would be, one thing’s for sure—Wooyoung has not even a single idea of what it is. It’s an unanswered thought that has never left his mind the moment it first made its way inside. Sure, he’s deemed the star athlete of the campus, sure, pairs of eyes follow him regardless of which hall he decides to walk on, sure, he’s got the life of the party—but despite all that, why does he still feel like there’s something missing? Why does being full still make him feel empty, somehow?

His thoughts drifted back to the field, to you, the stoic photojournalist who seemed to see right through his façade. Despite your brief and antagonistic interactions, there was something about you that intrigued him. You seemed immune to his charms, treating him with a mixture of disdain and indifference. It was refreshing, in a way, to be seen as just another person rather than some sort of campus celebrity to gawk at.

But at the same time, he found himself oddly looking way too deep into the moment that occured back in the field a while ago. Your words kept echoing in his mind constantly, whether it was during the times he’d be lacing his shoes up or those when he’d be staring at the void of which is nowhere during class.

“It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway.”

He wondered what you meant by that. Mulling over the two possible reasons Yunho suggested, he had a feeling it was a mixture of both. He wondered if you were experiencing something similar to him—he wondered just how similar your worlds were to each other.

Weeks had passed since that encounter you had with Wooyoung, and in that time, you had perfected the art of avoidance. The mere thought of facing him, of the possibility that he might mention that moment, sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t bear the idea that he had seen a glimpse of a part of you that was meant to stay hidden, especially someone who, in your mind, lived in an entirely different world.

Every time you passed the field, you felt a pang of anxiety. You had meticulously planned your days to avoid any chance of running into the football team, sticking to routes and schedules that would keep you as far away from them as possible. The thought of Wooyoung seeing you cry gnawed at you, an incessant reminder of your vulnerability.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The fact that Wooyoung was gullible enough to have the guts to ask you what could possibly make him different from you made you fume each time the thought would cross your mind. The answer couldn’t have been any more obvious—everything. He lived a life surrounded by admiration and camaraderie, while you navigated through solitary achievements and quiet struggles. It wasn’t just a matter of different worlds; it was a matter of fundamentally different experiences.

At home, you tried to lose yourself in your work, burying your emotions under layers of assignments and projects. Yet, despite your best efforts, the memory of that afternoon clung to you. You felt exposed, as if a spotlight had been cast on your most private pain, and Wooyoung had seen it all. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake, and it left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

Yeosang had noticed the change in you. “You’re avoiding the team more than usual,” he remarked one afternoon as you both sat in the library. “What’s going on?”

“They’re just getting more irritating,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “I can’t stand their antics anymore.”

He looked at you skeptically but didn’t push further. If you wanted to tell him about it, you would. There was no necessity to pressure you at all. “Makes sense.”

“Oh, by the way, a new café called ‘Heavenly Brews’ or something just opened up a few blocks away from our university’s building. Wanna check it out later? It’s the talk of the town lately.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding but unwilling to delve into the real reason behind your avoidance. The truth was too complicated, too painful to articulate. The incident with Wooyoung had left a bruise on your pride, one that you weren’t ready to expose, even to Yeosang.

In the weeks that followed, you threw yourself into your studies, hoping that academic rigor would drown out the thoughts of Wooyoung and the vulnerability he had witnessed. You kept avoiding the field and any place where the football team might be, crafting your life into a careful routine that kept you far from them.

One late afternoon, as you packed up your camera after a long shoot, Yeosang approached you with concern etched on his face. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take a break.”

You forced yourself to answer. “I’m fine, really. Just a lot going on.”

No, you weren’t. There were circles under your eyes. You no longer seemed to put an effort in tidying up your appearance as you usually would. Your patience has turned into a ticking time bomb. You weren’t fine at all.

But you had to be.

He sighed, clearly not convinced yet not wanting to push you further. “Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. About anything.”

“I know,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t see the cracks forming in your façade.

As you walked home that day, the weight of your secrets and the memory of that vulnerable moment threatened to overwhelm you. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, you would have to confront the emotions you were trying so hard to bury, and when that moment came, you hoped you’d find the strength to face it.

And it seems as if that very moment was now finally getting to see the light of day.

Sitting in Mr. Kim’s office, you tried to keep your composure as he sifted through a stack of papers on his desk. The dim light of the room and the cluttered desk made the atmosphere feel heavy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

“Do you remember the pictures you took of the football team for Yeosang’s article about the daily lives of student athletes?” Mr. Kim asked, finally looking up.

You nodded, your mind flashing back to that exhausting day. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I showed them to the dean,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a small smile. “And she loved them. In fact, she loved them so much that she wanted to see those shots published in some sort of newspaper or magazine.”

A rush of excitement surged through you. It was rare to receive such high praise, and even rarer for the dean to take a personal interest in your work. Despite the bubbling joy within, you maintained your composure, listening intently as Mr. Kim spoke.

“That’s great news,” you managed to say, keeping your tone neutral.

“There’s more,” Mr. Kim continued, his smile fading into a more serious expression. “In order to make the dean’s wishes come true, I’m planning to actually publish a magazine. And for that, we need more than just photos.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to interview a football player for the feature,” he said, his eyes fixed on you.

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the assignments, this was the one you dreaded the most. Interviewing a football player meant spending time with the very people you had been avoiding, the ones who lived in a different world from yours, the ones who had no idea what your life was like. At this point, you’re starting to think Mr. Kim is absolutely out of touch with reality. He never seems to realize how much he’s working you out—and even if he did, at some point, you highly doubt he’d ever care.

He never even dares to do anything for the sake of you and the other members of the publication. All that matters to him is his reputation won’t be tainted, all that matters to him is his fellow faculty personnel praising him for ‘training’ the student journalists well. Once anyone tries to ask about the hardships you face for the sake of his image, he’s dead silent as if he was born with a mouth meant to only open to speak well of himself.

“But, Mr. Kim...” you started, trying to find a way out of this.

He raised a hand to stop you. “I know you’re not thrilled about it, but you’re the best person for the job. Your photos were impressive, and I believe your interview can be just as great.”

Of course he only cares about the final result. That’s how things have always been. But each time you get reminded of it, you still always end up finding it in you to stay. There was no way you were going to let a lazy man pushing his 50’s ruin your passion for you.

You swallowed hard, feeling cornered. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he said, with no hint of apology in his voice. “This is a big opportunity, not just for you, but for our entire publication. I trust you can handle it.”

Our, and yet you’ve done things for the publication more than he ever has.

“Which player?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“That’s up to you,” Mr. Kim said. “Choose the one you think will provide the most compelling story. But remember, I’m expecting something exceptional from you.”

You nodded wordlessly, the weight of the new assignment settling heavily on your shoulders. The initial joy of the dean’s praise was overshadowed by the dread of what lay ahead.

“Alright,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get to work on it.”

As you left Mr. Kim’s office, your mind raced with endless thoughts. The joy you had felt moments earlier was now buried under layers of anxiety and frustration. You had been avoiding the football team for weeks, and now, you were being thrust back into their world with a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Walking through the halls, you tried to think of a strategy. Who could you interview? Who would be willing to share their story, and more importantly, who could you tolerate enough to spend time with?

As you approached your locker, you saw Yeosang leaning against it, waiting for you. He noticed the troubled look on your face immediately.

“Hey, what’s up? You look troubled,” he said, concern evident in his voice.

You sighed and began recounting everything about the conversation you had with Mr. Kim. “Remember when I took photos of the football team for your sports article?”

“Yeah, I do. Why?” he asked, tilting his head as he had no idea where this conversation would lead to.

“Mr. Kim showed those photos to the dean, and she loved them,” you started, watching Yeosang’s eyes light up with pride for you. “She even said she’d love to read a magazine of the university’s football team if those shots were to be included.”

“That’s amazing!” Yeosang beamed, but his excitement dimmed when he saw you weren't sharing his enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s more,” you continued. “Mr. Kim wants to make the dean’s wishes come true by actually publishing a magazine. And for that, he wants me to interview one of the football players.”

Yeosang’s face fell into a more serious expression. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I don’t know who to choose. I don’t know enough about any of them to know if they’ll be insufferable during the interview or not,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yeosang thought for a moment before suggesting, “What about Hongjoong? He seems to be the most wise and logical of them all. He’s like their team’s ‘captain,’ anyway, so it makes sense to interview him.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “I don’t even know how to contact him.”

“Why else do you think would I have suggested interviewing Hongjoong if I wasn’t prepared beforehand?”

“Huh?”

With a smile, Yeosang pulled out his phone and handed it to you, displaying Hongjoong’s contact information.

Confused and surprised, you asked, “Now… why on earth do you have Hongjoong’s number?”

Yeosang chuckled. “I’m a sports writer. Of course, I’d have his and the team’s numbers.”

You shook your head, slightly amused. “It would’ve been way better for you to be the one conducting the interview instead.”

“But it’s not me, is it?" Yeosang replied, gently nudging your shoulder. “Mr. Kim entrusted this task to you for a reason. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The moment you got home after school, you wasted no time in sending a message to Hongjoong.

“Hey, Hongjoong. This is the head photojournalist of our school’s publication. I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out because we’re working on a magazine about the daily lives of student athletes, and for this feature, I need to conduct an interview with a member of the football team. If you don’t mind, would you be available for it this Friday?”

Truth be told, you had no idea how the interview would play out. The thought of sitting down with a football team member filled you with a mixture of dread and anxiety. You hoped Hongjoong would agree to your request, sparing you the need to approach any other football player. You couldn’t shake the fear that Wooyoung had told his teammates about your vulnerable moment by the bleachers. The idea of facing any of them, knowing they might be aware of your breakdown, was unbearable.

You desperately wanted Hongjoong to agree, not just because he seemed the most approachable, but because the alternatives were too daunting to consider. The mere thought of interacting with the rest of the team made your stomach churn.

Meanwhile, at Jongho’s apartment, the football team was scattered around the living room. Hongjoong received your message and decided to share it with the group.

“Hey, everyone, listen up,” Hongjoong called out, standing in the middle of the room. “I just got a message from the head photojournalist of the journalism club. She said she had to interview one of us for a magazine about student athletes—a task from Mr. Kim, it seems.”

Seonghwa looked up from his phone, curiosity piqued. “Just how many more articles about us is that old man planning on publishing? Did she say who she wants to interview, anyway?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Well, she asked if I was available, so I can only guess it’s me.”

“When’s it set?” Mingi asked. He was not planning on volunteering for the interview in case Hongjoong would not be available at all, but he just wanted to know.

“The interview is set for this Friday. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the dean on the very same day, though.” Hongjoong explained. “Is anyone else free?”

San, lounging on the couch, quickly spoke up. “I’ve got a family occasion I can’t skip. Sorry, can’t do it.”

“Same here,” Jongho added. “My cousins are coming over, and I’m stuck entertaining them.”

Seonghwa sighed. “I’ve got a major project due next week. I’ll be buried in the library all weekend.”

Yunho, who had been half-listening while playing a game on his phone, shrugged. “I’ve got practice for another sport. Busy all day Friday.”

Mingi chimed in lazily, sprawled across an armchair. “An interview sounds like too much work. I’d rather just chill.”

“We’ve got everyone having valid reasons for not being available, and you’re out here saying you can’t do it because you’d rather chill?”

Just as a bickering session between Mingi and Hongjoong was about to bloom, Wooyoung emerged from Jongho’s room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice still groggy as he had just woken up.

Hongjoong turned to him, hopeful. “Hey, Woo. Are you free this Friday?”

Wooyoung nodded, still processing his surroundings. He squinted his eyes while being lost in thought, trying to recall if he had anything planned for that day. Once he was certain the date on his calendar was blank, he traced his gaze back to Hongjoong. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Hongjoong handed him the phone, showing him your message. “The head photojournalist wants to do an interview for a magazine about student athletes. She asked if I was available, but if you’re free, maybe you can do it instead since I’ve got something else scheduled on Friday this week.”

Wooyoung glanced at the message blankly, looking at the top of the phone screen to check Hongjoong’s low battery percentage first before finally getting himself to focus and read the message from an unknown contact. “Photo girl?”

“If that’s what you call her, then yeah.”

“Sure, I can do it,” he said, handing the phone back to Hongjoong. “No problem.”

“Great,” Hongjoong said, patting him on the back. “I’ll let her know.”

“Your phone’s about to shut down, by the way.”

After a few minutes of impatiently waiting, your phone screen finally lit up as your notification went off. When you read the message on your phone, a sigh escaped your lips.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but it looks like the rest of the team and I are unavailable on the day you set for the interview. Here’s a rundown: San has a family event that he can't miss, Seonghwa has a big exam the next day and needs to study, Jongho’s cousins are visiting, and he has to show them around, Mingi said he’s too lazy and doesn't want to do it, Yunho’s got some extra training sessions scheduled, and I have a meeting with the dean that I can't reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

When you said you didn’t want to interview any of them, you didn’t mean... this. How were you supposed to conduct the interview for the magazine now? You certainly couldn’t afford to disappoint Mr. Kim again.

Then you saw Hongjoong typing again, and the moment his next message arrived, you felt another wave of dread wash over you.

“Wooyoung is available on that day, though, so you could interview him instead. Would that be alright with you?”

Your heart sank.

This was exactly what you had been dreading. The last person you wanted to spend any time with, let alone conduct a one-on-one interview with, was Wooyoung. The thought of facing him again, especially after he had seen you in a vulnerable state, was something you couldn’t handle.

You desperately clung to the hope that maybe some of the others’ reasons for not being available would fall through. Maybe San’s family event would get postponed, or Jongho’s cousins would cancel. You didn’t want this. It felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t risk disappointing Mr. Kim and the dean or tarnishing the reputation of the publication. You knew the value of the activity, even if you hated it. Your commitment to your work and the expectations placed on you left you with no other option.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.”

You sent the message, even though every fiber of your being was stressing over the impending interview. The uncertainty of how it would go and the anxiety of facing Wooyoung again weighed heavily on you.

Yet, you had to push through and maintain your professionalism, no matter how difficult it might be, your words from a conversation you had with Yeosang a while ago echoing in your head.

There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.

You didn’t know for sure how longer you could hold out until you’d eventually betray yourself, and you certainly didn’t want to find out.

—

It was now Friday.

You had scheduled the interview with Wooyoung after school, ensuring that no one would interrupt and ruin things for you. You had informed Hongjoong of the time and place, opting to avoid the trouble of negotiating with an airheaded Wooyoung. The field, usually bustling with activity, would be quieter in the late afternoon, providing a suitable backdrop for your interview.

This was the first time in your life you wished for your classes to last longer, hoping to stretch the gap between the time now and the schedule for the interview. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus while your professor endlessly droned on; your mind was preoccupied with how you would handle the upcoming encounter. You resolved to be more closed off and professional, determined to keep the interview strictly business so that there would be no room for Wooyoung to bring up your breakdown by the bleachers weeks ago.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the last class, you felt an overwhelming urge to just stay inside the classroom as you’d melt away in your seat forever until you’re gradually reduced to nothing but a soaked spot on the floor. But you couldn’t. You had responsibilities to fulfill, and most importantly, expectations to live up to.

You arrived at the field, where the setting sun cast long shadows across the grass. The air was cooler, and the usual buzz of student activity had quieted down, with only a few students still inside of the school building. You spotted Wooyoung near the bleachers, casually leaning against a post, his carefree demeanor unchanged. On the bridge of his nose sat a colorful bandage, and for a moment, you wonder whether he had a small cut on that area or if he simply stamped it on his face for a fun little look. Knowing him, it was most likely the latter.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him, clutching your notebook and pen. Wooyoung noticed you and straightened up, a playful smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, ready for the interrogation?” he teased, but you kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started,” you said briskly, flipping open your notebook. “I want to make sure we cover everything efficiently.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at your tone but didn’t comment further. “Alright, shoot.”

“How long have you been playing football?” you began with a simple question, your pen poised to jot down his answer.

“Since I was a kid, about six or seven,” he replied, leaning back slightly. “My dad used to take me to the park every weekend, and we’d mick the ball around. Those moments are some of my best memories. Ever since then, football became my escape, my way of expressing myself when words weren’t enough.”

You scribbled down his answer and quickly moved to the next question, opting for one that a lot of other people would relate to—at least you hope they would. “What do you think is the most challenging part of being a student-athlete?”

“Hmm,” Wooyoung leaned back, thinking. “Balancing academics and sports is tough. There are days when you feel like you can’t handle both, but you push through because you love the game. It’s about discipline, really. There are times I stay up late studying after a grueling practice, and times I miss out on social events because I have to train. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it when you’re on the field, giving it your all.”

He threw in a joke about juggling books and balls, but you crossed it off your notes. Wooyoung noticed it, making him gasp. “Why did you cross that out? It was a good joke!”

It really wasn’t.

“This is for a professional interview,” you replied simply. “I can’t include your stand-up routine.”

As you continued asking questions, Wooyoung's carefree demeanor gradually shifted. He gave more serious, thoughtful answers that revealed a depth you hadn’t expected at all.

“Why do you think teamwork is important?” you asked.

“Teamwork is everything,” Wooyoung said earnestly. “No matter how skilled an individual player is, it’s the team itself that starts the gamble on whether you’ll win a game or not. Trusting each other, understanding each other’s strengths and weaknesses—that’s what makes a team strong. We push each other to be better, and we cover for each other’s mistakes. In life and on the field, you need people you can rely on, and who can rely on you.”

You noted his answer, feeling a flicker of surprise at his sincerity. This definitely didn't sound like the annoying star athlete you had always pegged him as. And it was strange. It was like seeing an entirely new side of him—and to be fair, that’s quite what’s actually happening.

“What are your future aspirations in football?” you continued, trying to keep the momentum.

“I want to go pro, of course,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But more than that, I want to inspire younger kids. Show them that with hard work and passion, they can achieve their dreams. Football taught me a lot about resilience, about fighting for what you want. If I can pass that on to the next generation, I’ll consider my career a success.”

You paused, glancing up at him. “That’s a very noble goal.” You didn’t have to say that, but you did.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, smiling. “Football gave me a lot. It’s only fair I give something back.”

The interview progressed smoothly, and you found yourself begrudgingly impressed by his maturity and insight. It was as if a different side of Wooyoung had emerged, one that was thoughtful and introspective. Throughout the interview, you kept stealing glances at his bandage, trying to decipher what design it had without being too obvious.

“Do you have any pre-game rituals or superstitions?” you asked, curious.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Oh, definitely. You know, I have this pair of socks I wore for every game back in high school. They’ve got holes in them, and my mom kept threatening to throw them out, but I couldn’t, because I wanted to keep it so bad back then—well, that was my past superstition. Right now, I always listen to the same playlist before a match—it’s a mix of hype songs and calm tracks to get me in the zone.”

You couldn't help but be amused by his answer, subtly looking down to see if he was wearing those socks in question—mentally sighing in relief when you were sure enough he wasn’t. “I suppose I’ll have to leave out the part about the socks.”

“Hey, those socks are legendary!" he protested, but you shook your head.

As you wrapped up, you asked one final question, “Any advice for students who are struggling to balance their academics and extracurricular activities?”

Wooyoung looked thoughtful. “Find your passion and let it drive you. It’s going to be tough, but if you love what you do, it’ll all be worth it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. No one gets through life alone. Whether it’s friends, family, or teachers, there are always people willing to support you. Lean on them when you need to, and don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone struggles; it's how you handle it that defines you.”

His answer to the final question hit you on a level more personal than you ever would’ve expected it to, but you couldn’t afford to let it show.

The interview was done, but you felt a lingering sense of unfinished business. Closing your notebook, you decided to ask him another question, one that wouldn’t make it into the article but that you needed answered for your own peace of mind.

“Hey, Wooyoung, can I ask you something off the record?” you said, your tone softer and more hesitant than before.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Why do you keep pretending everything is perfect? I mean, you always seem so carefree and happy, but... is it really like that?”

Wooyoung's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He leaned back against the bleachers, gazing out at the field before speaking.

“Everyone thinks my life is perfect—it appears even you do, but hey, I don’t blame you for it,” he began slowly. “It’s just that the truth is, it’s actually far from it. Well, yeah, I joke around and try to keep things light, but that’s just my way of coping, you know? There’s a lot of pressure being the person everyone expects to be happy and successful all the time."

You listened intently, feeling a pang of empathy. It was like hearing your thoughts from a perspective that wasn’t the same as yours, yet was not as different either.

“Behind the scenes, it’s not always as great as it looks,” Wooyoung continued. "I have my own struggles too. There’s the constant pressure to perform, to keep up my grades, to maintain this image. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And then there’s my family. They expect a lot from me, and I don’t want to let them down. But sometimes, I feel like I’m living their dreams instead of my own. I guess... I just try to make the best of it, you know? If I can make people laugh and forget their problems for a while, maybe it makes mine a little easier to bear.”

You were silent for a moment, absorbing his words. This wasn't the Wooyoung you were used to seeing—the carefree, confident athlete. This was someone who, like you, carried his own burdens and insecurities.

You’ve always held a great amount of resentment towards him because you thought it was unfair for him to be living a life so colorful while you were trapped within the confines of which is your very own self. You hated hearing him laugh because it would do nothing but remind you of your silent cries deep in the night. You hated seeing him smile because all it does is flash an image of the natural frown your lips always wore in your head.

But after finding out just what he hid behind the curtains and just how similar you were to each other despite standing in different lights, you figured there was no longer any reason to continue to hate him—none in the first place—because if you continued to, it would only mean hating a part of yourself as well.

“I never would have guessed,” you admitted, albeit hesitantly, making Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s exactly the goal I’m aiming for.” He shrugged, looking down to his shoes on the floor while he swayed a foot back and forth.

“I get that a lot.”

“So why do you keep pretending that nothing affects you?”

Before the interview, you had resolved to keep everything strictly professional. But now, after hearing Wooyoung’s candid revelations, you felt a shift inside. The idea of maintaining that professional distance seemed less important. Finding out that Wooyoung wasn’t so different from you had extinguished the fire of hate you once felt for him.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. He noticed this and quickly added, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

But you did want to answer. You really, really did. The words just felt heavy on your tongue, and you struggled to find the right way to express them, is all.

“It's not easy,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always felt like I had to be perfect. Growing up, people relied on me so much that I started believing my worth was tied to my ability to solve their problems and never show my own.”

Wooyoung nodded silently to show you he was listening, his expression encouraging you to continue.

“Being perfect became my shield,” you said, staring at the grass as you spoke. “If I didn’t show any cracks, no one would see how much I was struggling. But it also meant I couldn’t afford to let anyone in. I couldn’t let anyone see that I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was.”

You let out a deep exhale, feeling the weight of your own words. “It gets lonely, you know? Always having to be the one who has it all together. People think I don’t have any problems because I don't show them, but the truth is... it’s just easier that way. If I start showing my vulnerabilities, I’m afraid everything will fall apart.”

Wooyoung listened intently, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. “I get that,” he said softly. “It’s like, if you let one crack show, the whole facade might crumble.”

“Exactly,” you replied, feeling a strange sense of relief at his understanding. “It’s exhausting, though. Sometimes I wish I could just... be myself. But I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Be nobody, then.”

There was a moment of silence as his words hung in the air.

“What?” you asked, not quite understanding.

“Be nobody,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “I mean, stop trying to fit into the mold of who you think you should be. Don’t worry about being perfect or living up to everyone’s expectations. Just... be. You don’t have to be somebody all the time, you know? Let go of all the roles and responsibilities for a moment. Be nobody, with no expectations and no pressure. It’s freeing.”

You stared at him, processing his words. “It’s easier said than done.”

“Well, yeah, it really is,” Wooyoung admitted. “But start small. Give yourself permission to not have all the answers, to not always be the strong one. Find moments where you can just exist without any labels or duties. For me, it’s when I’m on the field. I lose myself in those moments, and it feels like a break from everything else.”

His words resonated with you. The idea of just being, without the weight of expectations, sounded almost too good to be true. “But what if everything falls apart?”

“Then let it,” Wooyoung said with a small smile. “Sometimes things need to fall apart so they can come back together in a better way. And you don't have to do it alone. Lean on people you trust. Even if it's just one person, it makes a difference.”

—

You found yourself spending more time in the field than usual.

Following Wooyoung’s advice, you attempted to let go of your responsibilities, allowing yourself to simply be and do what made you happy rather than what needed to be done. But it was harder than you thought. You had become so accustomed to striving for perfection that you had forgotten what it felt like to make mistakes. You were so used to always being at your highest that your feet could no longer reach the lowest, and it was suffocating.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Looking towards the direction of the voice, you saw Wooyoung holding a football, a smile on his face. “How’s the nobody journey going for you?”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s... difficult. Harder than I thought it would be.”

He walked over and sat down beside you, placing the football between his feet. “Yeah, it’s not something that happens overnight. But hey, it’s a process. You don’t have to get it right immediately.”

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But I’m so used to being perfect, to not making mistakes. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to cut myself some slack.”

Wooyoung nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I get that. When you’re used to always being on top, it feels like you can’t afford to slip, even a little. But that’s exactly why it’s important to let yourself be imperfect sometimes. It’s the only way to really breathe.”

You glanced at him, appreciating his empathy. “How do you do it? How do you find those moments to just be nobody?”

He shrugged, looking out at the field. “I find activities that let me lose myself. For me, it’s playing football—but you probably already know that, or even just hanging out with friends without any pressure. It’s about finding little pockets of freedom in your day.”

You nodded slowly, trying to take his advice to heart. “I guess I need to find my own pockets of freedom.”

Wooyoung smiled, nudging you with his shoulder. “How about we play football together?”

“Huh?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit on edge. The idea of playing football seemed so far from your comfort zone. “I’m not really... experienced with that. And what good would playing football with you do?”

He grinned, unfazed by your reluctance. “It’ll probably be a good way for you to loosen up. You don’t have to be good at it. Just kick the ball around, have some fun. No expectations, no pressure. It’s a chance to be nobody, remember?”

You frowned, still uncertain. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been the type to do such things.”

“And that’s exactly why you should try it,” he countered. “It’s not about being the best or even being good. It’s about doing something different, letting go, and just enjoying the moment. Come on, what do you have to lose?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your hesitations. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and a part of you yearned for that freedom he talked about. “Alright, fine. But don’t laugh at me if I mess up.”

“Deal.”

You and Wooyoung got off the bleachers and walked onto the field. The grass felt soft under your feet, the evening sun casting long shadows. Wooyoung placed the football on the ground and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he said. Wooyoung placed the football down and began explaining with a focused expression. “So, there are different types of kicks in football. The most basic one is the inside-of-the-foot kick, which is good for short passes. You want to strike the ball with the inner part of your foot like this.” He demonstrated, tapping the ball lightly with the side of his foot.

“You can also use the top of your foot for a more powerful kick, like when you’re trying to shoot for a goal.” He took a step back and swung his leg, striking the ball with the laces of his shoe, sending it flying a few meters away. “See? More power.”

Nodding, you tried to absorb the information. “Okay, inside of the foot for control, top of the foot for power. Got it.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung said, retrieving the ball. “Now, let’s talk about dribbling. Dribbling is all about keeping the ball close to your feet while you move. You want to use small touches to guide the ball and keep it under control. Like this.” He began moving around you, tapping the ball lightly with each step, keeping it close to his feet.

“Try to keep your knees slightly bent and your body low,” he continued. “It’ll help you change directions quickly and keep the ball close.”

You watched closely, then attempted to mimic his movements. Your first try was clumsy, sending the ball away from you. Bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing, you were surprised when Wooyoung didn’t laugh or make fun of you. Instead, he smiled warmly.

“That’s not quite it. Here, I’ll demonstrate for you,” he said, jogging after the ball and bringing it back, showing you how to correct your stance and control your touches.

“Remember, small touches,” he encouraged. “Don’t be afraid to move with the ball. It’s like dancing. Feel the rhythm.”

After a few more attempts, you started to get the hang of it. “Alright, I think I’m getting it.”

Wooyoung grinned. “You’re doing great! Now, let’s combine the dribbling with the kicking. Try dribbling a few steps and then pass the ball back to me using the inside of your foot.”

You followed his instructions, managing a somewhat decent dribble before passing the ball back. Wooyoung received it with ease and nodded in approval. “Nice job! You’re improving already.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself enjoying the practice. Wooyoung’s patient guidance and genuine enthusiasm made it easier to let go of your usual reservations.

As Wooyoung continued to explain the different techniques and strategies of football, you found yourself increasingly impressed by his knowledge and passion. It was evident that he practically breathed football. Every word he spoke was filled with an enthusiasm that was contagious, and his demonstrations were executed with such skill and precision that you couldn’t help but be in awe.

It struck you that Wooyoung wasn’t just good at football—he was exceptional. Watching him move with such ease and confidence, you realized that this wasn’t just a sport to him; it was a way of life. His dedication and love for the game were palpable, and it was inspiring to see someone so genuinely committed to something they cared about.

This new perspective was enlightening. Where you once harbored resentment and annoyance, you now saw a depth and passion that was impossible to ignore. It made you reconsider your previous judgments and feel a newfound sense of liking for him.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that Wooyoung had stopped talking. He waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Hey, earth to you. Are you still with me?” he teased, a playful grin on his face.

You blinked, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I’m listening. Go on.”

Already encouraged by your progress, he continued explaining. “There’s also the outside-of-the-foot kick, which is great for bending passes or shots. You strike the ball with the outside edge of your foot. It takes a bit more practice to get the curve right.” He demonstrated with a swift kick, sending the ball curving gently to the side.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” you remarked, impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty handy. And for dribbling, you can use all parts of your foot—inside, outside, even the sole. It’s all about control and keeping the ball moving with you.”

You practiced these new techniques under his watchful eye. Each attempt brought a new correction or piece of advice from Wooyoung, who remained encouraging throughout. His dedication to helping you improve was surprising, and for the first time, you felt a connection beyond the usual frustrations and misunderstandings.

After another try at dribbling and kicking, Wooyoung clapped his hands together. “That’s it! You’re really getting the hang of this. Alright, so now, I’ll show you how to score a goal—”

“I know how a goal is scored, Wooyoung,” you interjected, although a little amused.

Awkwardly chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Clearing his throat, he went back to the topic at hand in order to save himself from embarrassment. After Wooyoung finished his explanations, you both moved on to play together. You hesitated at first, still uncertain about whether you should do what you were about to. Sensing your reluctance, Wooyoung offered a reassuring smile.

“Remember, this is all about letting go of everything, alright?” he reminded you gently.

You both started kicking the ball around, your initial movements tentative. Wooyoung kept the ball rolling slowly toward you, encouraging you with gentle nods.

“Just give it a light tap,” he instructed as the ball rolled to your feet.

You swung your leg and sent the ball wobbling in an unexpected direction. Instinctively, you glanced at Wooyoung, expecting laughter just like how you did earlier, but he just smiled and jogged over to retrieve it—just like how he did earlier.

You gave it a shot once more, trying to replicate his past movements. The ball seemed to have a mind of its own, but Wooyoung's encouraging words kept you going. “You’re doing great, alright? Just keep practicing those small touches.”

Eventually, you started to get the hang of it, and Wooyoung suggested a simple game. “Let’s see if you can get past me and score a goal.”

A bit of your initial hesitation returned, but you nodded. “Okay, I'll try.”

The two of you began to play more energetically. Wooyoung lets you get the ball first, challenging you to maneuver around him. You were barely managing to keep the ball at your feet, but Wooyoung was always there, offering pointers and occasionally stealing the ball only to pass it back to you with a playful grin.

“Come on, you got this!” he encouraged.

You finally found a rhythm, dribbling the ball toward the goal. Wooyoung stayed close, but he wasn't making it too hard. When you took a shot and scored, he laughed excitedly and jogged over to you, his hand raised for a high five. “Nice one! That was awesome!”

Surprised, you mimicked his actions, raising your hand awkwardly. When he slapped his palm against yours in a celebratory high five, you were taken aback by the simple but genuine gesture.

“See? You're getting the hang of it,” he said, his eyes shining with pride.

The game continued, each moment building on the last, with both of you enjoying the newfound experience and the simple act of playing for fun. As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

For once, you were nobody.

—

You haven’t talked to Wooyoung days after playing football with him on the field, but you figured it made complete sense for things to be this way. You seem to only run into him during the times you felt like you wanted to be nobody, and at the times when you had to be somebody, he was completely out of your line of sight. Maybe that’s how things are meant to be, so you never really gave it any thought. On a few moments, however, you find yourself wondering if he’s holding out well, but you don’t quite understand why. You’ve been telling yourself it’s because you were just a concerned citizen at heart, but even that seems weird.

Unbeknownst to you, the exact same thoughts clouded Wooyoung’s mind. Whenever he and his team would conduct a practice match on the field, he’d find himself occasionally stealing glances at the bleachers, sighing to himself when he’s met with an empty sight. He doesn’t know why, but after spending a day being nobody with you, he figured those days would occur more often afterwards, so that’s precisely why he feels disappointed whenever he doesn’t see you sitting by the bleachers.

Opening your locker, you were about to reach for a textbook piled on top of others of its same kind yet covering different subject areas, but it wasn’t until you heard a laugh that was too familiar to you for your liking erupt from the end of the halls that you stopped dead in your motion, making Yeosang let out a confused hum.

“What’s up?”

You didn’t mutter out anything for an answer, immediately turning your head towards the direction you heard his voice from. And there he was, laughing loudly with his clapping hands echoing throughout the almost quiet surroundings while Mingi and San, who stood by either of his sides, seemed to have been cracking jokes back and forth.

The moment his eyes met yours, however, he was quicker than a millisecond to shut his mouth and forget just what exactly did Mingi respond to San’s awfully executed joke that made him laugh way more than he was probably supposed to. San, noticing the shift in his behavior, nudged his shoulder.

“What’s in your mind?”

Both you and Wooyoung avert your eyes from each other, you aggressively closing your locker shut before turning your attention back to Yeosang, whereas Wooyoung simply waved his hands off towards San.

“Nothing,” you both said in unison, unbeknownst to one another.

You were nearly losing your mind trying to figure out just how much you really knew yourself. You had told Yeosang nothing was up—but somehow, part of you refuses to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t the truth at all and was just something you wished you really meant.

Something was up, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“Nothing, huh?” Yeosang teased, eyeing you with a skeptical look. “Well, you better mean that because we can’t afford to have any distractions in our way this week.”

“This week?” You leaned against your locker with your brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s anything new about that. We’re always busy at this very same week during this very same month every year,” he shrugged, making the left side of his jacket fall off on his shoulder, assuming you were only playing around.

“No, wait, Yeosang. What’s up?” you inquired, sounding genuinely curious—which caught him off guard.

“No way. Have you forgotten what always happens during this time of the year?”

“Clearly…?”

“The Autumn Harmony Festival. Any bells ringing in your head now?”

Ah, right.

Every year, the university holds a grand festival known as the “Autumn Harmony Festival.” It’s a long-standing tradition, celebrating the unity and diversity of the student body. The festival spans an entire weekend, featuring a variety of events that cater to different interests. There are music performances from student bands, dance shows, art exhibitions, food stalls representing cuisines from around the world, and games with prizes. Clubs and organizations set up booths to showcase their activities and recruit new members. The festival’s highlight is the cultural parade, where students wear traditional attire from their respective backgrounds, creating a vibrant and colorful spectacle. It's a time when the entire campus comes alive with laughter, music, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. The event not only provides a break from academic pressures but also fosters a sense of community and belonging among the students.

“Oh,” you mused, eyes scanning the entire hallway. “Right.”

Yeosang audibly gasped—you’re unsure if he did it playfully or if he was seriously offended that you forgot about the annual festival, placing a hand on his hip. “Yeah, right. You seriously forgot?”

“Well…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing your nape. “I’ve been pretty busy, so I guess that’s why I kinda forgot about it.”

“Busy with what?”

That, you cannot answer. Not because you didn’t want to, yet rather because you had no idea how to. Was being busy due to your never ending thoughts even a valid reason to begin with?

“Just… things.”

“These things could either scale from being busy with your schoolwork to being busy with hunting down each football team within the shadows, so I’m just gonna pretend I never asked you what you’re busy with in the first place.”

“Do you actually think I’m capable of doing that?” you asked, mildly offended.

“Well, you never know which people here on campus would end up harboring murder tendencies on a random day,” he shrugged.

“I think we should just go back to talking about the festival before any passersby start looking at us weirdly.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Yeosang agreed, looking around the halls. “Well, the journalism club will be having a meeting about it later today,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “You have the group chat on mute, remember? You don’t quite like everyone there other than me.”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I forgot about that.”

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time for the journalism club meeting. You and Yeosang hurriedly headed to the club’s office, ready to discuss the festival coverage and immediately settling down the moment you both stepped foot inside.

“Alright,” Mr. Kim began speaking, clasping his hands together. “As you all know, the Autumn Harmony Festival is right around the corner. You might be wondering why conducting a meeting about it is necessary, but here’s the catch—for this year’s festival, the student council has bigger plans than usual, although they’re struggling with making all of it come true as they are quite short of people who can help them out. So…”

Silence engulfed the room, and by looking at everyone’s expressions alone, you could easily tell that they all knew where Mr. Kim was headed.

“The student council president, Karina, reached out to me to ask if we could lend them a hand. Of course, our duties and theirs do not differ that much from each other, so I figured accepting their proposal would not be a bad decision. That being said, we will be busier for the next few weeks. But of course, that doesn’t mean we’ll push our responsibilities to the side. We still need to publish an article the day after the festival, so I’m gonna need all of you to stay until the very last second of the event to document everything.”

You pursed your lips, hoping there wouldn’t be a further catch.

But much to your dismay, Mr. Kim continued speaking. “And for this year’s article, I’ve decided that our lead photojournalist will be the main one to cover the event.”

So much for wanting to stay in the shadows for once.

Just then, a noticeable shift occurred in the room. Eyebrows were raised, eyes were rolled, quiet sighs were released, and even few members exchanged knowing glances. No one said anything outright, but you could sense the undercurrent of resentment. You had always been observant, and this moment was no exception.

Suddenly, one of the members, Minjae, a junior who has always held a competitive soul, couldn’t contain his frustration. “Why is it always her?" he burst out, standing up as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Every big assignment, it’s always her. What about the rest of us? Are we just not good enough?”

Yeosang quickly stood up to intervene. “Minjae, sit down. Now’s not the time—”

You gently tugged Yeosang back, making him sit down. He looked at you, confusion and concern etched on his face, but you met his gaze with a blank expression and a slight shake of your head, silently telling him to let Minjae continue speaking.

Mr. Kim tried to interject as well, “Minjae, this is not the way to handle—”

But he continued, ignoring Mr. Kim. “She acts like she’s better than all of us just because she takes good photos and aces her classes. It’s ridiculous! She’s not even a team player. She’s just Mr. Kim’s favorite. It’s like she’s the only one who matters. We’re all working hard here, but we never get the same recognition. Maybe if she shared the spotlight, we’d have a chance to show what we can do, too! If she actually bothered to socialize or help others instead of hogging all the work, we wouldn’t feel this way. But no, she’s too busy being the perfect little photojournalist, right?”

The final straw snapped. You slammed your hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the eerily silent room. Standing up abruptly, you walked over to Minjae and slapped him across the face. The force of the slap left a stinging red mark on his cheek, and everyone gasped, wide-eyed and shocked.

With venom in your voice, you finally spoke, “Maybe if you actually bothered to do your work properly, then I wouldn’t have to butt in to mend your mistakes every single time. You think I want to be here fixing your half-assed efforts? Think again. I do what I do because I care about this publication and our reputation. You, on the other hand, are too busy whining instead of actually contributing anything meaningful. You talk about being a team player? All you ever do is complain and shirk responsibility. You think you deserve the spotlight? Prove it. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Minjae stood there, stunned, unable to respond as you turned on your heel and walked out of the room. Yeosang quickly followed, but not before casting a scathing look at the others. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done,” he said, voice low and filled with disappointment.

Minjae, nursing his cheek, looked at Mr. Kim. “She hit me. There has to be some offense for that!”

Mr. Kim remained silent for a moment, then simply said, “Sit down, Minjae.”

Yeosang caught up with you in the hallway, gently tugging your arm. "Hey, wait up."

You shooed his hand away, turning around to face him calmly. “Go back to the office, please.”

He shook his head, concern etched on his face. “I’m not leaving you alone after that. You need someone right now.”

You sighed, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in your eyes. “But what if I want to be alone? What if that’s what I need?”

Yeosang hesitated but tried again. “I get that, but I can’t just—”

You gently pushed his shoulder back, giving it an affirming squeeze to let him know you weren’t mad at him. “Just leave me be for now, Yeo. I promise I’ll come by when I’m feeling lighter.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of anger towards him, but found none. With a reluctant nod, he pulled out a tiny crocheted voodoo doll with a keychain attached to it from his pocket. “Here, take this. In a way, you’ll still have me with you.”

You vividly recall him crocheting the doll during one of your sleepovers back in high school and being absolutely freaked out when you saw it hung by your ceiling fan the morning after. You still have no idea why he chose to crochet a voodoo doll out of everything else back then to this date—but then again, Yeosang has always been full of surprises, so much so to the point you’ve eventually learned to expect the unexpected from him at all times.

“You still have this?” you mused, hooking your index finger through the keychain and lifting it up.

“I thought it could be useful someday,” Yeosang shrugged. “Just… promise me you’ll let me know once you’re feeling better, alright?”

“I will, I promise.” You gave him an affirming nod before turning your heel, your form gradually decreasing in his point of view the further you walked away. You and your well-being meant the whole world to him, and he could only hope you felt the same way about yourself, too.

You don’t know where your feet are leading you, but the next thing you knew the moment you snapped out of your thoughts was that your line of sight was filled with greenery matched with the bright blue sky. The tranquility of the field provided a stark contrast to the tension you felt inside. You found a secluded spot on the bleachers and sat down, trying to clear your mind.

Just as you began to relax, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Hey, stranger.”

You looked up to see Wooyoung standing there, a warm smile on his face. He held a football under his arm.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice coming off as mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the rest of his team entering the field one by one. “We’re having a practice match.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense,” you replied, though your voice lacked its usual steadiness.

Wooyoung’s smile faded as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. To others, your expression might seem no different from usual, but somehow, Wooyoung could easily tell something was up. “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

You shook your head lightly. “Nothing. Go to the field. It looks like your teammates are waiting for you.”

He glanced at his teammates, then back at you. “Stay here. I’ll make sure we finish practice early.”

Confused, you asked, “Why?”

“Just... stay, alright? Don’t leave.”

With that, Wooyoung ran off to join his team. San was the first to notice something different. “What were you talking about?” he asked, with skepticism in his voice.

For once, Wooyoung didn’t play along with their teasing. “Let’s start the match,” he said to Hongjoong, his tone more serious than usual. Everyone noticed the shift in Wooyoung’s behavior, but no one dared to say anything.

As you remained seated on the bleachers, you watched Wooyoung and his team practice. The rhythmic thud of the ball and the shouts of the players filled the air, providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil in your mind. You replayed Mark’s words over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. Despite knowing he had no right to say those things, his accusations hurt more than you cared to admit.

Were you really stealing their spotlight? Was it wrong to take charge because no one else seemed up for it? Was trying to be enough, too much?

Wooyoung stole glances at you throughout the match, his concern evident. You noticed but pretended not to, focusing on the game as if it could somehow drown out your thoughts.

When the match ended, Jongho suggested going out to eat. “I’ll pass,” Wooyoung said, catching everyone off guard.

“Why?” Hongjoong asked, his confusion mirrored by the rest of the team as it was a first for him to reject such a proposal.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifted momentarily towards you. “There are things more important that I want to prioritize.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks but knew better than to pry. Seonghwa glanced at you briefly, then turned back to Wooyoung with a knowing smile—one he didn’t quite catch. “You’re free to catch up if you want.”

After the rest of the team left the field, he was quick to run towards where you sat. “Hey,” he said softly, slightly out of breath. “Mind if I sit?” You wordlessly nodded, shifting slightly to give him space.

“So… what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes reflecting the confusion and hurt you felt inside. “Am I too much, Wooyoung?”

His eyes widened slightly at your question, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his face. He took a deep breath, clearly wanting to choose his words carefully.

“Why would you think that?” Wooyoung asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

You fidgeted with the voodoo doll keychain in your hands, finding it difficult to articulate the storm inside you. “It’s... complicated.”

Wooyoung could sense your struggle, and for a moment, you felt a ghost of his touch on the back of your shoulders, but it left just as quick as it appeared. “Hey, take your time. You don’t have to rush it all out.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Earlier today... in the journalism office, something happened. We were discussing our plans for the upcoming Autumn Harmony Festival, and Mr. Kim chose me to be the main one to cover the event. And…”

“And?” Wooyoung prompted, listening intently.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “I don’t want to give away any details, but someone said really hurtful things. They accused me of... hogging the spotlight, of not being a team player. They said I act like I’m better than everyone else.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, though he remained silent, letting you continue.

“It made me question everything. Am I really doing the right thing for the club? Is caring about our reputation so wrong? I’ve always thought I was helping, but maybe... I don’t know, maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. My mind’s a total mess and I just—”

Your voice broke, and tears started to well up in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but the emotional weight was too much. Wooyoung watched you with a mixture of empathy and anger, his heart aching for you while a burning rage simmered inside him at the thought of someone hurting you like this—he doesn’t quite understand why he feels this way.

“I... I just don’t know anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you started to cry.

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Can I… can I hug you?”

You wordlessly nodded, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. “You’re allowed to feel this way. Let it all out.”

You clung to the fabric of his shirt, sobbing quietly as he continued to hold you, offering silent support. His presence was a calming anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

Wooyoung’s thoughts raced. Who would ever have the nerve to speak such words to you when you were one of the most hardworking people he’s ever known? But for now, he focused on comforting you, letting you know that you weren’t alone.

When your sobs finally began to subside, he pulled back slightly to look at you, immediately taking his hand off your shoulder the moment he took note of the proximity. “You are not too much, alright? You’ll never be,” he said firmly. “You’re doing the right thing by caring about the club and its reputation. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. You’re dedicated and passionate, and that’s something to be proud of.”

You looked into his eyes, and you swore you’ve never felt so seen before.

Wooyoung brushed a stray tear from your cheek and asked softly, “Do you mind telling me who it was?”

You looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Why?” He hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “I’m just… curious, y’know.”

You sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Do you know anyone named Minjae?” Wooyoung nodded. “Oh, yeah, I do. You get to know a lot of people when you’re well-known around school—kinda like a package deal, if you think about it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek debating whether to say more or to just leave things as is. Finally, you sighed once more and said, “It was him.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened slightly, but he simply nodded. “I see.”

He didn’t press further, sensing that you needed a break from the topic. Instead, he pointed at the voodoo doll keychain in your hands with a curious and somewhat mildly horrified look. “What’s the doll for?”

“So, you see…”

The following day, you walked into the journalism office, still feeling the emotional remnants of yesterday’s confrontation. As you opened the door, expecting the usual hustle and bustle, you were met with a surprising sight: Minjae, diligently working at his desk.

He looked up when he heard the door and, catching your eye, gave a small, somewhat awkward nod before returning to his work. You stood there for a moment, processing the scene. It was strange seeing him so focused, especially after what had happened.

Yeosang, noticing your surprise, walked over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded slowly, still staring at Minjae. “Yeah, just... surprised, I guess.”

He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Maybe yesterday had more of an impact than we thought.”

You turned to him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your eyes. “Do you think... do you think he’s actually trying to make up for what he said?”

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s possible. Sometimes people just need a wake-up call.”

As you moved further into the office and sat down at your desk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. Minjae working diligently was a stark contrast to his usual behavior, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this change would last.

Yet for now, you decided to focus on your own work, letting the events of the previous day serve as a reminder that even when things seem overwhelmingly difficult, there can still be moments of unexpected change. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was one of those moments—well, hopefully.

As the lunch break bell rang a while later, you gathered your things, ready to head to the cafeteria with Yeosang. Just as you were about to leave the office, Minjae called out, “Hey, can you stay behind for a bit?”

You glanced at Yeosang, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. With a slight shrug, you nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yeosang gave Minjae a curious look before turning back to you. “I’ll be waiting at our usual spot,” he said, and with that, only you and Mark were left inside the room.

Turning to Minjae, you asked, “What’s the matter?”

Minjae took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just… I want to apologize. For, y’know, everything. For all the things I said, for being a slacker, for misjudging you, for not doing my work. I’ve been a terrible team member and an even worse person. I let my insecurities and frustrations get the best of me, and I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve realized that I’ve been hiding behind my complaints instead of actually contributing and taking responsibility. You’ve been carrying the weight for all of us, and instead of appreciating your efforts, I resented you for it. I want to make it right. I’m going to start doing my part and prove that I can be better. Please, forgive me.”

You stood there, silent, processing his words. And you’re not sure if it’s due to the office’s painfully blinding fluorescent lights, but he looked like he had just gotten a black eye and covered it up with a mismatching shade of concealer. There was a little cut on the right corner of his lips, too.

After a few seconds, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t need you to apologize, Minjae. I need you to take accountability for your actions. The words you’ve just said right now won’t mean a thing if you don’t keep the consistency of your efforts.”

Minjae nodded, clearly moved by your response. “I understand. I will. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Just as you were about to leave, you paused and turned back to him. “And don’t be too comfortable with misjudging people. You, too, have a side within you that you don’t want to show people, don’t you? That’s the same case for everyone else. If what you did to me had been done to you, would you like it?”

Minjae’s eyes widened slightly as he absorbed your words. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted quietly. With a final nod, you turned and left the office.

Little did you know that Wooyoung had been standing just right outside the office door, listening in on your conversation.

Reaching the cafeteria, your eyes searched the crowded space for the familiar sight of Yeosang’s curly brown hair, sighing in relief when you spotted him sitting at your usual table positioned right beside the windows.

The moment you walked towards him, he wasted no time in interrogating you. “So… what was that about?”

“You tell me,” you sighed. “Who would have thought I’d hear such words from Minjae himself?”

“Why? What did he tell you back in the office?” he asked, resting both of his elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward in curiosity.

“Well, to start off, he apologized for being a slacker. Days within this university really are filled with surprises.” You shook your head, gazing out the window.

“You want me to believe your narrative that the Kim Minjae apologized for being a slacker?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow, skeptical of whether you were telling the truth or just making up blatant lies. Well, it’s not like you could blame him, anyway.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t believe it either, honestly. I mean, it’s good that he seems to be taking the very first few steps to turning over a new leaf now, but it was… weird, nevertheless. You know him well enough to know what happened yesterday couldn’t have possibly been enough for him to feel bad.”

Yeosang rubbed his chin with a finger, deep in thought. “Makes sense. Maybe someone else knocked some sense into his head?”

“And by who, exactly? That’s just downright ridiculous,” you shot him a questioning look, turning your head to the side ever so slightly when you heard the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter from the cafeteria’s entrance.

It was only then that you realized Yeosang still doesn’t have a single clue that your perception of Wooyoung had done a full 180 ever since you interviewed him for your publication’s magazine. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to know about it, yet rather, you simply felt like it would be unnecessary to bring it up. Wooyoung doesn’t have that big of a role in your life—or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself—anyway, so why should it matter?

“Well, it’s just a theory,” Yeosang defended himself. “Anyway, if—and only if, Minjae is actually planning on being consistent with his growth, then that means the weight you have to carry for the sake of our publication will gradually decrease. That’s a good thing, especially considering the festival is only a few weeks away,” he beamed.

“Our, Yeo, our. I don’t think you’re aware of how much you’ve helped me with handling my responsibilities,” you said, tilting your head lightly. “You’re a great person, you know? You should give yourself more credit.”

Yeosang awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to respond to your kind words. “Well, I mean, you’re my best friend. It’s only right for me to lend you a hand when it’s due,” he shrugged.

“I just told you to give yourself more credit and here you are doing the complete opposite,” you said, sighing.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafeteria, Wooyoung and the rest of the football team were sitting together, their conversation lively and full of energy—as usual.

“Anyone else hyped about the Autumn Harmony Festival?” Seonghwa asked, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smile, a half-bitten sandwich in his hand.

“That’s gotta be me right here,” Mingi replied, grinning. “The festival’s always a blast. The food, the music, everything’s just awesome. I can’t wait to find out what they have in store for this year’s celebration.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement. “Same here. I mean, last year’s festival was nothing short of absolute perfection, y’know? I wonder how they’ll top it off.”

“Don’t forget the championship game that’s only a week after the festival ends, though,” Jongho added. “We need to make sure we’re ready for that, too.”

“True, true,” Yunho agreed. “We’ve been training hard recently, but we can’t be complacent. We can’t slack off just because we have a festival in between.”

“Speaking of the festival,” San chimed in after leaning towards Seonghwa to gobble the remaining half of his sandwich. “What’s your favorite part of it? For me, it’s always the fireworks. There’s something magical about them.”

“This was only done last year, but my favorite’s gotta be Dilettante’s surprise dance performance,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

“Now that you’ve brought it up, that’s one of my favorite parts from last year’s festival, too. Suddenly seeing Yunho on stage after wondering why he was gone for the whole day gave me goosebumps,” San agreed, making Yunho shyly scratch his head.

“It would’ve been way cooler if Seonghwa was up there with me, though,” Yunho said, nudging Seonghwa who sat between him and San.

While everyone was agreeing with Yunho’s statement—save for Wooyoung who had been awfully quiet for a while now, Seonghwa was quick to brush them all off. “I don’t have the spirit for dancing anymore, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“But if we’re talking about our favorite moments in the festival, it would be the atmosphere at night for me. Everything feels so alive—and the couples walking around holding hands, too,” Seonghwa added. “It’s kind of cute, seeing everyone so happy and in love.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, the festival is definitely a romantic place. It’s like the perfect setting for a date.”

At the mention of a date, Wooyoung’s thoughts immediately drifted to you. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend the festival with you. His eyes shifted across the cafeteria to where you were sitting with Yeosang, engrossed in a conversation. You must have felt his eyes on you, for you glanced up and met his stare. Caught off guard, Wooyoung quickly looked away, focusing back on his friends.

“There’s something about festivals that just brings out the romance in people,” Yunho mused. “The music, the lights, the whole vibe. It’s like you’re in a different world.”

“Exactly,” San agreed. “And you know what? Sometimes, it’s not about having someone special to spend it with. Just being in that atmosphere makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“You guys are getting all sappy,” Jongho teased, but there was a wide smile on his face. “But yeah, I get it. There’s a certain charm to it all.”

“Hey, Woo,” Seonghwa said, turning to Wooyoung. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Wooyoung shrugged, playing it off. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

San, however, knew him too well to buy his excuse. Leaning closer, he asked, “Does this ‘stuff’ involve a certain someone, maybe?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Nah, just got a lot on my mind with the festival and the game coming up.”

Jongho nudged him. “Well, since that’s what we’re talking about right now, what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

Wooyoung thought for a moment. “I’d say the food stalls. There’s always something new to try, and it’s fun just walking around and tasting different things.”

Jongho nudged him again. “Speaking of which, who do you plan on spending the festival with?” Wooyoung shrugged, acting unbothered. “I don’t know. I’ll probably spend it alone.”

Yet he said so with a fragment of you appearing in his mind.

And almost as if by fate, Yunho suggested, “What about the head photojournalist?”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You know,” Yunho said, eyes twinkling. “The head photojournalist. You guys would look cute together.��

“Totally. Imagine the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you both stare at them,” Mingi added, his tone dreamy. “It’s like a scene straight out of a movie.”

“And then she goes to capture that perfect moment,” Hongjoong laughed. “Only to realize she’s part of the story.”

Wooyoung brushed them off, his cheeks warming. “You guys sound absolutely ridiculous. What are you, teenage girls?”

Yet despite his comment, they weren’t ready to drop the topic at all. They sensed an opportunity to have some fun at his expense and were eager to exploit it.

“You know, Woo, it’s not exactly ridiculous for us to think you’d look cute together,” Yunho said, grinning. “There’s definitely some chemistry there.”

San nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and think about it—she’s got that whole serious, focused vibe, and you’re the total opposite. It’s like a perfect balance. You’d bring out the fun side in her.”

Hearing the way San described you just made him realize he knows a part of you you’d never reveal to others—and he was someone you trusted enough to show him that part.

“And she’d probably help you stay out of trouble,” Jongho added with a laugh. “You need someone who can keep you in check, Woo. Plus, you can’t deny that you’re always a bit more... animated when you talk about her.”

“Not to mention, you literally have a nickname dedicated to her. You know, photo girl.” Hongjoong teased, making everyone laugh. Wooyoung shook his head, trying to hide a smile. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”

“Come on, Woo,” Seonghwa said, playfully nudging him. “You’ve got to admit there’s something there. Enemies to lovers is a classic trope for a reason. It’s all about the tension and the eventual realization that you actually care about each other.”

“Slowburn would probably be more fitting. It’s not enemies to lovers when she’s the only one who hates him.”

Do you, though?

Yunho’s eyes widened in mock excitement. “Think about the moment when you both realize you’re more than just rivals. The looks on your faces would be priceless.”

Mingi joined in, over the moon that Yunho gets his vision. “And the festival is the perfect setting for that kind of realization. All the romantic vibes, the lights, the music…”

“And then there’s the fireworks,” Hongjoong added, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “The perfect backdrop for a confession.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing at their enthusiasm. “You guys need to snap out of it.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “Maybe, but you can’t deny we’re onto something.”

“You’re not onto something—you’re on something.”

San wasn’t convinced, though. “Sure, sure. But let’s be real—if you were to be asked who you want to spend the festival with, she’s the first person who comes to mind, right?”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to his friends. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Then think about it.”

And he did.

—

As the weekend approached, you found yourself diving headfirst into preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival alongside Yeosang, Minjae—surprisingly so, and the rest of the journalism club. The gymnasium buzzed with the sounds of laughter and chatter as you all worked together to bring the student council's vision to life. Paper lanterns hung from the rafters, colorful banners accentuated the walls, and tables were adorned with bright flower arrangements.

You were paired up with Karina, the student council president, who took you under her wing, guiding you through the handful of processes of creating the decorations. She showed you how to fold paper into elegant origami shapes, demonstrating each step with precision and grace.

“Alright, so first, you fold the paper in half like this,” Karina explained, her hands moving deftly as she demonstrated the technique. “Then, you fold the corners in towards the center, like so.”

You watched closely, mimicking her movements as you tried to keep up with her expertise. Despite your initial apprehension, Karina’s patient guidance put you at ease, and soon you found yourself getting into the rhythm of the task.

As you both worked, Karina couldn’t help but notice Minjae's uncharacteristically diligent efforts. She turned to you with a curious expression, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s gotten into Minjae? He’s usually not one to work so hard.”

You glanced over at Minjae, who was engrossed in arranging flowers with a focused expression. “You know Minjae?” you asked, surprised by the revelation.

Karina nodded with a chuckle. "Of course. He's the younger brother of my girlfriend, Minjeong. And let me tell you, he’s definitely not known for his work ethic.”

You shrugged, shaking your head in amusement. “I guess he just got a wake-up call,” you mused, turning your attention back to folding a paper origami.

As the day wore on, fatigue began to set in, and you found yourself longing for a break. Glancing over at Yeosang, who was focused on his own task, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hunger.

“Hey, are you hungry?” you asked, interrupting his concentration.

Yeosang looked up, a tired but grateful smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, I could go for a snack.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sudden craving for something salty and sweet. “I’ll go grab us some snacks from the convenience store down the street. Be right back.”

After informing Karina you’ll be off for a while to buy some snacks and asking her if she wanted anything from the convenience store as well, you set off on your own, the cool breeze outside a welcome relief from the stuffy gymnasium. As you walked, your mind wandered, thoughts of the festival and the tasks ahead swirling in your head.

The moment you entered the convenience store, the familiar chime of the door greeted you, signaling your arrival. Your first task was to find the ramen Karina had requested, scanning the aisles until you spotted the familiar packaging. With the ramen now in hand, you moved on to gather snacks for yourself and Yeosang.

Peeking through an aisle, your eyes widened slightly in surprise when you spotted a familiar figure browsing the shelves nearby.

“Wooyoung?”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, a warm smile immediately spreading across his face as he recognized you. “Hey there,” he greeted, making his way over to you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the items in your hands. “Just picking up some snacks for myself and Yeosang. We’re helping with the festival preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival.”

“Preparations? What’s the journalism publication gotta do with that?” Wooyoung tilted his head, sounding genuinely curious. Well, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“The student council president reached out to Mr. Kim a while ago to ask if we could lend them a helping hand since their plans for this year’s festival are bigger compared to the past few years, and they’re a bit short on people to be able to work on it by themselves—hence why a meeting was held a few days ago,” you explained. Upon processing your words, Wooyoung started to slowly nod his head.

“Asking for help is definitely a first for the student council. I wonder what they have in store this year…” he trailed off, picking his words back up after coming to a realization. “Hold on. You’re helping them out with the preparations, right?”

But you were quick to catch on what he was implying, responding by simply shaking your head. “No, Wooyoung. Any details about the festival are strictly confidential. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until the event takes place.”

He whined in disappointment, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself mildly amused.

“But there’s still two weeks left… you can’t even tell me what the theme for this year’s festival is?” he said, trying to persuade you into giving at least a crumb of information.

Yet all you did was shake your head once more. “Confidential means confidential. I’m sure what the student council has in store will cater to your liking, though.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You brushed him off, still refusing to share any details. “Just trust me on this one.”

It wasn’t completely a lie. A few days ago, when Karina was briefing the journalism club about the festival plans, your immediate thought was, “Oh, that sounds like something Wooyoung would have fun with.” You had no idea why, but it was all you could think of. You imagined how wide the smile on his face would look under the glow of the light decorations. The thought of him enjoying the festivities filled you with an unexpected warmth, and you couldn’t help but look forward to seeing his reaction.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Yeosang, asking what was taking you so long. Quickly, you typed out a response and shoved the phone back into your pocket.

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, noticing the slight shift in your demeanor.

“Yeosang’s looking for me. I should probably get back,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, hesitant to bid farewell. There was an awkward silence between you, both seemingly unsure of why parting felt so difficult.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” you finally said, eager to break the silence.

“Right, yeah, see you,” Wooyoung replied, and for some reason, you had a feeling the smile on his face as he bid you farewell was forced.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze lingering on you. Through the glass wall of the convenience store, he watched you cross the street, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wooyoung was eventually snapped out of his reverie when his phone buzzed with a message from Hongjoong, reminding him of what specific brand and flavor of chips he wanted him to buy. Staring at the message notification blankly, he let out a soft sigh and turned his phone off, once again looking through the glass wall, only to find you no longer in his line of sight.

Returning to the gymnasium, you handed Karina the ramen she requested. “Here you go,” you said.

Karina looked up from the paper decorations she was working on, accepting the ramen with a grateful smile. “Thanks a lot! This tastes perfect. You should definitely try it out sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded, making your way over to where Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor. He looked up as you approached, a curious expression on his face. “What took you so long?”

You shrugged casually, setting down the snacks. “I happened to cross paths with Wooyoung in the convenience store.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? Where’s the usual ‘I-hate-Wooyoung-so-much-he-never-fails-to-ruin-my-day’ energy?”

You stared at him blankly, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

Yeosang blinked at you, as if trying to process your words. “You don’t hate him anymore? What happened?”

You paused, reflecting on the question. What has changed? It wasn’t that long ago when even just the mere mention of Wooyoung’s name would have irked you, sending a wave of annoyance coursing through you. You remembered the countless times you had grumbled about his antics, the way he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how his presence always felt like a thorn in your side, always ready to push the weakest of all buttons. But now, the hostility has dissipated, replaced by... something else. Something you couldn’t quite define yet.

The memory of the first time you saw him in a different light flickered in your mind. It was during the interview for the publication’s magazine. Despite your preconceived notions, he had surprised you with his genuine answers, his passion for football, and the unexpected depth in his personality. You had caught a glimpse of a side of him that he didn’t often show to everyone, a side that intrigued you more than you wanted to admit.

Since then, your interactions have taken on a new tone. There were moments of unexpected understanding, brief conversations that revealed layers you never would’ve thought existed. The irritation had slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity and, perhaps, a hint of admiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere along the way, you had started seeing Wooyoung as more than just an annoyance.

Even now, thinking back to your encounter at the convenience store, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that was distinctly unfamiliar. His smile had been genuine, his questions filled with sincere curiosity. There was no hint of the playful mockery that used to define your exchanges. Instead, there was an ease that had taken you by surprise, a comfort that felt strangely natural.

As you stood there, Yeosang’s question hanging in the air, you realized that your feelings towards Wooyoung had become a complex mix of past grievances and newfound respect. It was confusing, but not entirely unpleasant.

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he studied your face. “When did this shift happen? You used to be so adamant about how much he annoyed you.” You looked around the gymnasium, thinking back. “It started with the interview I did for the magazine,” you began, finally meeting his gaze. “There was this moment... I asked him a question off the record.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. “Off the record? What did you ask him?” You shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you that. It was personal, something that wasn’t meant for the article. But his answer... it caught me off guard. It was like I was seeing an entirely new side of him, one that I never thought existed.”

Yeosang leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you mean? What side?”

“I guess I realized we’re not that different, him and I,” you said, your voice softening as you recalled the moment. “He showed me a side of him that’s more thoughtful, more passionate than I ever gave him credit for. It wasn’t that he changed; it’s just that he revealed a part of himself that I hadn’t seen before.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, absorbing your words. “So, simply put, he’s not just the guy who annoys you anymore.”

“No,” you agreed, shaking your head slightly. “He’s more than that. There’s depth to him, layers that he doesn’t show to everyone. And once I saw that... I couldn’t go back to seeing him as just a nuisance—we’re not friends or anything, though. Things are just... different now,” you hesitantly said, trying to put your feelings into words.

Yeosang looked at you with a knowing gaze, a small smile appearing on his lips. He had a feeling there was something more there, something you hadn’t yet noticed. But he decided not to say anything. It would be better for you to explore those feelings on your own, to figure out what they meant without any external pressure.

“Does this mean I no longer have to worry about endlessly persuading you to take pictures of them for my articles?”

“Perchance.”

“You can’t just say perchance…”

—

Wooyoung had recently noticed he hadn’t been seeing you around that often these days. With only two weeks left until the festival, he figured that was probably what had you so busy. During lunch breaks, he no longer saw you and Yeosang at your usual seats in the cafeteria, and you hadn’t been stopping by the field to watch their practice matches, either. Earlier during the afternoon, when he passed by the journalism club’s office, the door was open, and he saw you sitting on the floor, sleeping, resting your body on Yeosang, who sat beside you with his elbows and head down on a chair beside him. You both looked tired, and he knew he had to do something about it.

So here he was in the middle of the night at a convenience store, accompanied by San, whom Wooyoung had forcefully persuaded to come with him by calling his phone again and again.

As they stood in front of the store’s entrance, San yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re here on a school night?” Wooyoung brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Nothing I need to tell you about.”

They walked inside, and Wooyoung immediately started grabbing snacks and drinks off the shelves. San watched him, amused. “What’s with the midnight shopping spree?”

Wooyoung ignored him, focused on searching the aisles. He picked up the same snacks he saw you holding that weekend: two cups of instant ramen, a bag of honey butter chips, and a bottle of iced green tea. He then added a few more of his personal favorites: a pack of strawberry Pocky, some chocolate bars, and a few cans of soda. San watched the pile grow, raising an eyebrow. “Are you buying all these for me?” he joked, nudging Wooyoung’s arm.

Wooyoung shoved him lightly. “You wish.”

He did let San grab a few snacks, though.

At the counter, while Wooyoung was paying, San asked, “Seriously though, who’s this all for? I’ve never seen you so willing to spend so much on snacks that aren’t for you…” Wooyoung avoided his gaze, busying himself with the payment process. San continued, a teasing note in his voice. “... Unless these are for someone-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Wooyoung interjected, handing over the money to the cashier. He grabbed the bags and turned to leave, but San wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Come on, Woo. You’ve been acting weird lately. Is it for her? You know, the one you keep talking about—the head photojournalist, or photo girl, as you like to call her?”

Wooyoung sighed, finally giving San a serious look. “Yes, alright? It’s for her and her friend. They’re overworked with the festival preparations. I thought I’d do something nice.”

San smirked, following him out of the store. “So, what, you’re a secret snack fairy now?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curved upward ever so slightly. “I just... I noticed she’s been stressed. It’s no big deal.” San laughed, pushing Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly. “No big deal and yet you’re wide awake by choice at 2 in the morning to buy her snacks, huh?”

The next day, Wooyoung and San were hiding behind a corner wall, waiting eagerly to see how you would react to Wooyoung’s surprise. They were bickering quietly, their whispers sharp but quiet.

“San, seriously, you’re going to blow our cover if you don’t shut up,” Wooyoung hissed, peeking around the corner. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stop fidgeting,” San retorted, nudging Wooyoung with his elbow. “And why did you drag me into this again?”

“Because I need moral support,” Wooyoung replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you owe me one for covering for you last week.” San sighed. “Fine, but if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

They immediately shut up the moment they saw you walking toward your locker. Yeosang called in sick for today, leaving you to head on your way to the campus all by yourself.

Walking up to your locker and opening it, you were surprised to see an unfamiliar item you don’t quite remember putting inside. It was a medium-sized, square box, wrapped in a vibrant, glossy paper patterned with cartoonish cat faces and tiny hearts. The wrapping was slightly crinkled, giving it a somewhat endearing, handmade feel that hinted at the effort put into it. A pastel-colored ribbon tied into a neat bow decorated the top with its ends curled. The ribbon was dotted with small, glittering stars, adding a touch of sparkle whenever it would catch the light.

Curious, you took it out and opened it, your eyes widening at the sight of the snacks inside—which were just as thoughtfully arranged. Tissue paper in complementary pastel hues cradled the snacks that seem to follow a pattern of being yours and Yeosang’s favorites, along with the other half being a new addition, each sheet carefully fluffed to provide a soft bed for the treats.

Examining the box once more in hopes of finding a clue of who it could be from, you checked the lid, spotting a black, cat-shaped sticky note attached to it, the edges carefully cut to resemble pointed ears, and a cheerful cat face drawn with exaggerated features, large eyes, and a tiny, upturned mouth. The sticky note bore a handwritten message: “What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.” At the very bottom of the note was a poorly drawn ocean waving to the beach with a smile. From their hiding spot, Wooyoung watched intently, his heart pounding in anticipation. When he saw your lips curl up ever so slightly at the cheesy pick-up line, his eyes widened in surprise and delight.

“Did you see that?” he whispered excitedly, a bit too loudly. “She smiled. She actually smiled!” San raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I have eyes, you know. You’re acting like it’s the first time she’s ever smiled.”

Wooyoung turned to San, his expression almost giddy. “That’s because it is! Well, at least the first time because of me. She never smiles, San. Never. And I made her smile!”

San chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re really smitten, aren’t you?" Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. “Smitten? No way. I’m just... happy I made her smile. That’s all.”

San smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re totally smitten, dude.” Wooyoung glared at San. “I’m not. Have you ever heard of this thing called trying to be nice?”

San rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep living in denial. But just so you know, this whole ‘trying to be nice’ thing? It’s a classic symptom of being smitten.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, determined to stick to his story. “I’m not in denial because there’s nothing to deny. I’m just doing a good deed.”

San shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. But if this is how you’re going to act every time she smiles, you might as well get used to it. You’ll have to come up with something bigger next time.”

As you walked back to the office with the box of snacks, Wooyoung watched you go, a satisfied smile on his face. San clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement. “Denial or not, you’re totally whipped.”

Wooyoung ignored him, still basking in the small victory of making you smile. “Let’s just get back to class.” San laughed, but he didn’t push the matter further, deciding to let Wooyoung come to terms with his feelings in his own time. “Sure thing, Romeo.”

Entering the office, you find only Karina there, humming softly as she arranged some newly made decorations. The office is a bit cluttered, with props and decor for the festival neatly stacked and stored to avoid any damage. Everyone else has already headed to their respective classes, but your professor had announced in your group chat that he would be late today, so you weren’t in any rush.

Karina looked up as you walked in, her eyes immediately catching sight of the brightly decorated box in your hands. “Hey there,” she greeted with a smile. “Didn’t know you had a lovergirl spirit in you.”

You felt your cheeks warm up at her comment but let your shoulders relax after hearing her voice, feeling at ease with her presence. Over the days you’ve spent making preparations for the festival alongside the student council members, you’ve found yourself to grow fond of her—and so did she with both you and Yeosang. “It’s not like that,” you say, placing the box on a nearby table. “I don’t even know who the box is from.”

This piqued her interest, and she stopped what she’s doing to give you her full attention. “Really? A secret admirer, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. You shrugged, feeling a bit curious yourself. “I wouldn’t say that... There wasn’t any name on it, just a note.”

Karina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Well, why don’t you take a look through the box? Maybe there are some clues inside.” You glance at the box, then back at Karina. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

With that, she walked over, peeking into the box as you opened it again. The snacks and little trinkets inside are arranged with such care that it gives you a strange, warm feeling. Karina lets out a low whistle. “Wow, someone went all out. This looks really thoughtful.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit stunned by the whole thing. “Yeah, it does.”

Karina picked up one of the snacks, examining it. “Half of these are your favorites, right? And some of Yeosang’s, too. Whoever did this knows you pretty well.” You found yourself agreeing with her, thinking about the effort put into the box. “I guess so…”

Karina placed the snack back into the box, pinching your cheek lightly. “Well, good luck figuring out your secret admirer. I’ve got to head to class now.”

“Thanks,” you said, waving her off as she left the office. “See you later.”

As she walked out, you couldn’t help but feel a little more curious about who could have gone through so much trouble to put this together—and who else other than Yeosang could have known you well enough to pick just the right snacks to put inside the box.

On the other side of the building sat Wooyoung and San in their respective seats at sociology class—but today, there was something unusual, and that would be nothing other than Wooyoung seeming to be more smiley and eager to learn than usual. Even their professor, who is used to Wooyoung’s occasional inattentiveness, couldn’t help but notice the change in his demeanor, though he silently hopes it will last.

San, sitting beside Wooyoung, nudged him, whispering, “What’s with you today? You seem more cheerful than usual.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, brushing him off. “Can’t a guy have a good day without it being a big deal?” San smirked, “Woah, chill out. Well, whatever you say.”

San was about to leave him alone, but Wooyoung's anxious voice caught his attention. “San… What if she didn’t like the surprise?” Wooyoung whispered, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by genuine worry. “What if the only thing that made her smile was that lame dad joke I wrote on the cat-shaped sticky note?” San huffed, shaking his head. “Oh, and here I thought you weren’t whipped for her.”

“I’m not!” Wooyoung insisted, his eyes wide. “I’m just worried she wouldn’t like it.”

“So... whipped?”

“No!”

Their professor shushed them from the front of the class, giving them a stern look. They both fell silent for a moment, but San leaned in again, this time with a reassuring tone. “Look, you saw her smile, right? That’s a big deal. Trust me, she liked it. You put a lot of thought into it.”

Wooyoung fidgeted with his pen with an ink halfway drained, still uncertain. “But how do you know?”

San rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Because, my guy, no one smiles at a lame dad joke if they’re not already in a good mood. Plus, you bought all her favorite snacks. She probably loved it. Stop worrying so much.” Wooyoung sighed and leaned back on his seat, nodding slightly. “Alright, alright, yeah, that makes sense. I just hope you’re right.”

San patted him on the back. “I always am. Now pay attention to the board before the professor kicks you out.” Wooyoung laughed softly, feeling a bit more at ease. The class went by smoothly, yet his worries about what you thought of his present kept lingering in his thoughts. He could only hope San was right.

Time seems to be passing by quicker than usual this week, as you didn’t even notice it was already lunch break—at least until you were the very last person inside your classroom. You headed towards the cafeteria, but as you reached its entrance all by yourself. you were quick to feel out of place in the room. The noise and chatter around you amplify your sense of isolation, only further highlighting Yeosang’s absence. Seeking a quieter atmosphere, you headed to the field, bringing along some snacks from the mysterious box you found in your locker earlier. You still don’t know who the box is from, but the treats inside are a comfort, nevertheless.

The field is expansive and mostly empty, the grass a vibrant green under the midday sun. It’s a stark contrast to the crowded cafeteria, offering a sense of peace. You spot Wooyoung all by himself, kicking a football around with casual ease. It’s been a while since you last came here, given how busy you’ve been with the festival preparations, leaving little room for free time.

Wooyoung immediately notices your presence, his eyes darting to the strawberry Pocky and can of soda you’re holding—his personal favorites that he added to the box of snacks for you. The sight of you holding them makes him blush slightly, realizing it’s what you chose to bring with you. You wave slightly at Wooyoung, who enthusiastically waves back with both hands before sprinting over to you by the bleachers. His usual playful grin is in place, and his energy is infectious. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see at the field,” he greets enthusiastically.

“Hi,” you respond calmly. “Yeah, it has been a while. Sorry, I’ve been really busy these days.”

Wooyoung brushes off your apology with a smile, shaking his head. “What? No, you don’t need to apologize for that. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Have you been getting any rest?” You shake your head, a bit sheepishly. “Well… not really. But I did find a mysterious box filled with snacks in my locker earlier.”

“Oh?” Wooyoung feigns surprise, eyebrows raised. “What was in it?” You describe the decorations on the box in detail—the vibrant colors, the playful stickers, and the cat-shaped sticky note with a joke written on it. “It said, ‘What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.’”

Wooyoung pretends to scoff, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Dad jokes? Really? Who even makes those these days?” You chuckle softly. “I thought it was lame at first, too. But somehow, it was so unfunny it became funny. It cheered me up.”

“Well, at least it lifted your spirit. That’s all that matters,” Wooyoung says, smiling. “You deserve something like that.”

“You think so?” you ask, tilting your head, your curiosity piqued by his sincerity.

“I know so.”

You look at him, a bit curious. “What about you?” Wooyoung tilts his head, confused for a moment, pushing you to elaborate. “Um, you know, championships. Have you been getting any rest lately?”

“Oh, right. Not really. That’s actually why I’m here playing around in the field to unwind a bit. Gotta have some fun before diving back into practice, you know,” he shrugged. “That’s good,” you nod approvingly. “But don’t overwork yourself. Overexertion can lead to muscle fatigue, reduced immune function, and overall physical burnout.”

Wooyoung laughs, a carefree sound that contrasts with your concern. “I have no idea what you just said, so I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.” You shake your head in amusement. “I really mean it. You deserve some time to yourself. Speaking of, are you and the team planning to attend the festival?”

“Of course!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That’s great,” you say. “You should use it as a way to unwind and take a break.” Wooyoung pauses, then asks, “Are you planning to spend the festival with someone?”

You take a moment to reflect on the question. You mull over who you could spend it with, immediately thinking of Yeosang. However, a feeling tugs at you that maybe he should spend the festival doing something he enjoys independently, not always sticking by your side. He needs to “go out there,” too. But then, who else would you spend the festival with? The thought leaves you feeling a bit uncertain.

“I was thinking of spending it with Yeosang,” you finally say. “It’s kind of our default. But I also want him to go out on his own this time. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

Wooyoung’s heart races, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He doesn’t know why his immediate thought was to invite you to spend the festival with him, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “You could spend the festival with me and the football team.” You turn your head towards him, confused, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Clearing his throat and trying to seem more relaxed, Wooyoung repeats himself, “I mean, you could spend it with us. You know, the football team.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, but wouldn’t they mind?” Wooyoung shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “They don’t have the right to complain. But seriously, they wouldn’t mind at all. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

“You think so?” you ask, still a bit unsure.

“I know so,” Wooyoung says, then elaborates. “You’ve got this calm and quiet vibe, but at the same time, you’re also really cool. I think it would be good to have someone like you around. They’ll appreciate your presence—even if we tend to be rowdy at times. Plus, you’ve got this way of making people feel at ease. I’ve seen it.” You tilt your head, still a bit unsure. “You think they’ll really like me?”

“I know they will,” he says, his tone firm. “And besides, I’ll be there with and for you.” You blink, slightly taken aback. “What?”

He clears his throat again, trying to play it off casually. “I mean, I can serve as the mutual bridge between you and the team, something like that.” You nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

As you both sit on the bleachers, sharing the snacks, the atmosphere feels comfortable. The strawberry Pocky you munch on is sweet, and the soda fizzes pleasantly on your tongue. Wooyoung's presence is warm and easy, making you feel more relaxed than you have in days. It’s a simple moment, but it’s filled with comfort, nevertheless. It’s always the case whenever he’s around, anyway.

—

It’s now the day before the festival, and the campus is buzzing with activity. Members of the journalism club and student council are busier than usual, working tirelessly to ensure everything is perfect for tomorrow. The festival is on Sunday, so the first day of the weekend is dedicated to decorating the entire campus, setting up props, booths, the stage, and various other attractions. Everyone has been here since early morning, and the atmosphere is charged with a mix of both excitement for the day to come and exhaustion due to the amount of workload.

By afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, heating up the world like a large candle lit aflame. While Yeosang is busy hanging decorations inside the building, you are assigned to work on the decorations at the campus grounds, so you were both separated for the day. The heat is intense, and you can feel dehydration setting in as you continue working under the blazing sun.

Today, Minjae is also assigned to the campus grounds decorations. As he sees you struggling in the heat, he hesitantly approaches with a cold water bottle in hand. “Um, hey,” he says, extending the water bottle toward you. His demeanor is a mix of guilt and awkwardness, and you could tell from the way he couldn’t even look you straight in the eye.

You’re a little caught off guard at first—after all, you’re still not quite used to the change that occurred within him despite being grateful for it, but then accept the water, offering him your gratitude. “Thanks, Minjae.” He brushes you off, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he still feels bad about his past words and for slacking off in his duties. Seeing his discomfort, you decide to address it directly. “You know, I can tell you still feel guilty about what happened back in the office.”

He looks down, shuffling his feet on the ground as the friction between the soles of his shoes and the grass create a crispy sound. “Yeah, I... I’m still really sorry about that. I was out of line. And I know it’s pathetic how I’m the one who did you wrong yet I can’t even be around you without acting awkward. I’m doing my best not to, but I just—”

You cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Minjae, there’s no point in mulling over something that already happened. I’ve moved on from what you said, and so should you. I’ve seen you working hard lately, and that’s what matters now. Rather than focusing on your past mistakes, focus on continuing your growth. There’s no need to act awkward around me, alright? I’ve already forgiven you and I only wish you the best, and I have enough faith in you to trust you won’t do such a thing again.”

Minjae’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can see he’s genuinely touched by your words. Wanting to lighten the mood, you pull out the voodoo doll keychain Yeosang gave you that you still haven’t returned. “Here,” you say, handing it to Minjae. He looks at the doll, confused and mildly horrified by its weird-looking face. “Uh… what’s this?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeosang gave it to me that day in the office after you said those things, so that I wouldn’t feel alone. It’s kind of like a good luck charm. It only makes sense to pass it on to you now.” Minjae still looks a bit horrified, but the oddity of the doll distracts him from his tears. “Thanks... I think?”

You ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t stress it out, okay? Go back to work. We’ve got a festival to prepare for.” He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he pockets the doll and heads back to his tasks. You watch him for a moment, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s a small gesture, but you hope it helps him move forward.

The rest of the day progresses smoothly, with everyone enjoying the festive atmosphere of decorating despite their growing fatigue. The sun finally sets, casting a warm glow over the campus, now transformed with vibrant decorations and beautiful setups. Members of the student council and the journalism club gather to admire their collective effort. High-fives are exchanged, and congratulations abound. Karina steps forward, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “Before we all head home, I just want to thank everyone for all their hard work—especially the journalism club for lending us a hand. None of this would have been possible without you guys.”

A chorus of agreements and mutual thanks echoes through the group. They all wish each other well, hoping tomorrow’s festival will be a resounding success, before heading home for a well-deserved rest.

As you and Yeosang walk home together after bidding Karina farewell, the streets quiet under the evening sky, Yeosang turns to you. “So, what are our plans for this year’s festival?” You smile slightly and correct him, “My and your plans.” He stops in his tracks, confused. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You can’t possibly spend every festival with me when there are so many people wanting to hang out with you,” you explain. "I mean, come on, you're Yeosang."

He frowns, shaking his head. “But you’re more fun to hang out with.” You shoot him a playful, confused look. “Me? More fun? I’m widely known to be calm and composed—the top traits of a plain person, mind you. How is that fun?”

“You’re nowhere near plain. Plus, I just prefer your company,” he says simply.

You nod, understanding his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Yeosang, but you need to go out there, you know? Spend time with other people, meet new people.” Yeosang hesitates, his concern for you evident. “But what about you?"

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “You don’t need to worry about me all the time.” Reluctantly, he agrees. “Okay, but who are you planning to spend the festival with?”

“Well, Wooyoung invited me a few days ago,” You say, almost offhandedly. Yeosang isn’t surprised, and is just simply amused. “You’ve been bringing Wooyoung up a lot these days.”

You brush him off. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends, though?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitate, searching for the right words. You’re not sure what kind of connection you and Wooyoung have. The dynamic is confusing, but one thing is clear—you enjoy his company. “You know, you’ve been smiling a little more lately,” Yeosang speaks up, breaking the short-lived silence.

You furrow your brow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He elaborates, “I mean, it’s not like you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear, but there’s this lightness about you. Your eyes crinkle just a bit more when you’re talking. You seem less... guarded. Like the walls you put up are starting to come down, slowly but surely.” You feel a slight flush creep up your cheeks as Yeosang continues. “I think Wooyoung has something to do with it. Ever since you two started getting along, you’ve seemed happier.”

“That's ridiculous,” you respond, shaking your head dismissively. Even after saying that, as you continue walking, you find yourself mulling over Yeosang’s words. Were you really smiling more often now? How come you yourself haven’t noticed? And if it’s true, is Wooyoung really the reason? Why so?

—

It's now Sunday morning, and the alarm clock blares at an unusually early hour—8 AM. Despite the grogginess, you quickly remind yourself of today’s importance. The festival may not start until the afternoon, but the journalism club and the student council are expected to be on campus earlier than everyone else to ensure everything is perfectly set up.

Last night, Karina had insisted that you treat today as a special occasion. She urged you to take your time getting ready, to pamper yourself and dress up a bit. Initially, the idea had made you blush, but Karina had promised she’d be dressing up too so that you wouldn’t feel out of place. Determined to follow her advice, you dive into your closet, fingers sifting through hangers of clothes. After a good amount of deliberation, you finally settle on a cute, yet comfortable outfit—a floral sundress paired with a light cardigan and your favorite sandals. You snap a quick picture and send it to Karina. Her response is immediate and enthusiastic: “You’d look drop-dead gorgeous in that! 😍” She follows your message with a picture of her own outfit, equally stylish and encouraging.

Feeling a bit more confident, you head to the bathroom for a shower. As the hot water washes over you, your mind starts to wander. The realization that you won’t be spending the festival with Yeosang this year, but with Wooyoung and the football team instead, makes your stomach churn with nerves. What if they don’t like you? What if you come off as too quiet or awkward? The thoughts swirl, creating a knot of anxiety in your chest. But then, you remember Wooyoung’s reassuring words. His voice echoes in your mind, calming your fears. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale, allowing the tension to melt away. You wonder if Wooyoung is already up, preparing for the day with the same mix of excitement and nervousness that you feel.

After drying off, you sit in your vanity to fix your hair and apply a bit of makeup. You go for a natural look, just enough to enhance your features without feeling overdone. As you carefully apply your products on, you think about how different today will be. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you check your outfit in the mirror one last time, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your phone, you shoot a quick text to Yeosang: “Hey, I’ll meet you at the corner near my apartment in 15 minutes. Does that sound good?”

Even though you won’t be spending the festival together, you’ll be heading to campus together since both of you are part of the early setup crew. Yeosang replies almost immediately, confirming he’ll be there. You gather your bag to double-check if you have everything you need for the day, and head out the door. The morning air is cool, a slight breeze rustling the leaves. Reaching the corner, you see Yeosang waiting for you, a relaxed smile on his face. “Ready for the big day?” he asks. You shrug, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. “I hope.”

When you and Yeosang arrive on campus, the air is filled with liveliness and the promise of a worthwhile day ahead. The two of you head straight to the student council office where everyone has already gathered, the room filled with chatter and last-minute preparations. Karina, as always, is at the center of the activity, efficiently coordinating the final details.

She calls everyone to order, and the room falls silent. A quick run-through of the day’s schedule ensues, with each member confirming their responsibilities and ensuring everything is ready. Once satisfied that everything is in place, the group disperses to make final checks on the decorations scattered around the campus. As everyone moves out, Karina immediately makes a beeline for you, her eyes lighting up when she sees your outfit. “Look at you, Miss Universe!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You blush, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Thanks. It feels a bit awkward to dress up for a school event, though,” you admit, glancing down at your dress. "But you look gorgeous, too,” you said, admiring her appearance. Karina waves off your compliment with a playful smile. “Oh, stop it. But seriously, you’re stunning. I swear, you’re going to be the star of today. By the end of the festival, you’ll have a line of admirers at your feet.”

Her mention of admirers makes you think of the mysterious box from your locker, and Karina seems to read your thoughts. “Speaking of admirers, have you figured out who left you that box yet?”

You shake your head. “No, I still don’t have a single clue.” Karina gives you a knowing look. “Well, they better show themselves today—you can never go wrong with revealing your identity to your crush during a festival.”

You rub the back of your neck, brushing off her teasing. “We’ll see about that.” Karina laughs, giving you a light shove. “Oh, come on! It's bound to happen. Anyway, let’s check on the decorations outside before things get too hectic.”

You nod, grateful for her company and support. Together, you walk through the campus, making sure the decorations are still in place. The morning sun is already climbing higher, promising a warm day ahead. The banners, streamers, and various booths look vibrant and inviting, a testament to all the hard work everyone put in. As you move from one area to another, Karina continues to chat animatedly, her excitement infectious. She points out little details, praises everyone’s efforts, and occasionally teases you about your mystery admirer. Despite your initial nerves, you start to feel more at ease, caught up in the anticipation of the festival and the presence of your friends.

“Look at how well the streamers turned out!” Karina exclaims, pointing to the colorful decorations swaying gently in the breeze. “Everyone did such an amazing job.” You nod, admiring the handiwork. “Yeah, it looks really good. The campus feels so vibrant.”

Karina grins and nudges you playfully. “And speaking of vibrant, you’re positively glowing today. I think your admirer might just faint when they see you.” You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, absolutely not,” she laughs. “I’m fully invested in this mystery now. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know who has a crush on our gorgeous star reporter?” You shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

Karina points to a nearby booth, changing the subject slightly. “Oh, look at the detail on that sign. It’s perfect. And the balloons—they add such a fun touch.” You follow her gaze, appreciating the effort everyone has put into the preparations. “Yeah, it all came together really well. I’m excited to see how it looks when the festival starts.”

The two of you continue to check on the decorations, and as you move through the campus, you start to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that you’ve played a part in creating this beautiful, festive atmosphere. The exhaustion has definitely proved itself to be worth it.

The afternoon arrives, and the campus begins to buzz with life. Students, faculty, and even alumni trickle in, filling the grounds with a lively atmosphere. By the gates, Yeosang and a student council member greet everyone warmly, their cheerful voices carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd. From afar, you stand amidst the school grounds, your eyes scanning the growing throng for any sign of Wooyoung and his team. Nervous energy builds in your chest, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Your phone buzzes with a notification, pulling you from your thoughts. It's a message from Hongjoong. As you read it, you can’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement: “We’ll be a little late because Mingi overslept and is only halfway done with preparing now. Sorry to keep you waiting. - Wooyoung 😺” The cat emoji at the end of the message brings a soft smile to your face.

A few minutes later, another message arrives, again from Hongjoong’s phone, saying they’re on their way. The nervousness in your stomach intensifies, and you decide to make a run to the bathroom to check your appearance. Socializing with big groups isn't your strong suit, and the thought of spending the day with Wooyoung and his team has you on edge.

In the bathroom, you adjust your hair, making sure every strand is in place. You touch up your makeup, ensuring everything looks perfect. As you scrutinize your reflection, your phone dings again. Another text from Hongjoong’s number: “We’re at the gates.” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. With one last glance in the mirror, you exhale, trying to muster confidence and calm your nerves at the same time. As you step out of the bathroom and make your way toward the gates, your heart pounds in your chest.

As Wooyoung and his team make their way through the crowd, Jongho glances at Wooyoung and smirks. “This is the first time I’ve seen you put so much effort into your appearance for the festival,” he says loudly, drawing everyone's attention. “Yeah, what's the deal, Woo?” San joins in, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Trying to impress a certain someone?”

"Ridiculous," Wooyoung rolls his eyes, trying to mask his embarrassment with annoyance. “I just felt like looking good today, okay?"

“Alright, you all better at least try to act like decent human beings for once—and that means zero teasing for today. We don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable,” Hongjoong says, immediately shutting San up. Wooyoung nods, grateful for Hongjoong’s intervention. “Especially you guys,” he says, pointing at Mingi and San, who both look at him with an offended expression. Jongho looks around, trying to spot you. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung replies. “But I’m pretty sure she read the message I sent through Hongjoong’s phone already, so she’s probably on her way.” Seonghwa suddenly perks up, pointing towards a figure in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that her?”

Wooyoung follows Seonghwa's gaze, and the moment he sees you, it feels as if time stops. He’s in a trance, completely unaware of everything else happening. The world fades, and all he can see is you, even amidst the crowd you’re surrounded with. San, noticing Wooyoung’s reaction, nudges him. “Snap out of it, lover boy,” he teases. Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. He calls out your name, his loud voice easily spreading across the noise of the festival. “Over here!”

You hear him and wave, making your way over to the group. As you walk up to Wooyoung and his friends, you shyly greet them, and their energetic response feels like a stark contrast to your quieter demeanor. Somehow, Wooyoung is the only one who awkwardly says hi back. “The decorations look so cool,” Yunho compliments, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You and the others did a great job.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, feeling a little flustered. I agree. It was definitely worth all the restless days we went through.”

Yunho continues, “So, what do you guys have in store for today?”

“Well, you’ll find out later,” you respond vaguely. “But for now, you’re free to enjoy the various booths and attractions all around.” As you start walking around, you find yourself in front with Wooyoung, while the rest of the group trails behind on purpose. “Your friends have talked more than you so far,” you mention, glancing at Wooyoung. He awkwardly chuckles, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want to say something?” you ask, sensing that he might. Wooyoung hesitates for a moment before shyly whispering, “You look beautiful.”

“What?” you ask, not quite catching his words. A little flustered, Wooyoung blurts out, “You look beautiful.” The guys hear this but resist the urge to tease or react. You blush in return, “Thank you. You look good too, Wooyoung.”

As you pass by a large backdrop designed for festival photos, you look back at the group. “Do you guys want me to take a picture of you here?” you offer, holding up your DSLR camera, the strap slung around your neck.

“Yeah, sure!” Seonghwa says enthusiastically.

You take pictures as they strike silly poses, making you smile—a sight that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s notice. After showing them the photos on the DSLR’s screen, Hongjoong suggests, “How about we get a picture of you and Wooyoung too?” Both you and Wooyoung are caught off guard, but everyone else agrees eagerly. Eventually giving in, you hand the camera to Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk to the backdrop, unsure of how to pose. “Make a heart,” San suggests, grinning mischievously.

“Heart...?” you ask, flustered.

Yunho and Mingi demonstrate, forming a heart shape with their arms. You look at Wooyoung, who is already looking at you. Both of you look away quickly, then awkwardly position yourselves to form a heart shape together. The rest of the group then resists the urge to scream and holler like teenage girls, save for Mingi who starts hitting Yunho’s shoulder continuously. “Smile!” Hongjoong calls out, but you struggle to smile on command. Noticing your discomfort, Wooyoung leans in and whispers a lame joke in your ear. The unexpected humor makes you let out a short, breathy laugh, and Hongjoong times the shutter of the camera perfectly, capturing the moment. Hongjoong shows you and Wooyoung the photo. When he sees the genuine smile on your face—for the very first time—Wooyoung can't help but smile as well.

The day passes by in a blur of laughter and activities. You visit different booths, play games, and try various foods. Despite the occasional teasing from the group that you don’t quite understand, the atmosphere is light and fun nevertheless. Mingi wins a giant stuffed animal at one booth and insists on carrying it around, much to everyone’s amusement. At another booth, San tries his hand at a strength tester and dramatically fails, causing a chorus of laughter. Every now and then, Wooyoung and you found yourselves in oddly heartwarming moments. Once, you both reached for the same snack at the food stall, your hands brushing against each other. Wooyoung quickly pulled back, a shy smile on his face, “Uh, you go first.”

As the sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of blue, Hongjoong suggests, “Hey, how about we take another picture of you two?” You agree, and Hongjoong takes the DSLR from you. You and Wooyoung pose again, this time feeling more relaxed. After the photo, you forget to take the camera back from Hongjoong, who happily holds onto it.

Night falls, and the festival takes on a magical glow with lights and lanterns everywhere. You realize it’s now time for the surprise event. With excitement bubbling inside you, you turn to Wooyoung and the rest, “Follow me! I have something to show you.” In your enthusiasm, you grab Wooyoung's hand without realizing it and lead the group through the crowd. San, being the first to notice it, ushers Hongjoong to sneakily take a picture of you holding hands.

You lead them to an open area where lanterns are set up, ready to be released into the sky. “Everyone gets to write their wishes on the lanterns before letting them fly up,” you explain, beaming. Everyone else eagerly rushed to get their lanterns, leaving you and Wooyoung standing together. It’s only when you reach for a lantern that you realize you’re still holding his hand. You both awkwardly let go, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Wooyoung grabs a marker and starts writing on his lantern. Curious, you peek over and read his wish, and beside your name, he wrote: “I wish for her happiness.” You chuckle, “You’re supposed to make a wish for yourself.” Wooyoung shrugs, a sincere look in his eyes. “My point still stands.”

Touched, you immediately write on your lantern as well: “I wish Wooyoung luck for the championships.”

“Thought we were supposed to make wishes for ourselves?” Wooyoung echoed your words from earlier, playfully raising an eyebrow—just so you wouldn’t notice the light red hue on his cheeks. Together, you and Wooyoung release your lanterns into the air. As they float upwards, you both look at each other and share a smile. Nearby, Hongjoong captures the moment with a photo.

As you watch your lanterns drift higher, you come to a sudden realization: Wooyoung’s handwriting matches the one on the sticky note from the box. You choose not to bring it up, letting the moment linger. When the night deepens, the festival then starts to reach its crescendo with a fireworks display. The air is filled with anticipation as everyone gathers in the open fields, eyes glued to the dark sky above. Wooyoung nudges you gently, “Come on, I know a spot where we can watch the fireworks without the crowd.”

You follow him, weaving through the throngs of students and faculty. He leads you to a secluded area on the edge of the campus, where the noise of the crowd fades, and the view of the sky is unobstructed. The space feels intimate, almost like it was made for just the two of you. As you both settle in, the first firework bursts into the sky, painting it with vibrant colors. You watch in awe, the sight pulling you into a reflective state. You sigh softly, feeling a mix of contentment and nostalgia. “You know, today has been amazing. It’s been so long since I felt like... like I’m actually someone outside of my responsibilities. Today, I felt free.”

Wooyoung listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His heartwarming smile is constant, encouraging you to continue.

“I’ve been so caught up with the journalism club and everything else that I forgot what it feels like to just have fun. To be part of something without the pressure of expectations. And today... you made me feel that again.” A particularly loud and colorful firework explodes overhead, but neither of you look away from each other.

Wooyoung’s smile grows softer, more affectionate. “I”m glad you had fun. You deserve to feel this way more often.” You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung. For everything. For inviting me, for making me feel welcome. For... just being you.” He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand. “Anytime. Really.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. Each burst of color seems to reflect the emotions swelling in your heart—joy, relief, and something new, something deeper that you can’t quite name. As the grand finale of the fireworks display starts, you find yourself leaning a little closer to Wooyoung. He doesn’t move away, instead, his thumb softly strokes the back of your hand. In that moment, surrounded by the dazzling lights and the warmth of his presence, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and hope for what the future might hold. When the last firework fades and the sky returns to its star-studded calm, you turn to Wooyoung one last time. “Today was unforgettable.”

He looks at you, eyes full of sincerity. “It really was.”

—

The following morning, you woke up with the sun, the events of the festival still fresh in your mind. The day had been magical, filled with laughter and moments that made you feel alive. It wasn't until you started getting ready for school that the realization hit you—you had completely forgotten to cover the event.

Panic set in as you frantically checked your camera. The memory card was filled with photos of you, Wooyoung, the football team, and various candid shots likely taken by Hongjoong. There were no pictures of the important moments, the highlights that were meant for the article. Guilt gnawed at you as you hurried to school, the weight of your mistake heavy on your shoulders. Entering Mr. Kim’s office, he looked up from his desk as you walked in. “Morning,” he greeted curtly. “Let’s see what you got from the festival.” Swallowing hard, you approached his desk. “I… I’m really sorry, Mr. Kim,” you began, your voice trembling. “I didn’t manage to cover the event properly.”

Mr. Kim’s face darkened immediately. “What do you mean you didn’t cover it?” he asked sharply. You took a deep breath, preparing to explain yourself. “I got distracted. I... I didn’t take the necessary photos for the article.”

“Distracted?” he repeated, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how important this was? This was your responsibility! This was your chance to prove yourself, and you blew it!”

“I’m really sorry,” you said again, fear evident in your voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” he snapped, his face flushed with anger. “Do you realize the consequences of your negligence? We have deadlines! We have standards! And you... you chose to shirk your duties for what? A bit of fun?” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. “I… yes. I messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve let everyone down,” he continued ruthlessly. “You’ve let me down. You’ve let the whole publication down. We trusted you with this responsibility, and you proved that you can’t handle it. You’re a disappointment.” Each word was like a blow, and you felt yourself shrinking under his tirade. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, feeling utterly defeated. Mr. Kim’s voice was cold and sharp. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re out of the publication. Pack your things and get out of here.”

Numbly, you gathered your belongings, shoving them into the box that had once held the snacks from Wooyoung. You kept your head down, avoiding Mr. Kim’s gaze as you left the office, your chest tight with shame and regret. You quickly placed the box in your locker, then spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. You couldn’t face Yeosang, Karina, and especially Wooyoung. Not now. When you finally got home, the tears you had been holding back all day spilled over. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching the camera that held the memories of the festival. As you scrolled through the pictures, your sobs grew louder. The happiness you had felt seemed like a distant dream now, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt and failure. Unable to bear the loneliness, you called Yeosang. He arrived quickly, his face etched with worry as he took in your tear-streaked face. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with concern all the same.

Between sobs, you explained everything. “I forgot to take the pictures... Mr. Kim kicked me out... I messed up, Yeosang. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang’s expression hardened, but his touch was soft as he hugged you. “Hey, don’t say that. None of this is your fault,” he said firmly. “Mr. Kim is an idiot for not seeing how hard you work.”

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “It is my fault. let myself be happy for once, and this is what happens. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang held you tighter, his own heart breaking at your pain. “You deserve to be happy. It’s not wrong to enjoy yourself.”

“But I neglected my duties,” you argued, pulling away slightly to look at him. “I failed, Yeo. I failed everyone. I let myself down.”

"No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You work harder than anyone else. You put everything into this job, and you deserve a break. You deserve to be happy. Mr. Kim is wrong. He’s wrong to treat you like this.” You shook your head again, the tears flowing freely. “I can’t believe that. I can’t.”

“Please,” Yeosang pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. “Please believe me. You are not a failure. You are not a disappointment. You are amazing, and you deserve so much more than this.”

But you couldn't hear him. The words of Mr. Kim echoed in your mind, drowning out Yeosang's reassurances. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He held you close as he whispered soothing words, trying to comfort you even though you refused to accept his validation.

The next day at school, Minjae noticed your absence from the office. Confused, he approached Yeosang, who was sitting alone at one of the desks, still fuming from what happened yesterday.

“Hey, where is she?” Minjae asked, frowning. Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mr. Kim kicked her out. She... she forgot to cover the event, and he went off on her. It was brutal, Minjae. He said things—awful things. Called her a disappointment, said she didn’t deserve to be here.”

Minjae’s eyes widened in shock and then eventually narrowed in fury. “He said that? Are you serious?” Yeosang nodded. “Every word. It was like he didn’t care at all about how much she’s done for him and us as well.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. “This is bullshit. She’s the reason this publication runs smoothly! She does more for this place than he ever has.” Without another word, Minjae stormed off to Mr. Kim’s office. Yeosang didn’t even try to stop him, knowing whatever Minjae was about to do to Mr. Kim, it would be well-deserved.

Minjae stormed into Mr. Kim’s office, his fury palpable. The door slammed against the wall, causing Mr. Kim to look up in shock. The typically composed Minjae was anything but calm, his eyes lit with anger.

“How could you do this to her?” Minjae yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. “How could you treat her like this after everything she’s done for this publication?” Mr. Kim looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice cold.

“You heard me, you old hag,” Minjae said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the reason this publication is what it is. She’s been overworked and underappreciated, and the one time she takes a break, you punish her? How dare you!”

Mr. Kim’s jaw tightens in annoyance. “This is not your concern, Minjae.”

“Not my concern?” Minjae echoed, his voice rising. “You’ve got some nerve. Kicking her out is the worst decision you could make. She acts more like an advisor than you ever have. Without her, this publication will fall apart.” Mr. Kim stood up, trying to assert his authority to get the upper hand. “That’s enough. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Minjae shot back. “Without her, you wouldn’t have a clean image. People wouldn’t praise you and your publication. You don’t deserve any of the credit she’s brought to this place.”

“You’re out of line,” Mr. Kim said coldly, brows nearly touching one another. “And you’re out of your mind if you think this place will survive without her,” Minjae retorted. “She’s been carrying this publication on her back, and you have the audacity to call her a disappointment? She’s worth more than you ever will be.” Mr. Kim’s expression faltered slightly, but he tried to regain control. “This is not up for discussion.”

“It better be,” Minjae said, his voice deadly calm. “Because if you don't take her back, I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of person you really are. I’ll expose every filthy secret you’re hiding. Do you understand me?” Mr. Kim’s face turned pale, struggling to find the right words to shoot back for a fleeting second—he wouldn’t dare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Minjae said. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve managed to hide your true nature behind a facade of competence and authority? Well, I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough. You have no idea how much we know about you. All those late submissions you blamed on us? We know they were because you were out of the office, drinking away your evenings instead of doing your job. Those articles you claimed credit for? Everyone knows it was her who wrote them, who polished them until they shined. Without her, you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Mr. Kim tried to interject, but Minjae was on a roll, his voice growing louder with each word. “Do you remember the budget issues last year? The ones you blamed on a miscalculation? We all know you skimmed off the top for your little ‘business trips.’ You’ve been siphoning funds meant for student activities for your own use. How long do you think it will take before the administration finds out? Before the parents find out?”

“You have no proof,” Mr. Kim said, but his voice trembled slightly. He was losing, and Minjae loved seeing him crumble down.

Minjae leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Proof? I don’t need proof to start talking. Once people start asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before everything unravels. Take her back, or I’ll make sure you never work in education again. I’ll drag your name through the mud until there’s nothing left of your precious reputation.” Mr. Kim stared at Minjae, realizing the seriousness of his threat. He knew Minjae wasn’t bluffing. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll consider it.”

“Consider it?” Minjae echoed, incredulous. “You better do more than that. You better make it happen, or I swear, I’ll make your life a living hell. She deserves better than this, and if you can’t see that, you don't deserve to be in this position.”

—

You’ve been absent for days now. The weight of your mistake at the festival sits heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t bring yourself to show up at school. The festival was one of the most important events of the year, and you let yourself be selfish enough to prioritize your happiness instead of doing your job. The guilt gnaws at you, making you feel like a disappointment. You can’t face anyone—especially Minjae. After reconciling with him, you’ve heard from others that he always talks about you being his role model and how you played a huge part in his development. The thought of showing your face to the junior who looks up to you after making such a big, disappointing mistake feels pathetic.

Karina has also noticed your absence and questioned Yeosang about it when she crossed paths with him in the halls. Yeosang, respecting your trust, explained the situation but asked Karina to keep it confidential. The way Karina sees Mr. Kim has drastically changed, but as much as she wants to take action against him, she respects your request to stay silent. Instead, she checks up on you, trying to provide the support you need.

One day in the middle of the week, you and Yeosang are hanging out together in your apartment. You find yourself checking the photos on your DSLR again, and your chest tightens after coming across the candid photo of you and Wooyoung releasing your lanterns up in the night sky. You didn’t know genuine happiness would come at such a huge cost. Yeosang notices your distress and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, struggling to hold back tears. “If Wooyoung asks you about my absences, please don’t tell him anything.” Yeosang looks confused. “What? Why?”

“I can’t afford to mess up again,” you say, your voice void of emotion. “I can’t afford distractions. I need to cut the string connecting me to Wooyoung.” Yeosang hesitates, trying to find another solution. “Are you sure? Maybe there’s another way…”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t want to do it, but it’s what has to be done. If I keep Wooyoung around, who knows what else I’ll mess up? I don’t want him involved in my troubles.”

“But wouldn’t that hurt you?” Yeosang asks softly. “It already is hurting me,” you whisper. “But I have no choice.”

A week has passed since then, and it was now the last week before the championships. The day after the festival, Wooyoung noticed your absence but thought nothing of it at first, assuming you were busy. But as your absences spanned an entire week, he couldn’t help but worry. On Friday last week, he finally asked Yeosang about it.

“Please be patient with her,” Yeosang had said, offering no further explanation. This left Wooyoung confused and anxious. He wasn’t used to the absence of your presence and was increasingly worried about your wellbeing

This week, you finally muster the courage to return to school, but you avoid Wooyoung at all costs. You look sad, as if you’ve gone back to being the girl you once were before he got to know you. Wooyoung keeps trying to approach you, crossing paths with you on purpose and calling you, but you avoid him, even though it hurts you deeply.

Wooyoung has been constantly distracted and unfocused lately, his thoughts consumed by you. He keeps wondering if he did something wrong, if he unintentionally hurt you. During one particular practice round, he zones out and gets hit in the face by the football. Hongjoong decides he’s not in any shape to continue and tells him to take a break. Sitting on the bleachers, Wooyoung is visibly frustrated, his body language tense. The team continues practicing, but Yunho notices Wooyoung’s state. The sight of Wooyoung being unhappy pains him, and he ends up tripping himself on purpose to earn a break and join Wooyoung on the bleachers.

“Hey, you alright?” Yunho asks, sitting beside him. Wooyoung snaps, “Does it look like I am?” Then, realizing his rudeness, he sighs. “Sorry, I’m just stressed.” Yunho waves it off. “It’s all good. What's got you so distracted lately?”

When Wooyoung doesn't answer, Yunho guesses, “Photo girl?” Wooyoung sighs, and this serves as the confirmation Yunho needs. “What happened? I haven’t seen you two together, or even her around lately.”

“I don’t know," Wooyoung admits. “I asked Yeosang, but he just said to be patient with her. She’s been avoiding me, and it reminds me of when she used to hate me. It’s like we’re back to square one.”

“And why do you think that bothers you so much?” Yunho asks gently. “I don’t know why she’s affecting me this way,” Wooyoung says, his frustration evident. “Why I’m so worried about her, why she’s all I can think about. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Yunho looks at him thoughtfully. “Are you two dating?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

Wooyoung looks at him, confused. "What?"

"You only being able to think about her isn’t something that happens just casually to anyone,” Yunho explains. “You’re in love with her. Everyone can see it, but it seems you have no idea.” Wooyoung stares at Yunho, confusion etched on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Yunho sighs, deciding it's time to lay it all out. “Think about it. You’ve been troubled over her absence, worried about her well-being, and sad that she’s avoiding you. That’s not just a concern for a fellow citizen, Woo. It’s more than that. You’ve been affected by everything she does because you care deeply about her, more than just as a friend.”

Wooyoung's brows furrow as he tries to process this. “But... how can you be so sure?” Yunho leans back, trying to find the right words. “Remember when she used to avoid you and us as well? It bothered you then, too, but you were persistent. You wanted to know her, to be close to her. And now, when she finally opened up and let you in, she’s gone again. That emptiness you’re feeling? It’s because you love her, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mind races as he recalls all the moments with you—the laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth he felt whenever you were around. “But if I love her, why didn’t I realize it?”

Yunho shrugs. “Sometimes, we’re too close to the situation to see it clearly. It’s like being in the middle of a storm and not realizing how bad it is until someone points it out. You’ve been so focused on her that you didn’t notice your own feelings.” Wooyoung looks down. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder. "Yeosang told you to be patient with her, right? That means she’s dealing with something, and she needs time. For now, you need to wait until she feels ready to approach you again. When that time comes, you can tell her how you feel.” Wooyoung’s frustration seeps into his voice. “But waiting is driving me insane.”

Yunho chuckles softly. “I know, but sometimes, waiting is all we can do. She’ll come around eventually. You just need to give her the space she needs. In the meantime, focus on being there for her when she’s ready. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, feeling a bit lighter. “I’ll try.”

—

It’s now the day before the championships. As you walk to your first class, you pass by Mr. Kim in the hallway. You intend to greet him quickly and keep your head down, but he stops you. “Come to my office after school,” he says, his tone surprisingly neutral.

You look up, expecting his usual condescending demeanor, but instead, he seems different—awkward, for a lack of a better word. You nod, too puzzled to speak, and watch him walk away. You stand there for a moment, your mind racing with questions. Little did you know, Wooyoung had watched the interaction from afar, his curiosity piqued.

During lunch, you and Yeosang return to your usual spot in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is filled with chatter and laughter, but your table is unusually quiet. You poke at your food, lost in thought, replaying Mr. Kim’s words in your head. The weight of your mistake still lingers within you. Yeosang notices your distant expression. “What’s on your mind?” he asks gently, taking a sip of his drink.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Mr. Kim told me to come to his office after school.” Yeosang raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “Really? What for?” You shrug, feeling a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “I don’t know. It’s just strange. He didn’t seem... angry. Which was odd.”

A thoughtful look crosses Yeosang’s face. “Maybe he’s going to take you back,” he suggests, trying to infuse some optimism into the conversation. You look at him skeptically, your brow furrowing. “Why would he do that after lashing out at me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Yeosang realizes you don’t know about Minjae confronting Mr. Kim. He decides to keep it to himself, not wanting to raise your hopes prematurely. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, who knows? The possibilities are endless. Maybe he realized he was too harsh.”

You glance around the cafeteria, your eyes scanning the sea of students. Your shoulders slump slightly when you don’t see who you’re looking for. Yeosang notices your wandering gaze and the faint disappointment that crosses your face.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks, though he already has a hunch of who it could be.You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thought. “No one,” you mumble, returning your attention to your untouched meal. A heavy silence falls between you, filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, you break the silence, your voice tinged with worry. “Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be in good shape lately.”

“... Are you worried?” Yeosang asks gently, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know,” you admit hesitantly. “I just hope he’ll do well in his championships.”

Later on after school, with a mix of trepidation and hope, you make your way to Mr. Kim’s office. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and knock. “Come in,” Mr. Kim’s voice calls from within. Entering the office, you find Mr. Kim seated at his desk, looking unusually contemplative. The sternness that typically defines his demeanor seems to have softened slightly, replaced by an air of awkwardness. He clears his throat, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair placed in front of his desk. You do as you’re told, hands clasped tightly in your lap, waiting for him to speak. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation. Finally, Mr. Kim begins, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “About the festival and your... lapse in judgment.” You nod, bracing yourself for another scolding. But instead, he continues, his tone less harsh than you expected. “I was too severe. You’ve been a dedicated member of this publication, and I realized that one mistake shouldn’t overshadow all your hard work,” he admits, looking almost embarrassed.Your eyes widen in surprise.

“What do you mean...?” Mr. Kim shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself. The championships are tomorrow, and I want you to document it thoroughly. That will be the basis for whether or not I reinstate you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real? With the amount of times you’ve made up scenarios in your head about how things could’ve turned out had you not been reckless, you’re not even able to distinguish this between a fragment of your imagination or reality anymore.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. Thank you so much,” you say, your voice filled with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. He nods curtly, clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment. “Yes, well… you can go home now. Don’t let me down.”

You thank him again, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to leave. As you step out of the office, a smile spreads across your face, the burden of the past few days lifting. You practically run to the school gates where Yeosang is waiting, and when he spots you, his face lights up with curiosity and concern. Seeing the tears in your eyes and the smile on your face, his worry quickly turns to joy.

“Hey, what’s—”

Before he can say anything else, you blurt out, “Mr. Kim is giving me a chance! He wants me to document the championships tomorrow!”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise and happiness. “That’s amazing! See, I told you! I knew he couldn’t just throw you out like that,” He pulls you into a tight hug, the two of you celebrating in joy. It feels like an eternity has passed since you last smiled, even though it’s only been two weeks.

“Thank you for always believing in me,” you say, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’ll never not believe in you,” Yeosang replies proudly, his smile genuine. As you both revel in the good news, the football team exits the school after their practice match, their boisterous voices filling the air. Wooyoung lags behind the group, his usual exuberance dampened by a quiet melancholy. When he spots you and Yeosang celebrating, he stops in his tracks, a look of yearning and sorrow crossing his face.

For him, time seems to slow. He watches the joyful interaction between you and Yeosang, a pang of longing hitting him hard. His heart aches with a mix of regret and confusion, feelings he has been struggling to understand ever since you started avoiding him. You, still caught up in your conversation with Yeosang, fail to notice Wooyoung. Your back is turned to him, and you’re too wrapped up in the moment to sense his presence. But Yeosang sees him, and their eyes meet. Yeosang gives Wooyoung a small, supportive smile.

Wooyoung tries to return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns away, rejoining his teammates as they head out of the school gates, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and unresolved feelings. As he walks away, he can’t shake the image of your happy face, feeling more eager than ever to find out what went wrong and how he can make it right.

As you and Yeosang walk home, the excitement of the conversation with Mr. Kim begins to wear off, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The realization hits you like a freight train. Documenting the championships means being on the field, watching Wooyoung play. It means being in the same space as him after all your efforts to keep him at a distance.

You stop abruptly, causing Yeosang to look back at you with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I just realized documenting the championships means I’ll have to be around Wooyoung—after all this time I’ve spent avoiding him.”

Yeosang nods thoughtfully. “Oh… right. But, hey, Mr. Kim already gave you a second chance. There’s no longer a need to distance yourself from Wooyoung, right? I mean, it’s clear that avoiding him has been really hard for you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. "That makes sense, but... I’ve been avoiding him for two weeks straight without telling him what’s wrong. The last time we interacted, everything was fine. Now, I’m worried that he thinks he did something wrong. That’s all I can think about whenever I see him on campus and I act like he doesn’t exist. The guilt has been eating me alive.”

Yeosang gives you a sympathetic look. “I get it. But hey, you had your reasons, right?” You nod in agreement. “Well, yeah. But I don’t understand why Wooyoung is still trying to get my attention when I’ve made it clear that I can't talk to him.”

Yeosang chuckles softly. “Oh, that's simple. He’s in love with you.”

You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Yeosang in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Stop joking.”

Yeosang shakes his head, his expression serious. “I’m not joking. Wooyoung is in love with you. Think about it. All the times he’s gone out of his way to be near you, the way he looks at you, the effort he puts into getting your attention. Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s indifferent, are they?” You frown, trying to process his words. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be in love with me?”

Yeosang sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re still not seeing it, are you? Let me spell it out for you. When you first started avoiding him, it was clear he was confused and hurt. But instead of giving up, he kept trying to find out what went wrong. He’s been distracted during practices, worried sick about you. He asked me about you, and I told him to be patient. He’s been following that advice, even though it's tearing him apart.”

“I didn’t realize…” you trail off, feeling your guilt spread even further. Yeosang continues, “And then there are all the little things. The way he lights up when you’re around, the way he’s always willing to do anything just to try to make you smile, the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way he talks about you to others. He’s never given up on you, even when you’ve given him every reason to.” You swallow hard, the weight of Yeosang's words sinking in. 

“And what about you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Do you love him?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get tangled in your throat. Do you love Wooyoung? You stop to think, memories flooding your mind. You remember the first time you met him, how he annoyed you with his relentless enthusiasm. But over time, that annoyance turned into something else. You began to appreciate his persistence, his kindness, and his unwavering support. You recall the times he made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer you up.

You think about the countless moments you’ve shared, the conversations you had when it was only the two of you around, the time he invited you to play football with him so your spirits could be lifted up, the unspoken understanding between you. You remember the way your heart would race whenever he was near, and the ache you felt when you had to push him away.

“I... I don’t know,” you finally whisper, though deep down, you realize you do know. You’re just afraid to admit it.

Yeosang smiles softly, as if he can see right through you. “Maybe it will all make sense to you tomorrow during the game.”

—

The atmosphere in the locker room is thick with tension. It’s the day of the university football championships, and everyone is preparing themselves mentally and physically for the big game. The sound of cleats clicking against the tile floor, the rustle of jerseys being pulled over heads, and the occasional nervous banter fill the room. Wooyoung sits on the bench, staring blankly at his cleats, his mind elsewhere.

Hongjoong notices Wooyoung's distant look and sits down next to him. “Hey, Woo,” he says softly. “You sure you want to play today? You don’t look too good.” Wooyoung snaps out of his trance, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I can do it. I can do it.” But even as he says the words, doubt laces his voice.

Hongjoong places a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. “Look, I know what’s been bothering you. And I know it’s hard. But you have to trust me when I say she’ll show up.” But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be on the same bright side as Hongjoong. “What if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t come?” Hongjoong squeezes his shoulder. “Then you’ll play for yourself and for the team. But I have a feeling she’ll be here. Just trust me.”

The stands are packed with students, faculty, and supporters, all buzzing with anticipation. The announcers, Mr. Lee and Ms. Park, take their seats in the commentator’s box, ready to call the game. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the university football championships! We have an exciting match ahead of us today,” Mr. Lee announces enthusiastically.

“That’s right, Mr. Lee. Our home team will be facing off 

against the formidable opponents from Eastside University,” Ms. Park adds. Their voices boom through the loudspeakers, introducing the two teams and hyping up the crowd. The players line up, waving to the cheering spectators. The opposing team looks formidable, their players tall and intimidating. The tension is palpable as both teams take their positions on the field.

Wooyoung scans the bleachers, searching for your face among the sea of people. He doesn’t find you, and his heart sinks. The whistle blows, and the game begins.

You, on the other hand, had just woken from your slumber—a little later than usual, as the adrenaline and mixture of emotions from the previous night kept you up. Panic sets in as you realize the championships are starting soon. You hurriedly get dressed, grab your camera, and rush to catch the bus, messaging Yeosang along the way.  “Have the games started yet?” you type frantically. “They just started,” Yeosang replies. “Hurry up!”

Traffic is a nightmare, and every minute feels like an eternity. At the field, Minjae and Yeosang are already documenting the match. Minjae turns to Yeosang, a concerned look on his face. “Where is she? You said she was given another chance by Mr. Kim.” Yeosang explains your situation, and Minjae decides to cover for you until you arrive.

From the kickoff, Eastside University takes control of the ball. Their captain, Hanbin, swiftly maneuvers past the midfielders, displaying impressive footwork. He passes the ball to their forward, Gunwook, who attempts a shot on goal. “Gunwook with an early shot! But it’s blocked by Yunho, our goalkeeper,” Mr. Lee comments.

The home team tries to regain their footing, but their movements are sluggish, and their passes lack precision. Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts to dribble down the field, but he’s quickly surrounded by defenders. He hesitates, looking for an open teammate, but no one is in position. He loses the ball, and Eastside counterattacks. “Eastside University is pressing hard. They seem to have a clear strategy to target Wooyoung,” Ms. Park notes.

Hanbin sends a long pass to their winger, Jiwoong, who sprints down the sideline. He crosses the ball into the box, and Gunwook is there again to meet it with a powerful header. “Goal! Gunwook scores for Eastside University. It’s 1-0,” Mr. Lee announces.

Wooyoung’s team looks deflated. Their coordination is off, with players missing passes and failing to cover their marks. Wooyoung tries to rally his team, but his own mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The ball is back in play, and Eastside continues their aggressive approach. Wooyoung manages to break through the midfield and takes a shot, but it goes wide. The frustration is evident on his face. “This isn’t looking good for our team. They need to regroup and find their rhythm,” Ms. Park says.

Finally, you arrive at the field, out of breath and frazzled. Minjae and Yeosang immediately give you a rundown of what’s been happening. “Wooyoung has been out of it,” Yeosang says, worry etched on his face. “Everyone's noticed. It’s obvious he’s not in his best form.” Concern floods your chest. “What do you mean he’s out of it?” Yeosang sighs. “He’s been distracted, demotivated. It’s like his spirit is just...gone.”

Your heart aches at his words. You bid him and Minjae farewell for the meantime and a spot on the bleachers, ready your camera, and prepare to do your job—yet you can’t help but let your worries cloud you.

The team’s defense is struggling to contain Eastside’s relentless attacks. A pass from Jiwoong to his teammate, Matthew, results in a one-on-one with the goalkeeper, Yunho. Matthew fakes left and shoots right, scoring his second goal of the match. “Matthew scores with a goal! It’s 2-0 for Eastside,” Mr. Lee exclaims.

Wooyoung’s frustration grows. He gets the ball again and tries to dribble past three defenders but is tackled hard. He hits the ground, and the referee calls a foul. “Free kick for our team. Wooyoung will take it,” Mr. Lee says.

Wooyoung sets up for the free kick, his eyes scanning the field. He curls the ball towards the goal, but it hits the crossbar and bounces out. The crowd groans in frustration, and their team calls for a timeout. “Snap out of it, Wooyoung! We need you in the game, not in your head,” the coach barks at him.

Wooyoung nods mechanically, but his mind is far away. The timeout ends, and the team drags themselves back onto the field, still trailing behind. As they line up for the final half, San sidles up to Wooyoung, giving him a gentle nudge. 

“Look to your right.”

Wooyoung turns, his heart skipping a beat. There you are, sitting in the bleachers with your DSLR camera in hand, eyes focused on him. In that instant, the fog in Wooyoung’s mind clears, replaced by a surge of determination. He straightens up, his gaze hardening with resolve.

The referee blows the whistle, and the final half begins. Wooyoung’s transformation is immediate. He moves with renewed energy, his steps light and purposeful. The crowd senses the shift, their cheers growing louder. “Woah, Wooyoung is back! Look at him go,” Ms. Park exclaims from the commentary box.

Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts a swift counterattack. He weaves through defenders with ease, his focus razor-sharp. He passes the ball to Jongho, who takes a shot. The opposing team’s goalkeeper, Taerae, dives, but Jongho’s aim is direct. The ball hits the back of the net. “Goal! Jongho scores! It’s 2-1,” Mr. Lee shouts.

The team feeds off Wooyoung’s energy. Seonghwa and Hongjoong step up their game, working in perfect harmony. Hongjoong makes a crucial interception and passes to Seonghwa, who crosses the ball into the box. Wooyoung is there to meet it, heading the ball into the net. “Another goal for Wooyoung! It’s 2-2. What a comeback,” Ms. Park cheers.

With the score level, the tension is at its peak. Both teams are giving their all, but Wooyoung’s team has the momentum. Wooyoung receives a pass from Mingi and charges towards the goal. He’s tackled hard, but the ball rolls to Seonghwa, who shoots and scores. “Seonghwa scores! Our team takes the lead, 3-2,” Mr. Lee announces, the crowd roaring in approval.

Eastside tries to equalize, but the home team’s defense is solid. Hongjoong makes a critical save, keeping their lead intact. As the clock winds down, the pressure mounts. In the final minutes, the ball is at Wooyoung’s feet. He dribbles past two defenders, eyes locked on the goal. He takes a deep breath and shoots. As if right on time, you capture the perfect shot with your DSLR, the ball soaring through the air towards the goal. The ball curves beautifully, sailing past the goalkeeper and into the net.

“Goal! Wooyoung scores the final goal! It’s 4-2,” Ms. Park screams.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of the match. The stadium erupts in cheers. Wooyoung’s teammates rush to him, lifting him into the air in celebration. They toss him up, chanting his name. As you capture the moment through your lens, you notice Wooyoung looking directly at you, a triumphant smile on his face.

When the team finally sets Wooyoung down, he immediately bolts toward the bleachers. You’re positioned at the very front, ensuring you have the best angles for your shots. Seeing him run toward you, your heart races.

“Hey, I—” you begin, leaning closer.

But Wooyoung doesn’t let you finish. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you so firmly it feels like he never wants to let go. The warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, and for a moment, the world fades away.

The crowd gasps in shock, then bursts into squeals and screams, cameras flashing as they capture the moment. You’re about to tell Wooyoung that everyone is watching and taking pictures, but he speaks first, his voice muffled in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his words filled with raw emotion.

You pull back slightly, enough to look into his eyes, which are filled with a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper that makes your heart ache. “I… I missed you too,” you say, your voice breaking. The noise around you fades as you both stand there, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s as if time has stopped, and there’s only the two of you in this crowded stadium.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Wooyoung,” You speak up, your voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry for disappearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry for not telling you about what I was going through, I was just… I was scared. I should’ve—”

He gently shushes you, his hands on either side of your face. “Everything’s alright, okay? You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me. And for the record, I don’t mind waiting for you a million times more—just as long as you promise me you’ll come back every single time, too.”

Behind you, the crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, but it’s a distant sound, an echo of a world outside this bubble you and Wooyoung have created.

“You’ll… you’ll stay now, right?” Wooyoung asks, and the worried tone in his voice strikes a chord right deep in your heart. 

“I will. I won’t leave.”

Meanwhile, a little distance away, Yunho and Mingi are watching the heartwarming scene unfold. A week ago, they had made a bet about you and Wooyoung reconciling exactly during the championships. Yunho had been on the agreeing side, while Mingi had not.

Yunho grins and turns to Mingi. 

“So, about that bet...”

🪞— lividstar.

[vonlycsnn]

Hello, author! Can I request Wise/ Licaon with reader-Vidyadhara (from honkai start real)? Reader shows love in an unusual way. Their dragon tail wags happily when Wise /Lycaon is around. Reader protects them even if reader are weaker. They give out ancient jewels and can also purr softly. Dragons are hard to trust, but the reader lets them touch their tail. The reader's actions scream "I LOVE YOU. I AM DEVOTED TO YOU FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE."

If you don't like the idea, then feel free to skip it. Anyway, I wish you all the best~

❈ — A DRAGON'S WAY OF AFFECTION

~ WISE AND VON LYCAON WITH (GN) VIDYADHARA! READER.

SUMMARY: AU - You're a Vidyadhara from the Xianzhou Loufu, travelling across the galaxy and visiting numerous planets just for the fun of it. One planet in particular is your absolute favorite to visit: Eridu-47. | You narrowly escape Thanatos with Wise (in Eous' body). Lycaon is surprised to see you at midnight.

cw/tw: mentions of (minor) injuries on Wise's part, other than that it's all fluff.

A/N: Crossover prompt! How exciting!! We need more playable Vidyadhara characters on hsr...they're such an interesting species. :0 Very sorry for taking so long with your request, and very sorry for not putting some of the actions you've said. :') Thank you for your request and for the kind words! Hope you enjoy reading this.

Breathing. All you could hear was your intense breathing.

You didn't know how long you were running for, but that didn't matter. What matters is getting out of this hollow ASAP. The only problem being that you were being chased by a highly dangerous ethereal.

 

You recall the moment Wise warned you about the beast. A very fast ethereal capable of slashing its prey in seconds—putting your guard down even for a single second could lead to your demise.

 

The two of you were terrified, but compared to the small bangboo tightly locked in your arms, deep down—you were the most terrified.

Never have you dealt with this kind of situation before. Sure, Yaoshi's abominations are tough to deal with, but they were more annoying than anything.

 

This? This was out of your league. You've only fought Ethereals once or twice since you've been here, so you basically had little experience on how to fight them.

 

But as you were overthinking about the situation, you heard Wise talking from Eous' little body.

 

"There it is! It's the exit!" It's a small hand/arm pointed forward. 

 

You looked towards the direction it was pointing at; sure enough, the exit of the hollow was in front of you.

You picked up the pace, hoping that Thanatos would give up chasing you. Out of pure instinct, you threw the poor bangboo towards the exit before you could make it there yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Thanatos had created a scar on the back of your neck the second you got out of the hollow.

 

You trip and fall to the ground beneath you; your body slides against the pavement, creating some minor scratches on your body. But it was nothing you couldn't handle.

You tightly closed your eyes, now feeling the scar that the Ethereal created on the back of your neck.

 

You heard someone rushing towards you; soon after, you felt as if two people were looming over you.

 

"Belle, take them to the staff room. I'll recharge Eous in my room."

 

You heard a familiar voice, and you smiled gently when you realized who it was. You felt your tail wagging, sweeping dirt from the ground.

It was embarrassing to show this type of behavior in public, but you were too tired to care.

 

You sat up to see Belle in front of you, trying her best to help you. She took your arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, lifting you up to help you stand. But as you tried to listen to what she was saying, your vision became blurry, and then you passed out.

—

 

Your fingers played with your horns as you stared at the television in front of you. A blanket was moved aside to give you some space on the couch you were sitting on.

 

You've woken up 10 minutes prior, confused about what happened. Fortunately, Belle was here when you woke up and explained everything to you. She was always nice to talk to; she's optimistic and cheerful no matter the situation—its great.

 

But after a few minutes, she stood up from the couch and told you that she's going on a girls night out with Nicole and Anby. As she approached the door to leave the room, she looked at you and winked.

 

"Wise's making you some tea upstairs. Good luck with him, you hear?~" You heard her whisper.

 

And here you are now, sitting nervously as you overthink about Belle's words. Other than the bangboos inhabiting the store, it was only you and wise. You and wise. Your heart started to beat rapidly, and you looked to your side to see that your tail was wagging ever so slightly.

 

You tried to calm down, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Just as you were calming down though, you heard footsteps from upstairs...then they walked down the stairs.

 

Calm down, calm down. You can't let wise see you like this. It'll be embarr—

 

"Oh, hey, you're awake."

 

You jumped and snapped your head towards the door to see wisely at the doorway. He became concerned as he saw you breathing heavily, putting the two glass cups on the table behind the couch, and rushed to you.

 

"Sorry...did I scare you? Here. I made you tea."

 

He carefully picked up the cup and gave it to you. Still stunned by his presence, you shakingly accepted it. The cup felt warm; it wasn't too hot to the point where it could burn you. You smiled, and your tail wagged once more.

 

"It's nothing fancy. I don't know if the tea they serve on the Loufu is any different, but I hope you like it." Wise said.

 

You nodded, taking a sip of the tea he made. Your eyes closed as your taste buds danced with how good it was. Wise giggled at your reaction.

 

"I'm guessing that you enjoy it?"

 

"Mhm. It tastes slightly different than the ones from the Loufu...but still as delicious as any tea I've tried so far."

You held the cup up, inspecting it as if it were some piece of treasure. Wise laughed, but his attention was quickly stolen by your tail wagging constantly beside you. He smiled.

 

"Are you that happy to see me? Every time we meet in person, your tail always wags."

 

You paused your drinking, suddenly feeling embarrassed at your own behavior. You avert your gaze, trying to hide your red face from wise. He moved closer to you upon seeing your reaction.

 

"Hey, it's okay! I'm happy to see you as well; you shouldn't be risking your life in that hollow though..." He reminded you. You looked at him straight in the eyes, opening and closing your mouth as you struggled to get a word out.

 

"I-i just wanted to keep you safe...and Eous. Yeah." You awkwardly explained to him. Wise sighed, grabbing the blanket behind him and throwing it over your shoulders.

 

"Get some rest before you leave. You deserve it." Wise said. His voice was so comforting to you; it was soft and pleasant to your ears. You quietly purred.

"Oh right. Forgot to ask; did you bring back the videotape you rented a while back?" Wise asked. You froze in place.

You've completely forgotten that you rented a videotape from here a few weeks ago. And today was the deadline.

"I...may have forgotten it back in the Loufu. Haha."

You paced back and forth. Completely deep in your thoughts. You looked absolutely ridiculous in public, but people were too busy minding their own business to look at you weird.

 

In your hands was a box that looked like nothing from this world.

 

Of course it wasn't; it's a box containing the finest souvenirs from the Xianzhou Loufu. You held it close to your chest, preventing anyone from potentially stealing it. Or even worse, breaking the precious and fragile souvenirs inside. That would be a disaster. You'd have to pay a good amount of money to the seller you bought these from.

 

Sitting on the bench behind you, you quickly pulled out your phone. Looking at your contacts to find a specific person, he was the reason you came here in the first place.

 

A smile formed on your face when you saw his name; your scaled tail wagged simultaneously. But as you hovered your finger on the screen to click on his profile, you hesitated.

 

It was already late at night by the time you were here, so contacting him now wouldn't be ideal. You sighed, putting your phone back in your pocket, and stood up. Simply accepting that tomorrow morning would be a more appropriate time to give him the box.

 

You turned around to pick up the box, only to realize that it was gone. Your eyes widen at the sight, and your heart beats fast as you panic. You frantically looked around to see if anyone had taken it purposely or mistakenly.

 

That's when you heard it. From your pointy ears, you heard the echoes of rapid footsteps coming from your left. You snapped your head in the direction of the sound; sure enough, you saw a figure running towards the gross alleyways of lumina square.

 

"STOP. STOP IT. YOU THIEF."

 

You quickly chased him down as confused bystanders backed away in fear. The hooded man with your box created all sorts of obstacles to slow you down, from kicking down stacks of empty boxes to straight up pushing down a dumpster.

 

Unfortunately for him, this was nothing to you. Like any of the other Vidyadhara from the Loufu, you were athletic. Easily dodging the obstacles the man created.

 

He looked over his shoulder to see that you were almost caught up to him. He whimpered in fear, but just as he was about to pick up the pace to lose you, he tripped on something heavy and metallic. The impact nearly broke his foot in the process.

 

The box flung upwards, but thankfully someone effortlessly caught it with one hand. As you ran closer to the scene, you frozen. Tail wagging once more as you saw a tall, well-dressed wolf thiren standing in front of you. One of his prosthetic legs was stepping on the thief's back as a way to restrain him.

 

"Oh?" The man said. It was a familiar voice—the voice that makes you fall to your knees mentally every time you hear it.

 

"L-lycaon! I didn't expect you to be here at this hour." You expressed your shock to him.

 

"The same would apply to you. I wouldn't have expected to see you here in Eridu-47." 

 

As Lycaon said that, he felt the man below him wiggling himself to try and escape. The thiren's eye glowed as a warning, and the hooded man squealed in fear as he finally pleaded guilty for his actions.

 

"I-i-im sorry! It won't happen again! I promise! I swear! I-i—" 

 

The hooded man begged. Lycaon crouched and leaned towards the side of the man's face, whispering something directly to his ear.

 

You couldn't hear it, but you know Lycaon said something terrible when the man screamed in fear and quickly ran away the second Lycaon removed his leg from his back.

 

You were kind of scared, of course, but it was Lycaon. You trusted him dearly, and he has proved his sincerity many times before. So, you didn't question anything. Lycaon looked at you in relief, now holding the box full of goods with both of his hands.

 

"Apologies for my unbefitting behavior just now. I believe this belongs to you."

 

He handed you the box; he looked at you so softly that you couldn't help but stare at his face for a few seconds.

 

But you snapped out of your thoughts and declined. Lightly pushing the box back towards him. Of course, he was confused. Then you explained to him.

 

"It's for you, silly! No need to give it back to me." You giggled; you could see his one eye widen in surprise.

 

"My...you're too kind. I don't deserve such treatment from the likes of you." He said. You saw his ears twitching and his tail ever so slightly wagging from this; you smiled. Holding back a laugh.

 

He looked down at the box, now noticing that it's tightly sealed. Preventing anything from falling out.

 

"And what awaits me inside this box, may I ask?" He asked you.

 

One hand was gently placed on top of the box while the other held the bottom part so as not to let it fall to the break.

You walked closer to him, looking upwards to his face as you smiled widely.

 

"Inside are exclusive items from the Xianzhou Loufu. How about you open it and see for yourself? W-well, maybe not in this dirty alleyway at least." You awkwardly laughed. The thiren merely chuckled, gently taking your hand.

 

"Then I know just the place. If I may?" Your eyes widen when he offers you this; your horns glowed brightly as you felt your tail wagging. You smiled, nodding at his offer.

 

"Lead the way, dear attendant." You playful said. He laughed.

 

"Please. Just call me Lycaon."

 

Then the two of you walked out of the alleyway, admiring the nightly scenes of lumina square as Lycaon guided you to the rooftop of a building.

 

You smiled widely; tonight turned out better than you expected it to be. You couldn't wait to see his reaction to the items inside the box, and quite frankly, you were just very happy to be by his side.

Oh, what a happy little dragon you are right now.

[artyandink]

amoralism | four

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, fantasising, a mole in the FBI, thigh riding, Sam being the best friend everyone needed but no one asked for, failed professionalism, description of gore, torture and body desecration, inaccurate description of the FBI but we do it for the plot, Bela Talbot (she’s also a warning, yes), fantasies of seduction

Song Inspo: Liar by Camila Cabello

SERIES MASTERLIST

archaism

A knock on your door had you looking up from your desk, from the notes you were taking on the video found on the necklace’s hard drive. The only face you could see on that necklace was Abaddon’s, which did give you the warrant to put her in the Florence Supermax, which honestly didn’t feel like enough when your own body felt like it was being slashed and burned and disembowelled in tandem with this poor investment banker.

Didn’t help that she took a hatchet to the body even after the life left him.

“Come in.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. And in came… “Ah.” Yet another tired rub of your forehead. “Trainee Agents Tran and Harvelle. Come in.” You gestured for them to enter, wishing you were also a trainee agent.

It was so much more simple back in those days. Just getting coffee for the superiors. Just some damn coffee. Not being caught in a web of sexual tension, organised crime and some really nasty crap.

“How can I help you?” You asked, feigning genuine interest when you actually wanted to hurl from the videos you’d been watching.

“We wanted to get an update on the Knights of Hell case.” Tran got out, fiddling with his fingers. Suck ups, great. “For, uh, Agent Nick Garrison.” You rolled your eyes.

Nick.

He’d come off fresh from the murder of his wife and baby, and it was bloody. He’d been trying to take cases, but Director Singer kept on insisting he take the desk job.

“Did he tell you he was working the case?” You clasped your hands in front of you, and you cut them off before they could start stammering. “No, I can’t give any information if you’re not working the case. It’s classified information, and Director Singer’s made that clear. I don’t wanna have to report to HR about breaching jurisdiction.”

“No, ma’am.” Harvelle bowed her head, then realised she wasn’t bowing to a queen and grabbed Tran’s hand, dragging him out. You groaned, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” Dean muttered, your back against his chest, legs spread and held in place by one hand gripping your thigh. Your head fell back against his shoulder, a myriad of sounds leaving your parted lips and slack jaw from his three fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. Stretching you. Breaking you. Wrecking you. Making you rock your hips in tandem with his movements and getting much needed friction on your clit from the rough palm of his hand. “Workin’ so hard, baby. I’m gonna release all your stress. Leave you so relaxed.”

God, you had half a mind to start touching yourself in the office to take the edge off. Right under your desk.

You’d do it. Damn the code of conduct.

“I need a change of panties.” You muttered, done with... “Everything else in my life, while I’m at it.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. To take the edge off.”

Damn you for being an ass kisser. You could have taken the edge off with Dean Winchester.

Instead you’re here. At a desk. Watching someone be tortured to death and their corpse disembowelled.

”You were left alone? With a shirtless Dean Winchester?” Andréa gasped, sipping a tall glass of wine, her lips stained red from it. “Details. Now.”

You swallowed, clearing your throat. “Dré, I don’t think there’s anything to tell-”

“Yes. There is.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at you. “Either he railed you nasty, or you pulled the usual professionalism card but you still banged and now you’re fearful for your job.”

“I’m still fearful for my job, railing or not.” You scoffed lightly, taking a long sip of your own wine and holding your glass out for another. “Sorry to disappoint, Dré, but… no. Nothing happened.”

“WHAT?!” Andréa slammed down her wine glass. Eyes wide, auburn hair only slightly out of place. Jesus, she’s shook.

“I know!” You raised your hands in surrender, wine slopping onto the floor. You carefully put it aside; you might be getting a little tipsy with how much you drank trying to recover from the memory. “Look, it happened like I told you; Dean pulled me in, told me to keep my eyes on him… and then his phone rang. His dad called him, and he took the call.”

“I want to bust John Winchester’s balls.” She muttered.

“Classy.”

“Do you think I care about class? I care about whether or not you can walk straight, and right now you should be wobbling from side to side, honey.” She took a very pointed sip of wine.

You sighed with a roll of your eyes, however affectionate it was. “That’s a very interesting notion.”

“It’s Dean Winchester!”

“I’m painfully aware that it is.”

You walked into Dean’s office to find him nursing a bloody temple with a sterilising cloth, which had you raising an eyebrow. You didn’t peg Dean for the working hard type, more like the hardly working. Unless you counted when he was in bed with a woman. Still hot.

And both of your minds switching back to the night where Dean had you in his arms, his whiskey-tainted breath fanning over your lips. Fingers that were tapping the desk were previously curled around your chin, gravelly voice telling- ordering you to keep your eyes on him and by God, you’d say yes sir if he hadn’t taken your ability to speak words with those piercing green eyes. And he wasn’t even your superior.

“Well, don’t you look super.” You drawled sarcastically, throwing down a file on his desk. Eyes moving down to the hands which had held you in place. Fingers that had gripped your chin in a way that almost made your knees buckle and hands fly to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Knock knock - come in - and yeah, I do look handsome.” Dean responded dryly, but gave you a smirk/grin, a click of his tongue and a wink that had no right giving you that large of a needy jolt through your cunt, soaking your panties instantly. Again.

You cursed yourself for being an ass kisser. Again. When there was a perfectly good cock there that you could be riding.

“I was trying to figure out information on the Abaddon case, see if we could get some of her buddies’ names.” Dean shrugged, swiping his bottom lip with his thumb. “Came out with nada and a cheap shot to the head.”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to stop feeling so desperate. You were better than this. No you weren’t, but you weren’t gonna admit that aloud. “Director Singer wanted us to check this out. Probably after your failed, sorry ass attempt to find answers.” You watched him open the file, turning the page with a lick of his finger. Had it been anyone else, you would have internally cringed.

But no, it’s Dean Winchester. You wanted to be his index finger.

“Since we’re doing this off books, we have to arrange off book methods.” You rubbed your neck. “Bela Talbot, she’s a freelancer. Occasionally thieves - at least, that’s theory because we’ve never been able to prove it. But Director Singer’s booked us a five star room and an appointment so we can find out what she knows, how she knows it and follow that lead.”

“You’re more snappy than usual, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, mossy eyes trailing- no, roving down- not even that; he was undressing you with his eyes.

And he didn’t miss the way your jaw ticked.

Sign number one.

How your eyes darted from him to the files to the random objects like you wanted to throw something.

Sign number two.

How you occasionally prodded your cheek with your tongue as if you had a Spanish insult that would definitely condemn someone’s mother to hell on the tip of it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was sign number three.

Dean Winchester had more than a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude. He had a college degree in criminology, a while spent in the academy and a penchant for figuring out when- “You’re stressed.” He muttered smoothly, and he had an inkling of why. He took hold of your wrist, and next thing you knew, you were pulled to his lap, straddling his thigh. Your heeled feet on either side. And clothed pussy right on powerful muscle.

Oh, boy.

“We haven’t talked about it.” Dean muttered, his eyes tracing your face (and dipping to check your blouse’s neckline, and it did not disappoint), calculating his next move, his hand splayed out on your lower back. “I know you better than you think. And you… are thinking about it.”

“I’m n-not.” You responded quickly and rather pathetically, especially as your words were negated by a whimper as his hand on your lower back slid down, down, down, cupping your ass, squeezing just right and using the purchase to pull you so your chest was flush against his. His nose bumping yours. The scent of a breath mint on your lips instead of whiskey.

Gee, the déjà vu was potent. When could you have possibly been in this situation before, hm? Totally not a few days ago. And five years before that.

“So, you don’t wanna talk about it.” He chuckled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked you over- nope, banging you with his eyes this time. You could see it. He had you bent over the desk, railing the living daylights out of you with a hand over your mouth. “Let’s do about it.”

You swallowed, not protesting even as his fingers tangled in your hair. “That-That’s grammatically incorrect-”

His lips - god, his pillowy, sinful, criminal lips - crashed down onto yours, brow furrowed in concentration as the common sense went out of you.

Dean definitely had eaten a breath mint, and you could taste the coffee remnants on him. A kiss that was no less than filthy, needy and wanting. Smacking of lips on lips at a high frequency and temperature shooting far above the boiling point. Your hand threading in his hair. Other hand fisting the back of his shirt. His cologne your personally crafted aphrodisiac.

Dean was too far gone to care that anyone could walk in. His hand was gripping the soft strands of your hair in between his fingers, guiding your head how he liked it. Relishing your tinted, strawberry flavoured lip balm and how it flooded his tongue. Your perfume sending his hormones skyrocketing and making him zero in on you. Only you, always you. He’d missed out on his treasure all these goddamned five years.

Dean’s tongue licked at the seam of your swollen lips, demanding entrance, which you fought back and denied from him. Good that he’s skilled in getting what he wanted, because it didn’t take long to get you to allow him that access.

His hand came down in a sharp smack on your ass, which had a gasp falling from your lips which he caught with his own. Keeping both parted as his tongue tasted the jam and toast on yours, coaxing it into his mouth so he could suck on it and cloud your mind more than it already was fogged up.

“That’s it, open up for me.” Dean groaned into your mouth, pulling your kiss-swollen lips more apart with his thumb on your bottom lip. You felt his hand leave your ass, air hitting your previously skirt covered thighs and something sliding down your legs but you didn’t care when Dean was robbing you of professionalism.

Doing a thing with his tongue and teeth that had you throbbing and needy for him. Yeah, the Code of Conduct can go to hell.

His hand found home on your ass again, and just experimentally dragged you down and forward, drawn out and hard on the taut, deliciously clad muscle of his thigh.

Clit. Friction. Uh- pussy. Dripping.

Mind. Blown.

You had to actively pull him to you, lips more in a collision than a kiss to muffle the drawn out moan that came from your lips and those that spilled after while he simply hummed, grinding you on his thigh again and again until you were kissing him silly as well as rutting on his thigh like a desperate, horny teenager.

Not that either of you minded.

“Look so pretty, ridin’ my thigh.” Dean chuckled between hungry, heavenly kisses, now taking handfuls of your tit from shoving his hand (in a hot way) down the neckline of your blouse and rubbing your nipple over your bra with precise circles designed to make you go mad all while groping the flesh. “Makes a guy wonder how you’ll ride his co-o-oh, Jesus Christ, baby.”

For context, in retaliation, you’d started palming him over his slacks, grinding the heel of your palm in a way that had him rolling his hips forward so his cock could meet your hand for the first time ever through two thin barriers.

The slow movement of your hand and your hips that were dragging over his slacks a personified oxymoron of the way your lips would devour Dean’s and vice versa over and over again.

Every movement of yours synced to the way he’d toy with your tits and his hand would knead your ass under skilled goddamn fingers.

Swallowing every moan like second nature.

He definitely had some kind of qualification in the female body.

“Woah.” And both of you pulling away to see Sam at the door. Which incited pure chaos.

You jumping up. Fixing your skirt, your hair (your kiss-swollen lips were a gone case) as Dean manoeuvred his leg so you couldn’t see the obvious wet patch on his slacks.

Wet patches, if you count the pre-come stain that leaked through.

Ah, well, at least he’d pocketed your soaked panties. For… research purposes.

“Nothing’s happened.” Dean shrugged, trying to signal to Sam as if to say no, he did not want the news of him making out with his case co-head in his office, in FBI headquarters in DC.

Your mind was in a tizzy, especially as you hurried off before you could shake hands with embarrassment.

“I don’t know whether to say ‘finally’, ‘what the hell’ or bleach my eyes out.” Sam said to Dean with a light chuckle, folding his arms.

“How about you shut your mouth?” He scoffed back.

“I can’t just unsee that-”

“You were told to shut your mouth, not your eyes.” Dean grinned as if nothing was wrong, because nothing was wrong. That could just be one of his fantasies.

You were thinking the same thing. It could just be a vivid daydream. Or even a dream that you’ll wake up from at any moment.

But then Dean saw the wet patch on his slacks again. The soaked panties that he’d stolen off you and you’d let him. His lips were swollen and still buzzing from the heated sensations, ego on an all time high from how many moans he’d ripped from you even though he’d done so little. If this is what he’d waited for all this time - for five years - the wait was damn worth it.

You could still feel Dean’s hands groping at you as if he had a degree in your body. His harsh breath against yours. Lips bruising as they met over and over again— his thigh pressed between yours.

Your thighs rubbed together and- god damn, he’d stolen your panties. You weren’t even mad at him for it.

You were reeling from the - ahem - make out session display of professionalism. And Dean wasn’t making it any degree better.

“So, we’re not gonna talk about it?” He scoffed, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow. “Five years, the time we actually break the Code of Conduct and we’re not gonna say a word of what went down?”

You gestured to him. “My point. We broke the Code of Conduct. Hell, we torched it!”

“It was just making out.”

“In your office.”

“Look,” Dean chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, “it ain’t my fault that your gorgeous ass is attracted to me. And it ain’t your fault that my handsome ass… is attracted to you. It’s a sexual thing.”

“It’s a sexual thing.” You repeated quietly, which didn’t help things, but hey- it’s the best he can do. “You have no regard for your job’s integrity.”

“You’re so uptight all the time.”

“And it’s better to be really damn loose?” Dean Winchester made your pussy drip leg bounce on the ball of your foot. It was a nervous tick. Or an angry tick. But you knew that you wanted to curse his bloodline in Spanish.

He could only offer you a scoff. “You know, this tough girl act is really unbecoming.”

“This tough boy act doesn’t cut you any favours.”

“Some may say it’s sexy.” A brunette slid into the seat next to him. Hair pulled up into a ponytail and threaded through a baseball cap that was pulled low over her brow- no doubt for disguise. Poorly orchestrated disguise, and Director Singer said she was a professional. Smug smile and manicured nails painted an eyebrow raising shade of rouge while she smelled strongly of Chanel.

Extending said manicured hand daintily towards Dean. “Bela Talbot.” She purred, playing up a sultry smile. “I’m your freelancer.”

“That Chanel or is it just me?” Dean shot back with a raise of his eyebrow. How did he know? He knew the notes of that perfume collection cause you’d worn it when you… made out with him and rode his thigh. Ahem.

“I’m a freelancer, but I’m not a savage. I indulge.” Bela replied before turning back to you and sliding a paper. “Knights of Hell. Hard bunch to track down, but I can tell you who they are and what they do. They’re like mercenaries. A secret service for an underground mafia ring. If you want a bloody death, the big boss will ring them up and then it’s bye-bye within a few hours. They play it like a game too. Whoever’s skill set meets the quota, that’s who they send out.”

“Abaddon.” You frowned, clasping your hands on the table. “Why was she sent out to that bank?”

“She plays with her food before she eats it.” Bela sighed, shaking her head. “Invades the mind of her enemy. If you don’t catch on quick enough, she doesn’t sing your tune, you sing hers. Like she’s Bach and you’re just his orchestra.”

“That’s colourful.” Dean muttered, sipping his coffee. “Who is this guy we’re about to talk to, by the way?” He was watching Bela carefully for any signs of deception.

Any at all and he had cuffs attached to his belt.

“His codename’s Cain.” Bela checked her nails with a pout. “But he was previously known as William Abernathy. He was the first Knight of Hell. For initiation he was made to kill his brother Cole Abernathy and had been trying to exit the gang since. Only got out a few months ago.”

‘Cain’ himself was a grumpy-ass man who seemed to lounge with bottles of beer on the best days and hard vodka on the worst. He had pictures of who seemed to be Neil, his brother, and another woman. Young. Beautiful, with an innocent smile on her face.

You wondered if she had known what William had done.

You watched Cain sit down with a gruff grunt, and

“Being a Knight of Hell makes you bitter.” He swept a thumb over his bottom lip, scoffing and shaking his head slowly. “You do horrible things. To innocent people, too. Most of us enjoyed it. I didn’t. That’s why I ran.”

You rubbed your cheek, sharing a look with Dean, who looked both incredibly concerned and curious. Not only was this syndicate dangerous, they took inspiration off Bible lore, which was how they contracted their code names.

“And your code name was Cain?” You asked, gesturing to him with a raise of your eyebrow. “As in… Cain and Abel? And your real name is William Abernathy?”

“Abel was my brother’s supposed ‘codename’.” William, previously ‘Cain’, deadpanned, sipping some bourbon with a blank expression. “Gave it after his death. Thought it was funny. They thought the same for my beautiful Collette too.”

“Collette?” Dean pointed to a photo, of a smiling woman in Cain’s arms. In a wedding dress, looking as if all the problems were gone. “This her?”

“That’s her.” Cain nodded, his voice wavering a bit. “She looked every bit as beautiful on our wedding day even when she died. Bloody, but so beautiful. She still smiled even then.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Abernathy.” You gave him a look of sympathy, taking a deep breath. “For your loss. Could you give us the names of the other Knights?”

Cain nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ve give you them all.”

“You run the risk of being hunted down.” Dean added quickly. “We can place you under witness protection.”

“Witness protection can’t do crap.” Cain scoffed, a cynical bark of laughter leaving him. “It'll end how it always does. A blaze of glory and no survivors."

You could easily see the truth. You saw it in his body language; he wasn't defeated, he was tired. Tired of fighting rather than losing. Cain was a shell. Empty.

"You want them to find you." You murmured, running a hand through your hair in partial disbelief. "You want to die."

Cain nodded, pointing a gnarled finger at you with a nod, writing a list of names down on a sheet of paper before handing them to you. "You're good, Agent." He sniffed, averting his eyes, which welled up. "First they took Neil. Then my darling Collette. That Hell took everything from me. Might as well let them finish the job."

"No, hold on." Dean stepped in with a wave of his hand. "We have to take you into witness protection, to testify."

A violent shaking of your head put him off and made him worry that you were having an aneurism. "We can't. Code of Conduct, Article 53, Section A, Subsection Alpha, line 5, written in '79 after the assassination of Jakob Brierkevald on his transportation to unwillingly testify against Russia. Unless given autonomous permission, law enforcement and/or federal authorities do not have the jurisdiction to detain the subject to testify in court, which directly relates to the Treaty for Human rights... even if it concerns national safety."

Dean stared at you as if you'd grown three heads. "Did you swallow the textbook?!"

"You didn't?"

“A spot of advice.” Cain spoke up gruffly, looking between the two of you. “Have angry sex. That could solve everything.”

“No!” You threw your hands up, then turned to Dean. “He basically signed a DNR for himself by saying that. We can’t do anything.”

“Isn’t there some kind of overrule clause?” Dean asked, folding his arms. “Rack that pretty head.”

“Not that I know of.” You shrugged. “It could be in some weird ass phrasing but if the subject decides, that’s final.”

“Son of a-”

“We’re federal agents, keep it together!”

“Hey, Bela.” You sighed, pacing slowly as you talked. “Thanks for the tip. We got a lot more to go off now, and turns out you weren’t as slimy as the FBI warned us you were.”

“Charming.” Bela quipped, hands in her jacket pocket with a smile, then she chuckled. “Happy to help. The Knights of Hell should be taken down a peg or two. Who better than the Fed’s finest agents?” Her eyes travelled to Dean tap dancing for fun a little way away, then back to you in amusement. “Or finest.”

“Yeah, he’s not the most professional one out there.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I didn't catch the traditionalist aspect from him." She shook her head, then caught how you were looking at Dean.

That was the most potent and obvious eye bang she'd ever seen.

"No, he's- ay, dios mío." The reason for your speech cutting off was Dean's succumbing to the heat and pouring a whole damn water bottle's contents over his face, making his shirt cling to his chest and wavering your focus.

One word. Muscle.

"Word of advice." Bela whispered in your ear. "You two really should have angry sex."

NEXT UP:

“Mom.” You painfully kept your voice level. Not wanting to raise your voice at your own mother, because even if she was a nasty piece of work - in your eyes - she still carried you for nine months. “This is unreasonable.”

Understatement of the Year award goes to you. Hopefully, also the Daughter and Sister of the Year awards too.

“What I do in my household is none of your business, niña!” Eleanor snapped back, her fingers too for emphasis. You felt familiar anger bubbling, but you told it not today.

You scoffed at the notion, though, rubbing Cassie’s shoulder. “You’re practically starving her!” Still shoving down unadulterated fury. “And pressuring her to have kids. Hell, I haven’t. I’m not even married.”

“You should be!” She responded quickly. Does this lady not get the point? “You should be married, bringing honour to your family.”

“You’re delusional.”

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[rosedpetal]

Like Father Like Daughter

Summary: Lloyd Hansen is a former CIA agent slash mercenary slash sociopath who gets off on the doing the most unspeakable things. When his high school sweetheart gets in a coma, he finds out she took from him more than just his heart and a promise ring.

Pairing: Dad!Lloyd x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: mentions of death, hospitals, murder, guns, violence, Lloyd being mean to his daughter (you), daddy issues dynamics, death of a parent.

Author's note: this is a repost.

Minors, do not interact.

Masterlist

You were growing to hate hospitals. The sterile smell, white walls, floors and ceilings, doctors and nurses wearing those annoying scrubs that made everything much more depressing.

You were growing to hate light colors.

Tired of reading, you took a sip of your water bottle, eyeing your mother's asleep form on the hospital bed. She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes and tubes everywhere. She was stable, but they had no idea when she would wake up. 

Or if she would.

"She got lucky." The doctor said to your grandma, after explaining the after a car accident of that nature, your mother being alive was a miracle.

You didn't think of luck at all. Not when you got out of school earlier, seeing your grandpa in tears while he crushed your limbs in a hug, sobbing in your hair and repeating like a prayer that everything was gonna be okay.

Your sweet, cheerful and loud mother have been at such a state for so long. Two months in, and you could hear the nurses gossiping when they thought you were asleep cuddling your mother.

"Keeping this patient is useless. She's as good as dead".

You started to lose hope, but you couldn't give up. Your mother had to come back at some point.

She was the only person you could count in. Of course, your grandparents were great, but a child's place is with their parents. Or just your mother, in your case.

When you were younger you pried as much as you could, but she would refuse to tell you anything about your father, only telling you that he walked out on her before he even knew she was pregnant and she never heard of him since.

Somehow, you didn't believe her.

But after the accident that almost took your mother from you, you couldn't really care less about a father that you never knew.

And as the time passed by, all you did was pray that your grandparents didn't lose hope too. After all, the decision to keep the life support on was theirs.

"You can either tell me what the hell is going on or I can just gut you like a pig, which one is gonna be?" Lloyd grinned at one of his spies. The man had been working for him for years now, a record that was getting Lloyd uneasy.

He would have to kill him soon.

"I found something interesting, that's all." The man replied, and poured a generous dose of whiskey on one of the glasses that was by Lloyd's coffee table.

Lloyd looked at him, amused.

"I didn't realize you had a death wish, getting yourself comfortable with my Scotch and everything."

"It's not for me, Hansen. It's for you." Klaus replied, emotionless. 

Lloyd sat up, getting tense. Klaus passed him the glass, and he almost gave in the impulse to use it to break the moron's skull.

"I'm gonna ask again, and if I don't get a straight answer my gun is gonna get friendly with your brains." Lloyd took the gun from the holster and aimed at the man's head.

"Your ex fiancée is in a coma".

Lloyd let a breath out.

"And that's all this fucking tension about? Why would I give a fuck about that bitch? It's been more than thirteen years-"

"She has a daughter about that age." Klaus cut the infuriated Lloyd. "She looks a lot like you. Blue eyes, dark hair. Same dental arch..."

The same motherfucking asshole smile. He wanted to complete, but kept his mouth shut. Lloyd was impulsive and unpredictable, and after working with him for long enough, anyone would get a taste of almost getting murdered by him on his multiple mood swings.

Lloyd's head tilted to side.

Oh fuck. 

"So, you're saying that I'm stupid enough to get some bitch pregnant by accident?"

"You popped the question to her, thought."

"I was young and stupid."

"And now, you're just stupid."

"For the sake of our fake friendship I'm gonna let that slide. And why were you even sneaking into her shit, anyway?"

"I wasn't. Do you remember the bounty you collected two months ago on that senator's head?"

"How could I forget?" Lloyd rolled his eyes. "It was a hell of a car chase."

"Well, the senator driver's car crashed into hers."

...

Lloyd really loved irony. But not when it came to bite his ass back.

After Klaus showed him some pictures of you in the hospital your mother were in, not even him could deny. You looked exactly like him, but with long hair and without a mustache in your baby face.

"Fuuuuuck!" He threw the glass across the room, hitting the wall, and getting it smashed into million pieces. 

His sneaky job almost got his daughter's mother killed, for fucks sake. How would he tell you that? Did he even want to face you?

Klaus kept quiet while Lloyd threw his tantrum. Then, he spoke:

"When am I taking you to her?"

Lloyd turned to face him, angry.

"I'm not gonna meet some brat just because I found out she came from my balls!"

He couldn't really care less about your mother. He loved her (or thought he did) and then it was over. It was okay, he got over it. But he was not about to meet a child he knew he never wanted.

And what benefit would he bring to your life, dragging you to his mess?

Lloyd made up his mind. He would just ignore your existence.

"In what room is she, again?"

"301, boss." Klaus replied, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

Lloyd rolled his eyes, but chose to ignore him nonetheless. He was neither soft nor wanted to be a dad, but he was a curious motherfucker. So, the next day, first thing after knowing you were out of school, he made Klaus take him to the hospital.

"I'm here to see my daughter. Her mom's on the room 301."

The receptionist, who was not really interested, just pointed directions and waved him off. When he got in front of the door, he almost chickened out.

Oh, come on, he was not to be afraid of some child.

Even if it was his.

So, he knocked on the door. He knew you'd be there. You've never left your mother's side after school hours, and your grandparents didn't mind indulging you.

He heard a soft "Come in!" and took a deep breath before finally turning the doorknob.

It was a lot to take in.

Your mom, the only woman he ever loved, looking small, pale and pathetic. It was nothing like the girl he knew in her teens, bubbly and all-smiles.

Then, he saw you. Looking at him wide-eyed, and how the blue in your irises were similar to his. Your dark brown hair, that would match his if he didn't dye it jet black. Your nose were your mother's: a cute button on your rosy face, as well as your pouty lips.

"Who are you? I think you are in the wrong room."

You inquired. He could tell you were afraid of him. Arms crossed on your chest, biting your upper lip nervously.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm... Your father." It surprised him how he didn't sound anything like his usually cocky self. Your eyebrows rose, and you scoffed.

"Went to buy a pack of cigarettes and never found your way back to my mom?" You sassed.

"That's not fair! First of all, I don't smoke. And second, I had no idea your mom was pregnant! I would chase her to hell if I did. She was the one that left, ended things and disappeared like I meant nothing!" Lloyd pointed his index finger to you, incredibly offended.

"Which makes me think what kind of fuck-up you are if she ran away from you, then." You retorted, and noticed his reddened face.

"What's with all this prejudice? I could be the nicest fucking person you know. Maybe I have an animal shelter, ever thought of that? What if I read to old people in asylums in my spare time?"

"Do you?"

"No, but that's not the point here, young lady."

"Do you know how do I know you are not the nicest person? You said a bad word." You pointed, lips curling upwards.

"You said it first!" He accused, and this time, you grinned.

Maybe your mom left him because he was a man child, after all?

Your smile faded. You looked at your mother, and she nothing about her changed. Not even her heartbeat. You thought that perhaps she would get an incentive having your so-called-father in the room after such a long time.

"What's your name?" Lloyd asked, and you huffed.

"Why are you still here?

"I'm not leaving until I get to know you. My name's Lloyd, by the way. Lloyd Hansen. What's your name?"

"Get out!" You let out an exasperated sigh, regretting it immediately. You've always been curious about who your father were, and now you had the chance to.

"Do you really want me to?"

The pout that formed on his lips almost made you laugh again. Okay, he was charming, you had to give him that. So, against your better judgement, you gave in.

"No, please stay."

Lloyd didn't know if it was the sad way you almost pleaded for him to not leave, but he felt like a magnet was pulling him towards you, and you got up of the chair, sitting on your mother's bed and pointing the chair to him.

He sat and started fidgeting with his fingers.

"I'm Y/N. I'm thirteen. I like to read, but I'm also lazy and my mom's always scolding me to study more. That's me in a nutshell." You finally said, feeling a little disappointed that you had nothing better to say.

"Sounds like a normal thirteen-year-old to me. Have you ever killed an animal?"

"Excuse me, what?"

"Just kidding!" Lloyd said, fast. He noticed the change in your demeanor, which meant that topic probably upset you. He'd make sure to find out about that later.

"Oh my god, have you?" Your jaw dropped, finally putting two and two together. "It's that why my mother left you? You are some kind of psycho that tortures animals?"

"I don't torture animals!" Just people, Lloyd thought. "It was an innocent question, okay?"

"Yeah, you sound really normal to me." You rolled your eyes. "Get the fuck out, Lloyd. Or I'm gonna call the cops on you, being my father or not, which I don't believe you are by the way."

"Okay, in case you haven't noticed, you look exactly like me and nothing like her."

"You're not the only man with blue eyes and dark hair in the world, Lloyd."

"I totally agree with you on that, and this is why I brought this!" Lloyd announced, taking a ziplock bag out of his pocket with a q-tip inside of it.

"What the hell is this?"

"Open your mouth, kiddo!" He grinned at you, getting closer with the q-tip between his index and thumb.

"I'm not giving you my DNA, you creep!"

"Okay, hard way it is." He sighed, almost sadly. "I love you."

Your jaw dropped again, and he took the opportunity to stick the q-tip in your tongue, collecting the saliva. Before you could shriek, he put it back in the ziplock.

"You fucking asshole!" You yelled. "I'm calling the security-"

"Keep your voice down." He warned you, and you whimpered at the sudden change on his behavior. Then, he got up and gave you a smile. "It was nice catching up with you, kiddo. Toodles!"

You were still stunned when he left.

Days went by, and you haven't seen Lloyd since. Part of you were angry at yourself for being disappointed by that, but you just shrugged it off and told yourself it was better that way.

And it was really surprising when your class was over and you saw him leaning against a black car with black windows, with sunglasses adorning his face. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a lollipop on his mouth and that fucking weird mustache still on his face.

"Ready to go home?" He asked, almost bored when you finally reached him.

"Are you insane? You look like a creep! You're gonna freak the other kids out, Lloyd!"

"Okay, I was expecting a nicer greeting from you. Haven't you missed me?"

"No." You lied. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you could be a child molester for all I know."

"All right, now you've really offended me." He threw the lollipop on the curb and took the sunglasses off. "Don't even joke about that, I'm not that kind of sicko. Get in the fucking car right now, and don't make a scene."

Gritting your teeth, you let him open the passenger door for you and got inside his car. It was probably really expensive, with nice leather seats and everything.

"My grandparents are gonna kill you." You stated when he got in the driver's seat and turned the engine on.

"They're not doing shit, kiddo. I paid a little visit to them earlier, and they agreed to let me take you with me for a little while. They didn't even fight, by the way." Then, he leaned closer, like telling you a secret. "I don't think they like you that much."

"Oh, you're insufferable! Did you threaten them? Did you hurt them? Lloyd, I swear to god-"

"I didn't do shit!" He snapped, gripping the steering wheel in his hands. "Your grandparents fucking owe me for screwing everything up for me, now keep your mouth shut and enjoy the ride!"

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"Didn't I just tell you to shut up?"

"Fine!" You screamed in defeat. If he wanted you to stay quiet, you were going to give him the silent treatment. He turned the radio on, with a satisfied smile on his face.

Lloyd drove like a drunk teenager, getting angry honked at in a ridiculous amount of times in just a few minutes. If you were still on speaking terms with him, you would've scolded him for that.

It was when he ran the red light that your panic attack came. You started hyperventilating, feeling sweat in your palms, and you chest tightened at the dread that cursed through your veins.

He side-eyed you, noticing how you were grabbing the seat with white knuckles.

"Hey, kiddo, be nice to my car."

You didn't move, though. You closed your eyes, feeling your head starting to spin. Oh no. You were about to throw up.

"Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to-"

He got cut off by the sight of the tears streaming down your face, and he slowed down. You finally felt your breath coming down to normal, and you sobbed.

Lloyd pulled over on the street, and you opened the door as fast as you could, just in time for you to vomit in the curb. He put his hand on your back and you stiffened, but calmed down when he stroke it gently.

"I'm sorry, kiddo." He felt like a dick. He realized you were probably terrified of cars now that your mother had been in an accident. You kept silent and finally closed the door, wiping your mouth with your sleeve.

He drove slower then, leaving town on the main road and approaching the countryside. When he entered a nice trail and stopped in front of a giant iron gate, you almost rolled your eyes. Of course this prick was rich.

The area looked lovely all the same. You could picture yourself leaning against the big oak tree while reading a book, a tire swing on the lowest branch. 

Lloyd finally turn of the car, and turned to you.

"Before we go there let's just go over the basic rules. Not calling me daddy: it's Lloyd for you. Not testing my patience. Not sneaking into my things. And just so you know, I'm not above beating a child. It's better if you know your place by now.

You didn't spare him a second glance and got out of the car, adjusting your school bag on your shoulder. Why was he such an ass? It wasn't like you wanted to be there. You were perfect fine vegetating by the side of your vegetating mother.

You followed him inside, admiring the immaculate white floor, the tapestry and all that expensive shit that looked extremely nice. His grand foyer had two staircases, and a giant chandelier hang on top of it. 

"The first room on the left is yours. Mine is on the right. Do not go into my room. Or any other rooms. If you get bored just take a nap or something." He clarified. You couldn't bite back the remarks anymore.

"So you just brought me here to patronize me?" You asked him in an angry tone.

"Patronize you? Oh, your mother raised a little feminist, didn't she? Bet you despise all men and all that bravado." He mocked you.

"No, you're actually the only man I despise, Lloyd. Don't worry. I'll stay out of your way, I don't feel like torturing myself by spending time willingly with you." You spat back and went upstairs on the left staircase. When you got in the midway he yelled at you:

"By the way, the kitchen is free and open 24/7. Don't go starving on me, kiddo!"

You gave him the could-shoulder and opened the first door on the left, looking wide-eyed at the interior.

There was a four-post bed, with luxurious tule canopy adorning with the purple comforter set. On both sides of the bed, twin nightstands that had the same royal-looking lampshades. In the center of the room, a fur round white rug, with a coffee table and two baby pink armchairs around it.

There was a vanity table that was also white on the corner, and the wall facing the bed had two doors. It was probably the closet and the bathroom.

On the other wall, two french windows that had beautiful creme colored curtains. The walls had a flowery wallpaper, and coming from the high ceiling a pending light.

"Pretty fucking awesome, right?"

You let out a shriek, holding your chest in your hand. When did he get behind you? Sweet Jesus.

"Don't I even get a "Thank you, Lloyd, for your kindness"? I did redecorate it, you know. I started doing it even before I got the lab results on your DNA."

You turned your head to him.

"Oh, yeah, about that. 99,9% your father. We still got a lot of catching up, don't we, daughter?"

"It's Y/N for you." You told him and put your bag on the bed, making an acquaintance with it. That mattress would surely be a problem when you'd have to get up to go school. "Where are my things, by the way? I need my stuff."

"Your grandma packed you a suitcase with your things. I threw your old laptop out, and bought you a new one. A new phone too. It's all set up for you. There are new toiletries in your bathroom, and I don't know if you wear makeup or not so I bought anyway and put in your vanity.

That was nice, but you didn't care.

"I want to see my mom."

"No, you don't. You're not spending the rest of your life by her side, that's not healthy."

Your face heated up in anger.

"You don't have a say in that! I want to see my mom! What if she wakes up and I'm not there?" You yelled, and he just scoffed.

"Then I take you to her the minute she does. Now suck it up and be nice for a change, will ya?"

He left and closed the door. You hid your face in the pillow and screamed, crying until your head hurt.

It was almost eight p.m. and Lloyd spend the rest of the afternoon in his office, yelling at people over the phone and doing boring paperwork for Carmichael.

It was a nice distraction, because he didn't knew what the hell he was going to do with you. He would not be parading you in public, he had too many enemies to pull a stunt like that.

Maybe bringing her here was a mistake, he sulked. But he couldn't just let you go, not now that his most trusted man insisted he took a paternity test and arranged a nice bedroom for you in his home.

He could send you away at any moment, thought. He'd never get attached to an insolent mini him just because she was cute and shit.

Oh no. Nope. Not going in that territory. It was foreign, dangerous and he couldn't go back once he got there.

When he looked at his watch he cursed. He'd had to make something for you to eat (and hire a cook). 

Lloyd sighed when he reached the kitchen. It wasn't that he was a malfunctioning adult, but he couldn't cook if his life depended on it. He took no shame in admitting that he ate instant noodles when he wasn't dining at a nice restaurant, but he couldn't let you eat that crap everyday.

He googled an easy recipe. Thank God he'd made time to do the groceries, otherwise you two would have to go out to eat, which was a big no for him.

But he didn't know where his kitchenware was. Or what to cook. Or how to.

Okay, you'd survive with instant noodles tonight, he decided.

"What are you doing?"

"OH MY GOD!" Lloyd screamed, seeing your post-sleep face behind him. "Don't you ever sneak on me like that, I might end up shooting you, you little shit!"

You glared at him.

"Do you own a gun, Lloyd? Are you some mafia lord or something?" You pried, curiously.

"What I do is none of your business, and if someone asks you about me, you'll play dumb, which I suspect it won't be hard for you."

The harshness in his voice made you change the topic really quick.

"At least I'm not dumb enough to not know how to cook a meal. Now get out of my way while I make something for us to eat." You sassed at him and opened the fridge, looking for meat. You could feel his gaze burning into you, but paid no mind to him. 

In thirty minutes, you had the meat seasoned and sitting nicely in the oven, while you made some salad.

Lloyd was sitting in one of the chairs by the counter, angry-texting someone. 

"Dinner's ready!" you hummed, feeling your mouth watering at the smell. You got two plates in the cupboard and offered one to Lloyd, who gladly took it from you and started serving himself. You suspected he was quite hungry, but said nothing to spoil his sudden good mood.

After finishing your diner, you put the dishes away and soaked a sponge with water and detergent before scrubbing them, absent minded.

"When did you learn how to cook?" Lloyd asked you, too stubborn to compliment you.

"My mom taught me when I was tall enough to reach the oven and do the dishes. Told me I had to be independent and all."

"You two are pretty close, huh?"

"Well, she did raise me by herself."

"Okay, now you're just being an asshole."

That earned a grin from you.

Since it was Saturday, Lloyd decided that he would let you sleep until noon if you wanted to. He was reading his newspaper (okay, he was actually trying to solve the crosswords) while the maids mopped the floors and dusted the things.

He was surprised when he saw you dragging your little feet down the stairs, hair everywhere, yawning and wearing plaid pants with a black strap top.

"Slept well, kiddo?"

"Very." You replied, rubbing your eyes. "What are we doing today? And why do you have so many maids? Can I see my mom just for a while?

"Why do you ask so many questions?" Lloyd whined. "Thank God I wasn't around when you started to speak. Must've drove your mom out of her goddamn mind. Okay, how about we go shopping today? We can even have ice cream after, what do you think?"

"What about mom?"

"She's not going anywhere, is she?"

"Fuck you." You spat. 

Lloyd was stunned. He tore his gaze from the newspaper to you, and before he could scold you, you were running back to your room.

"That's not very nice, kiddo!" He yelled. "Say that to me again and I promise you'll be regretting it!"

"Sir?" One of the maids, a middle-aged woman, hesitantly spoke to Lloyd. "The girl was crying."

Lloyd sighed. He knew you for less than a month and you were already being an annoyance. His patience was running thin, he didn't know how much more of you attitude he could take before snapping.

He knocked on your door, and heard you sniffling.

"Go away!"

"Okay, kiddo! I hope you're decent right now, because I'm coming in!" Lloyd announced before opening the door to you with your face buried in the pillow. 

He sat on the bed, and you moved further from him when you felt the mattress sinking by your side.

"I'm sorry." That you are a little drama queen, he wanted to add. "Guess jokes about your mom are off limits, then?"

You said nothing, raising your middle finger to him with your face still on the pillow. He chuckled.

"So, we're even? Because I'm not having you talking back to me all the time, kiddo. At some point I'm gonna lose my shit and the moment that happens, I only hope for your sake that you're a good runner."

Your chest rose lightly, a sound of muffled laughter coming from you.

For a little while, things were good. Great, even. And that's how Lloyd sensed some shit would hit the fan at any moment.

Maybe you were too excited to finally have a father figure in your life, but you were actually happy for the first time after your mom's accident. Lloyd would have a chauffeur take you and pick you up from school, and you'd visit your mom once a week.

Your grandparents would go to Lloyd's house to see you and check on you (you learned later that it was their "arrangement" because Lloyd actually had something to hold over their heads).

You were eating chocolate ice cream while rocking softly in a bench swing Lloyd had people built for you with him on your side drinking his Scotch.

"I killed a cat once."

You said it so casually as if you were talking about the weather, and Lloyd choked so hard on his drink that you had to pat his back. 

He stared at you with tears in his eyes, still coughing.

"Well, it was an accident. I was three or four? I don't remember. Mom had found a cute grey kitten and she sheltered him for a few days in our home. I was so excited to have a cat!" You hesitated a little, and frowned at the memory. "One day, mom was cooking dinner and I hugged the cat. Hard. I suffocated him, and when mom found us she lost her mind."

"She yanked my arm really hard and screamed so harshly at me that I still have flashes of that moment. I cried, because I had no idea what was happening, and I didn't realized I've killed it."

"We never talked about that again, but I think my grandparents found out what happened later, because I spent some time living with them after that. They weren't on speaking terms with mom, and when she got me back they would supervise us and shit."

Lloyd considered you for a while.

"I appreciate us bonding over this happy story, but why are you telling me this now?"

"Because now I realize why she reacted that way, and why she disappeared on you. When you asked me if I had ever killed an animal when we first met, it didn't cross my mind. But then, I had a feeling. Killing animals in childhood is a classical sign of psychopathy. Mom overreacted because she thought I was just like you, Lloyd."

You looked over Lloyd with a little grin on your face.

"Stop being cute, kiddo. And just so you know, I'm a sociopath, there's a little difference. I wasn't sure that was the reason your mom left me, maybe she finally realized I really was fucked in the head in an irredeemable way. I reached out to her only once, and your grandfather got in the way and told me to leave her alone. They told me a little while ago that they knew about the pregnancy and they wanted to keep you from having me around." 

"Well, the effort didn't matter in the end, but okay."

"And the fact that I'm a sociopath doesn't bother you?"

You shrugged.

"Not really. You could be worse, it's not like you killed mom or something."

Lloyd tried to keep his cool. He was fucked.

You tiptoed the stairs, trying to make the smallest noise possible. Lloyd made you pinky promise him that you were going to stay in your room, but you were so hungry! And it didn't help you that he filled the kitchen with your favorite snacks.

You sighed in relief when you got some chips, a Ben & Jerry's cup and a bar of Hershey's. You hugged your food and when turned to go to your room, you screamed.

A man, about Lloyd's age, eyed you up and down, smirking.

"Damn, you're a bit young for him, aren't ya pretty thing?"

You cringed so hard at the way he said it, feeling disgusted. You just walked past him, trying to go back to your room as fast as possible, but he grabbed your arm, making you drop your snacks.

"Tell me, pretty girl... How old are you? Fifteen, fourteen... Wouldn't be my youngest, though." 

You wanted to kill him with your bare hands. With renewed animosity, you kicked his groin as hard as you could, and he let go of you to hunch to his front, wailing.

Before you could react, you heart a gunshot. The man's head blew with the impact, his body dropping to the kitchen floor and staining the impeccable floors. You were so shocked that you couldn't move.

"Go hide behind that door. Don't come out until I go there, you hear me?" Lloyd asked, voice hushed. He was already dragging you to the pantry room and locking you there. "Stay fucking quiet, kiddo."

You heard more gunshots and some yelling, and you laid on the floor, hugging your head as best as you could, your heart hammering in your chest.

All of this lasted maybe five minutes, but it felt like fucking hours. You were beginning to imagine the worse. Maybe someone hurt Lloyd, and he wouldn't come to save you. 

When you heart the lock of the door, you tried to drag yourself under a shelf, dropping everything.

Okay, you were screwed. You screeched when Lloyd's hand forced you on your feet, feeling so relieved that you hugged him.

He froze. And then, he explode:

"What the FUCK were you thinking? Coming out of your fucking room, knowing I had people over? Do you realize how dumb you were? Do you know what could happen to you if they realized you are my child?"

"I didn't know..." you tried to defend yourself.

"I TOLD YOU! I fucking told you Y/N, don't come out of your room when there's people over. They could be armed and they could kill you! You-" he interrupted himself, trying to find words to say. "You're grounded! For the rest of your life!"

"I already apologized!" you cried out, annoyed.

He took a deep breath.

"So what? You still could've get yourself killed!" He started raising his voice again. "If you get yourself killed, what the fuck am I supposed to do, huh? Ever thought about that?"

Oh. You just realized it wasn't about you disobeying him (or making he kill so many people).

He cared about you.

"Maybe I would finally be in peace, without you nagging at me every fucking hour." You defied, chin up.

He sighed. And somehow, you knew you were in deep trouble. You swerved from him, his fingers barely grazing on your skin.

You let out a little scream while you ran from him, who was chasing you like a madman. You got in the nearest room and locked the door, breaking in a fit of hysterical laughter. 

You were so fucked right now.

"You fucking brat! Open the fucking door right now so I get to beat the shit out of you!"

"No!" You managed to yell back between laughing and sobbing.

"Get out of that way, I'm breaking this fucking door!"

"I'm gonna throw myself out of the window!" you threatened.

"I FUCKING DARE YOU! You little bitch! We are in the first floor! Go ahead, we're just getting started!"

You yelped when you heard his body colliding with the door, and ran to the window. You managed to escape just before the wood broke under the pressure of Lloyd's rage. You ran through the back of his house, the chilling breeze doing nothing to you as you were pure adrenaline. 

You yelled when he grabbed your middle and threw you over his shoulder, putting you down almost immediately.

"My fucking back!" Lloyd snapped, annoyed and panting, with his hand on his lower back. You burst into giggles. This bastard of a man could have his hands bloody, but how he managed to be so ridiculous doing so never ceased to amaze you. "Think this is fucking funny? The only reason I'm not beating you right now is because I'm tired, okay?"

"I thought we were just getting started." You teased him, and he started to chase you again.

Later that night, Lloyd had Klaus taking the three bodies out of the house. As you scrubbed the floors to clean the blood (Lloyd's punishment for you) you couldn't help but joke:

"You just traumatized me, dude. I'll probably need lots of therapy and shit to recover." 

"I think you'll survive." He replied coldly, leaning against the wall while he watched you.

"I had no idea a head could just blow up like that!" You continued. "I think there's some brain under my nails."

"Shut the fuck up. This is your fault."

"I don't feel guilty though. The man thought I was some plaything to you, he even said that he had younger girls... I'm glad he's dead."

"Not that I'm complaining that you are being surprisingly brave, but I think it's best if we hide your... Tendencies. At least in front of other people. Okay, kiddo?" He said and turned to leave to his office.

"Okay da-Lloyd." You corrected yourself before you could actually say the word Dad. Lloyd stopped in his tracks. "Lloyd, I'm so sorry, it slipped! I promise you I'm never doing that again."

He didn't turn to face you. You thought that was it, he was mad at you but would let it slide. You never saw the tears forming in the corner of his eyes, because all he wanted right now was for you to see him as your father.

It didn't take long for things to go down to shit. Lloyd was having a surprisingly smooth day, going to the city to have a meeting with Klaus and the rest of his minions. He left you alone in the house and when he got back and saw you sobbing on the front porch he something was terribly wrong.

He barely walked out of his car when you came at him, angry and punching his chest with your tiny fists.

"YOU ASSHOLE! YOU'RE THE REASON MY MOM GOT IN THAT DAMN ACCIDENT!"

He couldn't control your anger, tossing and screaming at him, punching and slapping and kicking. And he let you. Because he knew it was what he deserved.

When you were tired out, he tried to hug you, but you flinched away from him, letting such a pity cry come out from your throat that he felt like the Grinch when his heart grew so big it broke into his chest.

He could feel his heart breaking too.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry, you have to believe me when I say it wasn't on purpose. My minions were chasing this really bad guy, and his car crashed into your mother's."

You said nothing, the tears rolling down your cheeks, your eyes puffy and nose red. 

"I had no idea of her whereabouts after she broke things off with me all those years ago, you have to believe me when-"

"When you say you were just chasing a bad guy? Like you aren't one? Should I believe this was some sick coincidence, when you are rotten to the core, Lloyd?" you cut him off, the words cruelly coming out of your mouth. "My grandparents are coming to pick me up. I don't wanna see your face ever again. I wish it was you who got hurt, not my mom."

Your grandparents arrived shortly after that, and by their short "Hellos" and "Goodbyes" Lloyd could say they knew everything too.

But how did you find that out? 

Later, drowning the second bottle of Scotch in his office, when the gears in his mind finally stopped turning.

That asshole.

Klaus' lifeless body slipped from Lloyd's grasp. His motivation to reveal the truth about your mother's accident couldn't be pettier. Lloyd always knew that snake would betray him, but he hadn't expect it to hurt so fucking bad.

He got his most trusted men to keep an eye on you, and for weeks he got little news on you, the aching on his heart always there. When he found out that your mom had a brain death, all the hope of getting your forgiveness left him.

Still, he couldn't just leave you on your own.

Lloyd watched as you placed white flowers on your mother's grave, your hair messy and some streaks falling from your bun.

You suddenly turned to him, feeling watched. You rolled your eyes when you recognized the mustache, scoffing in annoyance. Lloyd took careful footsteps towards you, his hands on his pockets.

"I'm sorry, kiddo."

"You already said that." You replied softly, tired of arguing and tired of grieving.

"No, Y/N. I'm sorry I wasn't around to guide you through your early years. I'm sorry I wasn't enough that your mother felt like raising you by herself would be better than doing it with me. I'm sorry for storming into your life and messing you up, and I'm sorry for all the pain I put you through, and I promise you, it wasn't on purpose. I'd never hurt you on purpose. I'm sorry I'm not a good father." He finished, his eyes watering. You sniffed and gave in, hugging him and sharing your heartbreak.

You already lost a parent. You couldn't just turn your back on the other. You turned your head to him, still in his embrace: 

"Take me home, dad. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Lloyd happily complied. This time, he would make it right.

[bloggingboutburgers]

I'm here to bonce back on the "non tagging x reader content" when... Shippers do the EXACT same thing and get no flacks in returns?

ESPECIALLY mlm ones?

I mean why even bother? You either drool over those two men kissing or you're just a raging homophobe! Simple as that ! 😌 😇

You have no idea of the numbers of shipper accounts i had to block because they posted content for that ship that i hate without tagging it as shipping. And nobody bats an eye, everyone is cool with that because everyone ASSUMES you're into this.

And then they say shits like "Wow x reader is such a HATE CRIME am I right?" And everyone's agreed with them and you can't say shit in response because all the fandom back them up. (True story, i wish i made that one up)

And as a sex/romance repulsed aroace woman who's only comfortable with x reader fanfics to safely explore those complicated feeling the fuck am I supposed to do? I would get gutted on the street by the entire fandom.

And before everyone slash my throat : everyone should tag their content. No matter what it is. Shipping, x reader, whatever...

But why everyone is so comfortable shitting on the x reader community while the shippers get to do everything they want without any pushback????

Like idk how to say it, all the goods the x reader community gave me. Its the only community who accepted me in ANY fandoms i have been as an aroace woman, all the rest of the fandoms bullied me and tried to chase me away because i """"shipped myself""""" with male characters i saw as aroace coded too. The x reader community welcomed me and helped me carve my own space while the rest gave me fucking slack because I saw those characters as aroace instead of gay. (Because it is apparently the only valid queer interprétation ever)

Like fuck man...

This community is the only one who accepted to listen to me rambling about how those character were aroace coded and cheered for me writing about them while i was bullied off my first account because i did not agree with the popular ship.

I met more aroace people writing nsfw/romantic fics (YES I TAG THEM ALL) about those characters than i ever met in my entire life. HELL, each and every single Friend I made on this site came to me to thank me for my writing and they ALL turned out to be sex/romance repulsed aroace people.

TLDR : why is it always the x reader community that get flacked for doing something the shippers do since the very begining of fandoms without any repercussion?

Its getting old.

Sincerely an aroace sex/romance woman that will never let go of her x reader fanfics.

...OK ima be honest on that one

Personally I don't dig shipping OR xreader, I kinda put them in a "nope don't wanna read it" same bag

So yeah I don't get why people wouldn't see them on a same scale of value.

Literally people like different things and some would rather read different things and some wouldn't and everything's fine let's seriously just tag stuff to make our life easier and stop judging each other.

The absolute state of all of this. Jeeeeesus. That's part of why I don't even bother in fanfiction spaces anymore. That and the fac there's hardly ever anything that'd interest me anyway, I guess.

[kamisatomay018]

Until We Reunite..

A Kamisato Ayato Fanfiction

Warnings: modern au, mentions of character death and violence, angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, reincarnation themes. Ayato x fem!reader (reader is named Sakura)

This one’s gonna be pretty long!

“A..Ayato…” you whispered softly, voice broken with pain as you reached out your bloodied hand towards your husband, tears streaming down your cheeks. “S..Sakura..forgive me..I couldn’t..protect..” he cried softly, barely managing to crawl towards you, holding your hand. Both of your bodies were filled with slashes and wounds, blood spilling uncontrollably ruining the expensive silk clothes that once shone brightly, adorning you both. You both knew this was the end, that you both were going to die. At least by the grace of God, you would die together. You weakly reached out your other hand to him, cupping his cheek. “Don’t..blame yourself my love..this is not your fault..nor is this the end of our love.” His pain filled amethyst eyes stared at you, somehow trying to pull you closer despite how badly wounded he was. “Will we meet each other again, perhaps in a better time?” He whispered weakly, not wishing to part with you. How cruel fate was, snatching away his happiness from him just when he had found it. You mustered up a small smile, nodding as you felt your energy being drained away, your heartbeats fading into nothingness. “I promise..we will find each other again in another life. I am forever bound to you, Kamisato Ayato..” Taking deep ragged breaths, he managed to place a last kiss on your forehead, holding you close as his own life force started giving away. “Until we reunite my love..” And just like that, you both breathed your last, buried in a bloodied embrace and an unfulfilled promise..

500 years later

There he stood, as elegantly as ever, his messy blue hair, classy outfit and AirPods in his ears. His bag hung loosely down his right shoulder as he stood leaning against the wall, engrossed in his phone completely unaware of the number of girls fangirling over him, their eyes dreamy and filled with daydreams of this immaculate man, or so they thought. After all, Kamisato Ayato was the smartest boy in college. You too, were no different except the fact that you were way more subtle and decent than the other girls present around. You had been crushing over Ayato for around 2 years now, but of course you could never confess. He was the epitome of perfection, class and elegance, and he was no doubt very rich. Yet his demeanour was that of a gentleman, he was eloquent and an excellent student. It wasn’t like you were just some random student, on the contrary you were beautiful yourself, but you were very different. Unlike everyone else, you preferred a simplistic lifestyle, without any makeup or heavy accessories. You were always clad in simple yet classy clothes, and never attended college parties or fests. Being around crowds was just not your cup of tea, you would much rather spend that time in the library, reading about ancient civilisations and historic records. You were a history major after all, while he was a business management student.

In your eyes, you both were worlds apart. You weren’t as rich as him, not were you as popular as him. You both were…acquaintances at best, having collaborated twice when he, to your utter surprise, had requested your help in his project. He wished to show in his detailed project the future prospects of creating devices that can decipher ancient texts and inscriptions. His particular interest was in the ancient civilisation of Narukami, which had fallen to a Great War. He needed someone who could provide him with honest feedback on his idea, and after doing his own research, he decided that you were the most capable person for the job. You were a top student in your major, and had done multiple research papers on inazuman history. You still remember the way your infatuation had just grown during the time you were helping him, but alas, all good things must come to an end, and so did your collaboration. Ever since then, you both never had the chance to interact, except sharing courteous smiles when bumping into each other in the corridors.

Sighing softly, you shook yourself out of your thoughts. “He can’t be yours Sakura!” You kept reminding yourself, making your way to the library. It was way better to distract yourself in reading than get distracted by the handsome features of Ayato. Walking through the isles of your large campus library, your eyes searched for a book you had been waiting for, ‘The Tales Of Narukami’, which had become a best seller recently. Your eyes lit up as you found the book, but then you mentally groaned seeing the book kept so high up in the rack. “Oh for god’s sake..” you mumbled, standing on your tip toes to try and reach the book, but to your dismay, you could not reach it. As you were about to give up, you saw an elegant hand easily grab the book, adorned with a gold and platinum ring, and a limited edition Rolex.

“Here you go.”

Oh gosh you knew this voice all too well. The same deep voice that gave you butterflies in your stomach, the same voice that made your heart skip a beat and the same voice you yearned to hear every single day. You turned around to face him, gasping softly at the close proximity between you two as you timidly reached out to take the book, trying not to blush right in front of him. What you didn’t notice was the way Ayato’s amethyst eyes flickered with amusement and adoration. Ah if only you knew how adorable you looked with your pink cheeks. “Thank you so much Ayato.” You mustered the courage to look into his gorgeous lavender eyes that shown ever so brightly. Gosh he was so perfect, so tall and handsome, leaning over you effortlessly. “Don’t mention it Sakura.” He gave you his charming smile, stepping back leaving space between you both. You immediately felt this sense of disappointment as his warmth and scent left you, but you were careful not to let it show.

You smiled softly, heading to an empty table in a corner of the library and to your utter confusion, Ayato followed you, sitting right in front. “I do hope you don’t mind me taking some of your time? There are a few things I wish to discuss with you.” He spoke, his voice soft and eyes tender as he gazed at you. “Oh of course not, please tell me what it is that you wish to discuss.” You watched as he placed his hands on the table, adjusting his posture. “Well then- I will not beat around the bush. I wish to…take you out on a date.” What? What did he just say? It was very clear by your expressions that you were absolutely dumbfounded. Ayato found it so endearing that he wished he could click a picture and save it for himself. “Huh?” Was the only thing that you could say. Were you dreaming? Your absolute crush was asking you out on a date?

Ayato let out an amused chuckle as he nodded, ever so gently holding your delicate hand into his larger and warm one. “I know this may seem very sudden, but truth be told, I have been infatuated by you for quite some time now..So Sakura, will you do me the honour of being my date?” That’s it, you could no longer hold back your smile. You blushed profusely, butterflies swarming your being as this moment felt like a dream come true. “I…I would love to Ayato..” His smile visibly brightens, making him look heartbreakingly handsome. Of course, he knew you would say yes, but hearing you say it felt even more surreal. “I am truly delighted to hear that. If you are free this Saturday, I can arrange something that will definitely be to your liking.”

You smiled shyly, nodding. “Saturday sounds good.” “Great! Well then how about you give me your number, and I’ll come to pick you up on Saturday?” You became flustered at how gentlemanly he was, stuttering. “Oh! You..you needn’t go through so much trouble-“ He holds you hand again, silencing your words. “It is no trouble, it is but proper etiquette. Besides, where I’m gonna take you will be a little surprise~” You ended up giggling shyly, and your melodious giggles made Ayato’s heart flutter. Eventually you agreed, giving him your number and assuring him that you’ll send him your address. “Well then I’ll take my leave, my class is about to start. I’ll see you soon Sakura.” “Goodbye Ayato!” You smiled happily at him, waving sweetly as he left.

You still could not believe what had just happened. You got up, issuing the book to be borrowed as you headed home, feeling so giddy and excited. The whole day you lay in bed, kicking your feet like an excited child. Just then you heard your phone’s notification, and to your delight, it was Ayato. You quickly opened his texts, a smile adorning your features.

“Hey, it’s me, Ayato. I hope you got home safely.”

“Hello Ayato, and yes, I did reach home safely.” urgh, how is he this perfect and such a gentleman??

“I am glad to hear that. And I am looking forward to seeing you again.”

“So am I.. ah which reminds me, here’s my address!”

“Noted, I’ll be there by 4 pm. Dress up a little, I’m taking you somewhere fancy.”

“What- Ayato you don’t need to!”

“Oh hush, it’s nothing. I want you to have the best date ever. After all, first impressions matter~”

“No need to worry about that Mr. Kamisato, you’ve already made an excellent first impression..”

The next 2 days pass by in a flash, only this time, you saw Ayato way more frequently as he would come to visit you in the library, listening to you fondly as you talked animatedly about the history of Inazuma. He loved the way your eyes shone due to how passionate you were about the subject, and your knowledge impressed him. Likewise, he would also share his interests with you, once even bringing his favourite boba tea for you. The increasing closeness between you both had become a hot topic for gossip at college, as a lot of girls envied you, and a lot of guys envied Ayato. Oh well, neither of you cared as your feelings for one another kept blossoming.

Saturday arrived finally, and you looked at yourself in the mirrror, wearing a beautiful floral dress with stilettos and your hair down. Grabbing your wallet and phone you rushed outside hearing a car honk, which was probably Ayato. Upon stepping outside, your eyes landed on the immaculate man seated in the car, wearing a black shirt with black pants, his hair falling gracefully on his right shoulder. Oh he looked so good that you couldn’t handle it. He was indeed God’s finest creation, each feature of his perfect self crafted with care and time. You smiled shyly, sitting in the car beside him.

Ayato meanwhile, was completely awestruck by your beauty. You looked so magnificent that all he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms and kiss you until you were breathless, he just wanted to make you his girlfriend already. “You look…so beautiful Sakura..simply stunning..your beauty always amazes me.” You blushed at his words, and to his delight your cheeks turned as pink as the flowers on your dress. “Thank you Ayato, you look reallly handsome too..” He chuckles at your words as you both set off for your destination. “Why thank you. Now as for our destination..Well have you ever heard of the Grand Narukami Museum?” Your eyes widened in disbelief at his words. “What..no way..Ayato that is the biggest and most sought after museum! Its tickets are literally impossible to get! How did you even-“

Ayato simply laughs at your babbling, shaking his head. “It was not that difficult really, my mother is a trustee of that place. When I told her that my date was such a master at history, she was more than pleased to let me take you there. I figured you would enjoy being there.” You felt your heart melt, and you swore you just fell so in love with him. “Oh Ayato..I cannot thank you enough..I’ve dreamed of going to this museum!” “Is that so? Well then, I’m going to fulfil many such dreams of yours, if you’ll let me.” You blush once again, nodding “I would like nothing more than that..” He smiles at your words, gently holding one hand of yours, intertwining it with his. You felt instant shivers at his soothing touch, his warm and larger hand engulfing your giving you a strange feeling of safety and comfort. How was he able to have such an effect on you already?

After a while the car stopped as you both reached the biggest museum in all of Inazuma, one where getting entry was next to impossible for a common person due to the precious and mysterious artefacts present here. It is said that there are countless precious objects from the ancient Narukami civilisation that archaeologists and historians have still not been able to classify. You still could not believe that you were getting a chance to see this place for yourself. “Shall we M’lady?” ayato’s soothing voice snapped you out of your trance as he offered you his arm like the gentleman he was. “Yes, yes we shall..” holding his arm gently, you both made your way inside. Upon spotting Kamisato Ayato, the guards and staff bowed to him, as you both reciprocated the action. “Sir Kamisato, we welcome you. Everything you had requested has been arranged. We hope you both have a wonderful time.” He nods with a polite smile “You have my utmost gratitude.”

As you two made your way inside the museum, a soft gasp left your mouth due to how much you were in awe of this place. “Oh my god…this is..beyond beautiful..” Ayato smiles at you, not disturbing your train of thoughts, rather choosing to admire you in this moment. He loved how you gained happiness from such simple and knowledgeable things rather than materialistic ones. You were unique in his eyes, and the fact that you stood out from the crowd drew him towards you. He showed you around the museum, your enthusiasm was contagious as you excitedly spoke about all the relics you recognised, even leaving the staff of the museum in awe of your knowledge. “Miss, your extensive knowledge is truly remarkable. We have never seen someone identify these objects so quickly.” The manager spoke, making you flush. “Ah I..i just am very interested in the history of our land that’s all..” Ayato chuckles at your modesty, holding you closer with affection. “She is indeed extraordinary..”

The two of you had a lot of fun there, as your bond only seemed to grow stronger. The last section of the museum was the portraits of the rulers of the ancient civilisations, which was an area not many were allowed to see. But since you were with Ayato, anything was possible. “This is the final section of our tour I believe.” Ayato spoke, his eyes roaming around the countless portraits. “Oh my…these are all original paintings from back then!” You left Ayato’s side to walk ahead, eyes shining. He chuckled too, walking behind to a section of paintings.

As you were walking, you came across a portrait that made you stop dead in your tracks. There stood a man, wielding a hydro sword and dressed in expensive silk robes, his blue hair and lavender eyes staring right into you. What on earth was Ayato’s portrait doing here? The resemblance was almost terrifying, making you turn around and look at Your Ayato, who was admiring a painting of the Grand Narukami Shrine. You stepped closer to the painting, reading the details. “Kamisato Ayato, head of the Kamisato Clan and Yashiro Commissioner of Inazuma. Murdered along with his wife in 1530 at the age of 28..” How come you had never read about this man anywhere? And…why on earth is he the exact same like the man you’re on a date with? The name, the features, everything…You stared up at the portrait again, and an unexplainable ache took over your heart, tears filling your eyes. It felt like you knew him, like you missed him dearly. You felt connected to him. But why?

Meanwhile, Ayato walked towards a portrait that made him stunned, as he froze on the spot. It was..you. A painting of you, only..you were dressed in a beautiful silk kimono embroidered with threads of gold, your hair made in an elegant bun. Your eyes were gentle, an expression of authority and elegance was visible on your face. What..what in Teyvat was going on? He searched for details of the portrait, reading softly. “Kamisato Sakura, First Lady of the Kamisato Clan and wife of the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato. Murdered in 1530 with her husband at the age of 26..” wait what? Kamisato Sakura? The name, the face, everything was the same. That was undoubtedly you, but how? And the Yashiro Commissioner had the same name as him? He looked at the portrait again, and winced as a dull pain struck his head. Countless emotions flowed through him the longer he stared at the portrait. Guilt, agony, anger, grief…

“Ayato..”

“Sakura!”

You both spoke at the same time, facing one another. You both were shocked again to see portraits of people who looked just like you, the resemblance so uncanny that it left you both speechless. “Ayato look..” you pointed at a portrait of the Kamisato couple, standing together in all their glory wrapped in a gentle embrace. Their eyes were full of love for one another, the joy visible on their faces. At that very moment the world spun around as you winced at the sudden headache you got, closing your eyes as countless memories flooded through your mind like an untold story forgotten in time..

“Do you take Kamisato Ayato to be your husband for all eternity?”

“Yes, I do”

“And do you take Kujou Sakura to be your wife for all eternity?”

“Yes, always.”

Ayato’s amused eyes flickered towards you, the all too familiar teasing smile adorning his features. “Daarin, how long do you plan on staring at me hm?” You blushed at his words, getting up to adjust his clothes and help him put on his coat. “Is it a crime for me to admire my husband Lord Kamisato?~” his melodious laughter filled your ears, as he held you close, placing a loving kiss on your forehead. “Of course not Lady Kamisato, I am all yours.”

“Ayato come on, take a break my love, you seem so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea.” He gave you a grateful smile, looking visibly tired from all the paperwork. “Thank you Daarin, you’re right, I should take a break..”

“I’m home my beloved!” “Ayato!! Welcome home, how was your trip to Watatsumi island?” He smiled lovingly, embracing you as he inhaled your scent. “It was successful, negotiations have been going smoothly.” You snuggled closer to him, basking in his warmth. “I’m so proud of you! Her excellency will be very pleased to hear this.”

“I love you Kamisato Sakura.”

“I love you eternally too Kamisato Ayato..”

“Sakura!! No, please don’t hurt her, leave her alone!” Ayato begged for the first time, crying as the enemies stabbed you, making you fall onto your knees, gasping for air. “NO!!” He shrieked, wanting to reach out to you but alas, the enemies surrounded him, enjoying the agony of the Yashiro Commissioner. He fought endlessly, his body filled with slashes and wounds, but it was of no use. In the end, he lost, thrown to the ground near you, bleeding profusely. “A..Ayato..” you whispered brokenly, reaching out your bloodied hand to him.

How cruel fate was, only giving you both 4 years of bliss until you both were brutally murdered on that fateful night, ending the legacy of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commission. That was how the downfall of the great empire of Inazuma began, as the two lovers breathed their last, dying in one another’s embrace with a promise left to fulfill…

You gasped audibly, tears falling down uncontrollably as all the memories of your past life came rushing back to you. As you blinked through your tears, you noticed you were sitting on the floor, embraced in a tight hug by Ayato, who also seemed to be crying endlessly. All the memories had come back to him, making him fearful of losing you again. It felt like yesterday when he saw you getting stabbed and kicked away, while he was helplessly surrounded by countless enemies. Both of you stayed like that for a long time, embracing each other as you shed tears for your past life, for all the memories you could have made if only you had lived. Tears that symbolised love, pain, loss and now, a fulfilled promise.

“Ayato..” you spoke after a long while, looking up at him. Now it felt so different, now it felt like you had known him all your life. You cupped his cheek softly, wiping away his tears just like you had all those centuries ago. “Dont blame yourself..” He cried bitterly, caging you in his arms. “It was all my fault, I could not protect you..everything was lost..we could have had so many more memories..” You smiled sadly, making him look into your eyes. His tear filled amethyst eyes hurt your soul, as you brushed his hair away. “We have an entire lifetime to make memories now. I told you, my soul is bound to you..that was not the end of our love. Look, we found each other again..” Those words put a smile on his face as he nodded, hugging you closer than ever. “Yes..our promise has now been fulfilled. We are reunited my love, and this time I promise, no one will ever come in between us and our love. This time, I’ll protect you until the end of time..”

As you both sat there, embraced in the safety and warmth of your arms, the portrait in front of you glowed, the smiles of your past selves widening a little. Your love was unending, having the power to transcend time. After all, your wedding vows to each other were that you would love one another for every eternity.

[lamprophonia]

》 [ yandere!Musician. ] 《

yan!musician x gn!reader: introduction. 1038 words. reader referred to as 'you'. cw for stalking, general yandere behavior. DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE.

amir saba, or just amir on stage, was the latest up and coming sensation.

his first single stayed on top of the indie charts for weeks on end. his (by then, long awaited) debut album went platinum. he was skyrocketed into stardom practically overnight.

he met you by chance, through a friend that worked as part of his road crew. you weren't really supposed to be backstage — but the moment he saw you, amir couldn't take his eyes off you. how could he get mad or even mildly upset when your friend sneaking you backstage allowed him to witness perfection in human form?

he immediately had to learn everything about you, naturally. your first conversation was more of an interrogation, but he honestly just couldn't help himself. he asked every question in the book and the appropriate follow ups, and asked for your social media practically immediately.

he spent that next night stalking your entire online presence. every photo you posted, every tweet, everything and anything he could find. he went through your entire following list, as well as your followers, taking note of friends, family, acquaintances.

with every second amir spent researching you, he was falling deeper.

he didn't question the feelings you were stirring up in him. isn't this what everyone wants, after all? love at first sight, immediate, intense, and unconditional. he didn't need to think too hard about it to convince himself that the two of you were soulmates.

he was, ironically, glad he was on tour at the time. it made tempering himself much easier — he wasn't sure how he would have been able to stop himself from stalking you. instead, he settled for quietly working his way into your circle.

he remembered something you mentioned during that initial conversation-slash-interrogation you two shared, and he just saw something that reminded him of it while on tour! of course he took some time out of his busy schedule to text you about it. isn't that thoughtful?

how could he not be when you occupy 99% of his thoughts at this point?

it wasn't long before he was finding excuses to text you more and more frequently. once, twice a week, every other day, every day... he made his way into your life so naturally, so easily, it only confirmed what he already felt: you're meant to be together. plain and simple.

by the time he got back from tour, he was more than head over heels. he made plans to see you as soon as possible and slowly but surely continued to make himself from an acquaintance into a constant presence in your routine.

texts he sends you every day at 6 as he's sipping his morning coffee, sometimes updating you on something interesting, and sometimes just to wish you a good day. telling you what funny thing just happened in the studio when he's on his lunch break. asking your opinion on song snippets when he gets home, starting a conversation before you go to sleep just to have an excuse to end his day by saying good night to you.

and, of course, whenever he's in town, he's already making plans to see you. no matter the season, he'll find some way for the two of you to spend time together. music festival he's been waiting for for months and just so happens to have an extra ticket to. art exhibition his friend has been raving on and on about. he's been so stressed, he needs a break, and hey — a new restaurant just opened up downtown, so how about brunch?

the first few times you initiate hanging out with him, or even just text him first, he's sure he's going to have a heart attack then and there.

when amir's not monopolizing every ounce of your free time, you're monopolizing his — you wouldn't really know that, though. he just happened to run into you right as you're leaving your workplace. wait, you live in this area? crazy, he was just visiting a friend who lives right around here.

those are the times you do run into him, anyway. being on tour really was the only thing that kept him from stalking you.

he takes up more and more of your schedule as you get more comfortable around him. he does his best to pace himself and not become overbearing, but it's ridiculously difficult sometimes. why would you want to spend time with anyone else when you have him?

it's not even a surprise when he asks you out. you've practically been acting like a couple for a while before you actually put a label on it, and he's been making barely even diguised puppy dog eyes at you since you've met him.

his behavior only gets more intense from that point on. texting you practically nonstop, or at least as often as his schedule allows, dragging you out of the house or coming over every day; hell, he doesn't even need to make up excuses for why he's in your neighborhood or by your workplace so often. he just wanted to surprise you.

is that so bad? you're his partner and his muse, after all.

amir's shameless in how much he adores you. the muse thing is so much more than a nickname; he seriously has never felt more inspired in his life. he's been writing songs about you and how you make him feel since the day he met you, but once you're officially together, he starts showing you the best ones.

he definitely has to control himself a lot. he doesn't want you to realize he's written enough music for four different albums, all dedicated to you. after all, you've only been together for a few weeks. he wouldn't want you to freak out... but he'll gladly put forth the idea of releasing a single for you early in the relationship. how quickly he'll actually do it (because there's no doubt he will, sooner or later) depends on your reaction.

amir's obsession with you is nowhere near a slowburn. he just has to force himself to not go too fast, to cautiously make his way into your life for good.

and once he has you? he's not letting go.

[beevean]

I decided to break down down this absolutely beautiful poster because I love it and there is some interesting content to notice <3

Starting from the big character portraits:

The Hecboi being his usual badass self. You can spot his earrings which I love, it's such a cute detail <3

Isaac practicing his "step on me daddy" routine. yes sir i get it your boots are fabulous and your pants can't contain your d

I find highkey underrated how Kojima associated him with skulls in official artwork. I wish it didn't get lost in time lol.

Trevor, my friend Trevor :) much more serious than the sass master he is in the game lol

Julia taking care of Hector's Innocent Devils :)

Side note, while I love most of their designs in the game, I find Kojima's idea of what Hector and Isaac's Devils could look like very fascinating. I like how she draws dragons.

The big man himself, St. Germain standing in front of a clock, and Zead holding a four-leafed clover for good luck (+ Isaac again lol)

Now, the more minute detail, going anti-clockwise:

Not only we can see Dracula's Castle, but the figure in the center is the Devil Forgery lab in the PtR manga:

Another underrated detail of lore :)

Oh, this one is just. juicy <3 It took me ages to understand what's going on, but with some help I finally realized it.

So this is essentially the moment where Hector went to Dracula and was like "hey boss, would you mind if you stopped to order me to kill humans? dunno if you noticed but i'm human too and it feels weird. thanks", and Dracula was like "hmm. let me think about it. no. have a nice day :)".

In the PtR manga, it was depicted like this:

With Dracula threatening Hector with his extended claws, and then throwing him off the castle keep. i don't know what you were expecting, man

But in the poster, he's straight up holding Hector by his throat and stabbing him with the fingers of his bat wings! So much that you can see blood dripping from his mouth! Ouch!

This only proves my headcanon that Devil Forgemasters are superhuman and can withstand wounds that would kill a normal person.

also, between this and his sippy attack in the game proper, dracula sure likes to manhandle hector a little too much.

the besties going to work <3

You have no idea how much this little drawing pisses me off. This is the closest thing I have of a canon depiction of Hector and Isaac working as Devil Forgemasters.

I need to see them slaughtering humans together in my bloodstream D: not even NFCV had the courtesy of depicting a villain Hector actually doing villain things D: guys. guys the potential-

Aside from that, this also incidentally proves that PtR's interpretation of Isaac's fabulous outfit (being what is left of his normal Devil Forgemaster outfit after Hector destroyed it) is retroactive. My man was apparently already going shirtless just because he felt like it. Imagine being killed by Dracula's most loyal soldier and your last sight in life is his tiddies. King shit.

also

yeah it's stupid but that's the vibe i get lol

I get it, Kojima-san, you love your blorbo. understandable

A bit more seriously, I really appreciate how much Isaac doesn't have the certified Kojima Pretty Man face, he's instantly recognizable. I like his big nose :)

Hector practicing Devil Forging, a smaller version of this panel from the PtR manga:

I like how in the poster it looks like a typical yin-yang symbol, but also closer to the black-and-white motif of the Devil Forging crest :) they look like two lil dragons chasing each other.

why does isaac look 150% more naked without his shoulder armor

It's hard to tell which even this is supposed to represent. I guess it's his defeat at Hector's hands, if we take the black splotches on the ground as his outfit being slashed. Notice the crest on the floor, similar to the intro of the game!

The worsties fighting. Hector is pissed and Isaac is a troll, must be a day ending in Y. they're flirting

The End! Hard to tell if it's Hector's golden Devil or Abel, but it looks awesome <3

This one... puzzles me. I can tell that Hector is being attacked by some little devils and he's defending himself. But why is he using a small pumpkin as a weapon??

(what if this is him trying to defend rosaly from the mob who accused her of being a witch :<)

Hector angsting. Sadly I'm not sure of what kind of flower that's supposed to be, perhaps a dandelion? I wish it was a lily of the valley like in PtR.

Our friend Trevor again. Interesingly, in the full poster, Isaac and Trevor are directly mirroring each other.

Trevor being like "bruh are you for real" after whipping Hector's ass black and blue. (i hate his second fight so much...)

I would say "Hector's revenge", but actually it looks like he's bleeding and in pain. So... I think this the moment when Dracula nearly clawed Trevor's eye out.

Trevor and Isaac fighting! Love that scene in the game :D

isaac how are you even twisting yourself. what are you doing. you're showing off, aren't you.

Not sure about what location these ruins are supposed to be, but fascinating detail of the skeleton holding a scale of justice. It's close to Zead...

tl;dr i want to eat this poster because it's just so fucking good and a great way to summarize the game

[thealogie]

I'm sorry but I'm about to treat your ask box like a confessional.

You kind of deserve it, though, because due to your Sherlock rewatch posts I've been forced to remember that 1. Sherlock is a show that exists and 2. that I wrote Sherlock fanfic when I was 13... about SHERLOCK and MOLLY.

In my defence, I was a deeply deeply deeply repressed bisexual who hadn't realized it yet - so all of the obvious and insane gay stuff between Sherlock and John just completely sailed over my head. Also propaganda worked really well on me as a child - so basically I was the ideal viewer for Moftiss lol. There'd be scenes where people mistook Sherlock and John for a couple and I'd go 'huh that's kind of strange that keeps happening' but then it would be played off as a joke and I'd go 'oh yes of course, silly me! Gay people only exist as the punchline! Sherlock and John would NEVER be interested in each other that way. I can't believe anyone would ever think that haha.'

Flash forward to 2017. I'm 17 years old. I've kissed other women by now and have had my brain chemistry rewritten by copious amounts of slash fanfiction. Still young, but wiser to the ways of the world than I once was. The last time I watched Sherlock, I had been 14 years old. Sherlock season 4 airs. I watch it with my mom. It's so bad my brain immediately initiates a trauma response and wipes all memory of Sherlock away. This continues for years. The only times I remember Sherlock exists is whenever I joyfully watch hbomerguy's Sherlock Is Garbage video while I'm knitting or painting or something. Also whenever I have to type in a password for an account I made when I was 13 - because my go-to password was 'SHERLOCKED' back then, unfortunately.

Flash forward to now. I'm 24 years old. And I start seeing your posts about Sherlock. Like a sleeper agent, it awakens something in me. Yesterday, I spent a perfectly good Saturday - one I could have spent doing literally anything else - reading Johnlock fanfiction. I am suddenly re experiencing the show through new eyes, seeing all the queerbait I never did before. Getting hate-crimed on the daily. I'm thinking about Sherlock at work, at my adult fucking job. I'm watching scenes from the show on youtube in my office, quickly and guiltily clicking away whenever a coworker comes to chat. I am considering doing my own rewatch. I am realizing for the first time that John and Sherlock were literally in love. It's the only lens through which you can view the show and still have it be somewhat enjoyable. They literally put Mary in a wedding dress shooting Sherlock in his mind palace on TV. I feel like I'm having a religious experience, I feel like I'm insane, I feel like I'm 13 again. This is all vaguely November 5th-ish for me lol.

Anyway. I just thought you should know the impact your rewatch is having on the population. Sorry for the novel in your inbox. I've been desperately trying to find my old Sherlock x Molly fanfic to read for the lols but I think I deleted it off ffnet. I am both having the time of my life while also desperately hoping I forget Sherlock ever existed again soon. So, basically - thank you/curse you for this.

This is perhaps the best ask I’ve ever received?? I converted a sherlolly shipper in the year 2023? Listen I’d never wish a season 4 rewatch on anyone but I would highly recommend watching s1-2 and the wedding episode for a truly out of body experience. I felt more strongly about this show/ship than any other in my life and it was STILL worse than I remembered

[the-bar-sinister]

Not Needed, But Desired (8322 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Baby 5/Komurasaki | Kozuki Hiyori

Additional Tags: Femslash, Rare Pairings, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, genre: pirate slice of life, Background Slash, Third Corazon Trafalgar D. Water Law, Minor Donquixote Doflamingo/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff Summary: Baby 5 finds herself head over heals for the newest member of the Donquixote pirates, Komurasaki, the runaway princess of Wano. In the aftermath of a minor scuffle with the marines the two women grow closer despite their wildly different backgrounds.

-

It took most of the day for the family to denude the island of anything interesting— between the marines, their ships, the materials the Spade pirates had left and, yes— the buried treasure that Pica had unearthed underneath the encampment. 

Fred's tidepool had been left where it was, and they took a sliver of the vivre card just in case.

Dinner was the usual raucous affair with the family, everyone back on the ship and talking about the island and the fight, and the haul, and the upcoming Uta concert. Komurasaki sat beside her once again, and once again, came to help with the cleanup after it was over.

Baby 5 scrubbed at a dish as the conversation still buzzed in her mind, her smile lopsided as she glanced over towards Komurasaki to hand her a plate. "Excited for the Uta concert, Saki?" 

Saki nodded and handed her another plate, before drying the first. "I imagine that it's going to be a lot different from the musical performances I've been to."

Baby 5 giggled and ran the offered dish under the water. "Probably yeah, what's the music of Wano like anyway?" 

"I wish I could play some for you," she said, "unfortunately my instrument was destroyed when the Polar Tang sank."

"Awww…." Baby 5 pouted around her cigarette as she scrubbed hard at the plates. "That sucks, maybe Giolla can make you a new one? She's a talented artist, she could probably figure it out if you told her what it was like." 

"Perhaps," she considered, carefully drying more dishes, as they worked together in a dance considerably less brutal than their battle together earlier. "Though I'm almost curious to learn a new instrument now that I've left Wano behind."

"Oooh…Dia's got a guitar, if you're interested in that! I can probably beg him to let you borrow it. I think some of the others have instruments too. I tried to learn one once, but I'm kinda iffy when it comes to musical talent." Baby babbled on as she fussed with a plate, turning it over and over and over again. 

"Do you ever sing?" Saki asked her. She cocked her head, giving her a curious look with her sea-deep eyes again.

Baby 5 flushed deeply, catching her eyes with a flustered half smile. She sang, she'd sing for Diamante when he played the guitar, or when Vi danced along to the feverish beat in her dances with Doffy.

She didn't think she was very good, admittedly. Back in the day, Law had always snarled that 'she sounded like a dying cat trying to sing a love song', much to her embarrassment. But the family never seemed to complain.

"S-sometimes," she murmured, "for Dia and Violet, and Doffy when he's feeling lonely." 

"If I can borrow Dia's guitar, will you sing with me?"

Baby 5 felt her face heat up even more. 

"Y-yeah of course I will! I'd be happy to!" She half turned to look at her with a wide smile "But I warn you, I'm—okay—at best, but I'm going to try my hardest for you, ok?" 

Saki smiled at her. "I think a genuine voice is nicer to listen to sometimes than a well trained one. My own is… very well trained." Her smile flickered a little.

Baby 5 reached out and her suds-slick fingers brushed against Saki's cheek near her flickering smile. "Anything I sing'll be genuine, promise. I… can bet it is, Saki. Honestly I'm curious to see how you take to the guitar, huh?" 

Komursaki paused and leaned into her touch. "Perhaps we can ask this evening. Oh– speaking of which. I noticed that there were clothes among the things we brought onto the ship."

Her fingers lingered against her skin, brushing softly near the cheekbone as she titled her head. "So there were, actually. A whole bunch of 'em, even. Think anything'll fit you?" 

"That's what I was wondering," she said. She turned so that her lips touched her wet fingers and kissed them softly. "Do we need permission to go through them?"

Baby 5 felt a sudden thrill roll through her at the sensation of the woman's lips against her fingers. "You're an officer of the Corazon Army, Saki-baby. You don't need permission for somethin' as simple as that. We can just walk right in and help ourselves. 

She smiled brightly and pressed her cheek against her fingers again. "After we're done here then. Would you look with me?"

Baby 5 leaned in and pecked her lips before she grinned widely. "I'd fuckin' LOVE to. Let's hurry up with these dishes, Saki! I'm dying to know what we find!" 

"Let's hurry then. So am I." She smiled, and kissed her back softly.

The kiss lingered over the smell of soap for a long moment before Baby 5 redirected their attention to their chore. Usually she delighted in the little chores and tasks she did around the ship, reveling in the small hits of validating happiness at helping her family even in such small ways.

But today she found herself rushing side by side with Saki as she worked to clean the dishes as fast as possible.

She couldn't wait to see what Saki wanted to wear, or how damn good she'd look in it. 

-

Komurasaki had never seen so many unfamiliar clothes. There were several crates of them, including the ones that had been brought from the island, and the ones apparently retrieved from the personal items of the marine ships. There were a lot of various sizes, and styles, and levels of wear, and almost without thinking, she and Baby 5 had started to sort them as they went through.

"They're so different." Komursaki— Saki, as she was starting to like being called— liked how unfamiliar they were. She'd been enjoying wearing Violet's dresses, certainly, but this presented an opportunity to pull herself even further from her roots on Wano.

Baby 5 was holding up a marine coat, her cigarette dangling from her lips as she tossed it over her shoulder into the 'to be heavily altered' pile. She seemed rather happy to be sorting through clothes with her, enthusiastically shoving various pieces at Saki as she found them when they didn't quite fit into this pile or that.

"From the stuff in Wano? I'd say, this stuff came from all over the great blue seas!" 

"So I can tell! Are all of these common to wear? Aside from the uniform pieces, I mean."

For most of Saki's life, she'd worn ceremonial clothing— clothing that had been picked for her, and was worn for a specific display purpose, and which she often needed assistance to put on or take off.

Baby 5 grinned at her around her cigarette, the ruffled frill of her maid's apron rustling as she bent down and picked up a pair of tall boots and held them up to her foot to judge their size. "Yeah, most of it anyway. See…this kind of style was really popular around Dressrosa."

She picked up a shirt , meant to be worn open at the chest in a garish pale green animal print of jagged stripes. "Bright, flashy, animal print. Very common where we used to operate." 

"It has a very eye-catching look." She ran her fingers over the fabric. "I wonder what it would be like to wear something like that. Do you think I'd look ridiculous?"

Saki was pretty certain that no matter what she wore, she'd look ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She was a princess. An oiran. The best oiran. She was a decorative novelty at best, something to be dressed and cared for. To have her hair brushed and styled.

The fact that she had left Wano was ridiculous.

"You wanna give it a try?" Baby 5 asked her excitedly. "Doffy and Derringer and…geeze, a buncha the other officers and executives all love that kinda look. I think it'd look fuckin' adorable on you! Hell! It kinda goes with your hair, too!"

Baby 5 didn't seem to think it was ridiculous at all. Maybe because she herself was a little ridiculous. If it would make Baby 5 smile her ridiculous smile, then Saki would try it whether she looked adorable or not.

"You think so? Then I'll happily try it. You'll have to show me how to put it on, however."

Baby 5 made a muscle, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm the best at helpin' people put things on. I used to help Derringer out when he was trying different dresses and stuff as a kid. And Sugar has me help her all the time!" She laid out the shirt, and looked around "Y'want a skirt to go with it, or a pair of pants?" 

Saki thought about it. "I've never worn pants."

Baby 5 looked up at her with wide eyes "Wano doesn't even have fuckin' pants??? What DO they have? I mean, besides 'way too much fuckin' propriety' I guess."

She tutted her tongue and pulled out a pair of pants in lemon yellow with a little sunburst on the ass.

She held them up with a big grin. "Ta da!" 

"Kimono, mostly," she answered. She looked over the pants. They were absolutely ridiculous, and Saki loved them immediately. There was no way anyone would ever think that someone wearing those pants was a princess, or a famous oiran. "Oh those are fascinating. Please show me how to put them on, could you?"

"Y-you got it!" Baby 5 saluted before she turned a deep and flustered red. "but you're gonna have to strip. Is that alright?" 

Komurasaki was very familiar with being naked in front of people. Clients and servants mostly. She hadn't even thought for a moment to be embarrassed about it, but as Baby 5 brought up that she might be, she felt her cheeks flush.

"Is it a problem?"

"Not with me, Saki-baby!" Baby 5 chirped as she brushed her hand through her curly and unruly hair. Still, there was that notable flush on her face as she looked her over. "I mean—you're beautiful, and I'm comfy around you, and if you're comfy around me…"

Saki decided to tease her a little. "Would you help me undress, then? If there's no problem."

She turned and raised her arms for Baby 5 to help her out of her dress.

Baby 5 turned a deeper shade of pink before she scurried over in a rather animated fashion to dip down and start unlacing the back of Saki's dress with nimble fingers. "Y-yes ma'am~" 

She laughed softly, and teased a little further. "Ma'am, hmm?"

The dress slipped off her, exposing her pale, soft flesh. One day, she hoped, it would be marked with scars from a life well lived. For now it was a soft, unpainted canvas.

"I mean if you want me to call you ma'am! Or I can just call you Saki-baby, like usual!" Baby 5 had started to babble as her fingers trailed down her unmarked skin as she peeled the dress downwards. 

"It sounds like you like calling me 'ma'am'," she teased. "So I'd like that."

"S-sometimes," Baby 5 squeaked as she half knelt to lower the dress down Saki's hips. "I mean it's what a maid calls people…and Doffy likes it when I call him Young Master, so, I mean.."

She was certainly flustered now as her smile went lopsided. "I'm glad you don't mind it, ma'am." 

Saki chuckled, letting the dress fall around her hips, exposing the soft rise of her breasts, and flustering Baby 5 further– she was certain.

"Not at all."

From the slight tremor and the intense heat coming off her as she eased the dress aside and stood to look up at her—and very briefly but obviously her breasts—it was safe to say she was very flustered.

"You wanted me to show you how to…uhm…wow you're pretty, ma'am." 

Saki tilted her chin down to look at her with a coy glance. "Why thank you."

Baby 5 smiled up at her–that wide and ridiculous smile that she wore sometimes, this time with cheeks flushed red as a rose and eyes visibly trying not to drift down to Saki's chest as she fumbled for the yellow pants. "You're welcome, Miss Saki." 

Saki liked that smile of hers. It was so unrestrained, so carefree. It made her happy to see.

She lifted her feet, one after the other, to step into the pants as Baby 5 helped her.

Baby 5 slid the ridiculous yellow pants, their fabric slightly thick and stiff but soft to the touch as they slid up her legs as Baby 5 knelt with her arms around her, smoothing out wrinkles as she pulled them up. 

Saki watched her with amusement, letting her dress her. Saki was very good at letting other people dress her. It was more fun with Baby 5 doing it. The pants felt strange however. A little bit constricting, but not in an unpleasant way.

"They fit?" she asked.

Baby 5 ran her hands up her legs with a flustered edge to her big grin. 

"Yeah, I'd say. They're snug, but they're kinda meant to be? They're the type of pants that are meant to show off your curves, you know? Your hips." She lightly patted the sunburst on the ass, flushing as she did. "That's why it's got a decoration there, too." 

"That's very new for me," she said, smirking a little as her ass was patted. She was working to show her emotions more naturally— to restrain herself less. "Showing off curves. When I'm dressed, at least."

Baby 5 seemed to notice, especially with the way she wiggled down there in seeming joy.

"There's a kind of thrill in showing off even when dressed, you know? That's why I wear such a short skirt and low cut blouse." She stood slowly as she grabbed the shirt, still standing rather close to Saki. "Ready for your shirt, Miss Saki?" 

Saki ran her hands down her waist and hips– snug in the pants. "How do the pants look without it?"

Baby 5 seemed to have a physical full body shiver—a very strange one as what looked like a brief ripple of small knife edges trailed up her body as she looked at Saki with wide and interested eyes. "Gorgeous, I mean, it's a bold look!" 

She chuckled, watching Baby's shiver. "Good. Too bold for now, I think. But perhaps some other time."

Baby 5's eyes lingered on her chest again for a moment as she smiled. "Maybe some other time. You'd look great, Miss Saki."

She shifted and raised the shirt, which she started to help her into with a quiet hum. "so this is meant to be worn open at the front, or at least mostly open." 

"Does it need a garment under it?" Saki asked curiously.

-

Baby 5 felt like her brain was sputtering out in real time. At some point she'd gotten so entranced with Saki that she'd started slipping in her coy little 'Miss' and "ma'am's" before she knew it. Flirtatious deference, not like the desperate and needy deference she showed when she needed, NEEDED, to be wanted—but the same sort she showed for Doffy.

She looked up at her, as she slipped the fabric of the shirt over her arms with a chew of her lip. Saki was beautiful, the most beautiful woman Baby 5 had ever seen and certainly one of the most charming. There was just something about her, especially as she introduced her to things outside the narrow box of Wano.

She'd helped her dress, picking through the admittedly impressive pool of seized clothing to find what might suit her until she found something that just screamed 'Saki the deadly pirate'. A bright and cheerful color that'd well reflect any blood splattered across her in the heat of battle.

As they goofed around together she seemed to start to show more, a smirk here and a smile there, opening herself up to Baby 5 in a way that made it feel almost intimate.

Baby 5's crush was threatening to turn into something deeper as she buttoned up the buttons up to just under Saki's chest.

"You can wear one but they're not necessary. A tube top, or a bustier would probably work, but if you leave it open like this it covers the breasts but shows the curve of them and the overall shape of your torso."

She smoothed out the long lapels of the shirt and tried to arrange it nicely around her chest "just be careful bending over for stuff." 

"Hmm." Saki let Baby 5 arrange it for her. The way she let her help her dress reminded Baby 5 of Doffy, too. It was clear that Saki was used to people dressing and undressing her. "I'll keep that in mind. I'm curious how it looks without."

She hoped that familiarity wasn't ruining it for her, she hoped that it wasn't 'too close to Wano'. There were few casual and intimate moments Baby 5 liked more than dressing and undressing someone she cared about. The lingering of touch and the choosing of the right outfits to make sure the person shined—it was something that appealed to her honor as a maid, and the part of her that buzzed with affection and attraction.

"Then I won't get an undergarment! And maybe find you a mirror, Miss Saki!" 

Saki leaned into her, letting the touch linger just like Baby 5 had hoped. Her smirk was hitched and comfortable. "Do please find me a mirror, Baby. I'd like to see how it looks."

Baby 5 bowed her body with a widened grin. Impishly, she lifted Saki's hand and kissed it before she scampered away with a nod, looking around the room for any mirror that might help. "There's got to be one around here…"

She remembered seeing one in one of the chests of the Spade Pirates' clothes, and sure enough there was a large mirror under a few pairs of denim pants.

"Do you think it looks good?" Saki asked curiously as Baby grabbed it.

Baby held it up in front of her, peeking out from its side to grin widely at her as she spoke honestly. "I think you look fantastic, Miss Saki. It's very West Blue, or-–I mean, it's very Dressrosa too. You look, wow…you're takin' my breath away."

It was true. All of it. The way the brightly colored pants clung to her thighs and the curve of her hips, and the open dress shirt with its bold minty animal print baring her milky flesh and the just-visible curve of her breast….it was making her a little weak at the knees. 

Saki pushed her shining green hair back behind her shoulders. "Taking your breath away? That's a high compliment. I think I like how it feels, anyway."

"It is! Lookit, I can barely breathe!" she put her hand to her throat with a flustered grin. "Wheeze, wheeze." She flushed, that– that was a stupid joke. She looked up at her again and tried to babble it off. "you do huh? It's a comfortable kinda outfit and it REALLY suits ya…Miss Saki." 

Saki was, unfortunately, too busy giggling at the joke. She pushed her hair back again and caught her breath. "Thank you… thank you. Can I see the mirror now?"

Baby 5 jolted before running it over to hold it out to her with a grin. "Here you go!" 

Saki gazed into it for a moment, and then started to preen, smoothing her new clothes and her hair. "I really need to do something about my hair, I think…"

Baby 5 watched her preen, so much like Doffy in that way again. She flushed, ducking her head. "They look natural on you, ma'am…your hair? Are you gonna cut it?" 

"I don't know," she said. She grabbed it and held it back, looking at herself in the mirror. "I've always worn it up."

Baby 5 leaned closer, bringing the mirror up to better reflect her face and hair. "like in a ponytail?" 

"No," she shook her head. "Quite complicated hairstyles. I'm contemplating what it would look like simply tied back, versus cut."

Baby 5 chewed her lip for a moment before she reached back with one hand to fiddle with her own hair. The wide curls bounced as she slowly undid her favorite ribbon and pulled it from behind her head.

She paused before she asked. "Can I tie it back for you, Saki-baby?" 

Saki paused too, and glanced curiously at the ribbon in her hand. She smiled warmly. "Please."

Baby 5 put the mirror down, and twisted the pale yellow ribbon around her fingers for a moment before she slipped behind Saki. 

"Just tied back huh? Alright gimme a sec…I used to do this kinda thing all the time for Miss Monet." Her nimble fingers gathered up Saki's hair "and luckily I had this ribbon on me…I mean, I usually do—"

"I suppose it's still warm from you using it," Saki said teasingly, letting Baby toy with her hair.

"A-absolutely, it is!" she wound it around Saki's beautiful hair, working to tie it back. "It was a gift to me when I was a little girl. It's kinda old now, but Doffy gave it to me when I first joined the gang as a child. I got really into collecting bows for a time, wearing all kinds of different ones, including this really cute big red one. But this one was always the most special to me." 

"That's so sweet," Saki leaned into her. "It's… touching that you trust me enough to use in my hair, even for the moment."

Baby 5 flushed, leaning into her from behind as she tied the ribbon and let Saki's hair fall between them. For a moment– one lovely moment, she let herself nuzzle gently against her back and take her in, feel and scent. "Of course I do! I-I mean you're a part of the Donquixote family, right? And we've been getting along, and, I trust you. I know you won't do anything to it." 

Saki smiled at her. "No, I wouldn't."

She turned to face her again, and put her arms around Baby 5's waist.

Baby 5 looked into her eyes, her hands lingering on her shoulders as she gave her another broad smile. "Well that looks fantastic on you, too." 

"Then I should get some ribbons of my own. I don't think I'm ready to cut my hair just yet." She leaned her forehead against Baby 5's.

"You should, Miss Saki," Baby 5 leaned forehead to forehead, her fingers gently tracking down her upper back. "Did that mean something special in Wano? Cutting your hair? I'd heard some islands have special ceremonies around it."

Geeze, though. Saki was gorgeous like this. Unbuttoned from the prim and proper 'Wano' life she talked about in such a tired voice, dressed colorfully with her hair tied back—she really looked like part of the family.

Baby 5 brushed her thumb in a gentle circle against her shoulderblade. She had really gotten to like Saki. A lot. Her heart pattered in her chest as she met her eyes over the smolder of her cigarette.

She let it fall to the ground where she snuffed it with the tip of her shoe. They'd kissed..--- they'd kissed earlier. That meant that Saki liked her too, right? More than just needed her, maybe. Possibly—if she was lucky. 

"Mmm…" she shook her head gently against Baby 5's. "I don't want to think about what it meant or didn't mean on Wano. I want to cut or leave my hair because I like it. That's the way I'd like to do things from now on."

"Good. Then you just gotta keep following your heart, Saki," Baby 5 murmured "and I think your hair looks beautiful. It's nice to see my favorite ribbon on you…" 

"You like it, hmm?" she smiled that teasing smile at her.It made Baby 5's heart race. She was being teased, like a whole hell of a lot . But somehow she didn't mind it at all.

"I d-do, yeah. I'd love to help you experiment with your hair, too. If you want." 

Saki batted her eyelashes, and her voice lowered coyly. "I'd love to experiment with you, too."

Baby 5's face went brick red, and she was damn sure that she'd started steaming like a kettle or the tank of some kind of explosive. She sputtered a little, unable to find her voice as she tightened her arms around Saki.

"I…ah, you wanna experiment with me, Saki?" 

Saki pressed her nose against Baby 5's. "If you'd want to. Tell me, please, if I misunderstand."

She was asking her, directly asking her—so many people in the world outside the Family disregarded her feelings or pressed their advantage on her desperate to please nature, but Saki asked.

She smiled shyly, nuzzling her nose against her. It was no wonder Doffy approved—and it was no wonder that Saki was tightening the threads around her lover's heart.

She nodded slowly. "I want to, you didn't misunderstand Saki—I promise you didn't." 

Saki kissed her softly on the lips. "Why don't we go back to your cabin. I believe we had a conversation from earlier to continue."

Baby 5 let the kiss linger a moment before she nodded and offered her hand to Saki with a chuckle "I was hoping you remembered that, Saki. C-come on before someone comes in and teases us huh?"

A conversation to continue, wanting to experiment—Baby 5's heart skipped a beat. She could take that as proof, right? Real proof. Proof that Saki liked her and didn't just 'need' her.

She wanted her enthusiasm, their mutual enjoyment…

Baby 5 was all too happy to give it to her. She gripped her hand firmly for a moment, holding it to her chest with an increasingly warm and eager smile "come on, Saki—Lemme show you around my room." 

[bitter-panacea]

Goultard's introduction in the Dofus manga, his confrontation with Clustus Part 2

Part 1

Let's get right back to the fight. Clustus tells Goultard he talks too much and attacks first.

Clustus : You shouldn't have been called Goultard the barbarian but Goultard the chatty!

I still think the D at the end of Goultard's name was supposed to be silent. First of all because in french the D is usually silent in words that end in -ard-, just like here in "bavard", but also because they make a lot of rhymes with his name and none of them work if you pronounce the D. Goultard le barbare, le bavard, le bâtard etc

ANYWAY! Back to the fight. Goultard is hoping this fight won't be yet another disappointment...

Goultard : King Clustus, I hope you have more to offer me than a pityful crow spell.

Turns out Clustus isn't king of Bonta for no reason and is actually quite skilled in combat. And Goultard seems pleased to see it. Maybe this won't be as easy and boring as he expected.

Goultard : Well, well, well... This old man can do some damage.

"Bonhomme" is a very interesting word to me. It can mean "man" or more accurately "fellow". For example "bonhomme de neige" is a snowman, "un bonhomme" is also what you'd call a child's drawing of a person, there is something childish about it.... It's informal and can be affectionate or condescending, maybe even both at the same time. Goultard calls Joris "petit bonhomme" (little fellow), but he's not the only one who uses that word to describe him. (If I'm not mistaken, Gou affectionately calls Arty bonhomme... I might be wrong but I'm too lazy to check right now)

BACK TO THE FIGHT

Clustus invokes the royal crackler (whose name happens to be Kabor). Goultard gets crushed by Kabor and buried under the rubble but frees himself and destroys him with ease.

Rip Kabor

And Goultard starts talking again (he wants to be mysterious so bad but he simply cannot stfu)

Goultard : You said earlier that you knew me... But I'm not so sure, you must be wrong. Because, you see... If you really knew me, you would hold more of a grudge!

Clustus basically tells him to "be more clear or shut the fuck up".

Clustus : A grudge? What do you mean by that? Be more clear, if you will, I'm too old for guessing games. / Goultard : I'm much older than you, Clustus, and I still love riddles... But let's not get distracted, what I meant to say... Oh!

Goultard loves riddles apparently, (I find that hard to believe but why not.) Goultard says "let's not get distracted" and immediately gets distracted by a cool sword he saw. Clustus attacks while Goultard has his back turned (to pick up the cool sword he saw.) Goultard parries the blow and slashes Clustus across the chest (with the cool sword he just picked up.)

Goultard: As I was saying...You can't know me, we've never met before. However, I know you, and I've known, your father well. The king Balbosus Sheran Sharm! / Clustus : What... Impossible!

Goultard : a king well-deserves a few explanations before dying! You see, Clustus, I've spent wonderful moments with your father. He even almost "freed" me. Shortly before I took his life!

Clustus' reaction to that information

Clustus : It's impossible. My father died sixty years ago! I don't know what you're playing at but your story makes no sense! He lost his life facing a monster named Dark Vlad.

Goultard shapeshifts into Vlad just a moment to make Clustus understand they're part of the same entity.

Clustus : You killed my father... He was a good man... Generous and certainly the best king Bonta ever had! / Goultard : Maybe...

Goultard : But once again... That changes nothing! You all are nothing but humans. Whether rich or poor, kings or peasants... Only your combativeness and eagerness interests me!

(I will explore this whole thing with Goultard's contempt for humans, how he doesn't see himself as a human yet wishes he could feel like one, his self-loathing, in a future post focusing on Gou and the symbiote)

Goultard : And to get back to your father, know that he didn't hesitate to sacrifice his men to get me! And when time came for him to be reunited with his ancestors, he begged me to spare him...

Goultard : If you're saying the truth and he really was the greatest king this city's ever known... I don't dare imagine what the others must be like!

We don't know anything more about Goultard and Balbosus' realtionship but I go absolutely fucking bonkers imagining what it could have been like. Wonderful moments, knew each other well, almost freed him, but in the end sacrificed his men trying to capture him... I could talk more about it but It's all stuff I completely made the fuck up in my head. In my head Balbosus wished to free Goultard in a messed up dehumanizing savior complex way "I must free this creature and if I can't, i'll be the one to kill it". They fought many times but Goultard would always let Balbosus live because he was amused and intrigued by his weird obsession for him. A sick game of cat and mouse. Goultard enjoying the thrill of being chased... Until the symbiote grew more possessive of his prey, or Goultard got bored of Balbosus, or he felt betrayed when Balbosus sent his men after him... The fact Dark Vlad is the one who killed Balbosus in the end could also imply Goultard lost control at some point before he finally decided to kill him... Much to think about.

Goultard then starts to shift between his different shapes, revealing only now that, all along, Vald (who we thought was dead), was a part of Goultard, or that Goultard and Vald are both part of a whole. He talks briefly about Vlad and Vald having 50% and 5% of his potential strength, respectively. Clustus calls him insane.

Goultard : No, in hindsight... You could have only beaten me in my Vald form.

Clustus : Well, boy... Seems like you have a couple bats in the belfry! Quickly, put me out of my misery, I've had enough of your ravings... (why is he so funny)

Goultard : My... ravings? My ravings, as you say, make my immortality easier to put up with. / Clustus : If you say so!

Goultard HATES being immortal. Being immortal is a curse, unbearable without adapting by developping a dissociative disorder.

Goultard gets bored of talking to Clustus and decides to leave to find something better to do. Clustus realizes Goultard isn't going to kill him after all.

Goultard : Time has already taken its toll on you, Clustus. You're but a shadow of your former self. So don't count on me to give you the warrior's death that you dream of so badly! It's much more cruel to imagine you passing away on your throne like the senile old man you are.

Clustus shouts at Goultard to come back and finish him off. But Goultard is gone.

Volume 6 continues with Goultard's backstory and ends when Goultard finds Arty and offers him to fight. I'll probably make a post comparing Goultard's manga backstory and the animated one.

[wvoonie]

What are your oc relationships with each other and/or other characters?

Sorry for not answering this before 😭 this is kinda of a difficult question since I have quazillion ocs (I'm also kinda stupid) I'll just write for the two ocs i brainrotted out more 😿 (?)

Spoilers ahead and tw for gore ! (Not super explicit btw) And bad writing ahead 😭 (I swear I will write for my other ocs one day)

— Makoto Hikiuchi ; mantis breathing ; kinoe

based on her rather two-faced personality (?) it's very difficult to describe her relationship with other people. With other fellow corps members she keeps a polite smile, she doesn't talk much to them unless they come up to talk to her. With Kocho she does show more genuine emotions, but she also tries to conceal her "ugly emotions" in front of her, because she respects Kocho a lot. (Ugly emotions as for example, her anger at the thought of having a demon living in the butterfly mansion, though you could see her veins bulging out and her obvious forced smile)

With Tanjiro she was very, very hostile at first, threatening him and well, you get the point. She hated that this boy worked with a demon, a DEMON. The creatures that killed her brother and ruined her life and other's, and this boy had the nerve to work with it?? Siblings or not it was shameful, she would have slashed that Nezuko's head off if it wasn't orders from the head of the corps and Kocho not to do so ; but maybe slashing was too mild — maybe she could've sliced her into pieces, but that wasn't a possibility for now. As the time went on and she got to know Tanjiro better she became less hostile, still hating Nezuko but understanding the boy more.

It changed when Nezuko conquered the sun and spent more time with the other butterfly girls, Makoto was able to at last feel sympathy for the demon girl, finally approaching her with a genuine smile and patting the younger girl's head.

And for the sake of Genkoto... Ahem her relationship with Genya.... is feeling disgusted at the fact this guy actually just ate a DEMON and is making Kocho worried for him. But they didn't meet since Makoto is usually busy, until they once met gazes, the scary looking boy turned into looking like a tomato — it's strange according to Makoto, maybe she'll ask Tanjiro about that when she has the time.

— Akabana Okugawa ; spirit breathing ; Kinoto

Akabana is rather tricky, she is be categorised as intimidating to lower ranked slayers because of her serious, deadpan expression and the fact she barely talks or hangs out with other people other than her cousin.

She developed a sibling-like relationship with shinya due to him being her only remaining family member, despite their closeness she still does feels guilty of what happened that day so she prays that Shinya will forgive her. She tries hard to make him speak to her but the latter remains quiet all the time.

Her relationship towards the kamaboko squad is well, towards Tanjiro she is indifferent, she respects his unwavering resolve to save his sister but she thinks it's wishful thinking, Akabana only thinks it'll be soon until Nezuko decides to give in to her demonic urges, she keeps those thoughts to herself most of the time (she sometimes shares them with Shinya)

With Zenitsu she doesn't have an opinion on him, I believe they haven't met or had a brief interaction in which she deadpanned at his antics.

Inosuke is the one she interacted with more, every time he wants to fight her she unsheathes her nichirin, though she is usually stopped by Tanjiro. Due to her gullible personality she does believe everything the boar-headed boy tells her, he's the king of the mountains? Okay; a shiny acorn just for her? Thank you; "fight me"? Alright.

She's interested in the girl that Inosuke talks much about, she seems to feed him most of the time, are they in a relationship?

@ramuunene, @muuumuiiii, @kanaokanzaki-op, @stellapuffs, @cherieonow, @vampiir3d

[exocynraku]

i finished riverstars home! here are my thoughts on it: WARNING THERE ARE SPOILERS THIS IS VERY MUCH NOT SPOILER FREE LOL !!!! WARNING WARNING YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!! for those who want my opinion but don't want spoilers: it was VERY good, with the only Odd thing being the pacing at some times! i really really liked it, and riverstar was great! if you are interested in him or dotc i would recommend reading it!!! <3

Very good book . Very good i enjoyed it greatly. the ONLY complaint i have really is that the pacing was a bit awkward at certain times and riverstar and finch's relationship came TOTALLY out of nowhere which really threw me off (they're cute though) but OTHERWISE it. was great. i LOVED riverstar the entire book, and all of the new characters are really fun, even if not all of them were particularly...??? fleshed out?? if that makes sense lol! i LOVED shattered ice, dappled pelt and drizzle, they were all SO CUTE and SO PERFECT!!! night and mist were REALLY interesting with night's repeated mention of her old mate & kits and their dynamic with eachother just in general! i'm also glad that riverstar and night didn't become mates because to me they have much more of a older sister/younger brother vibe which i like much more! i REALLY liked kite wing, cleo and casper were fun, and whistle was really cute & interesting! i like all of the new characters tbh, those guys were just ones i rlly liked hehe flutter appearing when riverstar got his 9 lives made me cry. badly. it was SO CUTE oh my god. 4th time i've ever cried during a warrior cats book! (others were bristlefrosts, yellowfangs and briarlight's deaths lol)!!! riverstar was so just. broken. to find out she was dead, him trying to refuse the life and deny that she's dead. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! iiiii am a broken woman arc was GREAT and i'm super glad the cats of the park god a little bit of screentime (readingtime? booktime?)!! arc is so like, mysterious & mystical i love him LOL though i wish the book didnt take place right when the park got destroyed! i wish we got a LITTLE bit of time with them, and it mightve even been cool to get more of riverstar when he was younger, but whatevs! and with the other clans & other rouge groups & whatnot they. sure existed! idk i didnt reaaallly care for any of the interactions they had with riverstar Except for the various times when riverstar interacted with grey wing. those were pretty cute :''] i actually like that they kinda brought back slash at the end! i think its nice when villains are reused instead of new ones being made x{ plus it makes sense! duh slash would go find another gang to go terrorize after the clans kicked him out XD and lastly. finch and riverstar. were... good! i do like them! i do like finch as well! she's pretty cool, and strong, and not suuuuper generic? like shes not the MOST interesting character on the planet but she's not bland cardboard or anything!!! which was awesome! i guess it was just the pacing of her and riverstars relationship that messed me up LOL! they were talking like they were lovers for MOONS when riverstar was only there for like, a little more than half a moon X'D also the kits were really surprising too, but whatever, i think they're cute! i was surprised that riverstar got a Mate and Children at all but ! seeing how caring he is and how he acts to like Every Other Character with the exception of the villains it does make sense lol! alright thats it!!! overall a good book, and riverstar was great ! i would recommend reading it !

[luvinghanni]

I've been watching this anime titled the fable, and my favorite character there is Satou Akira...no one was writing for him so I was wondering if you could write something for him.. if not, it's ok

Hey Anon 💕 I've never heard of The Fable but I would love to write a fic for you! I wasn't sure what genre you wanted (smut, fluff, angst) so I wrote a super SUPER slight fluff fic- pls tell me if you'd like any changes and I hope you like it!

Please forgive if he's OOC i'm going off a few edits, personal research, and clips 😭

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Final Target- Satou Akira x Fem!Reader

Coming from a problematic background would always follow you no matter how many changes you made to your life. Even if you don't take any actions yourself, coming from a family with Yakuza ties sticks; permanently. Ever since you were a child this was a fact you had been forced to learn. Murder? Crime? Shady deals? never been appealing to you, in fact just the thought made you sick despite the thousands of hours you were forced to spend training. Many think it's "cool" or "interesting" to be a part of that life but they couldn't be more wrong, oh how you wished you could shatter their rose coloured glasses.

As soon as you became old enough you tried your hardest to loosen those connections, even going as far to change your name three times and change your entire appearance. Despite your efforts your life would never be ordinary, you would never be truly safe from all harm and you knew this- just like how you knew that one guy had been following you for well over a week now. Most people would go straight to assuming a stalker had taken a specific gross liking to them but you had been raised better than that. Persistently being followed? Conveniently in the same places at the same time? The inability to find who this man was? This wasn't just stalking, this had to be some form of a hit on your life and he seemed to get closer by the day.

You began getting paranoid, starting to sleep with your gun by your bedside every night in the event that this (assumed) hitman decided to take his chance. Nights came and went and yet you were surprisingly still living and breathing, you would think this would make you feel relieved but it only made you more conscious of your surroundings- why wasn't the hit being carried out? Maybe it was just a stalker and you overthought it?

It had been at least two weeks at this point and you'd just returned from your final shift of the week. Full body aching from the stress of being on your feet all day servicing customers you felt the burning need for a hot shower and an early night. As you switched the shower on a click sounded from the hallway, almost like a door closing..this couldn't have been a coincidence. Leaving the shower running so as to not draw attention to yourself you clutched the army knife that previously lay dormant in your jean pocket, heart sinking at the realisation that your pistol sat in your bedside drawer- at least 3 rooms away from your current location.

Every second felt agonisingly slow as your skin burned with adrenaline and your heart pounded in your chest.

The sound of footsteps reached your ears joining the insufferable sound of your pounding heart, the two creating a symphony of anxiety within you. Thinking fast you moved your body flush against the bathroom wall, your only coverage being the half closed door to your left. One step, you tried your best to slow your breathing. Two steps, your palms began to sweat as you clung to your knife. The door began to creak open as you prepared yourself to just swing and run.

The second a form began to appear around the door you swung your knife slashing whatever you could to give you time to run only getting to the kitchen before you felt the ground drop beneath you, knocking your head on the counter as you collapsed. In an attempt to get up you tried rolling onto your stomach but a heavy weight on your stomach prevented any form of movement. Your head throbbed as a migraine began forming.

In weak pulses your hands attempted to grab the now long out of reach weapon from the icy kitchen floor unfortunately only being met with a sharp knee pressed harshly against your bicep resulting in a groan being forced through gritted teeth as the cold barrel of a silencer pressed against your temple.

"What do you want from me?" you attempted to bargain "..whoever sent you what do they want? Money? Drugs??" silence was all you were met with, black eyes piercing yours as you stared up to the masked intruder, their grip increasing to keep you from escaping.

You felt all hope slowly slip from you "please just tell me..i'm begging you, before you kill me" eyes slowly beginning to close in acceptance "I'm not going to kill you." a cold tone suddenly came from behind the mask causing your eyes to flutter open at his words.

Silence fell between you.

"Then what are you here for.." confusion and concern evident in your words "I'm not going to hurt you..end of. But the other people after you might." the weights on your arm and torso began to loosen as he eased off of you allowing you to sit up against the lower kitchen cabinets. The intruder sighed rubbing his wrists, pistol still in grasp. "What does any of this have to do with me, why am i wanted?" head throbbing harder by the minute as your eyes lay still on the midnight eyes looking in your direction. "Your Father is in some shit and you're the bait- everyone wants to go after daddy's little girl." You had nothing left to say, you expected this would happen eventually you just never thought it would be today.

Thoughts flooded every last inch of your mind- where would you go? would you have to change your entire life again? who was this guy and why was he trying to help you in the first place? Two gloves fingers snapped in front of your face pulling you out of your messy head "Listen, I can help but we have to leave now. So unless you want to die get up." He rose to his feet extending an arm in expectation of your own rise, eyes just as cold and empty as they had been previously as he helped you rise to your feet.

The world spun rapidly as you got to your feet, teetering sideways before your arm was grabbed pulling u flush into the chest of the still unknown man in your kitchen, your vision doubled as you finally got a close up view of his eyes, they were deep and almost mesmerising in a sense. You stared at eachother for a few seconds with your joint breathing being the only sounds you could hear.

The throbbing in your head became unbearable as your vision started to blur and darken, the last thing you remember being the familiar? but blurry face finally revealed as the scruffy mask was ripped off and placed over your own head. "Wait..Satou..?" You were too out of it to connect the dots on what was occurring, only really stirring when he flung you up and over his shoulder carrying your now fully unconscious figure out the door, "Sleep Y/N.".

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I really hope this was to your liking anon 😭 I kind of didn't know what direction to take this especially as I have no idea what the character is like but i hope you like it all the same.

Thank you so much for your submission it helps me sm with my writing i appreciate you so much 💕☺️

-Hanni