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Office Furniture Selection in Dubai
Selecting the right office furniture material is essential for ensuring durability, comfort, and visual appeal in the workplace
#office furniture Dubai#Sustainability Dubai#Embrace sustainability#Office furniture material#office furniture selection#office furniture durability#office furniture comfort#office furniture visual appeal#workplace design#office furniture composition material#office furniture tech integration#OfficeMaster Dubai
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How to Choose Computer Desk Furniture
People having home offices need to carefully plan the office layout and the furniture that is required. Not only will choosing the right furniture save you time and effort but money as well. Furniture that is old and uncomfortable not only spoils the ambiance and aesthetic of the home office but can also result in loss of productivity as uncomfortable furniture can de-motivate employees and hinder their abilities to give their hundred percent. And since for a home office, you are the boss and you generate your own income, thus whenever you do not give your optimal productivity, you are negatively affecting your revenue stream. Thus it is imperative that you give importance and attention when choosing office furniture as it affects your performance level.
Research states that approximately 75% of home business owners do not have the appropriate furniture for their home office. New computer desks that are spacious can transform any room into an expedient home office. The foremost important thing that you will need for your office consists of a computer desk, a computer chair and other things that are necessary for storage and shelving. In all of this, the computer desk is the bedrock for lending the distinguished look you so desire for your home office.
The appropriate computer desk can do wonder not only for the ambiance of your home office rather for your business as well. Not only does it give you ample surface to work on and use the computer, the convenience results in higher levels of motivation and eventually better performance. One can use the computer desk to segregate the area for computer usage and other files and jobs. The choice of the computer desk depends on the nature and requirements of the work. If you depend on paper work then you would need a desk that has a more flat surface. On the other hand, there are corner desks that are more suitable for small home offices and they can be simply lodged in a den or in a living or dining room.
And if you have to keep books, heavy binders, or manuals, then you may choose a computer desk with shelving or closed overhead cabinet space so that you can conveniently attain printed material without really losing any precious flat surface. Another major concern is what rooms to choose when situating a home office. Now this again is relative to the nature and requirements of your business. If your work is such that it requires daily phone calls then it is better to situate that in the living or dining room as they tend to be quiet in the daytime. However, if your work requires space and room then it is best to shift it to a basement so that it can accommodate all your files and work-related document etc. If you work part-time in the evenings, then a computer desk can be kept in your bedroom so that you can work while relaxing in your room.
The right furniture for your home office can play a monumental role in shaping your home office. And good furniture does not have to be expensive and neither does it spoil the aesthetics of your home. It all depends on what furniture you choose and where you situate it. In fact, contrary to common perception, it can be of great help to all your family members and introduce them to technological marvels in a convenient and fun way.
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#Computer desk#Furniture selection#Office desk#Ergonomic workspace#Desk buying guide#office furniture#modern office furniture#Meeting Tables#office chairs#office desks#Office Workstations#Office Sofas#Filling Cabinets#Reception Desks
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Modern Office Furniture Selection for Contemporary Workspaces » Residence Style
Understanding the unique needs of your working environment is the first step in selecting contemporary office furniture. It involves evaluating the size and arrangement of the office, the number of employees here, and the exact nature of their work. For instance, open-plan offices can use modular furniture that can be quickly adapted, but tiny apartments require space-saving, multifunctional…
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Dining Room - Modern Dining Room Inspiration for a sizable, enclosed, modern dining room remodel with vibrant walls
#home office#modern#bathroom desgin#exterior material selection#high end furniture#area rugs#sectional
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second best |1| hoshina soshiro
PART 1 | PART 2 | BONUS: PART THREE
DISCLAIMER: this fic has a detail that hasn't been mentioned in the anime yet. it isn't a big give-away but if you are sensitive about that kind of thing, please do not proceed. pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader genre: slight angst, comfort, childhood friends to lovers, a bit of that miscommunication trope snippet: hoshina soshiro always ranks second at everything in his life. god forbid he falls behind in the bid for your heart too. word count: 3K trigger warnings: author's note: this fic has two parts - part 2 will be posted a week from today :) likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated but please do not repost or steal my writings. this is quite long, but i gotta make you guys work for it. i have also set up a taglist for the second part and the other fics or drabbles, please sign up if you wanna be tagged! as always, feel free to let me know what you think or give me a prompt by sending me an ask here!
hoshina soshiro can claim with extreme conviction that he rarely regrets the decisions he has made so far in his life.
from the time he has set his sights on taking the aptitude exam necessary to be recruited in the anti-kaiju defense force, to following captain ashiro mina to support her as the vice-captain of the third division, to religiously adhering to his daily routine of working out even during his off days so he can stay in peak condition - everything he's done is driven by soshiro's lone motivation: to rise and come on top.
unfortunately, as he sees you walking in the hallway of the training building with his brother, soshiro realises that this is one of those rare occurrences where he hopes he gets a do-over.
it was barely 6 in the afternoon so there was still light from outside; the rays of the setting sun penetrating the transparent windowpanes cast an orange glow to the furniture in soshiro's office. it made him remember how he used to always be assigned as the student to clean the classroom back in junior high school: he would sweep first then rearrange the chairs before closing the windows and drawing down the curtains. he would rush up to the rooftop, in time to watch the sun dip below the horizon. he would stay for a few precious minutes, dreaming of a chance to get out of their town. he was fifteen then.
soshiro shook his head a bit. he decided that today - of all days - will not be when he will have a trip down memory lane. yes, despite the number of times he would get reminded of his past today, he refuses to get sidetracked.
the floor is eerily silent, save for the momentary opening and closing of doors; soshiro is aware that almost everyone has left, flocking to the local izakaya not too far from the base to celebrate. he had half the mind to prompt himself to hurry up in order to make it to the get-together on time. the long and gruelling application process took three months before the vetting could begin, but finally, the third division of japan anti-kaiju defense force honoured its new officers that morning. as the nominated head of the selection committee, he oversaw the entire thing, and at the end, he could not help but to feel confident that their force would become stronger from here - this year their roster of applicants boasts high-profile names like that of the very daughter of jakdf's director general and the young master of the prestigious izumo family.
okonogi, sitting in front of him at his office, was sorting the personal forms of the recruits, a big stapler in her right hand. "i can take care of this, vice-captain", she said to him, "they cannot miss you there."
soshiro smupled to his swivel chair, obviously fatigued by the task he and okonogi had been trying to finish for half an hour already. fighting and defeating kaiju is the main part of the job, but handling the paperwork proves to be as challenging. "right, make sure the headquarters get this by the morning along with the report of all their numbers -" the sound of footsteps nearby interrupted soshiro's train of thought.
there were three loud knocks and the door opened, a man with the same eyes as soshiro peeping inside. even okonogi glanced over her shoulder to identify who the intruder is. soshiro stood up.
"just wanted ta drop by before i head back ta himeji", hoshina soichiro's undeniable accent dripped. spotting the huge pile of forms littering the desk, he commented, "seems like ya are a little preoccupied though."
"hoshina fuku taichou, good evening." your voice was firm yet jovial as you greeted him, the kansai inflection rolling off your tongue. you appeared beside soshiro's brother, still wearing the same standard-issue uniform you wore during the event several hours ago when you were sworn in as a new defense force officer. the outfit is snug on you - soshiro had noticed at the ceremony earlier, but up close the top looked almost skintight, the skirt coming up a little above your knees. soshiro can be a high-ranking official within the force, but he is also a man. if only briefly, he stared. "aren't ya going ta the party?"
taken aback that you would drop by his office, it was out of his mouth too fast he couldn't stop it - "how about ya? what are you still doing here with him?" soshiro responded pointedly at you, throwing you the same query but not answering what you asked him. it was too late to take it back; he sounded like he was interrogating you about your presence with the captain of the sixth division. soichiro winced; soshiro pretended not to see. "i- i was just thinking ya went with the officers on the way there", he added, calmer this time.
"oh, i was just catching up with hoshina-kun", you replied without missing a beat. soshiro doesn't know if the accidental force in his question just seconds prior did not intimidate you at all or you simply ignored his tone. "i mean with soichiro-kun. considering ya are hoshina too", you chuckled. soshiro stole a glance at the man at your side while maintaining an empty expression. he found his brother smirking at him; soshiro willed himself not to picture soichiro as an ugly kaiju with a butt for a face.
okonogi who is now attentively eavesdropping on your conversation caught your attention. "pardon for the bother, hoshina-san. we'll be off now."
for an instant, it looked like you were waiting for soshiro to say something in response. to say what, he doesn't know. the eye contact between you and him held up for a moment but broke as quick as it began. tension prickled in the air briefly then ebbed as you turned away from soshiro. "i'll see ya at the party, vice-captain", you gave him a bow before exiting the room. soshiro wanted to stop you; he didn't.
soichiro sighed. "it was nice seeing ya, 'lil bro", he addressed soshiro, his hand patting the latter's shoulder once, twice. "i have paperwork ta worry about too so as much as i'd like to, i won't be able ta attend your division's party. just in case ya want ta know." soshiro didn't look like he had a crumb of interest to know about his brother's occupational responsibilities; he shrugged soichiro's hand off.
soshiro saw you standing outside, leaning on the wall, when he ushered his brother out. "i'll be driving her to the izakaya though", soichiro informed him. "ya should visit our folks when ya have the time. ya should come home sometimes", soichiro continued, a hint of concern evident in his voice. when soshiro did not respond, surprisingly the older hoshina did not look a tiny bit disappointed. instead, soichiro put on a charming smile and waved at okonogi. "okonogi-chan, see ya around!" he tossed a playful wink at her.
soshiro merely watched as you and soichiro walked together, your pace matching his. a few meters away, he saw you listening intently to something soichiro was saying - he is too close - and although he is not within earshot to hear what is being said anymore, he knows it is another one of his brother's bad jokes. it looks like you were trying to suppress it, but a smile was about to dawn on your lips. soshiro felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden.
the party was already in full swing when soshiro arrived - everyone is hungrily feasting on the expensive wagyu beef, drinks flowing endlessly from the bar. everyone is enjoying themselves; even captain ashiro mina can be seen having small talk with the newly sworn-in officers who were eagerly taking notes from her.
you had easily made friends with the other rookies who are now sitting next to you; it was thanks to your group that this event was planned - after enduring long sessions of strenuous physical training every day of every week, you all deserved a night of everyone just gathering to have a good time. soshiro seems to be exempt from the festive atmosphere though.
he picked the seat next to his captain, who greeted him with a curt nod. he proceeded to grab the mug of beer served to him; the first sip registered a sharp bitterness through his mouth but soshiro relished on the flavor as it overtook his senses.
"everything alright?" captain ashiro from his side asked without lifting her gaze from her own drink. "you are being -" she paused, carefully searching to find the right words, “uncharacteristically quiet.”
soshiro picked the glass of beer again, and when he was about to put the lid on his lips, he could sense someone’s intense stare locked on him. years of being the vice-captain gifted him with equal parts instinct and paranoia so he could not help but scan the room, only to find you, sitting across the room, watching him with a curious expression.
a rowdy group of rookies surrounds you; they are high-fiving each other, laughing at their silly pranks, not minding that all of you are squeezed together at a crowded circle. soft music in the background swelled as everyone cheered and clinked glasses.
soshiro's eyes remained fixed on yours, lasting for what he felt like forever. the buzz of chatter dulled to a distant hum, fading into an almost white noise. his heart raced as he felt his breath catch and his mouth go dry. the corner of your lips curved into a smile and maybe it is the alcohol in his system, but he is certain his cheeks are flushed now.
"huh", captain ashiro lowly exclaimed. soshiro quickly snapped a glance at her. "you talked to her yet?" she asked him. ah, she caught his little moment with you.
soshiro was on the verge of playing it cool and putting on an act; he was about to outright lie to his captain by saying "talk to who?" as if he had no idea what she was referring to. he settled with silence. he was grateful his non-response only earned him a sigh from the captain who did not press the topic any further.
"to you newbies, congratulations!" captain ashiro raised her glass, still half-filled with alcohol. her voice rang out over the place, everyone's conversations immediately falling quiet. "may the third division always be victorious in our battles to come", she recapped her speech.
the party showed no signs of slowing down. hibino kafka, a recruit in his thirties has been the centre of intrigue that has spanned for weeks now. hibino ossan - as what the others nicknamed him - had revealed in a bathroom conversation with other male rookies that he grew up with captain ashiro. ashiro mina likes dried squid; ashiro mina used to raise pets in grade school - everyone consumed any and every tidbit of trivia hibino disclosed about the usually stoic and serious third division commander. soshiro was among those invested in the rumor and you knew why. for a while, you also wondered how he would react once the rest of the troops learned about your own past with their vice-captain. would he deny it? or would he brush off any potential gossip that may arise from the revelation? if everyone discovered your shared history with hoshina soshiro, would it make him want to reconnect with you?
“you lot will start duty monday next week, but tomorrow will just be another workday for vice-captain hoshina and i”, captain ashiro said, having stood up from her seat, preparing to take off. “no, you can stay”, she said to some of the newbies who have started to get up too.
“nah, captain, why don’t we bring them along to help us file all the tedious paperwork?”, soshiro interjected in his familiar upbeat tone. the crew bursted into snickers; captain ashiro gave soshiro a perplexed look, obviously puzzled about the sudden shift in his mood. testing her theory, she looked at your direction.
captain ashiro couldn't make out why, but you were giggling at whatever your seatmate had said, elegant hand covering your mouth, eyes crinkled. she understood soshiro then - she was not foreign to feeling uneasy inside when she sees someone so physically near someone she cares about after all. "let's go, hoshina", she tucked her pity for the vice-captain away.
"do you guys think they are dating?" a particularly tactless rookie sitting at your table had asked immediately after captain ashiro and hoshina were out the sliding doors.
"i bet they're not", you blurted out a little too soon, a little too sure. you did not mind clipping your accent, your kansai-ben thick and heavy. your fellow officers looked at you, expecting an explanation for your outburst. "i mean -" you stuttered, "that would be awkward, i guess."
"you know to think of it, you're from himeji too, right?" a few more recruits have started to listen in on the exchange. these people can smell the truth off me, you thought. you wanted to smack yourself in the face.
"we went ta the same high school together, that's all", you admitted, feeling backed in a corner. tomorrow when you get questioned for this imprudent behavior, you can probably blame it all on the alcohol. "and grade school", you continued, loose-lipped now.
you still liked wearing pink bows in your hair when you met him. an only child of kind parents, you never experienced having to ask for something you like; you were doted on and spoiled so you were reasonably upset when a young hoshina soshiro did not give you the time of his day. your family has just moved to hyogo shortly before that, and you were anxious to make friends; since your early age, you had made it your mission to make soshiro acknowledge you.
"you dun wanna play with me, because ya are stupid", you told soshiro-kun once. "oka-san said all boys are stupid", you had the nerve to elaborate after he pouted at you, his unkempt bangs sticking on his sweaty forehead, his clothes dirty from training all day.
"yer pretty", he responded and you felt the blush crept up on your cheeks. "pretty annoying."
"come on, spill some tea!" someone's palm connected with the table, jolting you out of your trance. "we have another hibino-senpai situation on our hands!" they declared, grabbing you by the arm and shaking you a bit. if it was meant to encourage you to tell more childhood tales between you and the vice-captain, it worked really, really well.
"he's always had that haircut even as a kid", you said, misinterpreting the kind of story your companions wanted you to tell, judging by their disappointed looks. “i- i don’t know what else to tell you guys”, you held up your hand in surrender.
“do you have a crush on him?” you choked on your drink, caught off guard.
vexed at his absent-mindedness, soshiro was walking back to the izakaya place alone when he heard the commotion. he is going straight to bed once he gets back to the base, but he would have to retrieve his uniform jacket first from his seat earlier.
“you totally do, don’t you!” it stopped sounding like a question and more of an accusation you could not deny. “you like hoshina-san!”
“i -i do, yes... but what of it, huh?" he couldn’t see you but he would recognize the soft timbre of your voice anywhere. soshiro felt like a victorian gentleman getting a glimpse of a woman’s ankle for the first time listening in on the uproar of cheers after your confession.
“the three of us attended the same high school, soichiro-kun was a grade ahead”, you said. soshiro froze. you are talking about his brother. “he has always been good at everything, t'was hard not ta like him.”
soshiro closed his eyes, attempting to steady his breathing. he always had his suspicions - for the ceremony earlier his brother even took a day off his busy schedule as the commander of the sixth division to attend as a guest. he should have known.
last year, soshiro’s squad fought a lizard-type kaiju with a fortitude of above 8. like the reptile, a cut made on any of its limbs was useless due to advanced regeneration. a fractured rib, extremely bruised arms, and a dislocated shoulder were what it costed soshiro to win against the monster. his bitterness threatening to consume him, he cannot believe that you confirming his worst fears would hurt more than that fatal experience.
of course, he said to himself. it’s not like he can fault you for liking soichiro - everyone did. as the firstborn son, their father always had favored him. soichiro has been the more skilled swordsman between them; he was the golden child, charismatic and talented with an effortless charm - like moths to a flame he would attract people, and even in his silence he would overshadow soshiro.
soshiro didn’t stand a chance against his own flesh and blood.
he was a teenager when he dreamed of running away from the constant but inevitable competition he had with his brother. scouted for the third division, he relished on the freedom. but how do you escape the reality of the one you love loving the one person you could never measure up to?
#hoshina soshiro x reader#soshiro hoshina x reader#hoshina soshiro#soshiro hoshina#hoshina x reader#kaijuu 8 gou#kaiju no. 8#kn8 x reader#kaiju#hoshina#dont worry guys#i will make them kiss in the end#hoshina soshiro fic
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potential side effects
pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy. word count: 2,143 warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end. a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!
Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.
He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail.
You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual.
You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk.
The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all.
Soon the time came for him to administer the medication.
“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said.
You nodded and he sprayed.
Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.
“Any difference?”, he asked.
“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.”
“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.”
He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open.
“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’.
“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer.
“I feel all warm inside.”
He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”
“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.
“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”
“Does it go away?”
“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.”
He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”
“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed.
“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it.
It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.
You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it.
“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.
You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“
“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”
You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?”
“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand.
“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly.
You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”
He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.”
He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around.
“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.
He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do.
You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.”
He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek.
“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said.
You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you.
He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open.
A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that.
He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win.
You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants.
Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.”
“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.”
Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you.
He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his.
The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried.
Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers.
He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”
You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”
This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”
“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.”
“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”
“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods.
He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.
He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.”
You looked at him wide-eyed.
“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you.
“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.”
You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“.
A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back.
“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”
The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you.
“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead.
He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror.
Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you.
You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.
You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.
Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”
He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire.
“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”
“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you.
“Our next session.”, he replied.
#jonathan crane#jonathan crane x reader#jonathan crane smut#jonathan crane x reader smut#i proofread this but no one is perfect#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy fic#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy#cillian x reader#dark jonathan crane#dark!jonathan crane#annie writes#dark jonathan crane smut#scarecrow x reader#dr jonathan crane
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Emergency Model
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"Excuse me, what's your shoe size?"
Bewildered I looked around to find the man who asked the random question, like out of that old episode of Monty Python. Off to the side, almost behind me, was a thirty-ish man in polo shirt, jeans, and glasses with plastic rims that looked purposefully selected to make him look like a film director or architect. He looked unsure or stressed. "Eight, eight and a half. Who's asking?"
Immediately he brightened up. "Hello. I'm Ben Atkinson, " he said and extended his hand. "We're making a photo shoot of the supplemental collection of sporting clothes," he continued without waiting for me to shake it. "It's all for the online shop, so simple stuff. White background, a few poses." Tentatively I shook his hand. "Pretty fast rotation of models. Unfortunately one of them has called in sick. You have the right look, but more importantly the right build and size."
"Uhum," I answered, sensing where this was going. It was a Saturday morning, and I was on my way to meet up with some friends at Wayland's Deli.
"This is quite sudden, but we are on a tight deadline. If you're willing to model for us I'll give you twice the normal rate."
"Ok," I said, not waiting to hear what the normal rate was. I'm sure Stuart would not stop giving me grief about it for the rest of the year, but I would technically be a photo model which wouldn't be a negative in Sarah's eyes. Turned out that it would also be double my monthly earnings as well, so maybe I could shut Stuart up as well.
We entered the building, which apparently was an office space that had been taken over for the day for the shoot. There were racks of clothes everywhere, lots of people with iPads tracking what item was where, who should wear it, and in what conference room they should shoot it. It was bustling with activity. After some exchange of information with Ben, and signing papers, I was handed over to a conference room turned makeup and styling studio. Most of the furniture was stacked in one corner and the floor was covered by transparent plastic that had been rolled out. To one side was a table with lots of makeup tools and bottles and stuff I wouldn't know how to use, except maybe the hand mirror and the scissors, and even that I'm not confident with. A pair of strong LED lamps on stands lit a chair placed at the center of the plastic.
"I'm Julia, pleased to meet you. So you are the last one," said the stylist, carefully surveying me and in particular my face and hair. "We're short on time, so we have to work quickly. Are you ok with a buzz cut and tight fade?" Not what I would have chosen, but it's starting to get warm outside and it's only hair. I'd be back to my current length after the summer. "Sure."
She seated me in the chair and began the work with a corded trimmer, and soon a flurry of detail work with smaller trimmers and some of her tools from the table. Probably took her about ten minutes for the haircut. Then some time with a straight razor blade and a tweezer to pluck and shave all over my face and then arms. I told her that this was all new to me, having literally just been picked from the street. She reassured me that there wasn't much to it. Just be no-nonsense about it. Take whatever the stylist decides, change clothes quickly, do the poses the photographer asks for, and repeat.
"All done," she said and handed me the hand mirror as if I had any say in this. I looked so different than just moments before. The hair was shorter than I've ever had it, with a razor sharp fringe line. The fade on the sides was basically just an inch tall from the head and down the temple, then skin tight down, and presumably the same around the back of the head as well. The total amount of hair I was left with could fit a shot glass. "If you go down the corridor to the break room there is a shower in the bathroom there. Ask Andy outside to let you in. Take a quick rinse to get rid of stray hairs, change into these, put your stuff in one of the plastic boxes there, and come back to me for a final touch-up." She handed me a pair of white briefs and white socks. I hesitated a bit, and she was quick to jump ahead of my thoughts. "Everyone around here are used to see gorgeous bodies without clothes. Act as if it is normal, because to us it is. You can't be self-conscious. Oh, and Andy is the only one with a key, so your valuables are safe." Another boy showed up at the door saying he needed a new application. I told Julia thanks and went to look for Andy.
Andy unlocked the door to the office lunch room for me and I did as Julia had told me. I stripped naked and put everyting, clothes, wallet, phone, keys, shoes, into one of the plastic boxes, wrote my name on it with a whiteboard marker and placed it next to all the other boxes. Eight boxes in total. I went into the bathroom, took a 90 seconds shower, and dried myself off with one of the towels from the pile. I put on the briefs and socks, had Julia apply her things to me, and within ten minutes I was dressed in Nike shoes, joggers, and a fleece hoodie, being ordered by a photographer who didn't have time to introduce himself to look left, turn around, put my hands in my pockets, pull up the hood, sit down on the floor, and on and on. Then out change, and back with the next item.
It was going non-stop since they were behind on my stuff, so I had barely time to talk to anyone. There wasn't any proper lunch break either, just a protein bar together with two of the other models, Mark and Andrew. At first they thought it was funny that I had just been snatched off the street for the shoot, but when I told them how much more money I got they were like "fuck you, go back to work". Well the break was over anyway, so I don't know how serious they were.
It continued with item after item, until I realized I was the only model left. The others had taken off without saying goodbye, not that we had any relation. People were moving things out of the office, and when I asked about the hurry they said there was a firm deadline when they had to be out so the cleaning crew could put everything back to a working office again. I could feel the pressure as it was my item changes that held up everyone. I swapped into a pair of MRKNTN underwear that probably was like half a size too small but decided to just power through with the shoot. As soon as the last photo had been taken, they started to dismantle the light rigs. As I walked back to the lunch room I could see that most of the clothes racks were gone. The makeup room was back to looking like a conference room. I couldn't find Andy anywhere though, and the lunch room with my stuff was still locked. I wanted my stuff for sure, but more importantly I wanted to get out of the underwear that kept squeezing and chafing. I couldn't go more than 30 seconds without having my hands down the joggers to adjust them.
Ben wasn't anywhere to be seen either. I asked one of the remaining people and he said they had all left, working on getting all the stuff back and preparing the "delivery pipeline" for the photos. Probably Andy had checked off everyone from his list, and it was printed before I was recruited. "Just keep the clothes you have on and you can come back here Monday and pick up your stuff," he said.
Fuck.
No point in hanging around any longer. Everyone wanted to leave as soon as possible, so I just left and headed towards the bus stop. It was getting late and with no phone on me I couldn't call home and say what was going on.
Fuck.
I didn't have anything to pay the bus fare with. I could perhaps go back to the office building and see if I could catch anyone exiting, use their phone, and call for someone to pick me up. But there was no telling if and when I would get hold of anyone. Just walking back there would make me miss the next bus, so that would set me back at least an hour. I could just as well ask someone else to use their phone. Or perhaps ask them to cover the bus fare.
That's when I saw them, a little bit further down the street, past the bus stop. Six boys huddled at the corner, talking and messing around as if no one else was around. One had a bike. All of them dressed in the kind of clothes I had spent all day modeling in, track suits, hoodies, trainers. All of them were smoking. I figured I'd have as good a chance with them as with anyone else now, looking the way I looked.
As I was getting closer one of them alerted the others and they had some kind of conversation about me. "Hello, excuse me. Could I borrow money for the bus fare from any of you?" There was a second of silence before a mixed snicker erupted, and one of them answered "No, bruv. I don't think so."
I don't know why, but for some reason I was mortified by how I had been dismissed. I could feel my face turning red, so I quickly turned away from them to make my way back to the bus stop, without any plan of what to do next.
"Oi, bruv!" I heard from behind me. Looking back at them I could see three boys had gotten up and were heading my way. "Callum's grafting down at the barber's for some extra quid and need someone to practice on. What if he can do some practice while we cover the fare and take you home safely? Fair, innit?"
"I barely have any hair," I said and let my hand touch my fresh skin fade, almost shocking myself with how radically different it felt.
"Won't be much of a nick then, bruv."
He was right. There wasn't much he could ruin. I had only a few millimeters of hair so in the worst case scenario I could shave completely and it would be back within the week.
"Good lad. A deal innit."
"Yes," I said, unsure if it was expected. The guy who had spoken and Callum flanked me while the third lad walked behind me, enveloping me with the scent of smoke and body spray. After a silent moment the guy spoke again, introducing himself as Iwan and the third guy as Rob, and asked where I lived. I gave him the bus stop, Hillside Garden North, about 18 minutes ride. Would have been busy during the week, but at weekends there wouldn't be many on the bus.
We didn't have to wait long for the bus to arrive, but instead of entering by the driver they all bunched up again with me in the middle and entered through the exit doors as a single unit. Then they quickly moved to the back of the bus and pushed me into a seat next to Callum, facing Iwan and Rob in the furthest back seat. I half expected the driver to say something over the speakers, but there was barely a delay, if any, before the bus was moving as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I looked at Iwan with perhaps a bit of surprise and he just shrugged as if to say "what did you expect? That the driver would confront us?"
Then he nodded at Callum next to me, backpack in his lap, who answered "Aye" and got up. He placed the bag on the seat and positioned himself right in front of me, one leg on either side of mine, his knees hitting the edge of the seat, and his left hand grabbing the rail behind me. It felt both imposing and intimate. He opened the backpack and rummaged around with his right hand until he found a small trimmer in a zip-lock bag.
He opened it with both hands and threw the plastic bag into the backpack. Then he looked out and waited for the bus to drive on straight and even road before he turned the trimmer on. Then slowly he moved it in an arched line from my temple and along the side of my head until he reached the neck. Then he studied for a few seconds before he made a few additional buzzes along the same line.
"Not bad, innit?" he said while shifting his body so Iwan and Rob could see. "Fucking mint, mate," Iwan answered.
Then he turned on the trimmer again and unexpectedly extended the line by buzzing my eyebrow for a few seconds. I hadn't even considered my eyebrows. Callum reached into his backpack again to put the trimmer in the zip-lock, but without moving his feet so his body pressed even closer to me. While I couldn't see much, I could certainly feel his body spray filling my nostrils while I felt my eyebrows with my fingers. I guess there would be a lot to explain to mother anyway, so this would just be yet another detail.
I could just see it for a fraction of a second. It looked like a small glue gun in off-white plastic. Then before I could realize what it was it was pressed against my ear, it made a snapping sound, and I felt a sharp pain. "What the!" I said, more in surprise than pain.
"18G piercing. Hurts more, heals slower, but much better," Callum offered, as if it was the type of piercing that was in question, not that he had done it at all. He reloaded the piercing gun and I struggled with what to do. Just take it like the first one? Why should I? But then one piercing was the real threshold. Once you pass that, two is if anything better than one. This would soon be over anyway.
He was just as quick with the second one as the first one. "These need to stay in 30 days, you hear me?" he said, still standing essentially on top of me. "Yes, I understand," I said with a sinking feeling of all the implications. He put the gun back into the bag and went searching for something again. Finally he pulled out some sort of pliers, then held my earlobe with one hand while doing something with the pliers with the other. "Making sure they don't fall off," he explained before sitting down again on his seat. I could see Iwan and Rob again, and booth looked pleased. Iwan looked absolutely chuffed. "Fucking proper, innit" he said and pat me hard on the shoulder. "Fucking proper."
After than Iwan opened up and started to ask me all kinds of questions, starting with my name, which I realized I hadn't given him when he presented everyone. I was soon giving the highlights of the day as a photo model until we arrived my stop. To my surprise everyone got off with me. "Said we would take you home safe." We continued to chat all the way home and it turned out me Iwan and Rob had the same taste in electronic music while Callum was more of a rock guy.
"Ok, this is my stop," I said once we reached my house. "Meet us Monday, same time and place," Iwan said. "What?" "You owe us £2 for the bus, bruv." "But..." "You going back on our deal?" "No, I'll come by." "And wear the same clothes. Underwear too." "No! I have classes." "You'll figure it out, bruv." Callum opened his backpack again and tossed something to Iwan. "And use this," he said and handed over a can of Lynx Jungle body spray. "What if I don't? What if I don't do any of that?" "Where you live isn't a secret, innit? See you Monday, bruv."
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Hi again! Hope you've been doing okay!
First off I just wanna say that you always deliver, I mean "Fall Unto Me"?? Four part+an epilogue of me being torn between wanting to baul my eyes out and wanting to melt into a puddle from the feels :')
But as for the request, could I ask for Angel and [REDACTED] redecorating his appartment? Getting rid of the gaudy furniture once and for all!
Don't forget to drink water and take breaks whenever you need to! My brain is also 105% filled with this skrunkly but the trick is to keep two neurons in a cell reserved for this >:] /silly
HEHE I’ve been ok! Hope you are too!! <3 thank u for appreciating my (deranged) brainrotting fic c: the suffering is my favorite part. I’m drinking lots of water cause summer hates my ass. 💖 Also sorry this is long I am clearly not winning at the "be normal" challenge.
14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI
💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤
Redecorating
“This one?”
The dark haired man peered at the laptop in your hands for a long moment. “It's… nice.”
“Yes…? You called the last three couches nice, too. Any other thoughts?” You gently goaded your partner.
Choosing new furniture with [REDACTED] was supposed to be easy. You'd pick something, and he'd agree. Except you wanted it to feel like home for both of you. He didn't have to say the mushy, obvious line: as long as you were there, it was home. So progress was challenging with some things. You were sitting together on the current couch—the ugly, lifeless one that came with his apartment for some reason.
His brow crinkled as he searched for different words. Those soft blue eyes went back and forth across the screen until he said, “It’s cozy yet functional.”
“Did you just summarize the description to me?”
He confessed to the crime with a sigh. “Angel, all I think when I look at it is you. And how cute you'd look sitting on it. Like y’do right now.”
“I'm always cute. Focus on the couch, please. Not me,” you insisted.
“No promises.”
“Let's see…” You had to find some way to get through to them. An idea came to mind that you knew he wouldn't like very much, but you had to try. “Pretend we're not dating. Or maybe I don't exist? You come home—don't make that face! I said pretend—so, you come home after a very terrible day and you see this couch. Is it nice then?”
[REDACTED] still made that face as he answered you. “Annoying as fuck to clean.”
It was progress. You didn't want to dwell on why that would be what they thought about after getting home. “Did the first one I showed you seem annoying to clean?”
“Mm... a bit.” They reached forward to change the webpage back for another look. “Y’never showed me these.”
You leaned over to see what he was talking about. There were a few humongous bean bag chairs on the furniture wish list you’d made. “I just thought they looked fun to take a nap in. But I’m not sure we’d both fit, so it’d be silly," you explained and tapped the mouse to continue skimming through your other selections. “We can think about the couch later. I found some wall art that doesn’t look like it came from a dentist’s office.”
His eyes carefully followed the scrolling page until the bean bags disappeared at the bottom of the screen, but he didn’t protest.
💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤
The new furniture had arrived—and been efficiently assembled by your boyfriend, despite your protest—while you were at the library, so you were excited to get home. [REDACTED] held one hand over your eyes as he unlocked the apartment’s door.
“I already know what all the furniture looks like, Ren.” Even so, you didn’t wave their hand away.
You could hear the door click as he guided you into the foyer. “I may have added a few extra things,” he hummed while you blindly struggled and failed to take off your shoes. “Actually… close your eyes f’me.”
“O—kayy?!” Just as you closed your eyes the floor slipped away under you, replaced by familiar arms cradling you to their chest. His quiet footsteps barely echoed against the marble as you got your wits about you. The living room wasn’t that far, so you were certain where he took you without seeing anything. You just didn’t know where exactly in the room.
They turned and came to a stop, rooted in place for a moment as if thinking to themself. “Y’gonna scream if I drop you?”
“...Yes. Maybe.”
Without another word he let go. There wasn’t enough time to scream as you immediately landed against plush fabric with the faint crinkle of something below it. The fabric crinkled some more as you felt your shoes being taken off.
“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. You could already tell what one of the ‘extra things’ was. It felt like heaven.
“Sure, love.” Their voice was a little farther away than you expected. Probably from hurrying to put your shoes in the closet.
You found yourself nestled on one side of the room, with a perfect view of his handiwork.
A couch that was easy to clean, in a color you insisted he decide on, draped with a luxurious looking blanket that wasn’t in your list. A coffee table with rounded corners so they wouldn’t keep hitting their leg on it. Some wall art of Attack on Giants—with extra pieces from a show you sort of recognized, but definitely suited the man's tastes. A few shelves to show off merchandise from another of your favorites. And the enormous, navy blue bean bag he’d so rudely dropped you in moments ago.
Your darling hacker stepped in from the foyer and tossed their hoodie onto the new couch. “Everything good?” he asked, piercings pulling up in a smile.
“I think I love it.” Your eyes scanned the room again and eventually landed on the pictures. “And I love that you added your own stuff.” It didn’t seem to be a clone of your apartment that he just happened to live in, like you worried about. “What about you?”
“S’better than before. ‘Course, the best part is that I don’t have t’see some shitty couch when I open the door—I get to come home to you, trapped in a bean bag.” He stood up and walked over, eyeing you playfully from above. “Comfortable?”
You nodded, then immediately yelped when he fell forwards. Just before you were squished, he caught himself on tattooed arms, caging you in the crinkly, soft material. You only felt some of their weight on you like a heavy blanket. A soft laugh slipped past your lips as he got comfortable himself, clinging to you as best he could while you both sank further into the depths of the bean bag. It’d be impossible to get out.
You wiggled your legs, straining to even find the damn floor. No doubt a futile effort, you had to sigh, “At least we both fit on it."
[REDACTED] didn’t speak, already yawning from the exhaustion of setting everything up before meeting you at work. The walk to and from the library certainly didn’t do him any favors, either. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in what surely felt akin to a nest, all four lanky limbs wrapped around you like a snake.
#14 days with you#14dwy redacted#14dwy#14dwy ren#momo reqs#i love bean bags#<- freak who was trapped in a bean bag every few days for like 2 months straight#don't worry about it i'm free now#but i miss her...#alsooooo angel is a lil sassier here?#they are so me#i need both of them silly and petty fr#thankies for the request 💝#next ones are sitting in drafts but i'm WAITING FOR DAY 4 DROP#exciting!!!
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written in ink | n.jm
genre ➳ historical au (early 19th century), fluff, angst, strangers to lovers
pairings ➳ professor!jaemin x fem!reader (ningning and karina are mentioned)
word count ➳ 15.3k
warnings ➳ mentions of alcohol, mental illnesses and disorders
info ➳ second installment of batc! surprisingly, this was the one i started writing first, but it took a while to figure out how i wanted to end it. click here to read the other works :)
The oak doors of the Provost’s office are no less intimidating than they were five years ago, towering over any students who find themselves bold enough to meet him.
Even now, Jaemin finds himself swallowing nervously before knocking, even if he is the university equivalent of a teacher’s pet. This meeting would determine everything for his future classes and his research funding. Psychology already had little backing compared to the other departments - Jaemin refused to let it languish away under him.
“Ah. Professor Na. Sit down, please.” The leather armchair is comfortable, and costs much more than the one he has in his office - the benefits of being the Provost reach far and wide, Jaemin supposes, even to the furniture.
“I called you today for something important. As you know, our university has a limited number of scholarships available for the faculty each year.”
Jaemin feels eagerness rise up at the thought of being one of the few professors selected to receive the scholarship in mention, which would provide money - plenty of it. He’s young, though, and the odds are not in his favour when measured up against the eminent figures who have been here for decades.
Still, Jaemin hopes that graduating with first-class honours and being the youngest professor in the history of the university counts for something.
“I do have good news. And bad.” Jaemin doesn’t like the sound of that. He knows the alteration of language is meant to soften a certain blow or some demand that will be required of him. The drumming of Mr Lee’s fingers indicates nervousness, and so does the number of times he’s cleared his throat.
After all, Jaemin is no stranger to the study of human behaviour. He waits, because there is nothing that Jaemin can do now other than listening.
“The admission board looks favourably upon you and wishes to give you the scholarship.” Jaemin waits a little longer.
“However, -” There it is.
“Due to your age, we understand that you have not yet had a full-length research project completed. However, it is a provision under the scholarship.”
Jaemin looks at Mr Lee questioningly. Both men in this room know that full-length research projects take at least half a decade, and Jaemin has barely been teaching for two years. He finds the irony of it amusing: without the scholarship, Jaemin does not have the funds to complete his research. Yet, he cannot get the scholarship in mention without his sixty-page paper.
“You’re doing well in your career, Professor Na, and there’s always the next cycle of scholarships. A little bit more waiting, I’m afraid, but waiting comes with an academic career.”
Jaemin knows that he has time. More of it than others, in fact. But the ambition in him refuses to die down, to keep sailing on this high in his career and see how far he can reach before he falls. Modern Icarus, he presumes, the sun replaced by his name in publications and award ceremonies.
“When’s the deadline for the research paper?” Mr Lee evidently does not expect Jaemin to actually take interest in the offer, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Counting today, a little over a year. But-”
“I’ll do it. I would appreciate it if you submitted my name for confirmation, Mr Lee.”
Despite the doubt on his face, Mr Lee nods, showing his agreement. Before Jaemin can regret his statement, he stands up from the comfortable armchair and leaves the room.
“Na Jaemin, you’re insane. Absolutely, utterly insane. Studying psychology has turned you mad.”
“Shut up, Lee Donghyuck.” The boy in question is stretched out on a chaise, leather shoes dangling off the end. In his waistcoat and rumpled dress shirt, Haechan is exactly who he looks to be: a debauched bachelor of high society, indulging in weekends of endless alcohol and dancing.
“He’s right.” Renjun speaks from the corner of the room, where he’s curled up in a chair near the fireplace. Jaemin looks to Jeno for support, but the man simply shrugs from where he’s standing at the doorway.
“You may be the brightest among the few of us, but even I know a year won’t be enough to complete it. Most definitely not by your standards.” Despite Jeno’s lack of support, he still knows him the best.
Jaemin could definitely half-ass a project for the scholarship-it would cut his work by a third, maybe even half. Yet, he would never be able to live with it.
“The line between genius and insanity is so fine. Sometimes I think Jaemin teeters so very close to the latter.”
“That’s your last warning, Donghyuck, before I take the red wine in your hands and pour it over your mother’s favourite carpet,” Jaemin snaps, levelling a sharp gaze at him.
Haechan sits up, a look of faux horror in his face. The jester may fear few things, but his mother’s wrath is one of them. The other being the occasional obsessive daughters of businessmen from the trail of women he leaves jilted.
Nevertheless, this is what makes up Jaemin’s days. If not busy in his office or teaching students, he spends his time with these three other men, who provide sufficient socialization to keep Jaemin from being deemed a social pariah by his overbearing mother. Childhood friends who he met from dinner parties, when their parents had sent them off in favour of gossip and hors d’oeuvres.
The scholarship money is paltry compared to the wealth of their four families combined, and the inheritance that Jaemin will receive eventually. His father would likely not hesitate to fund the project either, but the idea of using money that is not yet his leaves a sour taste in Jaemin’s mouth.
Maybe that’s why Jaemin still uses that broken armchair and forces himself to sleep in the cramped dorm room given to tenured professors - he’s always wanted to prove something. Whether to himself or to the superiors at university, he’s not entirely sure.
The clock strikes two, and the party outside shows no signs of ceasing. After all, it is the weekend, and everyone outside has too much time and money to spend.
”Well, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. I’ll see all of you next week.” The boys nod their farewells, and Jaemin takes his coat from the butler.
He narrowly avoids crashing into someone right as he turns the corner.
Jaemin pauses briefly to take in the appearance of the person before him. Your hair is tied in a chignon and decorated with a studded headband. In your hand, there is a glass of sparkling wine.
If anything, Jaemin thinks you look like the female version of Renjun. But Renjun’s sister is much, much younger.
Evidently, Jaemin’s silence has caused you to grow impatient, and you stride past quickly. Jaemin watches the agitation of your gait as you walk towards the room he had just left. Perhaps he was wrong about the sister part. You definitely fit the bill of a revengeful ex-lover.
“Lee Donghyuck, you owe me money. Hand it over, you cheat,” is the last thing Jaemin hears that night when he leaves the hallway.
Jaemin discovers exactly who you are two weeks later when you arrive in the form of three sharp knocks on his door.
“Come in.” It’s likely to be a student, he thinks, and Jaemin sighs because he’s told them countless times of the ever-present consultation schedule that they can fill in at the administrative office. Yet, every evening, there’s that one anxious student pacing outside his office, hoping for some morsel of knowledge before the final exams come around.
His friends aren’t known to be the type to knock either, unless for some sort of prank. The long day is wearing on him much more than expected, and he silently hopes the session will be brief.
However, Jaemin’s pretty sure you’re not a student. One, because he’s a good professor who makes an effort to know all his students. Second, he’s pretty sure none of the female students go around campus in cocktail dresses.
“You’re Jaemin, aren’t you? Donghyuck’s friend.”
“That would be me. Any reason you’re in my office at eight on a Friday evening?” Jaemin tries not to show surprise at your knowledge of Haechan’s real name, the one he uses for close friends.
Whether Haechan’s prospective creditor or jilted lover, however, Jaemin has little interest to find out why you’ve extended his working hours.
“You need money. I have it, and I need you to do something for me in return.” Definitely a creditor, then. Perhaps this was your job. Lending money to noblemen, and charging exorbitantly high-interest rates. In your defence, it was a smart way to go about things.
But something caused Jaemin to pause. A creditor wouldn’t be the worst way to go, especially if he could pay you after the scholarship funding had come in.
“What’s the interest rate?” This time, it’s your turn to look confused, before realization settles in. Compared to your imperious demeanour from the previous time, you look almost sheepish.
“I’m not a moneylender. Haechan just needed funds to buy something for a friend. Honestly, this deal is more for me than it is for you.”
Jaemin continues looking at you, motivating you to explain.
“I’ll fund the research, and help you with it. In return, I want to be able to attend on-campus lectures. And I want my name as an assistant author on the publication.”
“So this is a bribe?”
“Not a bribe. Think of me as an investor. I contribute, and in return, I get a stake in the research.”
“You’d be better off in the Business faculty then. The applications for enrolment open in December this year. ”
“You know every woman the officers admit to this university is done only to the bare minimum to fill those statistics. I’ve been trying for the past three years. I can show you my applications.” The desperation in your voice fills Jaemin with a sense of shame somehow - he, star student and youngest professor. Would his life have been different if he was you?
Jaemin’s well-aware of the discriminatory policies employed by the admissions department - it doesn’t help that most of them are elderly men who remain rooted in the old traditions.
Jaemin hasn’t seen a female Psychology student before, because the only degrees truly open to them are in education and nursing. Essentially, you’re contracting him as a tutor, besides the partnership on the research.
He looks at your attire, and it makes sense to him now - you must be a weekly attendee of Donghyuck’s raucous parties. He grabs his coat, and you move, as if almost to physically stop him from leaving until he agrees to your demands.
“I’m willing to allow you to attend lectures for free. However, I’m unaware of your qualifications, even if you’re Donghyuck’s friend. Send me your applications, and I’ll think about it.” You look surprised at his agreement, and even Jaemin is - he’s not one to entertain many demands, and he works better alone on research. He shouldn’t even be considering it, and yet.
You smile gratefully at him, just as the clock ticks half past eight. “Oh, I’m running late. Here are the applications, and other information. I do have to leave now, but my mail address is in the file. Thank you so much, Jae- Professor Na.” You stumble over his name, but before Jaemin can react, your purse is in your hand and your coat over your arm. The door closes with a final resounding thud, leaving the room silent once again. The quiet now feels empty, and Jaemin glances towards the coffee table you had just been at a few seconds ago.
You came prepared, obvious in the way the bundle of papers are neatly arranged in a file and labelled. Jaemin picks it up, only to be greeted by a picture of your profile. You look much younger in the photo, still starry-eyed with excitement. L/N Y/N, twenty-one years of age.
He wonders whether the repeated rejections from the university admissions dulled it, instead replacing the excitement with steely conviction. He must have been a last resort of sorts, a lucky strike in the dark at pursuing your aspirations before they fizzled out completely. Jaemin can imagine the officers receiving your file and pushing it back to the return address unopened, explaining the pristine condition.
Maybe he doesn’t owe it to you to look through, but Jaemin feels like he does. A glance at the clock, and Jaemin rubs his eyes tiredly. It seems his working hours will be extended, after all.
You’ve never been very good at billiards.
You’re not sure why Renjun requested it instead of cards, considering the both of you make a good team against Donghyuck and Jeno. Now, however, you are losing terribly, and the debt Donghyuck owes you is slowly dwindling.
With him, however, it’s always one person owing the other. You’ll simply have to beat him in bridge later. Renjun makes eye contact with you, and you shrug. The victor is obvious, and it can be seen with every teasing lilt of Donghyuck’s voice.
Jeno can only smile silently as he scores, but you think that might be worse. The black ball rolls to the corner of the table and drops in, with Donghyuck letting out a cheer.
Just then, Donghyuck glances at his wrist. Decorated with a flashy Patek Philippe, it’s both annoyingly ostentatious and eye-catching. A perfect fit for the owner, you suppose.
”Well then, I suppose it’s time for me to leave. Y/N, you owe me six thousand now. I also accept payment in the form of wine, though six thousand won’t be nearly enough for a good bottle.”
Your brows lower in a frown. “Aren’t you staying for bridge?”
“And lose ten thousand dollars to you? No thank you. Jeno can do it if he wants.” Donghyuck smiles sweetly before exiting the room, and you’re half tempted to chase after him.
“Don’t bother. He’s off to find the love of his life.” Renjun says offhandedly.
“You mean the love of the week, Renjun.”
Jeno shakes his head, and you look at him curiously. “They’re not in a relationship. It’s his best friend. Every week, at twelve, he’s off.”
For someone like Donghyuck, who chooses when time moves and when it doesn’t, the punctuality is pleasantly surprising. You think back to the way he started to get slightly more jumpy and nervous as the clock ticked nearer, and a fond smile finds its way onto your face.
He must really be happy. You briefly wonder what it’s like, to look forward to the sight of someone so earnestly.
Then, your mind gets drawn back to the present. “We need four people for bridge. I can try calling Jisung, but he might be busy.” Renjun says.
“I’ll go get some more champagne. Anything else you guys want?” Renjun and Jeno shake their heads, and you prepare yourself to confront the din of the ballroom. From a corner, the string instruments of the band carry across the high ceilings, and couples dance in circles. There are at least a hundred, maybe even more. You suppose that’s why there are parties every weekend. Renjun’s huge estate would feel much too empty with just him and the occasional visitor.
You’re too busy admiring the lacquered walls and mahogany detailing, that it’s too late when you realise you’ve bumped into someone. You gasp, mainly because you’re shocked, but also because the champagne in your hands has ended up on the floor.
And on Jaemin’s clothes, unfortunately.
“I am so sorry,” you stutter out, but you’re at a loss even as the servants rush over and clean up the mess you’ve made. However good a partnership you’ve offered him, you’re quite sure it’s all gone now. You definitely wouldn’t offer someone the same mercies, especially if they spilt champagne all over you out of their own idiocy.
Yet, Jaemin breaks into a radiant smile. “It’s alright.” He says, and you’re not sure what to believe. Perhaps he’s maintaining politeness, especially in a room with so many eyes.
“No, wait. Please let me pay for the suit. It must be expensive.” Judging by the look of the fabric and the way it’s tailored to Jaemin’s figure, it will cost a pretty penny to compensate. Jaemin shakes his head, shrugging off the now-damp jacket and passing it to a butler who immediately heads down the hallway. This is Renjun’s house, after all, and Jaemin is a familiar face to the staff. The jacket will be laundered promptly and delivered to his house before the week is over.
“It’s genuinely alright, Miss L/N. I came to find you, so this is just as well.” A sense of resignation overtakes you. No wonder Jaemin’s being so kindly. He must be here to reject your offer of a partnership. You’re glad he agreed to the lectures, but the thought of having to see him afterwards during lessons feels mortifying.
The short conversation with Jaemin in his office was much more revealing than you had hoped. You must have looked desperate, and maybe that’s why he took pity on you.
However, you refuse for that to be the only impression he has of you, and instead paste a smile on your face.
“Let’s go somewhere quieter, then.”
The chilly night air is welcoming, and you’re glad you wore a longer dress tonight. On this balcony, you can see the entire expanse of Renjun’s family estate. He’s always been the proudest of the gardens, and rightfully so- an endless expanse of green stretches out, decorated by carefully maintained flora. In the far distance lies his personal arboretum and workroom, where he does most of his painting.
“Mr Na, if you’re here to tell me bad news, now seems like a poor time. Monday would be much more fitting.” A low laugh cuts through the hushed atmosphere, and you almost feel proud.
“Then I am glad that this is good news.” Your sharp intake of breath can be heard on the silent balcony, and you peer at him, willing him to continue.
“I read your applications. And your essays. It was surprising. The quality…the insights made…you’re leagues ahead of my best students and most of the peers I had. And…”
The compliment settles down into you, a kernel of warmth despite the low temperature. You incline your head in thanks. “And?”
Jaemin looks hesitant of his actions, and you can tell he’s thinking very hard about how to word something. One second passes, and then two.
“I think I could benefit from having your contributions to the research.”
There is complete silence for a moment, and then you huff out a laugh. However, it comes out more as a relieved sigh.
He agreed. Na Jaemin, the top student on the honor roll and the youngest Psychology professor in the history of the university, has agreed to take you on as a partner in his research.
For some strange reason, his approval means so much more than anything the interview officers could have said to you. Even if they had accepted your application, it would be nothing compared to what Jaemin has just told you.
The corners of Jaemin’s mouth rise up slightly, and you’re sure he can see the happiness on your face.
“Looking forward to working with you, Miss Y/N L/N.” Jaemin’s palm is warm against yours as he shakes your hand, and you can’t help the sense of hope that fills you.
“Just Y/N is fine.” You’re determined not to disappoint him, to show that you were worth the chance.
“Please address me as Jaemin as well, then. The first lecture is at nine on Monday. It’s quite late, so I’ll leave you to enjoy the party. We can discuss the specifics after.”
Just as he is about to leave, however, a thought comes into your head, and a grin inevitably makes its way onto your face.
“Jaemin!” You call, and he turns around. The name flows nicely, and it’s easy for you to say, almost familiar. Under the chandelier, his eyes sparkle brightly, even as hints of fatigue creep at the sides.
“How good of a hand are you at bridge?”
“Metempsychosis. Can anyone tell me what that means?” Immediately, multiple hands are raised, and Jaemin looks at the students appraisingly.
He tries not to let his gaze drift to the corner of the room where a woman is seated, fountain pen in hand. Your entrance into the room had drawn plenty of eyes in the morning - the Psychology department had never seen a female student before, and the confident uptilt of your head only served to further emphasise that.
Fortunately enough, university students were one of the most self-contained populations to be found. They asked few questions about others and more about themselves, which meant there wasn’t the danger of news of your presence getting around to the admission officers. Not that they would have cared much - after all, security wasn’t particularly strict on the campus.
Jaemin points to a boy with curled black hair, signalling him to reply.
“The transmigration of the soul. Reincarnation after death, essentially.” Jaemin nods. “Very good. I know the majority of us here likely don’t believe in reincarnation, but Plato did, and that’s why we’re here now.” This draws a few laughs from his audience, and Jaemin smiles.
“However, we aren’t here to discuss life after death. I want you to think about the soul. What is it, in relation to the body? Where does its importance lie?” The hall falls silent, and Jaemin sees students flipping through their notes, as if hoping an answer will descend from the sky.
This time, his gaze falls on you and your raised hand. “Y/N. Would you like to contribute?” Jaemin’s equal parts torn between diminishing your presence to prevent unnecessary attention, and the desire to hear your opinion.
To you, Jaemin’s piercing gaze is unnerving, even from far away. It almost makes you doubt your answers. Pull yourself together, Y/N.
“The soul is the source of our life and mind. Our body is nothing more than a physical vessel of flesh. Our soul makes us human.“ You had done an essay analysing Phaedo the previous season, and its core arguments remained clear in your head.
“A classic argument by Socrates. What makes up a soul, then?” Jaemin smiles slightly, and you recall. He’s read your essay, and he knows your exact thoughts. Does he wish for you to share it with the class?
The students are staring at you now, slightly more intrigued.
“The tripartite soul theory. Our physical desires, intangible passions, and our need for truth. More simply put, what we want, what we love, and what we think,” you state, eyes fixed on Jaemin’s expression. His barely-there grin turns much more obvious, and it makes you feel pleased with yourself.
“Very well said. The link between psychology and philosophy is much closer than many of us think, despite one being a science and the other an art. That brings me to the assigned readings for this week, which will delve more into the tripartite soul theory that Y/N mentioned, among others. I’ll see everyone next week.”
The students shuffle out of the lecture hall, nodding at Jaemin in greeting as they leave. Many of them look at him with barely-concealed admiration, despite only being a few years younger. It almost makes you envious.
“That was…a good lecture. I enjoyed it.” Your compliment comes out hesitantly, but you mean it sincerely. Jaemin’s a much better presenter than you imagined, and you found yourself laughing at his well-placed quips more often than you didn’t. The students are lucky to have a lecturer like him, compared to the grumpy, stone-faced ones the university is so well-known for.
“Thank you. I would offer for you to be my teaching assistant, but it would be better not to push our luck for now. I trust my students, but not too much. Shall we head to my office?”
You follow Jaemin down the winding halls of the faculty building, the sunlight streaming in through the arched windows. When you reach his office, your face is slightly red, and Jaemin notices it.
“Sorry. My office is a little far from the lecture hall. Also, I tend to walk a bit faster when I’m alone,” Jaemin apologises, and you shake your head. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s almost a head taller than you, and one step of his is twice of yours.
However, you’re grateful for the cold glass of water that he passes to you. Jaemin clears his throat, causing you to glance at him.
“Here’s what I have so far. Take a look, and tell me what you think.” The file is heavy in your hands, and Jaemin’s signature scrawl can be seen on the first page.
The title causes you to let out an incredulous laugh. Jaemin arches an eyebrow, almost concerned, and you realise he may have taken the laughter the wrong way. “Is it very surprising?”
“No, not at all,” you rush to clarify. “I just…can’t believe that someone would actually want to research into the exact same field.”
It’s bizarre, really, considering how much you thought your ideas would be scorned. The idea of cognitive function being a scientific field of study isn’t yet accepted by many, and would be unlikely to gain any sponsorship.
You had expected Jaemin to propose studies into behavioural psychology. Pavlov’s dogs and conditioning. It was soaring in popularity within academic circles, and seemed to be the only research done these days. Yet, each of the experiments conducted seemed to become crueller in nature, aimed at publications to shock the public. That was where the money was, after all.
Jaemin feels a sense of relief at your words. His nervousness was unnecessary, after all. When he had first compiled the file, he wasn’t sure how you would respond. After all, cognitive psychology had barely been recognized as a legitimate field of study. Perhaps you would think he was dragging you down with him.
“Memory and perception. They differ from person to person, and I want to find out why,” Jaemin states, and you nod, barely able to contain your excitement.
‘We’ll have to plan out the methodology, of course. There was a report published about long and short-term memory by an American doctor. Of course, it’s not entirely verified, but I think it’ll be of great help.”
Jaemin watches as you stride across the room, throwing ideas out whenever they come to mind, with a faint smile lingering on his face. Each one of them is written down carefully in his notebook to ponder over later, once you leave.
“And I was thinking, maybe if we- oh, I got carried away.” Your rapid footsteps pause and you feel your face turning red. Jaemin, polite as ever, had been listening to your rambling without interruption.
“It’s quite alright, Y/N. I genuinely enjoy listening to your ideas. Please don’t hesitate to share them.” You can tell Jaemin is being earnest from the way he looks at you, pen in his hand. The feeling of having someone listen to you and value your contributions feels slightly foreign, but the feeling it brings is definitely one of happiness.
By the time the both of you are done with a tentative outline, the sun is close to approaching the horizon, and you rub your eyes blearily.
“I think we’re done for today,” you barely hold back a yawn as you say it, and Jaemin tries not to laugh at your appearance.
“We’re running on quite a tight timeline, but I think we’ll make it. Would meeting four times a week be alright with you?” Jaemin asks, and he allows you a few seconds to consider.
“That works. I’ll see you on Thursday, then. Have a good evening, Jaemin.” As you leave, you wonder what time Jaemin will finish his work. The last time, he had come to the party after midnight.
Na Jaemin intrigues you at every turn, and you wonder what you will discover about him next.
“Where were you today?”
The tune you’re humming under your breath quickly stills to a halt, and you almost trip over the marble floor of your hallway. Looking at the ceiling, you curse your luck. Of all the days that your father had to be home early, it had to be today.
“I was with a friend,” your voice comes out shaky, and you hate yourself for it. Turning around, you steel your nerves for his interrogatory glare.
“Are you messing around with that stupid boy again? Donghyuck?” Your father’s tone is accusatory, and his disapproval of Donghyuck is evident. Donghyuck’s parties are the talk of the neighbourhood, often for bad reasons among the older generation, and good among your peers. it definitely doesn’t help that you can often hear the commotion, considering his estate is less than two miles down.
“I wasn’t with Donghyuck today, for a matter of fact. And he isn’t stupid,” you defend. Donghyuck may be brash, and playful, but he is your friend.
“That boy is a good-for-nothing and will drink himself to death one day. You’re a proper lady and should act like it. Stop going to his parties, and stay at home.”
“And what? Stare at the pretty wallpaper until I’m driven to insanity out of boredom?” You bite back, glaring at your father. He’s never been particularly supportive of your attempt to obtain a degree and proper employment, still stuck in the yesteryears of his childhood.
“You foolish girl. You’ll realise it when your reputation is ruined.” Your father’s voice is full of venom, and you try not to flinch at his harsh words. Instead, you stride resolutely down the hallway and close your bedroom door with a harsh bang.
Fatigue overtakes you properly now, combined with emotional exhaustion. When you’re sure you’re alone, you allow your shoulders to droop slightly, shrugging off your coat. The quiet night air provides a source of comfort as you settle onto the ottoman at the foot of your bed. You’re not sure when it became like this. When your home became an unfamiliar place and your family turned hostile. Your mother is sweet to you, but she is also docile to your father, which you supposed has worsened it so much more.
That night, you lie down in your bed, turning Jaemin’s words over and over in your head, almost as if you’ll discover a new meaning behind them. They soften the harsh blow of your father, acting as a balm against the invisible bruises of his words.
Teaching assistant.
The idea seems almost impossible to you, and yet. A job doing what you loved, and having the time to do your own research, undisturbed. An official position that would make sure no one could question what you were doing at the university.
And Jaemin. Having him as a colleague would be enjoyable, to say the least. He made a good partner. Maybe if you were patient enough, you could even become an associate professor.
You didn’t dare to verbalize that thought, for it felt a bit too out of reach. For now, at least.
“We’ll have the salmon filet and the beef rib as well, thank you. And three glasses of Chardonnay.” The waiter nods, taking the menus off the table.
“Wait, Renjun, Jeno, look,” Donghyuck points across the street, outside the window of the restaurant.
Across the street is you, in a light pink dress, and what looks to be a stack of books. Next to you is a man whose back looks awfully familiar to Donghyuck, and he can’t place it exactly. Until he gasps dramatically.
“That traitor. He said he wasn’t available for dinner today. But he’s out with Y/N. What the hell are they doing together?” Donghyuck’s pretty sure the both of you aren’t acquainted, and he’s not sure what exactly to make of it. There aren’t many explanations for the both of you to be seen alone with each other, unless…
“Oh, they met a while ago. Jeno and I played bridge against the both of them,” Renjun casually drops this piece of information, and Donghyuck stares at him. This must have happened after he had left.
The wine is served, but Donghyuck doesn’t take a single sip. Instead, he watches very carefully. The moment he sees you leave the store, Jaemin quickly takes over half the books from your hands. You walk on the inside of the pavement, Jaemin at your side.
A knowing smile appears on Donghyuck’s face as he watches the both of you approach the exact same restaurant where he is seated in.
“You look a little creepy, Donghyuck. Stop it,” Jeno mutters, as he sees Haechan’s face.
“I have a very good idea. But I need the both of you to help.”
Renjun looks over at Donghyuck suspiciously, and with valid reason. He’s not entirely sure what Haechan has planned, and whether it’ll turn out well or an absolute disaster. “What is it?” Renjun asks.
“I’ll tell you guys later. Jaemin! Y/N! Over here!” Haechan shouts as the both of you near his table. The familiar baritone of Donghyuck’s voice rings out across the restaurant, and you turn to him, immediately making your way over.
While you’re engrossed in talking to Renjun, Haechan meets Jaemin’s eyes. Liar, he mouths across the table, and Jaemin simply rolls his eyes.
“What are those books for?” Jeno does the task of asking the question on Donghyuck’s mind.
“Oh. Well…” You cast a glance at Jaemin, not entirely sure what to say. You’re not sure how much he wants to divulge to the three of them about the project, considering it isn’t exactly the most conventional arrangement.
“Y/N’s working with me as an assistant researcher and author. It’ll be a joint publication.”
Renjun hums quietly under his breath, taking in the information. “Y/N, are you sure you want to work with this guy? He doesn’t understand the concept of working hours.”
“Jaemin’s a great colleague, actually. I almost feel bad for not working as hard as him, considering he still has to teach.” You’re quick to speak for Jaemin, and it makes him light up visibly.
Jeno watches as Donghyuck’s grin gets inevitably wider the more he watches the both of you interact, and he realises that the boy has found a new occupation of interest: matchmaking.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Y/N,” Jaemin mutters under his breath, soft enough for you to hear but not the other three men at the table. He knows that he’ll definitely be the subject of Donghyuck’s incessant questions and meddling, but he rather it be later than sooner.
For now, he is content with watching as you crack jokes with Renjun and make Donghyuck the subject of said mockery. While your confidence in front of his students is admirable, you become witty and lively in the comfort of people familiar to you, and Jaemin finds himself enjoying the sight more than expected.
The street is still busy despite the late hour when the five of you finally finish dinner. Your feet are starting to ache from the stiff satin heels that you’ve been walking in all day, and the heavy, leather-bound books only serve to make it worse. Donghyuck hails two cabs, one for the three of them and another for you and Jaemin.
“Night out?” The driver asks once both of you are settled in, flashing a friendly smile. There is white hair creeping at the edges of his beard, and two sun-weathered hands gripping the steering wheel.
Both Jaemin and you nod, and you decide to look out the window, watching as the scenery outside changes from the city centre to the suburbs.
“You know, you really didn’t have to come with me today to get the manuals. I could have saved you the hassle,” Jaemin says, and you turn to him. In the dim glow of the streetlights, his profile is shrouded by shadows, his features somehow softened.
“It really wasn’t an issue. Besides, you spoke so fondly of that bookstore, and I can see why now.”
“They have one of the biggest collections on psychology, and the most frequently updated too. Though the medicine and history shelves are also very extensive.”
“It’s a pity we were short of time today, then. Maybe next time you can show me around,” you suggest, and Jaemin nods his assent. It almost feels like a promise.
Somewhere along the way, the jam-packed buildings turn into carefully manicured garden hedges, and the driver goes up the familiar winding path leading to your home.
Jaemin alights from the taxi and is at your side much quicker than you can comprehend, opening the door for you. “I guess this is it. Good night, Jaemin,” you say, smiling up at him. He inclines his head slightly, passing you the books. You’ll have to finish reading most of them by next week, but instead of dread, you find yourself looking forward to the days you spend in Jaemin’s office working on the project.
Once back in the taxi, Jaemin watches as you disappear into the foyer of your house, books in hand. He only turns his head back once the lights of your family’s estate fade away.
“Your sweetheart?” The driver’s voice jolts Jaemin out of his reverie. It is a perfectly innocent question, and yet catches him off guard. Jaemin vehemently shakes his head. “Just a colleague.” He sees the driver smile in the rearview, and Jaemin thinks it reminds him awfully of Haechan’s grin.
“The both of you would make a handsome couple,” he comments, and Jaemin chooses to remain silent. Objectively, Jaemin does find you beautiful. Any person with two working eyes could likely deduce that. But he’s barely known you for two months, and worked with you for even less. The idea of developing feelings for you, or anyone for that matter, seems like a rather bizarre idea.
More than that, he admires you for your talent and the ideas you contribute during the many discussions. You’re not just a colleague and an assistant, but a friend whose presence Jaemin feels rather comfortable in, no less than the trio he so often sees. He can’t help but think that the project would have been unlikely to come to fruition without your help and that perhaps you, Y/N L/N, came at the exact right time.
“Now, what has been keeping our Y/N so occupied that she can barely meet us once a week?” Karina levels her gaze at you from above her cup, expecting an answer. You do feel slightly guilty to have cancelled on both her and Ningning repeatedly over the past few weeks, simply due to the fact that you had chosen to sleep in after burning the midnight oil.
“Employment. I’m not sure if the both of you have ever heard of it,” you remark drily, though you know it’s untrue. Despite what may seem to be lives of leisure, Karina and Ningning are two of the hardest-working people you know. One is a famous actress, the other running a leading fashion house.
“Did you finally get a job at the university?” Ningning asks, overjoyed on your behalf.
“Sorry to let you down, but it’s not yet permanent. I’m working as a research assistant for this one professor and attending lectures on campus.”
“Who’s the professor?” Karina is curious, and you’re sure she plans to do some poking around. After all, several of the elders in her family are long-standing alumnae of the university, and she knows most, if not all of the prominent faculty members. Except for your colleague, however.
“He’s quite young. Na Jaemin,” you mutter, already expecting her surprised gasp.
“You’re working with Na Jaemin? First-class honours student Na Jaemin? My grand-uncle kept waxing lyrical about him a few years ago. He’s rising so quickly through the ranks, they think he might just become Provost before the decade is over,” Karrina informs, and you can’t help but feel a sense of pride for the way she speaks about Jaemin. He would make a good Provost, you think. At least he wouldn't stop female students from being admitted, and definitely would not have been suspected of embezzling funds for personal use.
“Is he scary? Academics can get that way. I suspect most of them have a screw loose, actually.” Ningning interjects, and you look at her, amused. The previous winter, Ningning had been involved with a famous Arts professor from a rival university. Needless to say, the both of them had not ended on the best of terms.
“He’s very sweet, actually. Leagues ahead of the other stuffy old men at the university. He’s a great teacher too.”
“Is he good-looking?” Karina’s sly smile from behind her teacup causes you to narrow your eyes at her.
“Haven’t you met him before?” Karina’s a regular guest at many of the university's forums and seminars. Being the great-granddaughter of the university’s founder exempts her from the open disdain of the Provost towards members of the opposite sex, especially when she’s the one forking out his salary.
Karina had offered you an easy way in: one word from her, and you would be enrolled immediately. Still, it felt like admitting defeat in some way. You wanted to make a career in some way based on your own merit, and Jaemin provided a semblance of that.
“I’ve only seen him briefly. I don’t think he’s attended a single function this year. Maybe he’s antisocial?”
“Or just introverted,” Ningning mumbles, and you smile at her. Karina and yourself have always been the more outgoing ones of your trio, finding it easier to make conversation with total strangers. In fact, the both of you had been the ones to meet Ningning, before realising she had been a mutual acquaintance and solidifying the trio.
Still, you can’t say you’re surprised at the knowledge that Jaemin rarely attends any of the university’s gatherings for the faculty. After all, many of the men there are twice his age, and the atmosphere likely isn’t the most enjoyable. Which makes it even more impressive that his superiors hold in in such high regard, considering how everyone makes it their mission to make powerful connections in circles such as theirs.
“Answer my question, Y/N,” Karina says insistently, and you shrug. “He’s decent, I suppose. Most people would find him attractive.”
“So do you find him attractive?” Ningning is curious now too, almost leaning all the way forward. You make a face at both of them. “What’s up with the strange questions today?”
Karina grins, leaning back, and makes a pointed glance at Ningning. “Please don’t try to play matchmaker. We’re only colleagues. Besides, I doubt a relationship would be something Jaemin is remotely interested in, considering his hectic work,” you warn.
“She even took into account his work schedule. Not bad,” Ningning mutters, trying not to let out a laugh. You roll your eyes, deciding to indulge the both of them temporarily. Despite their teasing and love for meddling, you are sure that Karina and Ningning will not do anything without your knowledge.
Compared to both of them, there hasn’t been much space for romance in your life. Karina’s image was always plastered in the newspapers with whichever actor she was working with, while Ningning had her fair share of encounters with fellow designers and models. After all, you spent much of your time attempting to pursue your career, albeit rather unsuccessfully. While you enjoyed parties and balls, the men you met there were often uptight in the way that members of the gentry were. The ones that you found tolerable remained purely platonic. You think you would rather shoot yourself in the foot than ever be involved with Renjun, Jeno or Donghyuck.
Jaemin was…well, Jaemin. Professor extraordinaire, a brilliant student of psychology, and a friend whose presence you found more enjoyable each and every day. Karina and Ningning see your gradual drift into your own thoughts and remain silent, attempting to hide their grins behind their food.
They wonder if maybe, just maybe, you might have spoken too soon.
Another season passes, and winter is heralded by the bone-white landscape and empty, ghostly trees that make up the campus. Still, you find a strange sort of beauty in it, even if it lacks the warm tones of autumn.
It’s also much easier to appreciate the landscape when you are curled up in an armchair in Jaemin’s office, the fireplace burning brightly and a cup of hot chocolate in hand. Although small, his office is cosy and homely, with dark oak furnishings dotting the room and a plush white carpet in the middle of the room. Over the past half a year or so, his office has grown to be like a second home, considering how much time you spend in it. He’s even given you a space of your own, where your books and stationery are arranged neatly on a shelf.
You’ve grown accustomed to the sight of Jaemin sitting at his desk, fountain pen in hand. He’s often busy marking scripts, occasionally muttering to himself when the paper is exceptionally good, or disappointing. He lets out a noise of disgruntlement, and you glance up.
“Rough essay?” You ask, and Jaemin rubs his forehead, extending the papers in your direction.
“Take a look, and tell me what you think. I know this student is good, but I think they rushed this project. However, I don’t want to completely derail their academic grade and destroy a chance of a scholarship.”
Jaemin waits patiently while you read through the essay, watching as you furrow your eyebrows at certain parts, almost identical to him.
“So?” He asks once you pass the manuscript back to him, humming in thought.
“There’s definitely some obvious glaring flaws. But I don’t think you should discount their entire thought process.”
“But I asked for an essay that looked at the ethical issues concerning psychological research on humans. He stated that there weren’t any,” Jaemin says, now looking entirely confused.
You shrug. “But morality is subjective, isn’t it? Sure, there are common principles that people tend to follow, but what’s ethical in the eyes of a government may be different from the individual person. Is it alright to sacrifice a single person for the common good? Maybe not. But he can argue for it.”
Jaemin pauses then, his expression still frozen as he mulls over your words. Gradually, a grin makes its way onto his face, and you watch as he grabs the pen and scribbles on the manuscript before placing it on the stack that’s already done.
“Thank you, Y/N. I’m not sure what I would do without you.”
“I’m sure you could do plenty. But two minds are better than one, I suppose,” you say, smiling back. Jaemin leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. Compared to his usual stiff posture, it’s much more relaxed, and you find your shoulders not tensing as much anymore.
“Out of curiosity, what made you start Psychology?” Jaemin asks, and his eyes are genuine when he looks at you. You’re not entirely sure how to reply, considering no one’s ever asked you the question. Not the university admission officers, not your parents, not even your friends.
Only Jaemin.
“I’ll tell you a story, But you have to promise not to laugh,” you warn, and Jaemin nods.
“I had a very bad argument with a man in a bookstore over a certain literary text. Quite stupid, I know. Seventeen-year-old me was quite hot-headed. Out of the blue, he started arguing that I was wrong because the brain volume of a man was larger than that of a woman.”
Jaemin knows what you made him promise, but the corners of his lips are tugged up anyways. You glare at him. “You promised not to laugh!” He holds his hands up, shaking his head. “I swear, with full honesty, that you’re not the one I’m laughing at. It’s just an amusing story. So you took Psychology to prove him wrong?”
“Sort of. That was my motivation at first. But I think along the way, I just fell in love with the subject itself.” There’s a light in your eyes when you speak about it, and Jaemin can’t help but be drawn to you. You’re so passionate about what you do, and it reminds Jaemin of the starry-eyed first-year student that he was.
Along the way, he doubted whether he had even chosen the right thing to study. Had he been so caught up in chasing success that he lost his passion somewhere along the way?
But collaborating with you seems to light a new spark in Jaemin’s heart, where he finally has someone to share his ideas with. He’s never been able to learn so much from someone in so little time, and you’re capable. Even more than him, perhaps. Jaemin wonders if you know that.
“What about you, Jaemin?” Your question jolts him out of his thoughts, and Jaemin’s breath hitches. You take his slight hesitation for alarm, and wonder if you asked the wrong question. “If it’s too personal, you really don’t have to,” you blurt out in panic, eyes wide.
However, Jaemin shakes his head. “I don’t mind telling you at all. It’s just that it’s not as fun a story as yours. More sad, actually.” He looks rather forlorn, and you’re not sure how to reach out to him. Instead, you sit in silence, waiting for him to continue.
“My grandmother suffered from memory loss. It was very bad, but doctors refused to diagnose her. They tried sending her to an institution to be confined, but my parents decided to keep her at home instead. She passed away a few months later.” he mutters, and you realise that this must be something that he doesn’t tell many people, from the way the words come out stilted. Alzheimer’s had just been properly diagnosed for the first time less than five years ago, and the cases were often few and far in between.
You suppose this must have happened when he was much younger, when the number of experienced psychologists in the city was horrendously low. The fact that he’s willing to divulge this information to you tugs at your heartstrings, and Jaemin suddenly looks terribly alone from the way he’s hunched over at the desk.
Despite all the praise heaped on him and the many accolades, Jaemin’s still young, no older than you.
Suddenly, his motivation for choosing cognitive function as a research area makes so much sense. Jaemin wants to know how people have memories because he knows someone who lost them.
You’re not one in the way of comforting people, but you walk closer to Jaemin’s desk and grab his hands. It’s sudden, judging from the way Jaemin immediately looks up at you, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours. You think that’s a pretty good start.
“She would be proud of you if she knew what you were doing now. You’ll be able to help even more people with your research. And besides, we’re partners now. We’ll figure it out together,” you promise, and the dark clouds in Jaemin’s expression seem to clear up. There’s a shine to his eyes as he looks at you, and the atmosphere is strangely peaceful.
“Thank you, Y/N. It means a lot. More than you know.” His voice is level now, and you can tell that whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind have cleared up temporarily. You allow a grin to make its way onto your face.
“It’s getting rather late. If you want to thank me, let’s go out for dinner.”
Jaemin’s eyes immediately dart to the clock, and he stands up abruptly, moving towards the coat rack and passing you yours before shrugging one on.
“My treat, then,” he replies as he holds the door open for you.
“I haven’t seen the both of you in weeks. It’s like you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth,” Donghyuck mutters as he looks at you and Jaemin, a blank expression on his face. You smile sheepishly at him.
“Sorry. We’re really busy with the project. It’s in its final stages now,” you confess, and Donghyuck hums, nodding.
“Speaking of which, Donghyuck, I have something to ask.” Jaemin’s words spark your curiosity, but you continue flipping through the book that you have in your hands.
“How would you like to be one of our test subjects?”
You turn your head to look up sharply at him. Jaemin’s voice is sweet when he says it, and there’s obvious alarm in your eyes. Jaemin catches your gaze, but he doesn’t retract the offer. Instead, he just smiles, and you realise what he’s doing.
Donghyuck ponders over the offer, casting a glance at Jaemin suspiciously, who keeps his expression perfectly blank and innocent.
“Sure. It sounds fun,” Donghyuck replies, and Jaemin breaks out into the widest smile you’ve ever seen. You try not to burst out laughing, using your book to cover your mouth. Jaemin has a concealed sense of mischief that only seems to reveal itself at odd moments, most often in situations involving Donghyuck.
This will be fun, you think.
Two hours later, the test subject in mention is glaring at the both of you from where he sits, pen in hand and sheet in the other.
“You didn’t say I would have to memorise sixteen pages of notes. In the smallest possible font on the typewriter, no less,” Donghyuck states angrily, realising he’s been tricked by the both of you.
“What did you think cognitive function was?” You question, a bemused smile on your face as you hear Donghyuck groan before ruffling his hair in frustration.
“I thought it would be like an interview, you know? Where you get asked different questions and they analyze your answers,” he replies, and you hear a huff of a laugh from behind you. “This isn’t like the ridiculous questionnaires you tick off on the newspaper, Donghyuck,” Jaemin interjects, and Donghyuck eyes widen in offence.
“I will have you know, Na Jaemin, that those questionnaires are extremely accurate. And besides, how would I know? I’m not the Psychology professor here.”
“I’m not a professor either,” you remind him, and Donghyuck smiles slightly. “All three of us in this room know that you are perfectly capable of being one.” Jaemin makes a noise of assent, and your heart soars just a little at the praise.
“Either way, I’m done with your test,” Donghyuck says as he stands up, passing you his papers. You look them over quickly, realising that for all his antics, Donghyuck is actually a lot smarter than he seems.
“You did well,” you mumble absentmindedly, and Donghyuck smirks. “Thanks, I know. I’ll leave now,” he says before leaning close next to your ear. “And have fun with Jaemin,” he whispers almost conspiratorially, and before you can ask him what it means, Donghyuck’s out of the room.
“Are you alright, Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice immediately snaps you back to attention, and you nod quickly. “Oh yes, of course.” Your neck feels awfully warm, and you rub at it, unsure why.
“We know you didn’t need an additional test subject. Did you just want to mess with Donghyuck?”
“Well, I suppose so. It was amusing to see his face when we gave him the list,” Jaemin confesses, and you chuckle under your breath. “On another note, I think we’re done with the first draft.” Your posture immediately stiffens at his words, and you rush over to Jaemin’s desk.
“Really?” You ask incredulously, even though you know Jaemin didn’t have any reason to die. He hands you the bundle of papers that is ten months of hard work and intense research, and you cradle it gently, almost like a baby. It feels oddly momentous, somehow. This is everything you’ve worked for and thought about in every waking moment since that fateful encounter with Jaemin, when the both of you first sealed the deal.
Each word is familiar to you, considering you’ve proofread it a million times, but seeing the research organized and printed out feels oddly surreal. That your work is now tangible. All of your dreams and aspirations are contained within this one little bundle, and it feels precious.
Jaemin looks at the quiet pride on your face as you look through, and he can’t contain his smile either. “I’m going to send it to the university for feedback on the draft, but it’s definitely on par with other competing projects. Once that’s done, it’ll be published,” Jaemin tells you, and you look up at him. There’s an undeniable sense of excitement that pervades you, and the idea of finally seeing it in official print provides a strange sort of thrill.
“Thank you, Jaemin,” you say sincerely, and he shakes his head.
“No, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N.” He’s painfully earnest when he says it, and your heart stumbles slightly as you look at Jaemin. His features seem even more delicate today, his eyes brighter than usual. You’re not sure if it's the heady rush of elation filling you from finishing the project, but you finally understand what Karina meant when she asked you if you found Jaemin attractive.
The thought that Karina might be right scares you, but it’s also exhilarating. You’ve seen Jaemin at his best and in his moments of vulnerability, and he’s been a wonderful partner. Someone who pushes your thoughts in new, unfamiliar directions, who doesn’t hesitate to question your opinions.
You suppose you have to give Karina credit for calling your bluff so early on. Still, now can’t possibly be the right time. The both of you still have some work left to do, and anything now would just be a distraction.
Your feelings will have to wait, but you don’t mind. After all, you enjoy your time with Jaemin now, even if it is occasionally punctuated by the fluttering of your pulse.
It takes three weeks for the panel to review the draft, and another week to give their feedback. The next time you’re in the university, it’s spring, and the smell of fresh flowers invades your senses the moment you step foot on the campus.
You’re poised to knock on the door that’s already half-ajar when you hear muffled conversation from inside. You decide to stay in the hallway, at least until Jaemin’s guest is done.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“She’s my co-researcher, Mr Lee. I don’t think it’s a matter of want.” You immediately jerk up to pay attention, because that’s you Jaemin’s talking about. You know you’re eavesdropping, but you can’t help it. Jaemin’s voice is uncharacteristically harsh, but so is the Provost’s.
“You know that there will be a penalty on credit for not being a solo researcher. You’re already losing out. And to do it with a girl that has no qualifications, no less…Do you know what the panel will think?”
Mr Lee’s words cause the back of your throat to close up, even as you know they are true to some extent. You had been living in a joyful denial, ignoring the realities of the university’s expectations. Still, you stand outside the office, unable to move.
“Even then-”
“Jaemin. Do you want this scholarship or not? Surely she can’t have contributed that much. Just remove her name and negotiate it with her later.”
Your heart drops to your feet at the Provost’s words. Jaemin doesn’t respond, and for some reason, that feels even worse than Mr Lee stepping all over your hopes with a single sentence. You’re scared of hearing what he might have to say, and you don’t think you can bear hearing his agreement outright. It’s painfully silent, only the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.
You’re suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of loneliness, almost as if you’re unwelcome here. Jaemin’s office is no longer familiar, instead making you feel worse and worse with each and every second you spend near it.
You need air.
There’s a few students you crash into along the way, some of which recognise you. They look at you bewildered, as you run past them towards the exit. Even then, you’re not quick enough to avoid the first tears falling. At least no one saw you, you suppose. You scoff slightly. Maybe they would use the tears as evidence of your fragile emotional state.
As much as you’re angry at the circumstances you’re in, you also feel like a fool. A fool for having pursued this project with Jaemin, for believing that for a moment, it would work out. For believing Jaemin, especially.
You had your head in the clouds, and now you were crashing back down to Earth in a rapid descent.
You’re not sure why you thought his acceptance would be enough, sufficient for you to reach your goals. It never had been. And judging from his lack of a response to the Provost, you’re about to lose that too.
You can’t even blame him, which you suppose is the worst part. For all you knew, you might have been deadweight this past year. Jaemin would be better off choosing to remove your name, and it would make his life much, much easier. It was a smart decision. You couldn’t possibly take that from him. After all, he deserved the success, the scholarship. You weren’t even a student. What did it matter, in the end?
Still, you’re not sure if you can ever look at Jaemin without being reminded of what you’ve lost. It’s not his fault, but he is a living, breathing reminder of everything you’re not, and every moment you have to live with it might just be a new type of hell. You’re not just going to lose a valuable partner, but a friend too. And perhaps, he might have been more. You don’t know, and you don’t think you want to wonder about the what ifs, because it might just break you even more.
You had promised yourself that if this didn’t work out, you would give up. Give up and do whatever your father wished for you to do. It’s painful, but you’re at the end of your rope. Pursuing another foolish daydream would just simply leave you even more empty. Even then, the bitter taste of defeat refuses to leave your mouth, even as you force your feet to take you towards the arched gates of the campus grounds.
Leaving the campus feels strange, especially since you’re not sure when you will be able to come back. The red brick walls, mulberry trees, stained glass windows - they’ve become as familiar to you as your own home.
So has the dark oak furnishings and lush carpets of Jaemin’s office, but you’ll have to forget about that now.
Jaemin waits for you that entire afternoon.
You’ve never been late, only early or punctual. He checks his schedule twice, just to make sure he’s gotten the correct day. He runs down to his mailbox twice and asks the office, just to see if you left a note for him.
Nothing. It’s like you’ve disappeared, though Jaemin knows that’s not possible. Something must have come up. But even then, as he thinks of all the possibilities, it only makes him more anxious. He quickly scribbles a quick letter and seals it with wax, and he feels a little calmer once he has your address written down and the letter mailed.
I’m sure everything’s fine. She’s likely busy, he tells himself.
He gives it two weeks and six missed lectures before he starts panicking. He’s not a particularly antsy person, or someone who overthinks. At least, that’s what he likes to think of himself, and what most people believe of him. He’s calm and reserved. Jaemin can’t help but worry a bit more when it comes to you, however.
He doesn’t give himself time to regret an impulsive decision, as he hails a cab to bring him to your address. It’s only when he’s standing on the porch, finger on the doorbell, that he hesitates slightly. What if, for whatever reason, you don’t wish to see him?
“Jaemin?”
The sudden appearance of a voice behind him causes Jaemin to jump, but the sound is gentle and familiar. He turns around to see you in a robin-blue sundress, a book in hand. Jaemin’s relief is palpable on his face as he sees you, and he immediately descends the steps, closing the distance between the both of you. However, you retract from him, as if stung, and Jaemin is at a loss.
“Y/N. I didn’t see you for the past two weeks, and I got worried. Forgive me for showing up so suddenly.”
The hesitancy on your face has shifted to an uncomfortable apprehension directed at Jaemin. “I suppose we couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. I’d prefer another place, however,” and you turn, walking away, seemingly for Jaemin to follow you.
There’s a feeling of fear that clings to Jaemin, however, at your words. You’re uncharacteristically cold, tone and expression void of your usual exuberance. Whatever you have to say to Jaemin has to be important. He just hopes it isn’t bad news.
Even then, his mind goes into overdrive, thinking of the worst possible options. Maybe you’re leaving the country. Maybe you’re sick. He doesn’t like any of those options.
Jaemin’s jerked out of his thoughts when you gesture for him to take a seat. The both of you are in a garden, assumedly your family’s. The gazebo provides a welcome respite from the midday sun, and Jaemin watches as you sit opposite him.
The distance feels too far, somehow.
“If you have anything on your mind, Y/N, you can tell me. We’re friends. You know that,” Jaemin assures as he meets your gaze. However, you quickly tear your eyes away from him, fiddling with your hands in your lap. Jaemin can tell you’re nervous, but he’s not sure why. The book is forgotten, placed on the corner of your chair.
“I don’t want to study Psychology anymore,” you mutter, and Jaemin has to wonder if he’s heard you right.
You’re someone even more passionate about the subject than Jaemin is. How-
“I’m just not interested. Not enough to pursue it further,” you say candidly, and Jaemin’s head is spinning, attempting to wrap his head around the reality of the situation. It takes a few minutes for him to collect his thoughts, and the next time he looks at you, his eyes are piercing, uncomfortably so.
“You’re lying. I know you, Y/N,” he replies, and the way you tap your foot on the ground confirms Jaemin’s doubts. He’s familiar with the habit- did you forget you told him that was the way people caught your untruths?
“No, I’m not. How dare you-”
“For God’s sake, Y/N, the book you’re holding is a manual by Carl Jung.” Your eyes quickly dart to the book, cheeks burning with shame. Even then, Jaemin’s tone isn’t accusatory, just truthful.
“If this is because of the university-”
“I heard your conversation with the Provost, Jaemin. Every single part of it,” you confess, your voice getting increasingly shaky as you lose your grip on your composure.
“You’re my co-researcher, Y/N, I told him that,” Jaemin continues, and you wipe a hand across your face absentmindedly.
“I don’t want to be a burden to your career, Jaemin. We both know you deserve the funding. Just remove my name,” you breathe out, and Jaemin immediately shakes his head. He finally realises why you’ve disappeared these two weeks.
“Y/N. Look at me.” Jaemin’s voice is insistent, and even though your eyes are still tear-stained, you listen to him.
“Do you know what I told Mr Lee?” You shake your head.
“I told him that you were indispensable to my research. That none of it would have been done without you, and I would rather abandon the entire thing than not credit you,” Jaemin says, and you exhale sharply. “I told him that you were smarter than some of my best students, that it was the university’s loss for not letting you in.”
You don’t dare to believe what Jaemin’s saying, especially after each moment of the past two weeks. Your eyes inspect his face for a hint of dishonesty. And yet, Jaemin’s expression remains completely honest, his eyes calm and trusting as they look at you. It makes you want to place your faith in him, that maybe this will be enough.
“And what-what did Mr Lee say?” You’re trembling and nervous, but it feels good, almost.
A knowing smile makes it’s way onto Jaemin’s face, and his eyes fill with something else. Fondness, you realise. And barely-concealed excitement. “He said he would review your application again, and allow me to endorse it with the admissions department.”
You realise Jaemin is talking about your application to become a student, and you’re filled with pure, unfiltered joy as you look at him and realise that what he’s saying is true. That after four years of doubt and confusion, it just might be possible.
Jaemin seems to sense the thoughts running through your mind, and his smile only gets brighter.
“So, will you come back to the office now? The edits aren’t going to revise themselves, and I need a better brain to help me with them.”
You immediately let out a small laugh. “I feel a little foolish now,” you confess. “It seems like a lot of it was overthinking.”
Jaemin’s eyes soften imperceptibly. “It wasn’t foolish at all, Y/N.” Jaemin’s presence is comforting, you realise, and the lack of his companionship has been made all the more obvious by your deliberate distancing.
Having him here, with everything worked out, makes it feel as if your life is no longer off-kilter.
When you burst into Jaemin’s office two weeks later, you’re smiling from ear to ear. He looks up at your abrupt arrival, immediately standing up when you stride over to his desk, acceptance letter in hand. “I’m a student starting next week,” you exclaim excitedly, and Jaemin has never seen you this cheerful before.
Truthfully, the admissions board had already informed him that you would be accepted- after all, he was one of the people that had to review your application. Even then, Jaemin tries to look surprised, a cheerful expression on his face. It isn’t difficult, considering how contagious your joy is.
“I have to go off now, but I just- really wanted to share it with you. For being the one to make it happen,” you say softly.
“You did this by yourself, Y/N. I helped because you deserved it.” Jaemin watches as you take in his words, as your smile softens into something more gentle, more tranquil. It’s an expression that he rarely sees on you, and it feels precious.
When you turn to leave, Jaemin’s filled with a strange emotion. It’s almost like a sense of longing as he watches you disappear out the door. Even though he’s sure that the both of you are now close friends, and he’ll see you on campus regularly, the fact that the both of you will no longer have your weekly meetings feels disappointing, somehow.
The feeling lingers with him even at dinner, until even Donghyuck notices. “You’ve been down all day. What’s on your mind?” Renjun looks up from his food expectantly, and Jaemin runs a hand through his hair. It’s made even more suspicious by the way he is unable to muster an appetite. Both Renjun and Donghyuck had cast him suspicious glances when he had only ordered a bowl of soup.
“Where’s Jeno, by the way?”
“You know he’s in the military. Don’t try to change the topic,” Renjun points out, and Jaemin sighs.
“It’s just that the research project with Y/N is over, and-”
“You want to continue seeing her, but you’re not sure how? You feel strange without having her presence around you?” Donghyuck says, and Jaemin blinks at him. Once. Twice. Donghyuck’s right on the spot. Uncomfortably so.
“Well, yes. I guess so,” Jaemin mutters, and Renjun conceals his laugh with a sip of his drink. “See, Renjun. I told you. I’m always right,” Donghyuck says snarkily, and Renjun rolls his eyes. “Want me to remind you of what happened at the party last week?”
“What happened last week?” Jaemin asks, and Donghyuck shakes his head vehemently. “Nothing. Anyways, this is about you. How do you feel about Y/N, Jaemin?” Jaemin doesn’t like the way Donghyuck’s looking at him, as if he knows something he doesn’t.
“I can’t place my finger on it, but something like admiration? She’s capable, more so than me. Intelligent, but she’s able to make the other students laugh easily with her comments. Detailed, especially when she’s checking things,” he immediately responds without a second thought, and Renjun looks at him properly now, mirth in his eyes. “You and Donghyuck are much more similar than I expected.”
Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Renjun is just being annoying. What he’s saying is that you like her.”
“I like Y/N plenty. She’s a good colleague. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be working together for over a year.” Donghyuck makes a noise of disbelief at Jaemin’s words, and casts an incredulous glance at Renjun, who simply shrugs. “Don’t make that face at me, Donghyuck. You’re even worse. You made her cry, remember?”
Donghyuck falls silent at that, miffed. Jaemin turns to Renjun for clarification, and the boy looks exasperated, almost as if he’s not sure why he’s the one has to manage the both of them.
“I’m not sure if you’ve realised, Jaemin, but you’ve changed a little the past year. You’ve stopped locking yourself in the office as much, and you seem happier. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but it seems like it’s because of Y/N. And for you to have these sorts of emotions…I don’t think it’s just friendship you’re looking for,” Renjun clarifies.
Donghyuck mutters a ‘finally’ under his breath, but Jaemin barely catches it, stuck in his own thoughts. He thinks about each time you’ve dragged him out to meet the others, until he started doing it of his own volition. About how Renjun, Jeno and Haechan showed up at his office more often, and he no longer wanted to chase them out.
And then he thinks about what Renjun’s implying. That he might have feelings for you, feelings that extend beyond friendship. He finds himself not scared off by the thought, but instead, it fills him with an unfamiliar sort of hope.
The thought of a relationship was an alien concept to him. If it had been mentioned to him a year ago, he would have shrugged it off in moments. Of course, he had people express their interest, sometimes not so subtly. He was decently attractive, after all, and had a good family. But a relationship had never been in the cards for him.
However, you made him want to imagine the possibilities. That when it came to you, he wouldn’t mind being something more, beyond just colleagues and friends. Partners, in every sense of the word. It explains the strange nervousness that overtakes him each time you look at him, or ask him a question. It explains the peace that flooded him that night in the office, when he divulged secrets he had never been willing to tell anyone, all because he trusted you inexplicably.
“I wonder how you’re even a Psychology professor, when you can’t even recognize your feelings from a mile away,” Donghyuck teases, and Jaemin allows a small smile to make its way on his face.
He knows now, and that’s all that matters. The only thing left is to figure out what to do with the weight of his newfound realization, and Jaemin hopes you won’t muddle his mind even more than you already have.
There’s a frenetic energy in the lecture hall this morning, one that you can’t help but get caught up in as well. Jaemin seems to be pacing around more than usual, his words coming out at a faster pace as he scribbles on the chalkboard and everyone tries to catch up. It’s definitely not something serious enough to warrant concern, but you wonder if there’s something on his mind the past week.
His schedule has been full with meetings held by the department, and yours with the coursework required of a university student, especially since you started slightly later in the semester. It’s left you to only be able to see him during lectures, often a friendly smile as you come in and take your seat before he begins teaching.
Distracted, you press your pen nib down a little too hard, a feeling of dread coming a little too late once you hear the sound of it snapping. Ink blots out over your paper, and you curse under your breath, frantically scooping the rest of the papers away. Ruined notes aside, you won’t be able to remember the rest of the lecture in detail later. You’re worrying your lip, when a hand extends in your vision.
“Here. I have an additional one for emergencies,” the voice next to you is low enough to not be heard by the rest of the students, and you turn your head to see a man who looks slightly younger than you, round glasses perched on his face. “Thank you,” you whisper back, fingers brushing over the smooth black lacquer. It’s a much better pen than whatever you’re using, and you suppose you should consider investing in better stationery.
“The name’s Hendery, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.” His tone of voice is surprisingly casual, and it takes a while for the name to land. Hendery. You recall that he’s the student Jaemin mentioned, the one who submitted a lacklustre essay that was out-of-the-norm. He’s one of Jaemin’s favourite students, and you suppose you can understand why. His notes are in a neat script, books arranged neatly and his suit perfectly ironed.
“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, and he grins affably, just enough to catch you off-guard. Most of the male students here choose to ignore you, or have awkward grimaces when you nod your head in greeting. It’s rather refreshing.
“Professor Na showed us one of your essays once in class. I’ve never gotten the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed it, and I referenced it in one of my assignments. You can have the pen. I wanted to return the favor,” he adds, and you pause for a while, before smiling back at him and returning to your notes.
“Hendery. What was the main research method of Structuralism?” Jaemin’s voice rings out suddenly, and you dart your head down, attempting to look occupied. It’s not the most honourable thing to do, but you rather not be on the receiving end of failing to answer Jaemin’s questions.
“Experimental studies, Professor?”
“Introspection. That’s what differs it from other schools of thought. Do take better focus next time.”
“Sorry, Professor.”
You feel bad for Hendery. The boy only wanted to extend a helping hand. Still, you know he’s in Jaemin’s good books, and from the way he waves to you, smiling, as he leaves the lecture hall, allows your shoulders to sink in relief.
You’ve made a new friend of sorts. It feels nice, even though you’re used to remaining alone while on campus. Today, however, your schedule is noticeably free, both Ningning and Karina out of the country for business trips. This leaves you to rush down the staircase, attempting to chase after Jaemin before he gets swept up by another meeting.
You call out his name, and the man in question turns around sharply, causing you to skid to a stop and narrowly avoid crashing into him. “Whoa, careful there,” he mutters, and you let out a nervous laugh.
“Did you need me for something?” There’s an unreadable expression on Jaemin’s face. One that you can’t exactly decipher, and you respond with a shaky grin. “No. I just wanted to see you.” The words escape too fast for you to process their weight, leaving your cheeks to redden slightly.
It’s oddly honest, and from his sharp inhale, you’re not sure if you’ve been too forward, despite the nature of your relationship.
“How has work been?”
“Good. Busy,” his voice is terse, reminiscent of the tone that he uses with students, and it causes you to frown slightly. “Will you be going to Haechan’s party this weekend?” Infuriatingly, Jaemin only shakes his head, and you’re left trailing after his footsteps, wondering if you’ve done something wrong.
The walk to his office feels shorter than you remember, and you wonder if it’s because you haven’t been here in too long. The man in front of you still remains frustratingly silent, causing your thoughts to swirl in worry.
“Jaemin. We’re still partners. Talk to me,” you bite out, and he looks up at you, wide eyes no different from that of a deer caught in headlights. He nibbles nervously at his lip, and your eyes inevitably drift down at the motion, before you step closer to him.
“Look, if I did something wrong-”
“You did nothing, Y/N. Believe me when I say that,” his voice is audible, even as it cuts you off abruptly. It’s the longest sentence you’ve heard from Jaemin all day, and you try not to let out a sigh. “Then what is it?”
You’re genuinely worried now, eyes never leaving Jaemin’s figure as he paces across the room, fiddling with his fingers slightly. There’s a strange look in his gaze as he refocuses on you, something like a mix of longing and hesitation. It makes your breath catch in your throat, and you’re unable to move from where you’re standing. The both of you are standing directly opposite each other now, and you would laugh if it wasn’t for the situation itself, considering how it’s almost identical to your first meeting with Jaemin.
“I would like to think that I’m a clear-headed person, Y/N, but I think I may be going a little mad.”
You furrow your eyebrows at the strangeness of Jaemin’s words, unable to decipher their meaning.
“I felt…jealous. When I saw you with Hendery. I know very well it’s ridiculous. But it seems the green-eyed monster doesn’t seem to pick targets.”
You’re bewildered at this point, understanding Jaemin’s words well enough and yet unable to grasp any coherent meaning to them. You’re not sure if you can believe what you’re hearing. If you’re hearing it right, or tunnel vision is causing you to interpret Jaemin’s words in an entirely different light.
“You were jealous of…?” Your voice trails off into silence, a question dripping with anticipation as you look at Jaemin, the room heavy with tension. You think your hands might be shaking, but you can’t be bothered to check.
“Jealous of him. I know you’re your own person, and you’re entirely free to be with and love who you want. But seeing you smile at him makes my heart seize in this terrible way like some sort of lovesick fool, and I’m not sure if I can go on like this without telling you.”
There’s a stricken expression on your face at Jaemin’s barely coherent confession, and he runs a hand roughly through his hair, truly panicking now.
“What I’m saying, Y/N, is that I think I may be in love with you. No. I know it. And it makes me a nervous wreck around you, but I understand if you don’t feel the same way-”
Jaemin barely gets the words out before you’re crossing the distance in two quick strides and standing right in front of him. It makes his breath hitch and his heart palpitate wildly, even as you lean imperceptibly closer. The way your simple actions affect him is barely understandable to Jaemin, and he’s not sure if there’s anything in his knowledge to explain it.
Yet, Renjun had put it forth so simply for him, as if the answer was plain as day.
Love. It was love that made Jaemin miss your presence, that made him think of you daily and cause a lump to form in his throat at seeing you and Hendery. It was love that made Jaemin want to hold on tightly and never let go, to follow you to parties and wherever else you asked him to.
“Are you…about to reject me?” He asks nervously, and you feel your gaze soften as you look at Jaemin. Your colleague, your equal match, your friend, your partner. In everything.
And that’s how Jaemin receives his answer. It’s you grabbing his tie and pulling him down towards your height before planting your lips on his firmly, hands eventually winding around his neck. It’s a few seconds before he seems to realize it, but when he does, Jaemin’s quick to return the favour, holding your waist securely to close the distance between the both of you as much as he can.
The way Jaemin moves his mouth against yours leaves you breathless, but craving for more. He’s passionate, so different from the usual, calm side that he presents. Even then, the way he holds you to him is gentle, as if you’re made of precious glass.
Jaemin kisses you like he’s been waiting to do so forever, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it, even as you finally pull away for some much-needed air. You feel faint when he leans his forehead against yours, noses bumping slightly and causing you to let out a soft chuckle. From this close, you can smell his cologne, a clean scent that reminds you of clean laundry and spun cotton.
You blink slowly before opening your eyes, and it causes him to smile, doe-brown eyes crinkling faintly.
“I suppose that was a yes?” He asks, tone successfully returned to playful, and you pull back to look at him incredulously. “Of course it was a yes. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“A person who has my heart in the palm of her hand. It’s a dangerous position to be in.” The straightforward confession sends blood rushing up your cheeks, forcing you to look down, away from his piercing gaze.
“Jaemin. I-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what you want to say to the man before you. You’re not sure what you would do without Jaemin, but you do know there’s a lot more that you wish to do with him. “Love wasn’t in the cards for me at all. You and I both know that. But I’m glad that I have this. That I have you.”
There’s a look of quiet happiness on Jaemin’s face when he tilts your chin up to look at him, a gentle slant of his lips that lights up his features. He doesn’t need to say anything more, not when there’s so much that has passed between the both of you.
Jaemin’s scared, of course. That one day your memories or his might bleed out like quicksand, leaving the both of you strangers. But if he doesn’t take the chance, he’ll never be able to recall the feeling of having you by his side, and the idea of that is much more terrifying.
He will love you more than he will remember you, and it will be enough.
#jaemin#jaemin au#jaemin angst#jaemin fluff#jaemin imagine#jaemin x reader#nct dream x reader#nct dream imagine#nct dream fluff#nct dream angst#nct dream au#na jaemin#na jaemin x reader#na jaemin au
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I Want You, I Need You (NSFW)
Requested for Sanemi x Y/N • Rengoku x Y/N • Giyuu x Y/N by @stuckinthewrongworld
Come get your food, you skanks.
CW: explicit sexual content for all three. Sanemi is princess slut in this. Rengoku is an angy boy (some mild hate-fucking). Giyuu is emotional. Condoms are non-existent, cre @ mpies all around. Exhibitionism in Sanemi’s (more like public sex), and hurt/comfort in Giyuu’s. MDNI. Read below the cut.
Reblogs, tags, and comments always appreciated! Love you all 🍑🌸🤍
Sanemi
Sanemi Shinazugawa hated quickies with a passion. He much preferred to have his girlfriend spread out over his chosen piece of furniture, completely at his mercy, where he was free to take as much time with her as he wanted, thank you very much.
But then his girlfriend had strode into his apartment wearing that fucking dress for his office’s charity gala, the satin one that clung to every dip and curve of her just fucking right, and Sanemi’s mouth had gone dry.
Even an hour after arriving, Sanemi is still struggling to conceal the hardness in his tuxedo pants that grows ever more demanding with every passing second.
It doesn’t help that half the men and women in his office keep eyeing Y/N like she was a goddamn meal and they haven’t eaten in days.
Y/N certainly hadn’t fucking helped his predicament when she’d slid past him to grab a drink from the bar, only for her ass to brush against his stiffening length. She’d frozen for a moment, surprised at just how tightly wound her boyfriend had been, but then the little succubus had ground the supple curve of her ass back against him once, and Sanemi nearly came in his pants.
One look at her devilish smirk had him closing his hand around her wrist and practically tugging her through the throng of his subordinates and co-workers gathered at the museum, to find somewhere — anywhere — private where he could give it right back to her.
Sanemi had found such a secluded corner in the back of coatcheck, and had wasted no time in pushing Y/N up against the farthest wall from the entrance and shoving the long skirt of her dress aside. He’d been pleased that the one she’d selected to wear that evening had a daring little slit that went nearly to her thigh — it’d made pulling that scrap of lace she called a thong to the side all the easier.
“D’you want me, baby?” He’d snarled in her ear as he shoved his fingers between her thighs to run them over her damp slit, pleased that she was just as turned on as he.
Y/N’s eyes were wide with lust, and she let out the sexiest fucking high-pitched mewl ever to grace Sanemi’s ears, nodding enthusiastically.
“Good,” he’d growled, fumbling with the opening of his tuxedo pants as he shoved them down just far enough to release his fully erect length, red and leaking in demand as he brought it against her slick, euphoric heat. “‘Cuz I fuckin’ need you.”
And that was how the couple found themselves in the back of the museum’s coat room, tucked behind the last rack of fancy coats and scarves, Y/N pressed against the wall and her thong pulled to the side while Sanemi thrust savagely up into her.
It was true, he hated quickies — but something about the thought of taking Y/N to a secluded corner and fucking her senseless while the threat of being caught loomed, made Sanemi’s cock even harder than it already was, plunging in and out of her satiny heat.
And given the lewd squelching of Y/N’s cunt as his cock drives in and out of her at record pace, it seemed his girlfriend would be inclined to agree with him; this was fucking hot.
“Your pussy is so fuckin’ perfect,” Sanemi grunts in her ear as he pushes her thigh back firmly against the wall they’re braced against. “And all wet for me.”
Y/N’s hands greedily roam the planes of his torso, concealed beneath his tuxedo shirt. She opens her mouth to respond when the motion-sensor hall light outside of the coat room clicks on, voices of museum patrons not too far away.
The voices draw nearer as Sanemi’s thrusts grow sloppier and Y/N clenches tighter around him. Her pretty lips fall open in a perfect “o” and Sanemi knows she’s about to start making those high-pitched, breathy moans she always makes just before she cums.
As much as it pains him, he frees his hand from its grip under her thigh and closes it over her mouth, stifling the sounds as they begin to bubble up her throat.
But that hand had been keeping her leg pinned to the wall, and Y/N is too fucked out of her mind to keep it up herself. Her foot comes to rest back on the floor, leg wobbling precariously in her strappy heels as she tries to hold herself upright.
Unfortunately for Sanemi, their new position now causes Y/N’s succulent cunt to clench him even tighter, and Sanemi knows he’s only a few pumps away from unloading into her warmth, and those damnable voices are still getting closer.
Of fucking course they chose to duck behind the rack that housed the coat this particular guest needed right fucking then.
Sanemi brings his lips to the back of the hand he has covering Y/N’s mouth, his teeth breaking his skin as he bites down in an effort to keep his groans in check. The sight, is apparently too overwhelming for Y/N, because suddenly the walls of her velvety cunt are spasming around him, and the only part of her eyes Sanemi can see are the whites as they roll back into her head with the force of her orgasm.
Her legs quiver beneath him and the vibration sends Sanemi hurtling over the edge, his eyes squeezing tight as his cock spurts within Y/N’s honeyed core.
“Ah, here we are, ticket 1915! For Mr. Ubayashiki!” The coat check attendant chirps.
Sanemi’s eyes fly open at the name. The coat rack he’d taken Y/N behind was not just any coat rack.
No. It was the rack for his fucking boss. And now, his boss and the poor attendant, who most certainly is not being paid enough for his services, are about to be exposed to Sanemi Shinazugawa’s bare ass while he’s in the middle of unloading inside his girlfriend.
In a last-ditch, desperate attempt to preserve what remains of his tattered dignity, Sanemi blindly grabs a handful of coats and shoved them forward, praying to whatever gods there might be that Mr. Ubyashiki’s is near the front.
Whether by dumb luck or divine intervention, the coat check attendant does not need to dig too far in the rack to find Mr. Ubayashiki’s coat. The footsteps pad away and both Sanemi and Y/N look to one another and exhale against his hand, relaxing in relief.
Sanemi waits until the coat check attendant flips the light of the room off before he dares to pull out.
“Shit, sorry,” Sanemi tries to brush a bead of his cum that accidentally drops onto the side of Y/N’s dress as his seed begins to trickle down her thighs. His softened cock still hanging out of his pants, Sanemi grabs a small handkerchief from his pocket and reaches between his girlfriend’s quivering legs to wipe away the excess, before fixing her thong. “You okay?”
Y/N nods, a delicate blush on her cheeks as Sanemi tucks himself back into his pants. Her hands flutter up to her hair, smoothing it down before she gasps, fingers flying to her lips.
“How’s my lipstick?” Y/N worries, grabbing his hand and forcing Sanemi to look closely at that sinful mouth of hers.
The outline of her lips still has traces of red that is slightly smudged, but the pillowy softness of her lips are her natural color.
In other words, Y/N looks as though she’d just been thoroughly kissed.
“Oh no,” Y/N’s eyes widen as mortification begins to settle over her.
But Sanemi came prepared.
“Ah, ah,” he tuts, reaching into the pocket of his pants to withdraw the small black tube containing his girlfriend’s chosen lip color for the evening. He feels a smug sense of pride at the way her shoulders visibly relax, a relieved smile spreading across her lips.
Y/N moves to take her lipstick from his hand, but Sanemi pulls it back, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as Y/N furrows her eyebrows at him in question.
“Part your lips for me, darlin’,” he murmurs, and his pride multiplies at the way Y/N’s cheeks turn pink, her eyes darting from the hand clutching the tube and back to him.
Slowly, Y/N’s sensual lips part, and Sanemi uses his free hand to grip her gently — but possessively — under her chin to hold her still. Still holding the lipstick in his hand, he leans in and slants his mouth over hers, his tongue darting quickly between her relaxed lips to stroke her own. He feels himself begin to harden once more at the soft, surprised gasp that he swallows as his tongue licks the roof of her mouth before he pulls away once more.
Seamlessly, Sanemi pops the lid of her lipstick off with the same hand he holds it with, and brings the rouge to her mouth, gently patting the pigment against her still-parted lips as he’d seen her do countless times before.
Y/N’s eyes never leave his face, and though Sanemi is fixated entirely on her mouth, he knows that were he to look, he would see the same renewed heat for him in her gaze as he feels stirring in his blood.
Fuck, he loves her. He thinks he should marry her.
Finally, Sanemi steps back, satisfied with his job, closes the tube, and slips it back into his pocket.
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Sanemi shakes his head, hand reaching to take hers gently in his as he leads her back to the main floor of the museum. “Thank god you’re wearin’ white.”
Y/N squeezes the fingers interlaced with hers and Sanemi looks back to see that glint in her eye — the one that means trouble for him.
“When we get home — payback.” She promises, and Sanemi nearly hauls her ass out of the gala right then, knowing that “payback” meant Y/N would be tying his arms and legs to the posts of his bed and riding him ten ways to Sunday.
Just as the two cross the threshold back into the main gallery, Sanemi slips his hand against her ass and squeezes, roughly. “Bring it on, baby.” He taunts.
This time, it’s Y/N who turns on her heel, grabs his arm, and tugs him behind her, Sanemi smiling with abandon the whole way to the car.
Rengoku
“I don’t know what you want, Rengoku.” Y/N’s voice was hard, even as her eyes stung with the burn of unshed tears. “You’re a riddle I can’t figure out how to decipher, and I’m done trying.”
With that, Y/N turned away and made to leave his apartment for good. She was tired — so very tired of never being his priority; of him choosing anyone and anything but her. Whether it was his father, his brother, his job, his friends, or those boys he mentored, Y/N had grown tired of being relegated to the bottom of Rengoku’s list. He’d exhausted all of her resources, always stringing her along with lofty promises that he cared for her, that she was important to him, and yet she never found herself being used as anything but a last resort.
He wouldn’t even commit to dating her, for God’s sake. And so, she was done.
She’d just managed to wrench the front door open when a large hand shot past her head and slammed it shut once more. Y/N’s mouth opened in indignation, ready to curse the man at her back, but his other hand closed around her upper arm, whipping her back around before his mouth slams down over hers, angry and desperate.
She didn’t kiss him back at first, her thoughts too jumbled and her heart too angry, but Rengoku’s fire had always raged too hot, had always consumed everyone and everything that crossed his path. Y/N was no different; she’d burned for him from the start.
And so, Y/N finds herself giving in to his fervid lips and roaming hands, the anger they both felt charging the air around them, adding a further level of heat to their combustible romance.
“I want you,” Rengoku growls against her neck, as he makes quick work removing her sweater, and then her dress, the heat of his hands branding her bare skin, marking her as his. “I want you.”
Y/N only moans in response, any coherent thought left in her head dissolving as Rengoku’s teeth nip across her breasts, as he pushes her up against the door she’d tried to leave out of — tried to leave him.
Y/N’s hands are greedy as she unbuckles Rengoku’s belt and fumbles with the button of his trousers. She heaves a wanton sigh when her fingers slip past the fabric and connect with the thatch of coarse hair and heated steel within, his cock heavy and throbbing in her hand. Rengoku’s deep groan has her wetness dampening her underwear, and the two tear the last shreds of fabric from the other, frantic to feel.
“I want you.” He repeats, again and again.
Rengoku hauls her up against the door, and her legs wrap easily around his hips because this is a waltz they’ve danced so many times before. He does not bother to use his fingers to prepare her, far too enraptured in his own desire to wait to sheathe himself within her any longer.
“I want you,” his teeth nip at her bottom lip, demanding she open up to him, as his tip presses against her throbbing entrance. “And I fucking need you, Y/N.”
As his tongue slides into her waiting mouth, Rengoku buries his cock within her, and Y/N doesn’t care if she will always be his last resort, not if he’ll keep fucking her like this.
His hips ruthlessly snap in and out of her and fuck, she loves it, loves the way he knows how to fuck her just right so that she’s a whimpering, moaning mess. She loves him. He is pounding melody into her that only he knows, her spine digging into the hard surface of his front door which rattles in its setting. Vaguely, Y/N is aware that everyone on the street can probably hear the way she screams his name, can hear his animalistic snarls and grunts and moans as he whispers how fucking perfect she is and how good she feels clenching around him.
“Stay,” he beseeches her, in between the sharp, thrusts of his cock into her heat, so deep that she fears he will be able to imprint himself on her very soul. “Stay. With me.”
Y/N’s legs tighten around his hips as Rengoku’s hand shoves between their bodies to connect with her aching clit. It only takes him one, two circles and a gentle press of his thumb to have Y/N coming apart around him, giving herself fully into his relentless fire that she knows, deep in her heart, she will never escape.
“You’re mine,” Rengoku growls in her ear, her release coating his groin and making the sounds of his skin slapping against hers wetter, more obscene. “Say it.”
Y/N only cries out, her cunt a sloppy mess as the thrust of Rengoku’s hips into her grow more forceful as his release nears.
“Say it,” beneath his possessive snarl is the edge of desperation, as though he knows she already has one foot out the door that he now fucks her against.
“Y-yours,” she says feebly. “I’m yours, ah, Rengoku.”
Her oath is all Rengoku needs to unleash his seed within her, his hips giving one last mighty slam up before stilling, a loud, deep groan of her name reverberating in her ears as he presses his body flush against hers.
She wishes she could regret it, but she’s long-since resigned herself to the whim of her heart.
And so, Y/N stays.
Giyuu
Y/N finds that sleep evades her most nights.
At least, such is the case here, at the end of her life.
When she was eighteen, twenty-five had seemed so very far away; almost intangible. Not real, not attainable.
At the time, she’d not given it much thought. The Star Hashira had no ties, no bonds, that’d survived until the sun rose and they emerged victorious. So when that silvery, six-pointed star appeared right between her brow, she’d not mourned her fate. After all, it hadn’t even been certain they would win at all.
She’d lost consciousness before Tanjiro had temporarily become a Demon himself, and she woke up a month later with most of her friends dead. Of the Hashira who’s fought, only three survived — herself, and the Wind and Water Pillars.
She’d respected both of them, though she’d not been particularly close to either. But shared trauma can form bonds just as sure as any other experience, and so, she’d grown close with both men upon their respective reawakenings.
Sanemi’d grown to be a close older brother-figure, a steadfast and warm presence in her life, even if he still bore traces of that occasional hot-headedness. But his mark had claimed him three years prior, and with him, he’d taken half of her remaining heart.
The other half, however, belonged to the raven-haired man sleeping soundly beside her in their futon, beautiful and serene.
Though, it wouldn’t be fair to say that he’d come to possess the entire half of her heart — he now shared it with the sleeping toddler in the next room, the spitting image of her father, though she’d inherited Y/N’s eyes.
By some miracle, Giyuu’s mark hadn’t activated even during that final battle, meaning that he’d passed his 25th birthday with ease, welcoming their first — and now, only — child shortly after.
They hadn’t been close at the time Y/N’s mark appeared, nor had he’d noticed during that final battle, given how light and delicate that cursed star had been.
It was perhaps selfish of her to not tell him her fate, but then again, she hadn’t meant to fall in love with him.
Y/N rolled over in their blankets to face her sleeping husband. He lay on his back, head tilted towards her, with the most peaceful expression upon his lovey face. He was as bare as she, though she’d recently taken to wearing his haori after they’d finished their more physical activities, Y/N claiming that she’d desired nothing more than to be enveloped by his scent.
That’d been true — but moreso because she wanted to etch the smell of home into every cell within her. It was why she’d spent so many mornings with her nose buried in her daughter’s hair, as she held her close.
Perhaps the gods would be kind enough to allow her to take these treasured mementos with her to the afterlife, when death came to call in its debt.
How could they have imagined the price of their victory?
Y/N could feel the panic within her begin to bubble and churn, as the deadline on her life drew ever closer — now, a mere two months away. If she could not get the howl of her despair to quiet, she’d risk waking Giyuu and causing him to worry. He is already beginning to stir, his Hashira-trained instincts responding to her palpable restlessness.
But Y/N knows how to conceal her anguish. She lifts her hand to gently caress the side of her dearly beloved’s face, who grunted in response to her touch. Slowly, she let her hand trail downward, fingers tracing teasingly along elegant slope of his nose, to the sensual pout of his lips.
As she grazes his lower lips, Giyuu, barely conscious, presses gentle kisses against her fingertips, and Y/N nearly dissolves into tears.
Still, she lets her hand continue to trace along the well-traveled plains of his body. Her fingers brush against the edge of the blanket draped over his lower hips letting them linger teasingly.
“Y/N,” Giyuu’s voice is rough with sleep, but the corded muscles of his abdomen flex beneath her touch.
“I want you,” Y/N breathes as her hand slipped beneath the covers of their futon to grip his growing hardness. She leans over and brushes her lips against the hollow of his throat, and let her tongue trail teasingly down his sternum.
Giyuu’s response is a low growl, as he grabs her by the jaw, pulling her up to kiss her roughly, greedily, before flipping her onto her back and covering her with his body, alive and eager for her after a few gentle caresses.
Her legs part easily to accommodate Giyuu’s hips as they come to a rest against hers, his length brushing against her heated cunt so deliciously that neither can help moaning in unison.
As Giyuu aligns his tip with her entrance, Y/N brings her lips to his throat, teeth nipping at that sensitive spot just above his adam’s apple.
“I need you,” she whispers, and Giyuu slides home in a single, fluid motion, the tendons in his neck tightening in his restraint.
But Y/N does not want him to be restrained. She wants him to feel her love, so that maybe, just maybe, he won’t hate her when the time comes, in a matter of weeks, when she does not awaken beside him.
She hooks her leg around Giyuu’s backside and flips them, her hips dropping effortlessly down his length as she begins to ride him, her husband’s head falling back against his pillow in bliss. His hand comes to rest against her waist, steadying her, though he allows it to wander to her breasts or to squeeze at her ass every so often.
As she increases the pace of her hips, dropping and rolling and grinding against him, so too, does the frequency of the noises which fall from her beloved’s mouth. Y/N savors the breathy moans and whines and grunts that Giyuu makes as he begins to buck up into her, shamelessly chasing his own release.
She loves it when he’s as needy for her as she is for him.
Giyuu’s fingers find that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and they swirl and press against her in a way that has her head falling back, his name a prayer on her lips. She wants him to come with her, so she braces her feet flat against their futon, bouncing herself up and down the length of his cock, shiny with her slick, because she knows he likes to watch himself disappear in, and out of her.
The walls of her core tighten around him, and Giyuu finds nirvana first, his head thrown back and a loud moan for her tearing from his throat. The sight leads to her own undoing, with Y/N free-falling off the precipice of her pleasure after him, her cunt seizing around him as though he was her lifeline.
Giyuu has a sleepy smile on his face as his hips roll lazily up into her, his hand coming to stroke the soft part of her belly as he muses that perhaps this time his seed will take again, and they can give their daughter a new sibling.
She doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s been taking a tea that will prevent that from happening, ever since she’d passed her 24th birthday. It would seem too cruel to risk dying in childbirth, potentially taking their unborn child with her.
In truth, she was secretly glad to have had their precious daughter before Y/N was forced to leave him. Not only was the little girl the beautiful, physical manifestation of her parent’s love, but she would serve as her father’s anchor to life, here.
If that made Y/N selfish and wicked, then so be it. She’d never claimed to be good.
But damn, if she hadn’t hoped for more time.
As she collapses against her husband’s chest, spent and satisfied, as his hand comes up to delicately trace over her spine, she feels the familiar prickle of tears behind her eyelids. She buries her face deeper into her husband’s neck, hoping his scent will steady her as it so often does.
Giyuu murmurs against her forehead how much he loves her, how much he cherishes her and their family, and the tears begin to fall. She hopes she can pass off the droplets gathering on her cheeks as the product of pleasure or happiness, rather than that of the cold despair and bitter sorrow she feels as her end draws near.
But then again, they’d been running on borrowed time anyways.
I hope you enjoyed your weekly addition of slutty-angsty-pain with yours, truly.
#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#kny#demon slayer fanfic#demon slayer imagines#demon slayer smut#hashira#demon slayer hashira#rengoku kyojuro#shinazugawa sanemi#tomioka giyuu#kny fanfic#kny x reader#kny sanemi#kny giyuu#kny rengoku
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GOLDEN HOME — hong joshua.
✦ content: joshua x gn!reader. fluff. 0.8k wc, non idol!shua. summary: no matter how bad the storm outside gets, you can always come home to joshua.
the last few remaining rays of sunlight are fast disappearing, and both your long, tiring day and the sun's journey across the sky are drawing to an end.
you're on the way home. the subway is crammed full of worn-out students and office workers, and you have no doubt that the transparent exhaustion displayed on their faces is mirrored on yours as well.
the subway ride feels like it's been hours instead of minutes, and the only thing keeping you going is the thought of the welcoming arms of your lover, joshua, waiting for you at home.
home. you relish the word, probably more than most, because after years of living in cold, hostile houses that felt like they were consuming you, you've found one that supports you. although that may be mostly due to joshua.
he's similar to the idea of a home that way, solid and comforting. he shelters and nurtures, providing a safe haven for you to let go of your troubles and just revel in the simple joy of building a life together.
he holds up the parts of you that are broken or damaged, and cradles them gently in a way no one ever has for you before.
that's one of the reasons why you love him, and it's why you still have the strength to keep going even after bad things and worse emotions leave you feeling like a wreck.
it's why you're quickening your pace, almost breaking into a run when you set eyes on your house. you throw open the door, discard your coat, and then immediately head inside, looking desperately for—
joshua. you draw in a shaky breath, relief clouding your senses. you're home.
there he is, eyes crinkled as he smiles in that familiar, precious way. he stands up and stretches his arms out, laughing softly when you hurl yourself into them, wrapping your arms around him and breathing in his warm, comforting scent.
his gentle fingers stroke your hair. "hi, sweetheart. i missed you."
you want to tell joshua that every moment spent away from him rends your heart, but he knows. you know he does, and you know he feels the same way. so you just bury your face further into his chest and mumble, "i missed you too, shua."
and then he leads you to the sofa, stretching out comfortably and letting you sit on top of him, his arms circling your waist.
"how was your day?" joshua asks, running his hands down your arms, your back, tracing the curve of your shoulder soothingly.
"mm, not great," you say, and joshua doesn't press any further, knowing that when, and if, you want to talk to him, you will.
sighing in content, you slump against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you look around at the home you've built for yourselves.
not the house itself— the building is hardly what matters— but the fact that it's your home.
it's home in the way it's warm, and smells faintly of whatever shua's been cooking that day, kitchen counter still bearing the remains of the process.
it's in the way the walls are covered in photos; of your friends and his friends, and then the two of you: you and shua on holiday; shua in a flower crown; you in the sea, laughing; shua with his arms around you as he presses a cheeky kiss onto your forehead.
it's in the way the house is full of carefully selected furniture and the walls bear art suited to both of your tastes, with little ornaments and pretty things and books and albums lining the shelves.
and most of all, it's your home in the way joshua is here— your safe harbor, your steadfast anchor.
joshua follows your eyes wandering around the house as he plays with your hair absent mindedly. "what are you thinking about?" he asks, curious.
"i'm just happy." you smile and look up at him, admiring the way his tawny sweater brings out golden tints in his eyes and hair, the way soft strands of his brown hair fall messily over his forehead.
joshua smiles because you're smiling, and pulls you a little closer.
his eyes turn crescent-shaped, the way they do when he's really happy, and you swear your heart is melting because how can you love someone so much? how can the world go on as usual when there's this molten, golden love taking over every inch of your being?
you shift in his arms, stretching, and he looks at you, a little panicked. "are you hungry?" he asks. "i forgot to ask you earlier, but you must be tired."
"i'm fine," you tell him, and he frowns, saying, "darling, eat something first, then we can cuddle all you want—"
"i'm a little hungry, but it's fine, shua, i wanna stay like this. just for a little longer?"
joshua huffs, but he's smiling. he leans in close and plants a tender kiss on your cheek, poking it afterwards. "okayy, we can stay like this for a bit. you're lucky i love you."
"i am." and you close your eyes and lose yourself in the rise and fall of his chest.
a/n: i became a carat recently & joshua immediately became my bias so it's only right that this is my first svt fic <3 anyways i hope i did shua justice, and i hope u enjoyed reading this !! <3
#joshua x reader#svt x reader#joshua fluff#seventeen fluff#seventeen x reader#joshua x gn reader#svt x gn reader#seventeen imagines#joshua hong#joshua imagines#svt imagines#svt fluff
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The brothers Heinz (1902-96) and Bodo Rasch (1903-95) despite their pioneering projects and ideas never quite received the attention they deserve: although the two only collaborated between 1926 and 1930 their bundled creativity resulted in innovative and highly original furniture and architectural projects. The most prominent examples of these projects undoubtedly were the furnishings for the „Apartment for a Bachelor“ at Mies van der Rohe’s Housing Block at the Weissenhof Estate and their spectacular designs of suspended constructions. With the latter they prefigured developments (and eventually constructions) that would only be realized decades after their first utopian proposals.
In 2009 art historian Annette Ludwig published her dissertation „Die Architekten Brüder Heinz und Bodo Rasch - Ein Beitrag zur Architekturgeschichte der Zwanziger Jahre“ with Wasmuth, a fundamental study of the Raschs’ work in the context of the architectural avant-garde of the 1920s. Beginning with the brothers’ training at the technical universities in Hannover and Stuttgart, Ludwig explores their first steps in modern architecture on basis of selected student projects. In the subsequent chapters the author comprehensively analyses the inner workings as well as the built and unbuilt projects of the brothers’ office which Anette Ludwig terms „concrete utopias“: although basically all of them remained unbuilt the suspended constructions in general and the so-called „Hängehäuser“ in particular anticipated future trends in architecture. Accordingly it is hardly surprising that Frei Otto acknowledged the significance of their projects. At the same time the two were involved in the Werkbund circles and published several important books, among them „Wie bauen?“ and „Der gefesselte Blick“ with which they not only addressed contemporary architecture but also their activities in the field of advertisement and typography.
By virtue of her complete analysis of the brothers Rasch multifaceted work Anette Ludwig adds an important chapter to the history of modern architecture in Germany and finally provides the long overdue fundamental work on them. Warmly recommended!
#heinz rasch#bodo rasch#monograph#architecture book#modernism#modernist#architecture#germany#book#architectural history
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As the Sun Will Rise - Chapter 11
Pairing: Grunauer (Overlord) x OFC, Beauty & the Beast retelling
Summary: After losing most of his unit in a disastrous D-Day mission, Derwin Grunauer returns to his hometown near Miami, body riddled with scars and heart heavy with guilt, only to find his neighbors shunning him due to his German name. He retreats into his family mansion and remains there, unwilling to rejoin the living, until the day Alba Reyes turns up at his door with a basket full of warm bread. As the daughter of a Cuban immigrant, Alba knows something of being an outsider, and when she offers to work for Derwin as his housekeeper, it is not only to pay off her father's debt to the Grunauers, but also because she feels some connection to the reclusive young man. When that connection develops into something more, they must overcome both the town's prejudice and their own doubts to find happiness.
Chapter warnings: racism
Chapter word count: 3.6k
Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10
Chapter 11
And try again they did. In the next several weeks, Derwin and Alba went on more outings, not just in Cypress Grove but further into the city as well, sometimes even venturing as far as downtown Miami. They went shopping for groceries and books and records, picked up packages from the post office, and ran other errands. Derwin managed to have whole conversations with clerks and cashiers without falling into a panic. He found it much easier to talk to people when they didn't know who he was, didn't turn cold or hostile when they heard his name.
The only time he felt awkward was when he and Alba were mistaken for a couple. It happened more than once, particularly when they went shopping for furnishings. Alba decided that the upholstery around the house was too faded and frayed, so she convinced Derwin to accompany her to several furniture stores and fabric shops to select the replacements. "After all, it is your house," she said.
The clerks at these stores, however, only saw a pair of newlyweds.
"How nice of you to come along with your missus," a saleswoman at a fabric store cooed at Derwin. "You must tell me your secret, dear," she went on, addressing Alba. "My husband can hardly tell a pillowcase from a throw rug, let alone shop for them with me!"
Both Derwin and Alba blushed to the roots of their hair and tried to explain themselves, stumbling over each other's words, "Oh no—we're not—she's not—he's just—" But the saleswoman had bustled off to find a book of fabric samples for them. They glanced at each other with helpless, embarrassed grins.
Occasionally these excursions would run late, and they would stop for a soda at a drugstore or a bite at a diner. Derwin was aware that anyone seeing them would think they were on a date, but Alba didn't seem to mind. She insisted on paying for herself and never acted any differently than when they had lunch at home, and Derwin tried to tear down his castle in the air. Of course she didn't think of him that way. He was her employer, nothing more.
On a particularly hot day in late October, the sun seemingly working overtime to make up for an unusually wet season, Alba took Derwin to the VA hospital downtown for his monthly check-up. As they were leaving, Derwin's eyes caught the billboard outside a movie theater across the street, advertising big screens, comfy seats, and air conditioning. The thought of driving for forty minutes in the old tin bucket under that scorching sun became a lot less appealing, and he eyed the billboard longingly.
"What do you say?" he asked Alba, pointing at the theater. "We can kill a couple of hours in comfort and drive home later in the afternoon, when it's cooler."
"Sure!" Alba said eagerly. "I haven't been to the movies in ages."
They picked some costume romance called Forever Amber, simply because of the long runtime. Derwin bought popcorn and candy for them both, feeling proud that he had done it without any prompting or encouragement from Alba.
The movie was quite long, and at some point, Derwin completely lost the plot. It was just a bunch of people with big hair, big hats, and bigger lace collars—both men and women—talking and swooning dramatically at each other, and he had no idea what they had to swoon about. But he didn't care. In the cool, darkened theater, with its flickering screen and the smell of popcorn in the air, he could forget himself and his troubles.
And then another scent, sweeter and more familiar, replaced the smell of popcorn, and Derwin felt a slight pressure on his side. He glanced to his left and saw that Alba had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder. Poor thing. She must be so tired, waking up early to work in the bakery before coming to the house and working there all day. He sat still, not daring to move, listening to her quiet, steady breathing, wondering if she was dreaming and what she was dreaming of. On the screen, Linda Darnell was shrieking at Cornel Wilde, and Derwin almost shouted at her to be quiet, to let Alba sleep.
A curl had fallen over Alba's forehead. It tormented Derwin—he wanted to brush it away but was afraid of waking her. He looked and looked at it, and, unable to take it any longer, he reached out his right hand. Before his fingers touched her hair, Alba stirred and opened her eyes. Derwin quickly withdrew his hand like a pickpocket caught in the act, as Alba sat up straight and covered a yawn.
"You're right, this is a comfy theater," she said, blinking up at the screen. "Which husband is she on now?"
"Number three, I think."
"Won't be long before the end then. She can't have more husbands than Scarlett."
Derwin wondered if Scarlett was some infamous woman in Cypress Grove, but an old biddy was glaring at them across the aisle, so he kept quiet.
Later, as they emerged onto the pavement still warm with the day's heat, glowing orange under the setting sun, he said, apologetically, "I'm sorry the movie is so boring."
"Oh stop it, you're not the director." Alba grinned to show that she didn't mind. "But yeah, Amber is so annoying. What a Scarlett O'Hara rip-off!"
This time he had to ask. "Who?"
She stared at him. "You've never seen Gone with the Wind?"
He shook his head sheepishly. And then, just so she wouldn't think he had been living under a rock—though sometimes it did feel that way—he added, "I've heard of it though."
"OK, as soon as I find a place that still shows it, we have to see it," Alba said. "Now that's an epic romance. There's a drive-through theater near Cypress Grove that showed it all the time, back in '42. From the roof of the bakery, the screen is just about visible, and Beatriz and I climbed up there most nights, after Papi had gone to sleep..." Her eyes turned hazy with remembrance for a moment, before she snapped them back to the road. "Anyway, if we can't find Gone with the Wind, then we'll go see a Hitchcock movie next time. At least he's never boring."
They got into the car. Alba started the engine, and continued, "But even if the movie's a dud, I did have a nice nap and I can't remember the last time I ate so much Whoppers and popcorn, so thank you for that." She reached across the seat to pat Derwin's hand.
He longed to take that hand and bring it to his lips, but she had pulled back, and he squeezed his own hands in his lap. She'd said next time. There would be a next time. And his castle in the air, which he had tried so hard to tear down, started building itself back up again, stone by stone.
***
Alba glanced at Derwin across the aisle. They were at a used bookstore downtown, having driven all the way here to track down a specific copy of some German poetry collection. Derwin's translation of the Robert Frost poem had been enthusiastically received by his professor, and they were now collaborating on a bigger project to translate German poems into English and vice versa. Derwin wanted this collection for reference, but none of the local libraries carried it.
Alba had never seen him so excited. The translation project had rekindled something in him, and as he pored over his books, his whole face glowed with a passion that was entirely different from his usual scowling intensity. She imagined that before, Derwin read poetry to forget himself, but now he read to find himself again. Even his movements had changed. He still had to depend on the cane, but he walked around the house with brisker, more decisive steps, his back straight, instead of stooping and limping from shadow to shadow. And he was a lot more confident as well. After the incident at Olson's, she took care not to leave his side again whenever they went out, but he no longer needed her to hold his hand through a conversation. Well, not literally hold his hand, though she would've gladly done that.
It was amazing how a sense of purpose could transform a man. In fact, he had changed so much that Alba was sure he was ready for the next step. Claudia and her husband Marty were planning a trip to the beach, the last one before the winter season began and tourists descended on Miami, and they had invited Alba and Beatriz and Frank, along. With Claudia's permission, Alba had extended an invitation to Derwin as well, but to her disappointment, he'd turned her down. She wished she could persuade him to change his mind—it would do him a lot of good to form some real connections—but she didn't know how. After what happened with Mrs. McLeish, Alba didn't blame Derwin for wanting to steer clear of Cypress Grove and its people. She'd even asked Frank to fix the roof, afraid that a new person would cause a repeat of the scene at Olson's and jeopardize Derwin's precarious progress.
Still, she was proud of how much he'd changed and grown, strange as it was to feel proud of someone on whom she had no claim. As she watched Derwin between the dusty shelves full of books, Alba wondered, not for the first time, how best to describe who they were to each other. Technically, he was her employer, but he never treated her as such. If anything, she was the one that bossed him around. So what were they? Friends? She could be happy with that, except... except sometimes she would catch a glimpse of him like this, bent over a book, brow furrowed in concentration, while the sun shone through the shop's front window and brought out the gold in his hair, and a curl fell across his forehead, making her fingers itch to reach out and brush it away, and then she would realize that perhaps she wanted more.
But could there be more between them? And did Derwin feel the same? He was certainly very kind to her, but she couldn't tell if it was because he did have feelings for her but was too shy to let her know, or because he was simply being nice, or worse, because he needed her help.
As if he could feel her eyes on him, Derwin looked up and gave her one of his lopsided grins that made her stomach do a backflip. "Find anything interesting?" he asked.
"Just this." She held up a slightly moth-eaten copy of On the Origins of Species. Ever since Derwin brought up college, Alba had been trying to polish up on her science and biology, and was reading any biology book she could get her hands on. "You're ready to go?"
"I think I'll be a little longer," he said, scanning the shelf in front of him. "They have a really impressive selection of poetry. Do you mind?"
"Not at all. Take all the time you need."
Alba paid for her book and sat down on a bench by the door, intending to read while she waited for Derwin. However, her idle glance landed on something in the shop window opposite that chased all serious thoughts of biology and evolution from her mind. After a quick shout to let Derwin know where she was going, she nipped across the street for a closer look.
It was a dress. Not just any dress though. Made of yellow crepe so bright that it looked like it was woven from sunlight itself, it was a floor-length evening gown, with long sleeves slightly puffed at the shoulder, a gathered waist, and—her favorite part—a row of covered buttons that ran from the deep V of the neckline to the daring slit in the skirt just below the waist, showing an underskirt of gold organza underneath. Displayed next to it was a beaded handbag and a pair of gold dancing shoes to complete the look. It was the most glamorous thing she'd ever seen.
She was gazing at it like a kid outside a toy store on Christmas, when Derwin came up behind her. "Thinking of buying it?" he asked.
Alba turned around with a sheepish smile. "No, only admiring."
"Why not? It looks pretty."
"Exactly. It looks pretty. But where on Earth would I wear it? There's no point." She sighed and turned back to look at the gown wistfully.
Behind her, Derwin was looking too, though at her or the dress, she couldn't tell. "Haven't you ever bought something impractical?" he asked. "Just to own something pretty, just so you can look at it?"
Alba shook her head. As a kid back in Cuba, she'd had a closet full of pretty dresses, with lace trims and velvet bows and satin sashes. The prettiest of them all was the one Mami had made for her First Communion, a tiered and ruffled confection of the smoothest, shiniest white satin. Most of those dresses had been left behind when they moved to America. She'd soon outgrown the ones they had managed to take with them, so those had been handed down to Beatriz, and Alba had gotten used to wearing Raf's old shirts and shorts. She wore dresses now occasionally, but they were practical cotton ones with big pockets and knee-length skirts that allowed her to move around easily. There was no place in her wardrobe—or her life, for that matter—for this dress. Yet she couldn't stop looking at it.
"I think you should buy it," Derwin continued. "It really suits you."
Alba looked at the little price tag tastefully hidden by the sleeve. It wasn't as expensive as she thought, but even then, the whole ensemble would cost her two weeks' worth of paychecks. "I can't afford it," she said flatly and started to walk away. To her surprise, Derwin grabbed her arm and held her back.
"May I buy it for you then?" he said. "Consider it an early Christmas bonus."
She stared at him, wondering why he was so dead-set on her owning the dress. To be fair, it was gorgeous, and she would be happy to have it just hung in her closet so she could look at it from time to time. But for some reason, she felt uneasy with the idea of Derwin buying her a dress. It was a familiar, intimate gesture, and it would only confuse her already confused feelings about him.
"No, thanks," she said. "If I wanted to, I would get it myself. But it'd just mold in my closet anyway," she added, not without some regret. To her relief, Derwin didn't push it.
On the way home, they stopped at a diner for some late lunch. While they were perusing the menu, Alba tried bringing up the beach trip again. "It's just the five of us and the baby," she said. "And Marty has found this really secluded place, so there won't be anybody around. We can bring Otto too. Has he ever been to the beach?"
"Listen, I appreciate it," Derwin said reluctantly, "but I don't think I can just yet. Sorry."
Alba tried not to show her disappointment. "It's OK," she said, reaching across the table. "You don't have to apologize."
The waitress came bustling up to their table, causing Alba to quickly withdraw her hand. "Hi!" the waitress said brightly. "Y'all ready to order?"
"Um, yes," Alba said, cursing inwardly. "I'll have the chili and a side of cornbread, please. Derwin?"
Before Derwin could give his order, the door of the diner opened again. A black couple, probably in their thirties, elegantly dressed, walked through. The waitress looked up. Her face went pale underneath all the freckles. "Excuse me for a minute," she said and ran toward the back.
A moment later, the manager, a bully of a man, came out and went stomping to the black couple. He towered over them.
"You can't come in here," he said to the couple, his voice low, almost like a growl.
"We're not looking to sit down," explained the husband.
"We're just going to order and go," the wife chimed in. From their clothes and their manner, it was clear they were out-of-towners, probably from up north.
"It doesn't matter," the manager said. "You can't come in."
"But—there's no sign," the wife protested.
"There's no need for a sign this side of town, is there?" the manager snapped. Then he swallowed and apparently tried to compose himself. "I can see that you're not from around here, so I'm going to let this slide. You people will be happier in Overtown or Lemon City." The way he said you people made the phrase sound like a horrible slur. "Go, before you disturb our customers."
The wife cast a glance around the diner, seemingly on the verge of tears. Alba didn't know where to look. She kept her head bent over her menu, like a kid trying to avoid getting called up in class, while a flush crept over her face, burning her, stinging her insides with shame. After staring at the manager for a moment or two, the husband took the wife's hand and walked out again, their chins raised, their backs straight. The door slammed shut behind them.
"Sorry about that," the waitress said, clearing her throat. "May I take your order?"
Alba looked at Derwin and was astonished at the change on his face. He was still looking at the receding figures of the black couple, his face pale, his jaws clenched, his fingers clutching at the menu as if wanting to crush it.
"I'm sorry, I've lost my appetite," he said abruptly, getting to his feet. "We're going." He took his cane from under the table and limped to the door as fast as he could, so Alba had to scramble to follow him, leaving the waitress to stare after them in bewilderment.
She caught up with him at the car. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You OK?"
"I'm fine. Can we just go home?"
She started the car without another word. When they were about halfway home, Derwin spoke up, "I'm sorry for making you skip lunch."
"We can have sandwiches at home." She glanced at him. "Want to tell me what happened?"
It took a while for him to answer. "I just realized how lucky I am," he said slowly. "When people turn their back on me, I can leave. I can go somewhere else, where they don't know my name. Hell, if worse comes to worst, I could even move to a new city and change my name. But there are people out there being treated horribly because of the skin they were born with. Something they cannot change. They have to live with it every day. Where's the justice in that?" His eyes were bleak as he looked out the window. "I thought we went to war to change the world for the better, but then I came home and nothing's changed at all. So what did we kill ourselves for? What was the point?"
"So people will know that things need to change. So people will keep fighting and changing things for the better." Raf had told her something similar before he left for the Pacific. She'd asked why he would fight for a country that never quite accepted them, and he'd said "So others will have a better chance of being accepted." Now she continued, "Because they will change, you see. They are changing. Little by little, and slowly, but it is happening."
He turned and stared at her for a long time. She could only see him out of the corner of her eye, but she could feel the warmth of his gaze on her. Then he reached out and took her free hand in his. He'd never done it before; usually, it was her that reached out to him.
"See, this is why I said that dress would suit you," he said. "Not in a sartorial sense, but in a personal sense."
"What do you mean?"
"That dress is like the sun. And so are you."
Something in his voice made her breath hitch. She turned to him, but before she could think of anything to say, a car swerved in front of them, and she had to wrench her hand out of his to grip the steering wheel.
They were silent for the rest of the way. As Alba pulled into the drive, Derwin suddenly said, "I'd love to go to the beach with you and your friends."
Her heart leaped. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she said, then added, "If I'm pushing you too much—"
"No, you're not. I just decided I needed the change as well." With those enigmatic words, he went into the house with his purchase from the bookstore under his arm. "Besides, I think it would do Otto good to get out of the house once in a while," he added, stopping to pet an ecstatic Otto, who always greeted them after every trip as though they had been away not for a mere few hours, but for months and years. "He's getting a little stir-crazy."
Chapter 12
A/N: I have a lot of opinions about "Forever Amber", can't you tell? :))
Also, this is the dress I have in mind for Alba - it's from "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society", and when I saw it, I just thought it would make the perfect late 1940s version of Belle's yellow dress.
Taglist: @kitkat80
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New year but old life. Working every day and wondering 'what if'. Chronivac Support do you have an offer for transforming everything? I look for an athlete-life like a soccer, an icehockey or a football player.
Dude, a new year, a new life…. Who wouldn't want that…? What if you could start all over again? A life in which you don't have to regret any of your previous decisions. A life in which you don't have to make any life-or-death decisions. A life in which you have every opportunity!
You sit at your desk and go through documents. One of your clients wants to take over a competitor. And now there are a million details to be clarified. The fact that you'll hardly get any sleep over the next few days is as certain as the Amen in church. Suddenly the screen blurs before your eyes. What on earth is that? Shit, it's been a long time… Linear algebra? That's math homework! You look up from the screen. This is not your office. This is a child's room… Or more a teenager's room. It looks a bit like what you imagine a boarding school to look like. Plastic furniture, everything a bit sterile. Posters of footballers on the walls. Shit, how did you get here? You stand up and almost trip over your suit trousers, which slip down to the back of your knees. You literally sink into your jacket, which is far too big. You get out of your clothes, which turn into a tracksuit on the floor behind you. Your underpants become sports shorts, your shirt a mesh tank top. Your tie becomes a solid silver chain. By the time you reach the mirror, your feet are wearing size 13 white, no longer quite clean soccer socks. You look in the mirror and freeze. A slim, well-trained young man, perhaps only 18 years old, is looking back at you. Your hair is styled in a radical fashionable undercut. And invisible braces on your bleached teeth. Shit, yes, you have pimples. And hardly any hair on your balls. But damn, you look good.
There are newspaper articles glued to the frame of the mirror. They write about "exceptional talent". About your injury break. About your selection for the DFB U19 squad. And there's a card from your parents saying how proud they are of their big boy. Shit, sometimes you get really homesick here at the sports boarding school. But you've already got your first contract as a professional footballer. The future is open to you. And believe me, your life is changing so dynamically that "new year, but old life" will certainly no longer apply next year.
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Alone, Fear, Future, Guilt, and Secret for my main blorbo Wars
If you’re only in the mood for a couple I’ve highlighted my biggest asks 👀💕
Mwah mwah mwah 🐹
alone
Warriors does NOT deal well with being alone. He's thrilled to live in a house full of eight other people where the potential for him being truly alone at any given time is incredibly low. He can only last two, maybe three hours before needing to seek out some sort of outside influence, be that bothering a roommate or heading out to buy something and interact with a salesperson.
When there's no one around to see him and vice versa, Warriors sort of goes into low-power mode. He doesn't emote very much, he languishes on furniture and stares at the television or his phone, and sighs a lot. Being alone is also when he's at his most dangerous, likely cooking up something to surprise or annoy a friend or loved one as soon as he sees them again.
fear
Externally, War's biggest fear is aging. Getting old. Getting wrinkles, gray hairs, bags under his eyes, those lines around his mouth. Liver spots. When confronted with signs of aging he's the first to buy 3 to 5 new products and spend a day or two in the bathroom panicking.
Internally, this is rooted in a fear of becoming irrelevant in the lives of those he loves, or of being forgotten.
future
As much as he would never admit it to himself or to anyone else, Warriors is very much a product of his relationship with his family. He enjoyed being a cherished son up until a certain point in his life at which he had a major falling-out with his parents--mostly his father--that resulted in him being unwelcome in his own home for a long period of time. Because of this, he tends to form strong relationships, even if they are one-sided, and to assign a lot of his self-worth to those relationships.
The worse possible future for him would be partnering with someone who doesn't really care about him, or who sees him as a means to an end. Wars has a hard time pulling himself out of toxic relationships. That's a situation he could wallow in for years or even decades before realizing how sick it makes him. He is not consciously aware that this is a possible trap for him to fall into, as we all really hope for the best for ourselves in such situations, don't we?
Did he take steps to avoid such an outcome? No, Wars really just got lucky.
guilt
Warriors carries a LOT of guilt, believe it or not, when it comes to Champion. Is this a spoiler? It might be a spoiler.
In the Guard, Warriors was selected from among the recruits in his class for a leadership training program. His commanding officers saw the potential in him for being a great strategist. They all went through the same grueling physical training, but just like Sky taking a specialized route to become a pilot, Warriors was pulled from their coursework to undergo more rigorous mental exercises.
The Guardian Project may have been Flora's pet project to get more into Sheikah tech, but the concept was something that Warriors had drawn up early on in his own training.
There was initially some animosity there between him and Champion, especially when Champion was selected to be more intimately involved in the project, but why should Warriors feel jealous? His role was to invent and to command, or so he was told by his superiors.
Too bad for Warriors, he also had a strong personal work ethic of feeling responsible for those he was meant to oversee. So when Champion got hurt, Warriors actually got pretty torn up about it.
secret
Warriors has a lot of things that we don't know about him just yet, a few of which are outlined above. Here's another, just for fun: he has a sister with whom he had a very strong relationship growing up, although current life circumstances have really gotten in the way of their relationship.
It's probably for the best, though, because when the two of them get together, they can be downright treacherous.
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