#get hired unless by some miracle or act of god or just fucking something. at least it doesnt seem that they get many applicants.

[spoipage]

-

#lol i fucking hate working and all i work is short shifts on weekends #it leaves me so fucking drained and every little fuckup is a massive fucking gut punch that makes me wanna break down and quit #and now that im looking for a new job closer to home so i can pick up more hours i have to go through the hell that is job applications #and waiting for a reply and the subsequent hell of overthinking and my dad laughing at every thing i do wrong #like sorry!! i dont have 40 years of experience like you dude!! and everything stacking up makes me want to work less and less #and thinking that im gonna spend a majority of my life in this hellish loop makes me want to fuckin die #im. not cut out for work. im too socially awkward and anxious to do anything involving people and too weak and unwise to do anything #behind the scenes. i cant cooperate with others more than following orders and i cant communicate with them in the first place to get to a #point where i can. im a shitty teenager trying my best but my brain shuts everything down before i can actually build the skills i need for #basic customer service. nd thats all i can get at this point. and likely all that i'll be stuck with until i wind up dead somewhere bc of it #i dont want to spend the next 60 years of my life working and fucking up and wanting to die. let me be a trophy wife or some shit #the only way i can see myself not being depressed out of my fucking mind all summer is if i get lucky and the library accepts my application #because at least there its quiet and i wont need to deal with a lot of the bullshit most customer service jobs deal with. even if im just #shelving and finding books. itd be much better than anything else. but i had almost nothing i could put on the application and likely wont #get hired unless by some miracle or act of god or just fucking something. at least it doesnt seem that they get many applicants. #but that doesnt matter when you dont fit the minimum qualifications because youre a dumb teenager stuck working over the summer #i dont have any excuses for why i cant or shouldnt work so its not like i can enjoy a normal summer and stay a kid for one more year #my parents (esp my dad) wouldnt get it if i said im mortified of the idea of spending the rest of my life stuck like that and want one more #year of being young. theyd probably shrug it off and use the 'i was working when i was much younger than you' card #just. sigh. im tired of this shit. i want to spend my days purposefully doing nothing. not working and getting closer to a mental breakdown #hm. that went on much longer than i thought or meant. ignore all of that lol #the only reason im venting here is because using server vent channels makes me feel like shit. so here i am yelling into the void

[ssigmas]

crime and punishment

so.................. i watched the mandalorian............

boba fett/reader smut, 18+

tags: afab reader, thigh riding, hair pulling, slight pain kink, face fucking, thighs as an object to be admired, boba fett is mean but u like it also on ao3

It was supposed to be simple.

An easy in-and-out job, grab the cargo and get the fuck out of dodge. You were quicker than most, deft and nimble in the ways it counted, which is why your contact hired you in the first place. Stealing from Boba Fett himself was easily the riskiest job you’d ever been offered, but the pay would be handsome -- enough that you wouldn’t have to take another one for months to come.

You wouldn’t call yourself a pro by any means, just a survivalist, but years living alone on the lawless land of Tatooine has made you one of the best at sneaking and stealing. No amount of skill would be enough to pull this off, however; you were nothing without your plans. And this one? Perfect. Every detail was accounted for down to the exact time you would enter and leave. You had contingencies upon contingencies just in case any one of your meticulous steps went wrong. In theory, it was the perfect heist.

In theory.

Instead, you find yourself bruised and beaten, stumbling after some underling who leads you to who-knows-where. Your wrists are cuffed in front of you, leaving you with no choice but to clasp them together as if in prayer.

All your careful and diligent planning….gone, just because you forgot one crucial thing: Boba Fett’s underworld crime ring wasn’t a well oiled machine like the Empire. It was filled with lugs and lowlifes from every sector in the galaxy, beings prone to disobeying rules and disrupting patterns. You couldn’t plan for the unexpected.

The underling leads you to the top of a flight of stairs. Descending them seems a daunting task -- your earlier, utterly futile attempt at escaping has left you exhausted with jelly for legs, and your fear has you running on fumes. Each step is slow, measured -- until the underling behind you prods your back with the butt of his gun. The simple action is enough to make you lose your footing and you stumble on the stairs, barely able to stabilize yourself.

“Move it,” they bark. Your heart is racing from the near-tumble. You take a few moments to center yourself in an attempt to regain your composure, but the underling is having none of it.

“I said move it.” Mercilessly, they push you down the last few steps, sending you tumbling for real. You land painfully on your knees, aggravating an earlier injury, and you yelp as sharp pain shoots through you. You only barely manage to keep from smashing your face into the ground by bracing yourself on your bound hands. 

Dizzy with pain, you can’t do anything more than stay pitifully on your hands and knees, waiting for the dark spots in your vision to subside. As soon as you convince yourself not to pass out, you raise up slowly --

-- and your heart stops.

In front of you is Boba Fett. That Boba Fett, the renowned bounty hunter, the man who fell into a sarlacc pit and survived.

He lounges comfortably in the stone throne, his legs spread wide, one arm carelessly draped over a thigh. He’s a picture-perfect example of a man unburdened with worries -- he’s powerful. Unconquerable. You pose no threat to him.

It’ll be a miracle if you make it out of here alive.

“Well, what do we have here?” The angle of his helmet implies disinterest, but you know he’s scrutinizing you behind that darkened visor. “I didn’t think our problem would be a runt.” And oh, it’s not meant kindly at all, but it’s the way he says it -- voice dropping to an almost-growl, the hard emphasis on the t, the slight mockery in his tone -- it makes some corrupted part of you squirm in delight.

You know who this man is. You know the legends, the whispered rumors of what he’s done. Before meeting him, you would joke that you could take Boba in a fight, that you could outwit and outrun the great Boba Fett. It would be hard, sure, but there would be bragging rights involved in besting this man.

But now? Now, kneeling before him, suffocating in his presence -- you wouldn’t even dare to fantasize about it. The man radiates an unquestionable authority that makes you want to submit, to give this man of insurmountable power all control over you.

Damn it all. This job was supposed to be easy.

“Come.”

You blink dumbly at him, your brain unable to understand why you haven’t been killed yet. Boba tilts his head downward and you get the impression he’s challenging you to disobey. “Come,” he repeats. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Unwilling to find out what disobedience entails, you raise yourself on unsteady legs, but pain surges up through your knees and threatens to crumple you yet again. The underling from earlier misinterprets your inability to move as reluctance instead and gives you another hard shove on your back.  You trip forward and fall yet again to your knees, unable to suppress a cry of pain as your reflexes fail you and you smash face-first into the floor.

In front of your nose is one scuffed black boot. Your eyes travel up, up, up -- until you’re gazing at Boba’s dispassionate helmet. He’s literally staring down at you, and a disgusting part of yourself tries to convince you that this is right. That this is proper, that you belong here, crumpled on the ground before him, as if he’s some sort of god to be worshipped --

The toe of his boot tucks itself underneath your chin as you stare, wide-eyed, and forces you to tilt your head upward. “Up,” he commands. “Or do I have to do it myself?”

It’s a threat, you know it, but images flash in your mind unbidden; of Boba tangling his hand in your hair and yanking you to your feet, of him leaning in close to growl orders in your ear… it’s almost enough to make you tempt fate. Almost.

Fortunately, you still have a braincell left that overrides the arousal pooling in your gut.

You stand as quickly as you can, burdened with shackled wrists and an aching body. You don’t even have a moment to ponder what Boba wants from you, because almost instantly he roughly manhandles you onto his lap. You’re arranged in such a way that one of his broad thighs sits wedged between yours, your bound hands just inches from touching the cool steel of his armor.

He’s terrifying up close.  The helmet dehumanizes him, makes him seem otherworldly, beyond your comprehension. You can’t even see past the black of his visor; you’re allowed no glimpses of his face, of what emotion he’s feeling. The hands that hold your hips have a strength in them you could never hope to fight, and any and all remaining thoughts of somehow overpowering Boba and making your escape immediately flee your mind.

You don’t breathe. You can’t breathe. This is weird and unplanned; you don’t have a contingency situation for this. What does he want? Was he planning on shooting you up close? Choking you to death? Did he just want to see how confused he could make you? What cruel and unusual punishment did he have lined up?

Boba abruptly grabs your chin and you gasp, your brain short-circuiting as it attempts to rationalize the situation. You can’t look away; he tilts his helmet ever-so-slightly as he turns your head this way and that, as if he were inspecting you. One gloved thumb pulls at your lower lip, exposing your bottom row of teeth, and for the first time you wonder if your rapid heartbeat isn’t just from fear. Unconsciously, you squeeze your legs around his thigh, your gaze trained on his helmet.

“I thought you might be fun,” he murmurs appraisingly. He doesn’t have to force his thumb between your lips -- you open your mouth willingly, lave your tongue over the soft leather of his glove. It’s like your brain is shut off except for your most basic of instincts, and somehow this is one of them. Your lips close around his thumb, eyes falling half-lidded as you swallow around it.

“Yes,” he almost purrs. “We could have fun, little one.”

You’re a survivalist. If this is how Boba wants you to make amends for your petty crime, you’re all too happy to oblige 

You suppose you should be grateful that he isn’t killing you (at least, not yet), but any gratitude you feel is mitigated by the sudden shifting of his thigh. It’s thick and wide, slotted perfectly between yours, and his flesh has the right amount of give to it that it makes the slow grind stupidly pleasurable. 

Boba pulls his thumb from your mouth and you whine, unable to help the way your mouth lolls open, as if you’re tempting him to fill it again. “Easy now,” he chides. “Or have you forgotten we’re not alone?”

You still, your eyes widening. The underling from earlier hadn’t left, and there you were, acting so debauched on Boba’s thigh? If you were any better of a person, you might’ve felt enough to be ashamed of yourself.

Boba’s helmet turns to look at something just past your shoulder. “Leave.” He pauses, head turning back toward you. “Unless,” he begins, “you want to be watched?” You must make some sort of face that he interprets as a stern no, because he makes a shooing motion with his hand. You hear the sound of footsteps retreating into the distance, and a part of you relaxes knowing that you’re truly alone with Boba Fett.

....How messed up.

His hand returns, thumb barely grazing over your mouth, before he decides differently and instead pushes his first two fingers past your lips. You accept them eagerly just as he begins to shift his thigh against your heated middle. The action encourages a moan from deep in your throat as your tongue parts his fingers, coating the leather in a generous amount of your saliva.

“That’s it,” Boba grunts. It sounds almost affectionate, almost like praise, but you know better than to interpret it as such.

Instead, you chase fulfillment in a different way, rocking your hips in small, desperate motions as Boba fills your mouth. You brace yourself on the metal of his chestplate as well as you can, palms open and pressed against the metal. You could sit here for hours, you think, grinding yourself to completion on his thigh while lazily mouthing at his fingers. This is far from what you had envisioned as a punishment from the legendary Boba Fett. You think it’s more like a pleasure-ment.

That is, until you feel his broad hand settle on your thigh. He grips you tight, the power in his hand meant to make you still, but somehow he’s managed to find the biggest bruise under your thin pants. You cry out as pain flares up from the sudden pressure; Boba takes the opportunity to shove his fingers deep in your throat, making you gag.

Tears well up in your eyes, both at the pain and the sudden intrusion. If you weren’t so helplessly bound you might’ve been able to stop him, but as it is you’re completely at his mercy. Boba grasps your face in his hand, the leather of his fingers wet with your spit, and squeezes your cheeks so hard that it forces your mouth to pucker.

He chuckles, mean and sharp. “Aww, poor thing,” he cooes. “Am I hurting you?” You nod, the tears that cloud your vision already threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “Good.” His fingertips press harder into the ugly bruise on your thigh and you hiss in pain, arching like you can get away from his grip.

But you can’t. Of course you can’t. You were stupid enough to come crawling into the wolf’s den and now you’re his next meal.

“Did you really think I’d let a runt like you steal from me?” The hand around your face slackens, moving down to hold your jaw tight. When you don’t respond, he digs his fingers deeper into your thigh. “I asked you a question.”

You gasp out a sob. “N-no!” you squeak, the first words you’d spoken since attempting this dumb heist. “No, sir.” The title comes automatically, like it was sitting in your mouth, just waiting for you to speak.

“Good.” He sounds pleased at your meager attempt of communicating, and it makes your dumb foolish heart do weird things in your chest. He’s giving you crumbs that can be misconstrued as praise and you’re licking them up off the floor.

“Get on your knees,” he orders. You blink up at him, stray tears falling down to your cheeks. Really? After all that effort to get you up here in the first place?

“Wh….why --”

“Your real punishment,” he says simply. When you fail to move, he takes it upon himself to displace you from his lap, lifting you up and off him as easily as he would a sack of potatoes. You crumple disgracefully to your knees, head barely inches away from where you sat just a moment ago.

Your gaze settles on the prominent bulge in his soft trousers, evidence that he was enjoying himself, and then drifts to his thigh; to your utter embarrassment, there’s a sizable wet patch discoloring the fabric. Were you really worked up enough for it to leak through your clothes and onto his?

“You left a mess,” he notes. “Clean it up.”

His helmet stares down at you, intense and unforgiving, and you feel heat rise to your face. Just… lick it up? His pants? You squirm.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting.”

You glance from his helmet down to his thigh, then carefully lean in. You have to balance your bound hands against the edge of the throne between his legs to keep from tipping over. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out and just barely swipe the tip across the wet spot; you look up at Boba and find him with his helmet cocked against his fist, feigning disinterest. “Go on,” he prompts.

It’s like his fingers, you tell yourself, even though it isn’t remotely true, and you lick a broad stripe across his thigh. You can vaguely taste yourself, but it also just tastes like pant. It isn’t...bad, just weird. 

It’s easier if you pretend it’s his bare thigh. You repeat your action, tongue against fabric, again and again until the spot is slick with your saliva and you no longer taste any remnant of yourself. You take it a step further and actually suck, lips against his thigh, and Boba yanks you back, hand fisted in your hair.

“Enough.” He holds you in place so tight that your scalp burns, sending fresh tears pricking at your eyes. “You want to use your filthy little mouth so bad? Fine.” Through blurred vision you watch as he tugs himself free from his trousers. The moment he frees his cock, you whine like some bitch in heat, instinctively pressing your thighs tighter together. 

You can’t help it. You’ve never wanted to suck a cock so bad.

“Please,” you gasp, prevented from lurching forward by the hand in your hair. He’s just as wound up as you are, his cock hard and leaking precum. You’re desperate to taste him. “Please, Mr. Fett, sir, please, let me suck you off --”

“A runt and a whore.” You interpret his tone as almost impressed. “I don’t think so.”

You want to retort something, anything to convince him to let you drool on his cock, but suddenly he drags you forward by the roots of your hair and forces himself down your throat.

You gag as tears anew begin rolling down your cheeks. He isn’t fucking you so much as using you like a toy, bobbing your head back and forth by a strong grip on your hair, and it’s all you can do to sit there and take it. You realize now what he meant: he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of getting him off. He was going to use you to meet his own end.

And, somehow, you still like it.

You whimper around his cock, gasping breaths when you can. Boba, to your chagrin, remains mostly quiet, so the room is filled with the lewd sounds of your gagging and sputtering.

Your whole body aches. Your scalp hurts. Your throat hurts. Your lungs are burning from lack of oxygen, you’re still on edge, and yet.

And yet, easily, this is the most turned on you’ve ever been in your life.

You have no time to contemplate what that means for you morally as Boba guides your head to the base of his cock, easing you down all the way until your nose is buried in curls of hair. Reflexively, you swallow around him, and Boba curses in a language you aren’t familiar with.

“I’m gonna come down that pretty throat of yours,” he rasps, holding you in place by a strong hand at the back of your head. “You want that, hm?”

You want to nod, you want to praise him in words, but all you can do is whine desperately and hope he takes the hint.

He cants his hips shallowly against your mouth once, twice; and you swear you feel his cock pulse in your mouth before he spills down your throat. “Swallow it,” he growls, all rough edges and intimidation, but it’s too much.

Thankfully, he releases you before you begin to choke. You swallowed what you could, but some trickled down the corners of your mouth. Boba reaches down and thumbs away some of his cum, presenting you a leathered thumb to lick clean.

It’s like you’ve been fucked dumb. You stare up at him with lidded eyes blown wide with lust as you lap at his thumb. Again, he swipes away his mess, letting you repeatedly clean his thumb until every last bit is gone.

Boba tucks himself back into his trousers like nothing had happened, but the large wet spot still remains on his thigh. Distracted, you stare intently at it. You wish he’d let you back up there. You want a chance to finish what he started.

His boot presses into your chest, applying just enough force to unbalance you and send you careening onto your back. The sudden action forces your hazy mind to clear, your heart pumping once again with adrenaline.

 He regards you coolly. “You get a day’s head start.”

You have to crane your neck to look at him, feeling like a turtle on its shell.“Wh-what?”

“Like I said, we could have fun. I suggest you find a ship. If you stay planetside, I’ll find you in no time.”

Realization hits you: he intends to hunt you. You’re his prey.

You scramble to your feet, a job made more onerous by the shackles around your wrists, and you wince as pain settles in your legs again. 

He was generous, giving you a day. He wouldn’t need it to find you, but you’re certain he wishes to prolong the hunt. And, well… Who are you to deny the great Boba Fett anything?

As you make your escape, you hear his voice drift up to you.

“Go on, little one. I’ll see you again soon enough.”

#.txt #the mandalorian #boba fett #boba fett x reader #writing #what tags does this fandom use lmao #if u saw incorrect lore no you didnt <3 #also ive only known boba for like A Week so forgive me if he seems off #im working on it but the man only has like 10 minutes of screentime #and half of that is like #him being silent and murdering people #which is still hot dont get me wrong but i kinda need him to idk talk

[vanaera]

The Heart Holiday | Act 1 | myg

Synopsis: Valentine’s Day is declared as an official holiday. However, private companies’ standards dictate it’s only for the people who are currently in a relationship. Unluckily for Y/N, she doesn’t have this year’s PRS’ (Proof of Relationship Status) “in a relationship” box ticked – the only ticket out she can have to enjoy one paid week of holiday leave away from her hellish job. And more unfortunately for Y/N, everyone around her is oh so conveniently currently committed in a relationship. Except for one person: Min Yoongi, Y/N’s biggest critic in every pitch meeting, the picky guy who always picks on her, and the most annoying jerk of the century. Desperate for that holiday leave, Y/N strikes Yoongi up with an offer: Fake date each other two weeks before February 14, just enough time for the Department of Relationship Management (DRM) to consider processing your PRSs. After Valentine’s Day, they will go back to their own ways and never speak about whatever that may happen during the plan. Good, plain, and simple. That is until, Yoongi uncharacteristically oh so enthusiastically agrees to Y/N’s offer, leaving her thinking that she may have bitten something too much more than she can chew.

Characters: Yoongi x Female Reader

AU/ Trope: Office AU (Creatives manager!yoongi x PA!reader), enemies to lovers, fake dating

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy (the triple t(h)reat)

Wordcount: 11, 798

Warnings: Lots of curses from two emotionally-constipated characters (PG-15 Rating)

A/N | This fic is in part with FWL’s Valentine’s project, The Luv Library: Romance. I had this premise about a Valentine’s holiday for a while and finally, I got to use it for this fic.

next  | series masterlist

             Ten seconds are enough to look at Min Yoongi. Two seconds to look at his unkempt, unprofessional, and stupid fringes that nonsensically cover his already small eyes. Three to look at his stupid, smug smile. Another two for his overly-confident stance—leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table, hands clasping together—as if he’s better and of higher power than anyone else around the room when he’s just a measly representative of the day for the Creatives Team. And the last three seconds—they are enough to look at his mocking eyes, his jeering gaze, and the arrogant quirk of his brow.

               This is the same look he gave to Y/N when he got promoted ahead of her. This is the same look he flashed to Y/N when he berated every word choice in her reports. And, this is the same look in his face when he ruined her presentation which could have been her ticket way out from this hellish job. Smug, arrogant, and proud, Min Yoongi is set to ruin Y/N’s life. And all Y/N could do now is glare at him and hope her eyes could set him on fire so it will be easy for hell to swallow him up and—

               “Y/N?”

               Y/N whips her head to her right, “S-sorry?”

               Nancy Kim clicks her tongue, “Why are you just standing there, glaring at the windows? I told you to distribute the copies among the room.”

               “R-right,” Y/N gulps and rushes forward. She hands the copies of last month’s Travel Loca issues among the representative of each department. Gracie from the Marketing Team sneaks her a small smile, which Y/N returns. However, that smile falls into a frown when she reaches the devil himself.

               “Good morning, Y/N,” Min Yoongi greets, chin rested on his palm. When Y/N doesn’t greet back, Yoongi takes it upon himself to��wink at her. With a huff, Y/N slams down the copy on the table in front of him, enough for the glossy, firm cover page to hit his pile of notes and cause some pages to fly off the table.

               “Thank you, Y/N,” Nancy calls out, sighing. She waves away at Y/N and the latter takes it as a cue to sit back on her chair. Nancy leans back in her huge black chair, “Okay, let’s get the ball rolling. Now tell me something I don’t know.”

               Y/N seats herself on the chair by the corner of the room, behind Nancy’s chair, far from the round meeting table. Every team representative starts to report their progress last month and their suggestions for the next, next month’s issue. Meanwhile, Min Yoongi is still busy picking up his notes on the floor. When he’s gathered them back, now in a sloppy stack, he looks from his crouched position and flashes Y/N his middle finger. She flashes back a finger at him, grinning. Y/N looks down at her small pocket notebook.

               “Y/N – 1. Yoongi – 0.”

               So far, this morning is really good.

               Y/N hates Min Yoongi, and this is beyond an understatement. She hates him so much that the word “hate” started to become insufficient to describe her tantamount distaste for that man. Y/N blames his last name for that. “Min” should not be how his last name spelled. It should be M-E-A-N because that man is beyond mean.                

               When Y/N first met Yoongi, she knew there’s something off with him. He stands so arrogantly, so prideful as if he deserved every bit of the floor space of Travel Loca’s Main Office when he just got hired because there’s no other job-seeker that has actually applied. Yoongi looks at other people as if he’s any much greater than them. Lazy eyes, far-off gaze, indifferent façade—he just looks at you as if he’s listening when he’s actually just hearing so he can make some witty comeback. And Yoongi talks like a dictator know-it-all. He corrects every word people say here and there, like “Y/N, are you sure it’s ‘demonstrate,’ not ‘visualize’? We can’t physically see something if there’s nothing to see,” or “Y/N, you shouldn’t say ‘Xerox.’ It should be ‘photocopy.’ Xerox is just a brand, our junior high teacher told us so,” as if every word anyone says but him, will always be wrong. Yoongi talks as if no one but him will always be right and that everything around him does not deserve a bit of his attention unless they prove their worth to him.

               And it frustrates Y/N to no end that no one seems to see his real form but her. Because apparently, Yoongi is “amazing.” Yoongi knows a lot of foreign places, having traveled to Malta, New Zealand, Hawaii, and yaddah yaddah, making his first-hand knowledge essential to the Writing Department. Yoongi has a lot of expertise in various editing apps, and he’s willing to teach the tricks and nicks to it to anybody. Anybody but Y/N. Because behind closed doors, Y/N knows his true face:  Min Yoongi is a thick-skinned, double-faced bitch. That even if his name is on the tip of the tongue of anyone around the office every single morning, his quick promotion as manager of the Creatives Team a never-ending topic starter, Y/N knew the real story. Because Min Yoongi started out as Nancy’s Personal Assistant…just like Y/N.

               Nancy Kim is the best photojournalist in the history of travel magazines. God-tier even, because when Nancy is just an intern in The Traveler’s Foot, she wrote the best articles Y/N has ever read. It didn’t matter if they were about a cliché tourist spot that has been featured over and over again or something bizarre that could make anyone wonder someone in their right mind would actually go there. Nancy is the goddess of travel journaling and Y/N obsessively consumed every article she wrote during her entire senior high and college life. So, to be able to get accepted in a company Nancy built, as Nancy’s personal assistant, is a sweet as fuck dream come true. Y/N didn’t care if she has to go home by 12 A.M. or 1 A.M. as Nancy said PA’s always have to leave the office after their bosses left. Nancy just shows the dedication to work one must have. Y/N didn’t find it tiresome when Nancy has to send her back-and-forth for errands both for work and personal life. She’s learning how to be resourceful while being good at time-management all at the same time. She’s learned a lot from Nancy. So, seeing Min Yoongi be so lax at work after getting hired frayed Y/N’s nerves to no end.

               Yoongi doesn’t keep a tab on Nancy’s schedules just like Y/N does. He says there’s no reason for such rush to keep every event on track because Nancy will just cancel or push forward them anyway. It’s true, Nancy does sometimes mess up the week calendar Y/N arranged for her, but still, not tabbing anything on your work diary is still an evident proof Yoongi slacks of.  He even takes a nap in between work hours for God’s sake. Yoongi also likes to talk behind Nancy’s back: of how inconveniencing, overbearing, and unnecessarily over-the line abuser she is as a boss. He tells this to Y/N day in and day out. Yoongi even mocked Y/N’s work ethic as a “willing subservience to work slavery.” He mercilessly reduced her dedication to work as blind obedience to an authority for the sake of monthly paychecks instead of hard, honest efforts to learn the essential skills in travel journalism.

               And, it’s not a miracle no one finds out about this. Because when Yoongi is indeed caught, he finds one loophole in his and Y/N’s dynamic as co-PA’s for Nancy and implicitly, oh so subtly, turns it around against Y/N. Y/N remembers one time when Nancy berated them two for not inserting her friend Rosa’s son’s first birthday party into the 6 PM slot of one Monday in March. After her long sermon, Yoongi apologized for not encoding it into Nancy’s Schedule Work Sheet. Y/N handles Nancy’s Schedule Work Sheet, not Yoongi. Nancy knows this. So, after her 9-12 shift that same Tuesday, Nancy reminded Y/N of her replaceability in Travel Loca during one of the most tension-filled elevator rides in her life. She went home to her flatmate, Mina, in tears which did not permit her to get an ounce of sleep. Y/N turns up the next day at work, red eyes and red nose close to make Rudolph the reindeer run for his title, only to know from the call logs that Yoongi did not receive Rosa’s call because he was sleeping when Y/N outright told him to take over the phone because she needed a bathroom break.

               Min Yoongi is mean and Y/N has seen the last straw of her respectful tolerance to people ticked off by this insufferable man one cursed Thursday night of September.

               Thursdays are horrible. It is always assured to be the worst day Y/N will have in a week. Either an investor will change their mind about a deal with Travel Loca, or Nancy will lash out at her because of stress from stupid shenanigans of her rebellious teenage daughter—Thursdays always have it out for Y/N. Y/N can already tell this so when Nancy called for her at 10:30 P.M. to give her a run-down of her schedule for the weekends and the upcoming week. It is already an established routine that Nancy will have Y/N over to her office to give a schedule report at any time of the day. It’s just happened this day that Yoongi took a leave and Y/N shouldered every task to be done, easily wearing her out in the afternoon.

               Y/N is close to crying right now because of exhaustion and it does not help that Nancy is wearing a sour face. She does not even look up at Y/N from her laptop when she said, “Tell me this week’s schedule.”

               Y/N pulls up her notebook and traces her pen over her notes, “Tomorrow you have an 11 AM meeting with investors from VanTae Apparels. At 1 PM you will have an online meeting with our overseas partners, JM Restaurant Group. We also have to submit the Kim Yuna special feature by 2 PM and at 3 we have the Travel with RM to interview. And–”

               “Push the Travel with RM to 2. We’re holding the Yuna feature ‘til next week because Jennie is writing as if she’s still in college.” Nancy presses a hand over her forehead and huffs, “The Writing Department has been consecutively disappointing me with boring, generic articles. Are fresh pieces non-existent nowadays?!”

               Y/N looks up, eyes wide, hands sweaty.

               Nancy turns back to her laptop, “What else is on my sched?”

               “Um, O-on Saturday 4 PM, you are invited to your friend’s, Rica’s baby shower, and for 5, you are invited to Jungsoo’s son’s 1st birthday party. Then Sunday 2 PM is Hana’s sister’s daughter’s 1st birthday party. You are also invited to Nick and Ken’s wedding on Friday and–” 

               Nancy clicks her tongue, “Cancel them all. I have no time for these parties and meaningless chit-chats that always have these housewives bragging how great their husbands are or their children’s stupid what-nots.”

              Y/N nods and slashes through her notes, “Okay.”

              “So send them my apologies and give them a $300 gift instead.

              “Okay, ma’am.”

              Nancy turns her swivel chair to face her, “Did you get my daughter the unpublished sequel of The Swallowing?”

               “Yes, ma’am,” Y/N smiles, recalling her last week’s adventure and success. Maybe Nancy’s mood will lighten up if she knew how she accomplished such an impossible task. “I got to grab a copy after weeks of talking with R. Lewis’ manager. Luckily, R. Lewis caught wind that it’s for your daughter. So he agreed to give me the copy. I actually have it right now, let me go back to my table –” 

               “You don’t have to. Suzie changed her mind. She doesn’t like The Swallowing anymore. Return the copy and get her the unpublished sequel instead of Bird and Foe.”

               Y/N’s jaw nearly falls as she stammers, “S-sure, no problem.” Deep inside, Y/N cannot help but think to herself, “Yes, Nancy may be fickle-minded and forgetful of differences in company protocols that intervene with such transactions, but she cannot just disregard my hard work! All the money in my train tickets and brain cells have gone all in the drain for nothing—Okay, calm down, Y/N, this is Nancy. Nancy can help you to write the best articles in no time. This is just training for the real deal—

               “Y/N, did you hear me?”

               “S-sorry, what?”

               “I said, where’s the USB I told you to get from my laptop at our home? I need the files for the JM Restaurant Group.”

               Oh shit. The USB. Y/N told Yoongi to get it since he lived nearer to Nancy’s residence in West Street than her. And since, Yoongi’s on leave, the USB is—!

               “And first thing in the morning, I want you to go to the Writing Department to get some fresh stories. I do not want to personally see them or else I will be able to fire one whole department in a day.”

              At this, Y/N fiddles with her fingers. “Umm, I think I have a story.”

               Nancy quirks her brow.

               Y/N wrings her hands behind her back. “I-it’s not yet polished and I still have more to cover on–”

               “So, you’re already telling me it’s bad before you even pitch a formal proposal –”

               Y/N’s eyes widen and she rushes to Nancy. “No! I-it’s about the Write and Backpack Trip Club. The-they’re a club of unpublished writers, usually late 30s, who met on Facebook and decide to travel together to the countries or places their stories are supposed to take place.” Nancy tilts her head and Y/N picks up her tone. Her hands start to quiver with her voice as she says, “People think—people think it’s hopeless. Like, like, they’re wasting their lives on something so trivial instead of focusing on their jobs. But this club gave them a purpose to still reach for their dreams even when people tell them it’s already too late. And I just,” Y/N wipes a stray tear on her cheek–which she doesn’t know if it’s because of her attachment to the club, Nancy’s new orders, or her frustration at Yoongi for leaving all their responsibilities on her–but she sucks them up and breathes out, “I find it really inspiring to have the courage to seek out your purpose when everything in the world is against you.”

               Nancy stares at her, brows furrowed. Another drop of tear falls from Y/N’s eyes. Nancy fixes her eyes back on her laptop. “The USB, Y/N, I need it now. A.S.A.P., capiche.”

               Wiping her cheeks again, Y/N nods, “Ye-yeah, capiche.”

               Y/N could not remember any time she’s rushed out the office as fast as now. Yoongi’s cell is out of reach and nothing is present in Y/N’s mind but to just run out of the building. She needs to clear her mind. She has to think of a solution. She can’t go back to Nancy empty-handed. Nancy’s already unimpressed of her sloppy work for this day, much more at her uncalled emotional breakdown in her office. She will definitely get fired for sure this time.

               The cold dry wind hits Y/N’s face the moment she pushes past the large glass doors of the Rockfort Building. The night sky has blackened into dark indigo and the establishments that dot the neighboring grounds of the building have blurred into monotonous dim shops. With just their solar lights left on, the rest of the complex looked like a washed-out commercial center. The only thing that stands out has to be the small mango tree just a meter away from her—the center-piece and quite the only humanizing element of the harsh Rockfort Complex.

               Okay, this is great. Y/N always tend to get the best ideas and solutions when she’s standing near this tree. She proved this twice. First, when Nancy demanded her to re-do all their presentations for VanTae Apparel. Y/N managed to slay it by getting inspired by the mangoes and editing the templates to look like nature’s rendition of Van Gogh’s starry night, which happened to be the favorite painting of VanTae’s CEO. And second, when Yoongi messed up Y/N’s schedules for Nancy’s personal events by misnaming each invitation, this mango tree provided her peace to quickly fix everything up before Nancy gets to the office.

               Put your thinking cap on, Y/N. What should you do? Should you rush to Nancy’s house now? Oh no, maybe Yoongi already got the USB. Should you go then to Yoongi’s house? Shit, I don’t know his house address—

               “Here’s $25, sir. Thank you!”

               Y/N freezes. It can’t be.

               Y/N turns to her right only for her eyes to land on a man with a familiar jet black mop of hair, standing about two meters before her, talking with a blue-vested delivery man.

               No. No. No. NO. Min Yoongi cannot just swoop out of nowhere and sound so chirpy like that while I have to stress over a problem that I DID NOT create. I cannot get fired in a company I’ve spent my life on for two years just because of this man’s unreasonable incompetence!

               Fueled by the purest form of aggravation, Y/N stomps ahead and brushes Yoongi’s shoulder, making him turn back to her.

               “Oh, hi, Y/N.”

               “‘Hi?!’ ‘Hi,’ yourself, Min Yoongi!—"

               “Oh my God,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, “she’s Adolf Hitler again.”

               “Adolf Hitler?!” Y/N scoffs, “Say it for yourself, Min! You’re Hitler because you’re twisted enough to ruin my career because doing shit in yours is not enough. Where’s Nancy’s USB?!”

               “If you’re going to talk about work again, I gotta leave. If you didn’t know, a ‘leave’ is a leave.” He emphasizes the last syllable as he starts to walk toward the street.

               Letting common sense knock into her, Y/N momentarily disregards her pride and runs after him. When he rounds the corner of a clothing boutique, she slips by his side and places herself in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking him.

               Unlike his usual work attire, Yoongi is clad in a black hoodie and denim ripped jeans, an ensemble that remarkably turned to look horrible in 0.5 seconds just because he’s wearing it. Y/N deduces it’s just Yoongi ruining fashion because he 24/7 looks like an asshole.

               “What, are you just gonna stare at me?”

               Yoongi’s voice brings Y/N back to her purpose. “No, I’m here to tell you, you forgot to do your job—Nancy wants her USB for JM Restaurant Group right now.”

               “Well, I don’t have it, sweetheart. Work hours are already over so practically, I’m in no responsibility to do whatever the fuck Nancy wants,” the man quips back, smiling.

               Y/N cannot help but snap. “Why are you even here in Rockfort, then? You didn’t turn up for work and now you’re just casually strolling in front of our building. You didn’t take home at least a quarter of our tasks and dumped everything on my shoulders like an irresponsible, signature free-loader high school groupmate. And now you think it’s okay to tell me ‘sorry, I don’t have the USB’ when I told you yesterday to bring it today?! I cannot believe what an asshole you can be, Yoongi.”

               Yoongi raises a hand. “Okay, chill, tiger. To answer your question, I am here because my friends and I hung out at a bar near here. Not that you will understand, of course, considering your whole life revolves around work, work, and work. Ooh, and Nancy,” Yoongi grins. “How can I forget you idolize Nancy? Actually no, you worship her.”

               Y/N’s face falls into an indignant scowl, “I do NOT worship Nancy! I respect her. Which you also should do because she employed you, not the other way around. Also, I have friends! Mina is my friend!”

               “Correction, Mina is your only friend at work. And she happened to be your flatmate and college buddy first before you both had luck to also be co-workers. So no, your friendship with Mina is out of the equation.”

               Y/N opens her mouth to tell him Mina cannot be out of the equation when Yoongi beats her, “And second, how could I be a free-loader? A leave is a leave. Our job description did not say we should also take work home. You are the only one who does that because you’re paranoid. So don’t impose your so-called work ethic, that is actually masked obsession, to me because I am a mentally healthy person. I don’t want to have a stick in my ass like you do.”

               Y/N steps closer to Yoongi, making the latter cock a brow at her. “I’m not paranoid, Min. It’s you who is the problem. You don’t take this job seriously. You don’t take on responsibilities like a mature adult. You think you’re so great just because no one told you you suck at something when you were a kid. Well, let me tell you now. You suck at plain human decency, something that should be innate in every people. You’re so high up your ass you think you can just do anything and get away with it and you–”

               “If you’re just going to insult me, can you do that tomorrow? My food is getting cold.”

               Oh no. Nancy’s USB. Y/N closes her eyes and releases a long sigh. She thinks her eyes already did a 360 by the time she managed to fix her composure. She looks up at the man in front of her, currently giving her an amused look. Y/N’s voice cracks as she says, “Yoongi…This is the only time I will ask a favor from you. Please help me with Nancy’s USB. I just want to end this night and go home peacefully without her chewing my head off further more. So please, please, please, can you just help me for once?”

               “Hmm,” Yoongi scratches his chin, “let me think about it first.”

               “Yoongi, please!”

               “Okay, fine,” Yoongi grimaces, “considering you practically begged to me for dear life, I, as a human with pure soul will help you out despite all the shits you said to me—”

               “Just help me out!”

               Yoongi slaps your reaching hands, “Stop, I’m not yet done with my speech. Anyway, considering this as a favor, not a request, I expect a return of favor, too.”

               “Sure, fine, anything!”

               “Okay, I think I may or may not have slipped in Nancy’s USB in my bag,” Yoongi breathes out as he reaches for his black satchel. “Oh yeah, I totally have it,” he says, flashing the orange 32 GB USB in front of you.  

               What the fuck. All this time-!

               “Why didn’t you tell me you already have the USB?!”

               Yoongi nearly guffaws, “Didn’t I tell you a “leave” is a leave? Wait, oh my god, you should see yourself, sweetheart. You’re about to pop a vein.”

               “Min Yoongi, I fucking hate you!” Y/N snatches the USB from Yoongi’s hand and stomps back to the direction of the Rockfort Building. The man doesn’t seem to go on his own way though because Y/N hears him holler “Same sentiment too, Y/N!”

               Y/N doesn’t turn back. She just raises a middle finger up that she’s sure Yoongi will not miss. And he did not, for the man’s faint chuckles only continued.

               The travel back up to the 12th floor seems like the longest elevator ride Y/N has ever been on. Every additional second into the constricted metal box feels like a one-second deduction from her own lifetime. So when the elevator doors open to Travel Loca’s floor, the air is immediately knocked off Y/N lungs. But not because of relief. Nancy stands in front of her, bags in hand, and obviously upset.

               Y/N quickly steps out of the lift. “Nancy, here! The USB!”

               “You took too long. Just e-mail them to me. I have to cram-reading them in the morning anyway because a certain someone forgot to do their job.” Nancy brushes by her shoulder and steps into the elevator. “You know, Y/N, if I’m paying you to make my life easier for me and instead, you’re making it harder, your position in this company is useless.” Nancy presses the button for the parking lot. The doors close in front of Y/N, letting her see the disappointment on Nancy’s face for the last second of the night.

               Y/N goes home twenty minutes later, worn out, and ready to sleep the second she reaches her floor. But when she opens the door, Mina’s smiling face greets her, and she immediately rushes to the sofa next to her bestfriend.

               “Mina, oh my god, I have so much to tell you.”

               “Me, too!” Mina giggles, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s arms, “Can I go first though?”

               “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Y/N smiles, fixing her seat.

               “Well, remember last week when I told you I finally confessed to Mark?”

               “Mark, as in, the café barista Mark Tuan?”

               Mina jokingly hits Y/N’s arm, “Yes, what Mark would I be talking about?”

               “Sorry, you know how I get so spaced out when I’m tired and groggy. Anyway, what happened?”

               “Well, Mark finally said yes!” Mina bursts into a wide grin, arms outstretched in joy. “I finally get to date Mark!”

               “Oh my god, I’m so happy for you, Nana,” Y/N engulfs Mina into an embrace, “I can’t believe you’re finally in a relationship! I mean, who would not want to date you? You’re smart, pretty, and funny. The boys have missed out on you for seven long years. And now, there’s finally someone who has eyes and can see what a gem you are. And damn right, Mark would see that. It’s not every day he can have a gorgeous girl court him for six months after getting rejected twice.”

               “Oh my god, stop bringing that up!” Mina playfully slaps her back and Y/N chortles.

              “Okay, okay, I’m just joking. What I really mean is: Mark is a lucky guy. I’m glad he finally realized what an idiot he will be if he rejects you again for the third time when you’ve been with him through all his problems. He won’t find another beautiful girl willing to ride his motorcycle with him in a huge-ass dress just to help him deliver orders in time. You’re the total package Mina and I’m so happy Mark has realized it.”

              “Oh, Y/N, you’re making me blush,” Mina laughs. She sways the both of them in their hug, “Mark has an impossibly high standard to meet now because of you.”

               “Mark doesn’t have to meet any standards,” Y/N snickers, “You already drool at his face the moment we enter The Daily Bean.”

               Mina detaches herself from Y/N and dramatically places a hand over her chest. “How can you remember that so well and not who Mark is?”

               Y/N shrugs, “Because I’m not staring at Mark and eye-fucking him 24/7.”

               “Oh my god, I do not!” Mina giggles, making you laugh again as she hugs you tight once more. Mina’s fingers card through your hair as she murmurs “But you do know, Y/N, even if I’m in a relationship now, I’m not gonna leave you alone. Even if Mark will start to occupy the top priority in my life, it doesn’t mean you will lose your spot in the top-pest part of my list. You know you’re still and will forever be my number one, right?” Y/N hums at that, closing her eyes from the head massage Mina is currently giving her. She feels Mina nod, “Right, you should because you’re practically my baby.”

               “No, I’m not.”

               “Yes, you are! Who would wash the red stain on your pants and underpants in the girl’s CR while you prance around the cubicle only in a top because you bled through your bottoms during your period, much more, on our Christmas Party, other than me?”

               Y/N grimaces, “Oh god, you didn’t have to bring that up.”

               “You hit right through me when you said I eye-fuck Mark so yeah, eye for an eye, bitch,” Mina cackles as she finally unlatches her arms around her friend. “Anyway, I’m finished with my story of the day. Your turn. What happened tonight?”

               Y/N bites her lip, unconsciously easing an inch between her and her bestfriend. Mina is in a good mood today. Y/N doesn’t want to ruin it by ranting off about how horrible Yoongi is again. She knows Mina. She will listen to her rant about another bullshit done by her co-PA and she will also indulge in an insult-fest against the man. That’s just their dynamic: Y/N’s enemy is Mina’s enemy and vice versa. So as Y/N looks at Mina’s smile which doesn’t do much covering up her dark eyes, which have grown from staying up late to wait for her to come home for multiple nights on end, Y/N decides it’s enough negativity for the day.

               “It’s nothing, Mina,” Y/N shakes her head, forcing a smile on her face, “just another tiring day from work.”

               Mina tilts her head, “Are you sure?”

               “Yeah,” Y/N flashes her another smile as she heads for her room, “I’m totally fine. Just tired. Congratulations to you and Mark again.”

               “Yeah, thank you,” Mina replies, but the look on her face tells Y/N she’s unconvinced of what she said. Seemingly aware that her friend needed space, Mina turns back the TV. Before Y/N closes her door, she hears Mina chuckle to a punch-line in the airing sitcom.

               Y/N flops on her bed face down. If Yoongi didn’t put much of a fight and just handed her Nancy’s USB when he knew he already had it, then maybe this night won’t be so horrible. Y/N would have given Nancy her USB in time, and her boss could have acknowledged it as a peace offering to her unremarkable work performance that day. Y/N would have totally rejoiced with Mina with her full heart into it and not force a smile on her face when such an announcement deserves much more celebration.

               Y/N releases a stifled scream into her pillow. Thursdays are really the worst and it’s all Min Yoongi’s fault.

               However, what Y/N didn’t expect is that the following week will get much worse. The Writing Department is late in their deadline, causing the online publication of the September issue to be pushed in the first week of October, a big deal late to the releases of their magazine competitors. Thus, Nancy became more pissy and naggy, giving Y/N a cold shoulder for the longest streak in her work life. Nancy became more frigid when Y/N failed to get Nancy the copy of the unpublished sequel of Bird and Foe. Y/N tried her best, she really did. It’s just that the publishers of Russell Park refused to give another copy because they said they cannot give out two unpublished copies at the same time. Of course, this turned out as a lazy excuse to Nancy, making her dump additional workload on Y/N’s already staggering pile. But that was not what made Y/N’s last week of September the worst week she’s ever had. It was Min Yoongi getting promoted as a staff member to the Creatives Team after giving Nancy the unpublished Bird and Foe sequel.

               Ringing phones, staff members running to- and fro- the beige faux wood office floor, and the occasional requests for coffee from the break room–Travel Loca is buzzing with life as usual. But not for long though, because the clock hands are currently on 12:49 P.M. At 12:57, it seems everyone on the floor have gone silent. Almost everyone taps their foot against the floor. All eyes were set on the digital wall clock. Some have even glanced on their own wristwatches to check if the wall clock was right. The hands start to move. Everyone gulps.

               The hands hit one o’clock. Everyone scrambles off their swivel chairs. Some have bee-lined for the break room.  Meanwhile, a huge mass had created a bottle-neck of office workers at Travel Loca’s main door. No one is left on the staff chairs, except for one: Mina Young.

               The accountant slides her swivel chair to the left. Her hands meander through her large file cases and when she feels a cold, ribbed metal surface on her index, she smiles. Mina pushes the on-button and immediately, the then-silent office space has now become a replica of her own flat.

               “Good morning everyone! Today seems an extra sweet day than yesterday because you know what? I can smell and see the sweet aroma of those dark, chewy chocolates and those pretty pink balloons surrounding our streets. That’s right folks, Valentine’s Day is just around the corner! Which also means–drumroll for me, Alexa–Holidays are about to sweep in! It’s just three weeks to go, folks, note that! So, for our dear, sweet listeners, I hope you already got your hotels booked and your plane tickets ready so you can finally have that amazing buffet, relaxing spa, or a fun tour around places you’ve never been with your very lovable significant others! I’m sure all of you will have that wonderful, exciting, and pleasurable rendezvous away from school, work, and any responsibilities. Just make sure to channel in on our station if you want the best playlist to get you in the mood for some steamy, passionate, and intimate time–”

               “Mina, will you turn off that radio?”

               The short-haired brunette frowns at her friend, whose also frowning at her. Mina pushes up her glasses on her nose, “Why? You know I always listen to this station during break time. Plus, Nancy is not here.”

               “Still, it doesn’t excuse how irritating that DJ sounds.” Y/N rolls her eyes as she plops herself on another swivel chair. “His voice sounds like there are two styrofoams gyrating each other in a sweaty club.”

               Mina’s jaw drops as she turns off her portable mini-radio on her desk. She faces Y/N with a frown this time—actually a scowl now. “Kim Seokjin’s voice is like creamy velvet to the ears! Also,” she scrunches her nose in disgust, “you did not just sexualize non-living objects so casually as if you’re not aware that the mental image you’re painting is so disturbing.”

               “First off,” Y/N turns to her, swivel chair squeaking in her abrupt movement, “you’re already seeing Mark Tuan for you to have any weird fantasies about Kim Seokjin and his voice or how cute his laugh is when it literally sounds like he’s an old man dying on a choked-out old joke. And second, sexualizing objects is not illegal by law and even if it so, I did NOT sexualize them. They are just the perfect representation of how Seokjin’s voice sounds.”

               Mina purses her lips and props her elbow on her desk to cup her face. “Cut to the point, Y/N. Just tell me what is with you today. You barged in furious in here for no reason, threw a fit at the break room, and now you’re ruining lunch by insulting Seokjin for something so trivial.”

               “Trivial?! His voice is fucking irritating! Just because he’s handsome does not mean his voice will also sound good on the radio. It’s like listening to a whale dying while making mating calls–”

               “The point, Y/N?” Mina cuts you with an unamused look.

               You deflate in your seat. “Fine, it’s Min Yoongi. He made it a point that he is more intelligent and capable than me in our 10 AM meeting with Nancy for this month’s spread. Said he knows more about weird facts and trivia about Sweden because I never got to travel outside this fucking country when I damn well know he only uses some advanced search engine to look for info like the computer whiz that he is! I went so many times on his Facebook to know he posts nothing in his wall but his work achievements—and his dog! Of course, if you went outside the country, you will post pictures in your wall, ‘cus social media sites are just platforms masked as an outlet for free expression when we damn well know it’s just a place where you can brag and be not called out for being arrogant. And damn hell, Min Yoongi does not have any out-of-the-country pictures posted there. What only comes close is his picture of that gumbo he said he made—yeah, quotation marks—because it looks too good to be made by his ugly crooked hands and even if it’s got this aesthetic background not expected to come from this fucking country, I still think he just photoshopped it.” Y/N crosses her arms, “Bet that gumbo did not even taste good.”

               Mina scrunches her forehead, “Are you the only flawed person Min Yoongi sees? Why does he always have to nitpick every single bit of your work? He just criticized your last week’s report because of your ‘poor articulation.’”

               “Right?!” Y/N leans back on her chair. She groans, “I still remember how he sabotaged my files for Nancy’s professional and personal events. Who in their right mind would change the contact names to mythical creatures? Rica’s 2nd baby shower was named ‘Merlin’s Demon Baby’s Party?’ It’s a baby event for God’s sake!” Y/N looks at her friend, “I swear Mina, one day I will get a brain hemorrhage because of Yoongi’s shits.”

               Mina winces, “Please don’t. I don’t want to be the one to tell your mother you already died before you even managed to pay your housing loans.”

               “Hey! Don’t attack me like that,” Y/N slaps the back of her friend’s chair. Mina, choking on her spit first, erupts into a fit of giggles.

               Unfortunately, it seems lunch’s fun will be cut short as Y/N hears Nancy’s megaphone’s speaker start up, “Calling for Y/N to come into my office. A.S.A.P!”

               Y/N scrambles from her seat as Mina sees her off with a sad wave. Pushing through Nancy’s glass door, Y/N could see the lines of ridges forming on Nancy’s forehead before the latter can even eye her.

               “Y-yes, Ma’am? You called for me?”

               Nancy pins her a look, “You’re asking me if I called you? Are you deaf? Did you not understand what I said?”

               “Yes!—I-I mean on the understanding part, yes, not about being deaf or something hehe-“

               “Y/N,” Nancy clasps her hands on her table, “I called you here because I have something important to tell you.”

               Y/N nears her table, pulling up her notebook and pen.

               “I need you to work in the Creatives Department for the next two weeks.”

               Y/N’s fingers freeze. She looks up at Nancy with eyes as wide as a goldfish. And before she can brain-filter out her words, they’ve already escaped her mouth. “What do you mean I have to be in the Creatives next week? I’m your personal assistant, not Min Yoongi’s!”

               “Y/N, I didn’t say you will work for Yoongi. He’s not the head of the Creatives. Steven Spielberg is,” Nancy gives the girl an unamused look, waving her off from her desk. Y/N bites her lip as she takes two steps backward. She didn’t know she’s rushed up too close to Nancy’s table just at the prospect of Yoongi and her working together came from her boss’ lips.

               Nancy leans back on her chair, “I know you two have this petty children-in-the-playground fights ever since the start of October last year. I get that your differences are too great to be bridged anytime soon, thus the reason why I grew tired telling you to stop doing your cat and dog thing because I know you two wouldn’t listen anyway. You two just like to bang heads whenever you like—”

              “But, it’s Yoongi’s fault-”

              Nancy raises a finger, “But, Y/N, this is really important. I will be out-of-the-country for the next three weeks for both some business and family matters. Hence, why I cannot bring you with me as usual. And why I will need you to work under Steven for the meantime: to report to me about any of their progress. The Creatives’ current designs will have us late into this month’s deadline and I do not want this business going down anytime soon because of a weak holiday cover. So, as my PA, you will report everything about their progress to me, and you will report my feedback to them. At the same time, you will tame your childish fights with Yoongi to a minimum so Travel Loca will function as well as it can be while I’m not physically here. Understand?”

               Y/N nods, “understand, Ma’am.” She doesn’t have a choice even if she wanted to object. Whatever Nancy dictated is already set in stone.

               “Also,” Nancy looks at Y/N, “since I will be off the next three weeks, my schedules for the weeks in my absence will be pushed and packed on the following week. So, I expect you to still work on your station—and work even harder after I came back. Understand?”

               More workload? Y/N internally groans. She doesn’t like work getting reduced early into the week then doubling into hell in the latter part of the month. She likes them evened out—everything is balanced, familiar, and predictable. Nevertheless, Y/N only nods, “yes.” “No” doesn’t exist in Nancy’s dictionary.

               Nancy returns to her laptop and waves her off, “Okay. Then, capiche.”

               “Yes, ma’am, capiche,” Y/N makes a quick bow and scampers out of her boss’ office.

               When Y/N reaches her station, she sinks herself into the cushion of her seat. First, Min Yoongi belittles her researching ability in the morning meeting. Then now, she will work with him for the majority of three weeks. After that, another hell will start because of Nancy’s incoming packed schedules.

              Y/N’s eyes land on her laptop and she immediately sees her calendar. January 16, 2020. Thursday.  Y/N releases an inhumane groan. Of course, the goddamn Thursday curse. When will she ever live?

.

               “When will I ever die?” Y/N sobs into Mina’s shirt. Her friend keeps her arms around her tight as she cards through her hair.

               “Hey, don’t think so negative,” Mina coos, “Think of this as an opportunity to finally have Nancy off your back.”

               “Yeah, as if working with Min Yoongi is better than that. He already ruins my life when we only physically encounter each other in meetings and breaks and lunches. Imagine working with him for a whole fucking day!”

               “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I take that back,” Mina hugs her friend tighter.

               Y/N continues, “And after enduring all that, my workload will quadruple when Nancy comes back after three weeks! I already experienced this during her daughter’s debut last year. When Nancy said a pile of work will come, it fucking means four metal file cases of work. I spent the last two weeks of August plunging myself into an abyss of papers. I did not sleep for two weeks straight! And now— I will have three weeks-worth of hell work to come after spending three weeks working with the personification of Satan. Can the world just eat me up?!”

               “Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Mina pulls away to hold her bestfriend at arms-length, “What did you say will happen in three weeks?”

               Y/N closes her eyes, “Another hell will come because a shit-pile of work is coming in three weeks! Mina, I’ve been telling you this since morning-”

               “Y/N, after three weeks, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

               Y/N’s eyes immediately shoot open, “What?”

               “Look,” Mina clicks on her phone and flashes Y/N her calendar app. “Today’s January 17. Exactly after three weeks is the Valentine’s week.”

               Y/N’s jaw drops ajar, “Oh my god.”

               “Yes, Y/N, oh my God. It’s the fucking Heart Holiday.”

              “…The country’s long-time problem with their low birth rate has driven the government to build another department that will help its citizens build, manage, and maintain healthy relationships. The Department of Relationship Management was established in 2015, and ever since then, there have been impressive developments in our country’s birth rate. One of the best programs of DRM behind this wonderful growth is the Heart Holiday, the holiday held in the week of Valentine’s Day. It grants any person employed in a private sector one week of paid holiday vacation leave as long as they are currently in a relationship. Meanwhile, education establishments and students are given one week off their academic calendars without regard to their relationship status. Isn’t that sweet? The only downside to that, folks, is that government employees can only have two days of paid holiday leave on the 14th and 15th. But, still, a holiday is still a holiday! So for our lovely listeners, start planning your vacation trips and hangouts! Especially when Cloud 10 Airlines is there to make your holiday week even sweeter with their 70% discount on local trips! Just contact 675-9859 and 568-987—”

               “Mina, can you turn off the radio?!”

               “Again?!” Mina heaves, “What’s with your aggravation streak these days against Kim Seokjin’s voice?”

               “It rattles me,” Y/N half-screams, plopping into the swivel chair next to her friend’s cubicle. “Yesterday, he already announced that goddamn timeline of the DRM and ‘all hailed’ importance of the Heart Holiday. Why does he have to repeat it again today? In that overly-enthusiastic voice, too, as if he’s never read of that script again and again?!”

               “Y/N, it’s how broadcasting works. It’s one of the most awaited holidays in the year, so of course, they will nab as many advertisement deals as they can.”

               “Well, I don’t like how they work!”

               “You cannot just tell a radio company to stop working,” Mina turns in her chair to face her friend, “Also, stop venting your frustration on Seokjin. He doesn’t even know you hate his voice. Routinely doing this noise pollution doesn’t do anything at all. Just tell me what made you upset today.”

               “It’s Yoongi!” Y/N scowls. “He won’t explain to me the technical editing terms on Steven’s report for Nancy! He said a five grader can even know what they are. I went through fifth grade, Mina, and I did not freaking know about any photoshop shit!”

               “Well, that’s because you’re old.”

               Mina looks up and sees Yoongi hovering her cubicle.

               Y/N’s scowl deepens, as she turns her chair to the direction of the intruder.  “As if you’re any much younger. From what I know, you’re four years older than me, dumbass.”

               “Well, at least I know what Steven is talking about,” Yoongi props his chin on Mina’s cubicle.

               Y/n rolls her eyes, “Because it’s your freaking line of work! Of course, you’ll know about it!”

               “Well, you’re now working most of the time in the Creatives Team and you don’t know it. What does that make you, then? I’ll give you a hint: It’s what you called me three seconds ago. Starts with the letter ‘d’ and ends with the letter ‘s.’”

               “What? You think you’re so smart now just because you know that vector-mask-thingy?! News flash, Yoongi, you did not graduate with any Latin honor. I did! So, who’s the real dumbass?!”

               “You damn well know Latin honors doesn’t actually have any effect on real life. Practical knowledge has—especially knowledge about terminologies used in digital designing. Which you need because you won’t be able to report anything to your god Nancy. Because, well: You. Don’t. Know. Anything. Like. Always.”

               “Min Yoongi, fuck you–”

               “Guys, guys, guys, can you stop?”

               Y/N gives Yoongi another glare before fixing herself back in her seat. Mina puffs, “Yoongi, can you leave us alone for a while? We’re talking here and you just invited yourself in our conversation.”

               Yoongi chides, “Well, tell your friend that if she wants to shit-talk a person just a meter away from her without the said person barging in the conversation, she should keep her voice on the down-low. Not screaming around like a crazy ape.”

                Y/N’s jaw drops open, “What crazy ape?! You’re the crazy ape! You look like a fucking gorilla who accidentally get dwarfed by a tooth fairy and-”

               “Min Yoongi, just leave us alone,” Mina gives the man a pointed look.

              Yoongi shrugs and detaches himself from her cubicle. He heads back to their office but he doesn’t completely leave the room without giving Y/N a middle finger.

               Y/N’s mouth drops open in disbelief. She turns to Mina. “See? Isn’t it obvious he just wants to make me the bad man to Nancy again? What kind of person are you to not cooperate with your co-worker like a goddamn adult? I don’t get why no one sees this bitch’s true face but you and me! I just want to freaking tear off his face, make him wipe it in his ass, then place it back on his head since he’s such a literal ass—”

               “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mina clasps a hand over your shoulder, “don’t get too homicidal. What you just said, aside from disturbing, is very disgusting.”

               Y/N slumps in her seat and crosses her arms.

              Mina sighs. “Okay, yeah, I know, Min Yoongi is the worst. But I don’t want you to do anything stupid so let’s not talk about him for a while, ‘kay?” Y/N nods. Mina leans back in her seat with the nth sigh for the day. “Okay, I got some update from Jaehyun.”

               Y/N leans forward. “What did he say?”

               Mina gives you a sad smile, “He already has a fiancé.”

               “So soon?” Y/N scoffs. “He was just courting me two months ago.”

               “Yeah, well he’s getting married this week. Whatever,” Mina waves off, “I don’t like him for you anyway. He dresses like a college fuckboy.”

               “Okay, what about Dahyun?”

               “Already married.”

               Y/N’s eyes widen, “and she didn’t tell us?”

               “Yeah, I already nagged her on the phone. She said it all kinda happened too fast–her and Sana. And the marriage was in New York. We’re too broke for out-of-the-country trips to attend anyway if we were informed.” Mina smiles, “She said she’s gonna invite us to the Christening of their baby.”

               “Okay, I’m glad she still cared about us. Oh,” Y/N pipes up, “what did Jackson say over the phone?”

               Mina gives you a tight smile. “Getting married, too. And guess what, the invitations were already in our mail box when I went to get our bills.”

               “Momo?”

               “Engaged. She and Heechul just broke out the news a week ago.”

              “Sam?”

               “Married. And 4 months pregnant.”

               “Jongdae?”

               “Engaged. Also has a baby in way.”

               “Hana?”

               “Engaged.”

               “Changmin?”

               “Engaged.”

               “Jaebum?

               “Engaaaaaged.”

               Y/N throws her hands in the air, “Why is everyone getting married?!”

               “Well, we’re in our late 20s. It’s the “marrying age” they say. It got more enphasized when DRM’s programs had succeeded in encouraging hundreds of people to marry in the recent year. Even my mom already expects Mark to propose by next month. We’re just dating for 6 months!” Mina cringes. She pulls Y/N’s chair closer to her to hold her hands. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. It kinda slipped my mind that we always apply together for the Heart Holiday every year. It’s just that Mark and I—”

               “Hey, hey, don’t blame yourself. You’ve been pining after Mark for about two years and now look at you—together, stable, and in-love half into the year! I don’t want you to fret having a relationship with the boy you liked for so long.”

               “Yeah, Y/N, I know,” Mina closes her eyes. “It’s just sad and unfortunate everyone we know are already in relationships.”

               “Yeah…” Y/N nods and the two fall into silence. Why is everyone conveniently in a relationship just in time with the Heart Holiday? What, the whole world suddenly knew the loophole in DRM’s program? Y/N and Mina studied that for a whole year! This is unfair. Y/N cannot be the only single person out there who’ll miserably work in the office while everyone gets to have the time of their lives—wait.

               Y/N grabs Mina’s hands. “Hey, Nana, I know we said co-workers are off-limits because Nancy will definitely know it’s a ruse. She’ll block my application form before it can even have the seal from the HR. Especially when she found out our lesbian “relationship” was fake after you and Mark updated your civil statuses.” Mina winces and opens her mouth to apologize again but Y/N cuts her with a finger to her mouth. “Nancy will definitely call me a liar and grill my head if she finds out what we’re planning to do now. But look, Nancy’s out of the country. Teddy is the general supervisor and she’s the next in the hierarchy. We damn well know her 45-year-old heart is soft for some nicely-woven romantic story. Even more, in an office setting—the bane of every middle-aged woman’s sappy romantic heart. So, what do you say?”

               Mina lets out an exasperated breath, “That crossed my mind, too, you know. But, Y/N, the thing is—the whole Accounting Department is in a relationship. And the same goes for the Writing, Marketing, Logistics, and HR.  All of them are either in a relationship, married, or getting married.”

               “What?” Y/N’s eyebrows curve up high, “How come I didn’t know this?”

               “Uh, because you’re busy working for Nancy day-in and day-out?  Also, I just happen to be friends with Jisoo from HR. She’s in charge of the company’s relationship records. Sometimes, she slips in everyone’s stories while we listen to WWL Radio during break time.”

               Y/N bites her lip. This can’t be happening to her. Not now. Not when the most un-objectifiable reason for a break from Nancy is about to slip through her fingers like fine sand.

               Mina scratches her nape, “I…may have someone in mind though.”

               Y/N’s eyes look straight into Mina’s. “Tell me.”

               “Well, the entire Creatives Department is either married or engaged save for one.”

               Y/N holds Mina’s hands tighter. “Who?”

               “Min, Yoongi.”

               Y/N must be going crazy. She thinks she must be growing a nest of vultures in her brain now, the mother routinely picking on her numerous dead brain cells to feed to her young. It doesn’t help that the bags under her eyes have started to droop like a waterfall, forming a sad saddle of grey on her cheeks. She cannot even remember the last time she had a decent meal. All she remembers is the finger foods Mina hands to her station every once in a while.

              The universe is being unfair to her and it is all taking a toll on her body. They weren’t kidding when they said adjusting to a new environment is an entire whole work in itself. The Creatives Team runs a completely different routine. Large monitors crammed with multiple editing softwares Y/N cannot understand surround the studio-size office space. There are drafted papers and previous issues scattered in every possible corner, some even gathering dust by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Y/N is not even sure if anyone has re-arranged their desks in the last few months. The Creatives’ work ethic is loosely bound on schedules and everyone seems to be doing everyone else’s job.  Except for Y/N, because Steven is the only one willing to share their team’s progress to her. But that alone is not enough for her daily report to Nancy because Steven is always busy in his computer. More unfortunately, everyone is wary of her. Y/N’s sure she even saw Kim Myungsoo clutch their design folders closer to his chest when her eyes glanced at his cubicle.  

              Sure, Y/N expected everyone will have their guards up on her. Who wouldn’t be when they know Nancy still has eyes on them even if she’s countries away? But still, it doesn’t lessen the pain on Y/N’s self-esteem and the stress on her back. If Y/N can’t get someone to talk to her, she won’t be able to provide a more substantial report to Nancy more than just reading Steven’s printed reports verbatim.

              Y/N is desperate to find a workmate to discuss everything happening in the Creatives with her, but unluckily for her, she only has someone she wishes to not even breathe the same air with. Of course, no one in the Creatives wants to talk to her except for Min Yoongi. He’s an insufferable ass who doesn’t know when to shut up.  He welcomes Y/N every single day with an annoying “Yo, Y/N” and an unneeded commentary about her outfit, like how yesterday he told her “I know retro is in but I didn’t know grandma blouses are deemed stylish again.” He blabbers about his unnecessarily extensive general knowledge about every South Asian country, even if Y/N countlessly told him she didn’t care.  He brags about the cover designs and templates he did in the previous issues, flipping the pages too close in Y/N’s face while he speaks about colors and mixing like Y/N is an imbecile about basic color combinations high school students used in their PowerPoint presentations. Yet despite them all, Yoongi still refuses to explain to her the jargon in Steven’s reports.

              Y/N tried her best to keep herself from bursting and giving Yoongi an earful of sense. Yes, everyone knows she does not like Yoongi but Y/N doesn’t want them to know to what extent she can go to express them, afraid of embarrassing herself.  But in her defense, three days into the first week without Nancy, Yoongi has gone as far as to chip a small bit off Y/N’s mug in the break room. The mug with the “creative juices” in cursive printed around its body—Mina’s gift from college. Y/N’s patience meter was blasted off the roof. It will be safe to tell that at the end of the day, Y/N has screamed the hell out of Yoongi that everyone can be sure the latter’s ears may have fallen out of his head. Steven was close to reporting to Teddy what just happened. It was just Y/N’s remaining luck that helped her successfully and implicitly begged Steven not to do so by telling him calling Yoongi “a mean, inconsiderate, self-absorbed jerk who should eat his shit because people are what they eat and he is obviously the biggest shit in her life,” is just her “unique” way of expressing co-worker appreciation to the man.

              Aside from putting up with Yoongi’s Satanic attitude, Y/N has to endure Nancy’s intermittent calls with her forever pissed voice coming in first thing in the morning until in the late, ungodly hours. And despite Teddy’s patient guidance over Y/N’s “transition” to the Creatives Team, Y/N’s still close to digging a six-feet deep hole in her station. No, not because of Teddy or Nancy. It’s because she poured her remaining effort dedicated for work by spending the entire week going through every staff member of Travel Loca. Y/N thought Mina must have overlooked a face. That it’s possible Jisoo skipped on a detail she told to her friend. But despite learning Lee Minyoung from the Writing Department is going to call it quits to her boyfriend just after Valentine’s, or how Michael Park from Marketing is about to pop the ring to his girlfriend just right on Valentine’s Day, the looming fact Y/N dreads presents itself on January 24, two weeks before Valentine’s: No one else in the office is single but her…and Min Yoongi.

              Of course, it didn’t surprise Y/N, Yoongi must be single. With that know-it-all façade and condescending tone wearing you out like a 24/7 walking instruction manual no one even asked for, who would even like to date him? One week with him as a co-worker alone already makes Y/N want to throw herself into the flaming hot pit of the nearest volcano.

              But it’s only two more weeks before Valentine’s and Y/N is desperate and desperate times call for desperate measures. Y/N did a last-minute check-up on her and Mina’s lists of contacts—phone, social media, e-mails, everything under the sun—only to come up with nothing. Mina’s “marrying age” theory must be true because everyone, every single one, of their acquaintances are already married or getting married. Y/N then changed up her game.  She started to opt for resources she never thought she will ever use in her life: dating apps. Tinder, Bumble, The League, Grindr—name it, Y/N had made every account for every conceivable dating site. She even spent the most of her break time this week hiding her phone beneath her desk and swiping right. But even this last considerable option proved to be pointless as all the replies she received are either honest “sorry, not interested,” rude “you’re no fun,” or out-right salacious “suck my dick.”

              This then left Y/N no choice but to consider the most unspeakably horrendously unfortunate option she didn’t even want to have. Min Yoongi is her only choice left. And for that, Y/N spent two days making an elaborate plan. She can’t afford any loose threads or plan-holes that can further make her at the mercy of the infuriating jerk. However, even if she made everything as seamless as it can be, Y/N knows it will be the worst decision she’ll ever make in her life. Mina also expressed the same concern, even apologized for planting that small information about Yoongi in her friend’s mind. But even her friend’s day-by-day discouragement to push through with her plan is not enough to deter Y/N.

              Because even if just thinking about the plan makes Y/N feel the world is about to crumble and swallow her down in its unending, fathomless depths; even if it makes her want to set up an appointment with an exorcist, Y/N knew she won’t back out. It’s not viruses or bacteria, it’s a seeded idea that is the most contagious living entity that can take hold of any human being. And the moment Y/N realized there’s no other ticket way out of her dilemma but Yoongi, she knew this thought will haunt her for nights on end.

              This is the reason why Y/N’s currently standing by the corner of the Creatives’ office when it’s already 6:46 P.M. while almost everyone has left the office. Almost, because Yoongi, apart from her, is the only one left in the office as Steven requested him to finish a color palette by tonight. Y/N gulps a thick blob of saliva. Sweat runs thick on her forehead. God, if Mina could see what Y/N’s about to do, she will be already by her side, yelling for her to just give up. Y/N shakes her head. This is Mina’s fault anyway. If she didn’t plant the idea in her head, she wouldn’t have to do this. She wouldn’t be creeping behind a door like a disgusting stalker. She wouldn’t be profusely sweating in an air-conditioned room like a guilty murderer. She wouldn’t be-

              “What the hell are you doing behind the door?”

              Y/N shrieks and jumps a half-foot away from her spot.

              “The hell—what’s gotten into you?!” Yoongi frowns, “And why are you even here?”

              Y/N’s brows meet together in her forehead. But before she can speak, Yoongi’s snickers drown out the words in her throat.

              “Wait, don’t tell me you’ve come as far as spying on my work. I didn’t know you’re going to be this petty,” Yoongi sighs and puts his hand on his waist, “Well, if you think going through my work laptop will get you to understand Steven’s report, I’m sorry to say you won’t get anything, little girl.”

               Yes, it’s true. The words did die out in Y/N’s throat. It’s just flames of anger sweeping in the valleys of her mouth. Y/N surges forward, fists clenched tight, “‘Little girl’? I am not a fucking little girl!”

               Yoongi grins, “Then what should I call someone who’s a foot smaller than me?”

               “What fucking ‘foot’?! We’re just inches apart! Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror? You’re not even that tall!”

               “Says the one who’s looking up at me just to level her eyes with mine,” Yoongi raises his brows, “and who’s now standing a little too close to me because apparently, standing a socially-decent foot away won’t enable her to see my face.”

               Y/N’s eyes widen and she immediately takes a step back. She doesn’t get how easy it is for Yoongi to rile her up that she instantly forgets how to control her body. When she looks up at him, the man is smirking at her. Her mouth aches to tell him he actually looks stupid with that lopsided smile if he thought doing it will make him a tad bit inch sorry excuse of “sexy.” But then, Y/N remembers she has a purpose tonight. She didn’t just waste an hour waiting in the excruciating office space of the Creatives Team just to get nothing done.

               Y/N closes her eyes and breathes out. When she opens them again, she looks at Yoongi in the eyes. “I’m not here to fight with you, Yoongi. I’m here to make an offer.”

               Yoongi scoffs, “An offer? You? Are you hearing yourself right now? In case you weren’t informed, I don’t need anything from you. And I didn’t—”

               “You’re single right?”

               Yoongi gawks at her, “W-what?”

               “Well, I’m single, too. And Valentine’s week is coming in two weeks.”

               “So?”

               Y/N tries not to grit her teeth, “So, that means the Heart Holiday is also coming. Nancy is bound to come back during that time, too, with an obvious incoming large workload to come for me. I can’t afford to hole myself up in this office while everyone gets to enjoy a paid holiday week. And since you have an affinity for disliking your job, I figured you also wouldn’t want to go to work during Valentine’s week.” Y/N crosses her arms, “So I’m here, Min Yoongi, to give you an offer: Fake date me for two weeks to make it to DRM’s PRS’ application deadline. When our application gets approved, we part ways and never speak about what happened in these two weeks. It’s a win-win situation. I don’t get to work during Valentine’s. You also don’t get to work, and we both will still get paid. So, what do you say?”

               Yoongi just stares at her. Y/N could feel cold sweat running from her scalp and down to her back. Why is he looking at her like that? Why is he being so silent? Is he about to make fun of her and bring it up to work tomorrow? Oh God, Y/N shouldn’t have even gone through with this plan. This is a bad idea. A bad, bad, bad, idea that should have never been entertained and buried in a trunk of embarrassing memories, never to see the light again—

               “I’m in.”

               Y/N freezes, “W-what?”

               Yoongi takes a step closer to Y/N. He leans forward, closing the distance between their faces into mere six inches. Y/N doesn’t need to crane her head up anymore because this time, their eyes are finally leveled with each other.

              Yoongi smiles, “I’m telling you, Y/N, I’m in in your plan.”

              Y/N looks at him. She just looks at him. Five seconds have already passed. Yoongi should be laughing in her face right now. But the man did not, and takes a step back away from her. He fixes his satchel on his shoulder and closes the Creatives’ glass door behind him shut. When Yoongi looks back at Y/N, he gives her a shrug, “Hey, if you’re not going home, I am.” He heads for the main door, hands dug into his pockets. Y/N’s eyes just follow his figure. Before Yoongi completely gets out of the office, he hollers, a hand cupping over his mouth, “I said I’m already in in your plan. You can go now. See you tomorrow.” He sends Y/N one last smile.

              It takes Y/N five more seconds before she breaks her frozen stance. What did just happen? Yoongi didn’t laugh at her. He didn’t put up a fight. He….agreed? Just like that? This is impossible. This cannot happen! Yoongi doesn’t agree, he argues! Always! And he just doesn’t bid her goodbye and “see you tomorrow.” Yoongi annoys her with one last hit of “goodbye, grandma.” And Yoongi doesn’t smile. He smirks. He just pulls up one side of his lips, squints his eyes, and snorts. Y/N must be going crazy. This is not Yoongi!  A whole different man has suddenly appeared before her. This cannot be!

              But despite all the things going back and forth in her head right now, there’s only one looming thought on top of them all that had Y/N release a staggered breath:

              What the fuck did she just get herself into?

next  | series masterlist

Disclaimer: This first chapter is based on Netflix’s Set It Up (2018), particularly Nancy’s briefing scene and the USB scene. Netflix’s Set It Up (2018) is the inspiration for this fic and so I based Ms. Nancy’s personality on Lucy Liu’s portrayal of Kirsten Stevens! Ms. Lucy Liu was fantastic in her performance! That being said, all scenes and references from the movie used in this story are the property of its respective owners. The rest belongs to the author. This work is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended. Anyways, if you wish to watch the movie, don’t worry about encountering any spoilers in this fic!

A/N pt. 2: Hi hons! I decided to cut this fic into parts as this will be very long (hello banter dialogues). Writing a 25+k wordcount (so far, this is my assumed final wordcount) may overwhelm a lot of readers and make them not want to read this anymore ☹ Anyway, the succeeding parts will be released soon as I already have a detailed storyboard and outline for this mini-series so you don’t have to wait that long. Thank you for giving this fic a chance, hons. Also, feedback is more than appreciated. Tell me what you guys think!  ♡♡♡ \(> u

Taglist: @fangirls94​​ @ditttiii​ @chogiyeol-utopia​​

All Rights Reserved 2020 © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed.

#fwl project #luv library #btsguild #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #kwritersworldnet #bangtan bookclub #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts reactions #yoongi reactions #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x you #myg #aera writes

[artificialqueens]

as the stars align 8/? (branjie) - rujubees

A/N: hollywood enemies to lovers au; 3.3k - also on ao3

As the few weeks of movie promotion unfolded, Brooke and Vanessa still hadn’t restored their relationship to what it used to be, but on a professional level they were better than ever. In every interview they were bouncing off of each other, lighting up the camera, the fans and the press already pronouncing them a dynamic duo. A video of the two of them playing Co-stars for Cash had even made the top twitter moment a couple of days, a sight which had almost given Vanessa a heart attack when she saw it.

It was fun, but it made her miss their true friendship more than ever. Since the moment they shared over her coming out, there hadn’t been a single interaction between them that wasn’t on film, or on a stage, or witnessed by outsiders.

There was only the premiere left, and awards season should they be so lucky to be nominated, and after that they’d have no reason to see each other unless they actually got their shit together and made their friendship work. It was dumb as hell to let one night get in the way of how far they’d come.

So if Brooke wasn’t going to be the first to reach out then fuck it, Vanessa would do it herself. That hoe wasn’t about to get rid of her so easily. After a few minutes of internally debating with herself, she decided to call Brooke before she lost her nerve.

“Vanessa, oh my God, is everything okay?” Brooke greeted her worriedly, thankfully picking up after only two rings.

“Yes! Yes, everything’s fine, I’m just bored, my girls are out of town. Sorry to blindside you like that babe,” Vanessa replied, trying sound as cool and platonic as possible. The ‘babe’ probably didn’t help her case there, but she let it slip out anyway.

“Yeah, off-days are weird,” Brooke laughed.

“You wanna, uh, grab a coffee or something?”

Brooke confirmed that she was down, and Vanessa hurried to make herself as presentable as possible in the short time she had. She put her dark curls up into a messy bun, applied some light makeup and decided that her favourite oversized hoodie and some tights would do.

Half an hour later, she was sat in Starbucks opposite Brooke. It had been a while since she’d seen the other woman without the professionally applied makeup and her hair done, and she looked straight up adorable in her fluffy turtleneck and jeans.

“Damn, I needed this,” Brooke said, sipping on her black coffee.

“I know. Bitch, I slept like a baby last night, but I swear I’m still exhausted after this months crazy-ass schedule. I need a nap for like, a week.”

Brooke nodded agreeably.

“Same, but I’m so restless. It’s like I don’t even know what to do with my time off.” Vanessa knew the feeling — it was hard to escape the feeling that she should be doing something, especially right now with her career reaching new heights. Every day was supposed to be a hustle.

“Well you can always hit me up, girl,” Vanessa said offhandedly with a grin. Brooke swallowed and didn’t smile back — maybe she was also thinking about the last time they spent proper, one-on-one time together — and Vanessa felt her mouth going dry. No, this was bad, very bad, no one person should have this much of an effect on her. They needed to be better at being friends.

“So, why’s the premiere happening in London anyway? Were all the LA theatres booked or somethin’?” Vanessa inquired, wanting to quell the nervous energy, even though she already knew why.

“Well, we only get one premiere. And Katya’s insisting that we all deserve a vacation away from LA.”

“Vacation is a weird word to describe five days in the UK shivering my pussy off,” Vanessa huffed. In reality, she was kind of looking forward to the trip — she had never been to Europe before, and she could see herself spending part of December living out her Love, Actually daydream.

“Don’t lie, you’re excited,” Brooke smiled. “Besides, you’ll have me there to keep you warm,” she winked.

Vanessa flushed at Brooke’s comment, perplexed as to why she was still going there after blatantly rejecting the idea of anything sexual between them only weeks ago.

Brooke kept up her flirty nature for the rest of their meeting together, and Vanessa felt like she was balancing two alter egos — the cheerful facade she was putting on for her company (which was surely unconvincing), and her spiralling inner monologue that was just trying to work Brooke out.

The mystery and iciness had been part of what had drawn Vanessa to Brooke Lynn, but right now she really wished she was more of an open book.

—

“I’ve ruined everything, Nina,” Brooke flopped onto her bed with a sigh, unable to care about the piles of clothes beneath her that were now being squashed. “I’m the dumbest person alive.”

“Trust me, I know. We share five brain cells between us, and I possess four of them,” Nina quipped unsympathetically as she attempted to organise Brooke’s packing for London.

“I’m serious you bitch. I literally can’t stop fucking up. I told myself that I’d done enough and that it’ll be a miracle if she even wants to be friends with me anymore, but then she said the sweetest words on how I shouldn’t feel pressured to come out and I swear to God…” Brooke trailed off, not wanting to divulge how she’d flirted with Vanessa in the cafe to no results. She felt like she’d promised herself, everyone she knew and their mom to keep things strictly friendship between the two of them, knowing that was all Vanessa was after, and yet —

it was as if there were small roots of hope growing inside her that just wouldn’t die, no matter how much she refused to water them, no longer allowing her mind to entertain the fantasy.

“Is this the part where you admit that you’re not over her?” Nina asked with a smirk. Brooke groaned in defeat — it wasn’t like lying to Nina or herself had gotten her anywhere thus far.

“Fine. I love her, is that what you wanna hear?” It came out like word vomit, and Brooke felt tears prick her eyes.

“My, my. The Ice Queen is thawed,” Nina pronounced ceremoniously, her faux shock exaggerated. Of course Nina would treat this as a goddamn improv exercise.

“Fuck you, Nina. I love her, I’m literally in love with her, what the fuck. Help me!”

“Aww, you can’t stop saying it. It’s pretty cute honey,” Nina giggled, plopping herself down next to Brooke on the bed. She started to rub comforting circles on Brooke’s back as Brooke’s tears began to fall.

“I’ve made such a mess.”

“Go from the start, B. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. You were always a pessimist.”

Brooke took a deep breath.

“On Halloween, when you forced us to talk, it was just… awkward. So I told her we didn’t have to discuss what happened between us, we should just leave it at that, and she agreed it was for the best, and then she looked so sad and I knew she regretted it ever happening because Lord knows what we used to have isn’t ever coming back…” Brooke burst out, feeling like a rambling, sobbing disaster of a human being. “Press was fun and we had that moment after Tatianna’s interview, and then we got coffee together and I thought things were going back to normal. And maybe they were, at least until I started flirting with her and made everything tense all over again. She’ll probably never act like that with me again, even in a friendly way, because it carries so much more weight now and she won’t want to give me the wrong idea…”

Nina handed her mug of tea, and Brooke didn’t think she’d ever been told to shut up in a more tactful way.

“Brooke, love. Have you ever thought that maybe the reason Vanessa was so upset on Halloween was because you essentially rejected her and shut her down before you guys could even properly discuss what happened and how you both feel?”

Brooke shook her head, frowning. There was no way that Vanessa actually wanted to be with her.

“Well, I think you should consider it. And you know I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for no reason. But it makes sense, Brooke. She was hurt by what you said but she was trying. But then you started flirting with her again, and now she’s confused.”

Brooke felt pathetic as her eyes sprung more waterfalls, competing with Niagara over which could be the most impressive tourist attraction. Both possibilities were bad — she’d either hurt Vanessa by ruining their friendship, or hurt her by breaking her heart.

“I know you find it hard to believe. But you deserve to be loved, Brooke. Vanessa would be lucky to have you.”

“I have to talk to her. For real,” Brooke said as she buried her face in tissues.

“Yes. But first, you have to pack.”

—

Brooke was going to talk to Vanessa.

But it had to be the right time. She didn’t want to contact her before London and risk everything going haywire before the premiere, so she would wait.

The days leading up to the trip were torture, and the flight to London was also a slog. Vanessa had looked strangely lonely as they’d waited in LAX, surrounded by her manager Ra’jah and the rest of their party, and Brooke wondered whether she missed Silky and A’keria. She assumed they wouldn’t be in London until later, if they were coming to the premiere at all. Perhaps Vanessa even missed Matt.

She’d sat by herself on the flight, a couple of rows in front of Brooke. Brooke had wanted to go and sit with her so badly, but with Asia to her left and Michelle to her right — locking her in conversation — it was hard to get away. When she finally slipped off to check on Vanessa, her co-star had fallen asleep, looking more soft and peaceful than Brooke had ever seen her, and Nina gave her a pitying passing glance on Brooke’s way back to her seat.

When they arrived at Heathrow airport, they were exhausted, though some of the group were still in good spirits, excited and delirious and somehow still finding things to laugh about as they whizzed through customs at a speed that Brooke had become used to after all her years of fame.

Brooke was too tired to socialise. She ushered Nina into one of the hired cars that was there to pick them up, and she definitely didn’t pick that specific one because she’d seen Vanessa get in it with Ra’jah already. And she certainly didn’t let her eyes flitter between the scenery outside her window and Vanessa, who was even prettier than the London skylines; a picture perfect view herself.

As they neared the centre of the city, Christmas lights became more and more abundant, and Brooke felt soothed as she noticed the creases and frowns in Vanessa’s face melt away.

It scared Brooke how much Vanessa’s happiness could make or break her own.

When they got to the luxury hotel they were staying in, it was gone midnight. Brooke checked her phone for the first time since landing and noticed few-hour old text from Yvie saying that her and Scarlet had made it to London— most of the cast and crew would be flying in individually, but Nina and Ra’jah had decided to work with Michelle, Asia and Katya’s plans in order to get a hotel discount. Or because they clearly thought Brooke and Vanessa’s idea of a relaxing vacation was spending five days with each other and their former bosses. Brooke didn’t particularly care to think about the reasoning right now, she just wanted to go to bed. Even though it was only four pm or so in LA, their flight had been in the early hours of the morning and she’d been unable to sleep on the plane, so she’d lost count of the hours she’d gone without rest.

“We have a slight situation,” Asia said as she walked over to the group with a grimace, the receptionist in tow.

“This is so embarrassing, and I am so sorry for any inconvenience, but it appears we have only reserved six rooms for your party instead of seven, and the rest of the hotel is fully booked for the next two nights,” the attendant said, young and clearly nervous. Brooke wondered how often he had to endure the repercussions mistakes likely made by others. She knew that the most practical option would be for two of the ‘single’ people — her, Vanessa, Nina, Ra’jah and Asia — to double up for the two nights they wouldn’t all be able to have their own rooms.

“Of course, you will be compensated for this error, and I can recommend other hotels within a walking distance if you should prefer…”

“Y’all couldn’t pay me nothin’ to go outside again tonight,” Vanessa piped up.

It was cold as hell and the more minutes they spent discussing this, the more minutes Brooke wasn’t in her bed.

“I agree, I really just wanna go to sleep,” Brooke chimed in.

“So will you two be okay to share?” Nina asked her, sounding perkier already, and Brooke would’ve sworn it was a set up if Nina hadn’t been as surprised as she was to learn of the mix-up.

“Uh, sure, if it’s okay with Vanessa,” Brooke said awkwardly. “Or you and I could room together.”

“I’m an old lady, Brooke, think of my back,” Nina spewed possibly the biggest load of bullshit Brooke had ever heard. Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing Nina was having the time of her life with this.

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover,” Vanessa confirmed, Brooke smiling cautiously in response. The receptionist apologised profusely once again and began handing out their keys —

“Nina, what the hell,” Brooke said under her breath as she stood close to the other woman.

“This could be exactly what you need, Brooke. You know you need to talk things out, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to trap her into a conversation in the middle of the night in a foreign country,” Brooke hissed.

“Let’s go, roomie,” Vanessa called. Brooke sighed, as she tried to rack her brain and pinpoint the exact moment her life became such a fucking cliché.

—

Vanessa could deal with sharing a room with Brooke. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but it was only for two nights, and who knew whether they’d even make it to bed tomorrow with all the partying that was bound to occur after the premiere.

They each filed into the elevator, and when half the group started wheeling their cases out a couple levels up, all Vanessa could think was of course they put Brooke and I on the highest floor. All that was left was for the two of them to get stuck in the lift, alone, and to not be rescued until hours later. Vanessa held her breath the entire ride up, only letting it out when the doors closed on the floor below theirs, and Asia and Nina were still hadn’t left them.

“Now, remember Nina and I are right around the corner, and I have the hearing of a bat. So no funny business, you two,” Asia grinned cheekily. Vanessa wanted the ground to swallow her.

Brooke gave Nina a goodnight hug, and then the two of them walked silently a few doors down to their room.

Vanessa fiddled with the key card, trying to get it to work, but it was stubborn and Vanessa was faltering under Brooke’s gaze.

“I hate these damn things,” she stressed. Brooke took it from her, accidentally brushing her fingers in the process, mumbling an apology. When the light went green and the lock clicked open on her first try, Vanessa rolled her eyes in the darkness.

The room was cute — fairly spacious and mostly white with mahogany and burnt orange accents, the decor matching the warmth of the festive lights which sparkled outside their window. Vanessa had been disappointed when they’d arrived in London to the bitter cold yet none of the snow, but the shimmering river view was even more special than any kind of winter wonderland she’d conjured up in her mind.

“Fancy bath we got in there,” Brooke stated a few minutes later as she stepped out of their en suite, probably just to break the ice.

She was in a matching tank top and shorts, and Vanessa forced her eyes to stay on her face as much as they wanted to drift over Brooke’s long legs and soft cleavage.

“You sayin’ I smell or are you offering?” Vanessa deadpanned. In her hazy state of mind, she decided two could play at the game Brooke had started.

Because that was all Vanessa was to Brooke. A game.

Brooke wanted to tease and flirt and play with her, but she didn’t want her.

“Ha, you wish,” Brooke replied coolly, her voice slightly stilted. Apparently the day’s travels and the night’s hotel shenanigans had left the both of them tense. “Just letting you know it’s there, if you’re interested —”

“Well, it should put that on it’s dating profile,” Vanessa joked, feeling victorious when Brooke chuckled softly in response. “But for real girl, I’m beat, so unless you wanna be dragging my drowned corpse out tomorrow morning…”

“And get the bed to myself tonight? I’ll take it,” Brooke smiled.

“Bitch. If this is the last time y’all see me alive, it’s on you,” Vanessa stuck out her tongue, heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When she returned, Brooke had already closed the curtains and snuggled herself under the covers, her face lit up only by the light of her phone screen and the dull glow of Vanessa’s lamp.

“Hey,” Vanessa said quietly.

“She lives.”

The bed was big, much bigger than Vanessa’s double in her own apartment, and she climbed in the opposite side to Brooke, her heart physically aching at how content she felt lying beside her.

How right it felt, despite the last time they were in a hotel room together being under such different circumstances.

Even the roars and sirens of the bustling outdoor streets were unusually comforting.

“Vanessa?”

Brooke’s tone was questioning, and so faint Vanessa almost missed it.

“Yeah?” Vanessa whispered.

Brooke took so long to reply, Vanessa wasn’t sure whether she’d heard her either, or if she was even still awake.

“I…”

“Are you okay?” — worry was growing in Vanessa’s stomach and she wanted so badly to reach her hand across the distance between them.

“I just… I miss you. I’m sorry, I’m being dumb, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Brooke spoke so sadly and Vanessa knew she was crying even without seeing her face.

She’d been rejected, flirted with and now missed by this woman all in the space of a few weeks and the rational part of her brain was telling her that Brooke was just tired, she was in an unfamiliar place away from home and she would break Vanessa’s heart even worse if she made promises tonight that she couldn’t keep tomorrow.

Still, her hand searched for Brooke’s anyway, intertwining their fingers as their bodies stayed separate, her other thumb feeling Brooke’s cheek out and wiping away her tears.

“Let’s not talk about this tonight, okay? But I swear we will. And you know I ain’t a liar,” Vanessa vowed. She felt Brooke nod into her hand.

“Goodnight, Vanessa,” Brooke sighed as Vanessa turned her back to her, but shuffled closer, letting Brooke’s arm drape over her body.

“Goodnight Brooke.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #as the stars align #rujubees #lesbian au #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #angst #smut #fluff #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #concrit welcome