The Poor Unsuspecting Albedo, Xingqiu, Aether, And Venti Of Vigil!mc's Hidden Strength (wait Does Ayaka

scarachilde chiscara

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imagine reader trying on diluc's darknight hero costume and using it to bother him for fun XD

They were bulky but that didn’t stop you from slipping your arms through the sleeves, it didn’t hold you back from buttoning the shirt that didn’t belong to you, or stop yourself from slipping into the gloves that knew only one owner. You had a plan and you were going to enact that plan, whether these clothes liked it or not. 

Spinning on your socks, you looked at yourself in the floor length mirror with a grin screaming with pride. You looked awesome, even bad ass looking you might say; you looked ridiculous. The long shirt hung over your hips and even though you weren’t the smallest thing, you still swam in his clothes. It was hard to believe he was this much bigger than you -- it’s all that muscle. Still, you were giddy, and nothing was going to take that away from you. Even if you knew how silly this whole thing was. 

The ensemble was almost finished. Lastly, you ran to the small box, fingers shaking from excitement. It made it challenging to tie the string around your hair but you didn't give up. Once it was secured, you pulled on a few strands of hair covered by the string, chuckling at how they stuck out in disarray. One last look in the mirror told you it was time, the work had been completed, the transformation finished; the Darknight Hero was ready. 

Peaking around the corners, you searched for signs of him. Of course it was only him you wanted to pester -- not to mention you’d feel embarrassed if anyone were to see you. As mentioned before, you did look rather outrageous in this attire. Smart on your part for not wearing his pants when those clearly would have fallen down your legs and made you trip. 

“Ahem,” someone’s voice drifted in from behind you and when you turned your head to see, you caught a quizzical Adelinde staring at you, arms cross and foot tapping against the thin accent rug that lined the hall. 

“Hi, Adelinde,” you chuckled as you stood a little straighter, but not much. For some reason you felt the need to stalk your way around the halls in this outfit. Maybe this was why Diluc’s back hurt. “I’m just -” She held up her hand, eyes closing as she shook her head. With an understanding and placating smile, she pointed toward the door to the study. “Hehe, thanks!” You bound toward the door like a child ready to startle their parents while Adelinde followed after you as if this were the most normal thing that could happen today. 

The door creaked when you opened it. The sound caused you to wince and worry he’d turn around to see who was there but when you looked through the crack he hadn’t moved, or at least you expected as much. As carefully as you could, you pushed your way through while your gaze stayed fixed on Diluc’s back. His thick red hair flashing in the sunlight, short-sleeved shirt straining against the arm muscles that weren’t being used to their full potential. Diluc didn’t seem to notice your approach as you crept your way along the study wall, careful not to jostle any of the books and trinkets placed on the shelves. 

It took you a little longer to reach him but once you did, you debated quickly how to surprise him. Would you tackle him, poke him and duck out from his line of sight before he could notice, call out his name and leap into his arms? Then you wondered what the Darknight Hero would do -- you knew the answer.

Once you were close enough, you crossed your arms, stood extra tall, raised your chin and spoke in a deeper voice than normal, “Don’t move or the flames of justice will take you out.” 

Diluc froze, his muscles tensing as he lifted his head and slowly, confusingly slowly, turned to face you. The reaction on his face was priceless but you held yourself together, lifting your chin a little higher to kept the façade up. “W-what are you -” 

“I am the Darknight Hero, sworn to wipe out evil. Your time has come, evildoer.” With a swift point, and an extravagant flap of the floor length cape, you started Diluc down as he came to terms with what was happening. The stages of grief flashing across his face so quickly you wondered if this was how he got through each and every day. 

“y/n --” 

“I am not this person you speak. I am the Darknight Hero,” you reiterated, voice even deeper and more altered than before. 

“Where did you even find that?” 

“In the closet. You’re not very good at hiding things,” you spoke quickly, doing your best to not break character no matter how badly the laughter threatened to bubble up. You crossed your arms to hold it in while he took several steps toward you. 

“What is the reason for this?” 

As if on que, you threw the back of your hand to your forehead and lamented on the cause, “The darkness is just so overwhelming ...”

“A-are you making fun of me?” 

“It must be vanquished.” 

“y/n.” 

Tightening your fingers into a fist, you bent forward, defeated, “I can feel it spreading. My blade isn’t enough -- ” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“No! You can’t!” you yelled and reached for his wrist before he could get away. It took all your strength to pull him back toward you which meant you didn’t have any left to stop your laughter from breaking through, or the smile on your lips from growing because of his warming cheeks. “The corruption is too much, how ever will it be cleansed?” It was so hard to hold back your fun. Even with his expression growing more and more annoyed, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

Your grip on his arm loosened, the hood partially covering your face slipped further down over your mask and you reached to fix it when Diluc’s touch made you pause. His fingers found your wrist, his heat invaded your personal space as he stepped closer and, in an instant, your laughter was silenced with a kiss.

When he pulled back, all you could see was his lips. The sight of them made your heart skip a beat; you were thankful he couldn’t see how intently you stared at them. In your daze, he slid his hands around your head and took off the mask that barely fit your face. “Ah, that’s better,” he smirked playfully, before pulling the hood off your head. 

“W-wh-you’re unmasking the hero? How bold?” Diluc pulled on the string of the cape but caught it before it hit the ground. “You have to admit I looked good in it thought.” 

“I don’t think I do.” 

“AH! Offended!” you exclaimed and watched him drape the cape over the desk chair before placing the mask on a stack of papers. When he returned, he fussed with your hair and stood closer to you than he would anyone else. 

“Is it too much for me to prefer you this way?” Diluc brushed his hands over your shoulder, his fingers followed the line of the shirt collar you stole from him until it reached the buttons, you half expected he would try to take it back too. 

“What way?” you asked, curious as always about his reasoning. 

“Someone the hero wishes to protect?” 

His earnest answer would have surprised you if you hadn’t known him for years, if you hadn’t fallen for every tiny part of who he was. On the outside he was stoic, reserved, guarded, but on the inside he was more caring than the roots that supported a tree. “Aren’t you so smooth,” you replied and ran your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, fingers dangling above his back as you leaned in to kiss his nose. “If that’s how you like me -” 

“It is.” 

“Alright,” you began, but were cut off by a. A quick but loving peck that made your heart flutter nevertheless, “but,” you continued, pulling away from him slightly, “can I still wear the cape?” The tilt of his head and the exhausted look in his eyes led you to one answer but his defeated, ‘I give up’ response of, If you wish, led you to another. “Hehe, I like you,” you beamed, arms sliding off him as you ran to the chair, flipped the cape around your neck and tied it together. 

Practically jumping in excitement, you spun around not noticing the edges of the cape running into the desk and threatening to knock several items over. With a triumphant cheer, you grabbed the fabric, flung it open and dashed out of the room. 

“I may have made a mistake,” Diluc muttered, a heavy sigh following shortly after his words, but, soon, he disregarded the thought as the sound of your gleeful laughter flooded the hall and rejuvenating his spirit -- as soulmates often do. 

Feeling Tipsy, Darling?

✾ pairing: kazuha x gn!reader

✾ synopsis: kaedahara kazuha was many things to you: poetic, compassionate, soft-spoken. the list of your lover’s qualities was endless in your eyes. though one quality of his that you didn’t expect to find so endearing…was drunk.

✾ warnings: intoxication/implied alcohol consumption. spoilers for the new summertime odyssey event. 

“In that case, I’ll have a glass of juice. Hm…this one. I like the color.”

You should have known better than to trust the bard with the drink choices. 

You feel Kazuha’s lips tickling the crook of your neck as he breathes out another giggle, the sound resembling that of a playful summer breeze. His arms tighten where they rest around your waist.

Just how strong were these fruit cocktails?!

Keep reading

— drunk confessions.

kazuha x gn reader

part 1. part 2.

warnings: golden apple event spoilers(?), cursing, alcohol, fluff, slightly suggestive

“Venti, what was in that drink??”

“Err, he might’ve drunk one of my cocktails..?”

Your face felt hot as a very drunk Kazuha clung onto you, giggling randomly and cooing your name while leaning uncomfortably close to your face.

“Y/nnnn~ hic- look at meee,” he whined tugging on your shirt while turning his head to try to catch your eyes. You felt as if you were about to burst from all the affection.

“Heh, seems as if you don’t mind Kazuha’s drunk antics though,” Venti giggled, eyeing your arms wrapped around Kazuha’s waist, while he clung onto you.

“Oh my archons, Venti! Guess what?”

“What, Y/n?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, face hot with embarrassment. Your other friends giggled, as Venti feigned being hurt.

“Y/nnn~” Kazuha drawled, tracing your lips with a finger.

Fuck.

You could hear snickering coming from the others as you shot a glare at them.

“What is it?” you sighed, finally looking into Kazuha’s eyes, though you almost immediately regretted it.

His eyelids were drooped as he stared intensely at your lips, almost hungrily. Glancing up at you he giggled and puckered his lips.

“Kiss!”

Oh my archons. He’s too cute…

“Hehehe, you heard him Y/n, give the big baby a kiss!” Paimon cooed while you dug your face into Kazuha’s neck, hiding your expression from the teasing looks being sent your way.

“Kissss- hic- k-kiss,” Kazuha pouted.

“Shut up Kazu, you’re drunk,” you mumbled into his neck. You could hear your friends resuming their conversation about the island and such as you looked up again.

“Y/n…”

“What now, Kazuha?” You sighed glancing at his flushed face.

His hands cupped your warm cheeks as he leaned closer to your face, staring deep into your eyes. You gulped as he leaned dangerously closer to you.

Softly, he brushed his lips against yours, kissing you for a beautiful moment, a moment where everything and everyone froze, a moment where it was only you and Kazuha, and a moment that didn’t last long enough. Kazuha leaned back and giggled with red hues decorating his beautiful face. Fuck, you were burning up. The lingering feeling of his soft lips stayed, your hand reaching up to brush your lips tentatively, feeling the tingling of a few seconds ago.

You can’t take this anymore.

Abruptly standing up, you dragged Kazuha to the stairs, feeling him stumble beside you as ooo-ing could be heard behind you.

You led him to the balcony, opening the door and then closing it behind you, inhaling a breath of cool air. “H-hic- Y/n…?” You turned to face Kazuha, then pulled him towards you, smashing your lips together once more. Your lips tugged and melded against each other, panting and soft hums being heard from both persons.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging and rolling it softly between his teeth. Your breath hitched as your mouth opened, allowing Kazuha to slip his tongue inside. Your tongues intertwined sensually as you continued kissing each other hungrily, as if you could never get enough.

You wove your fingers through his hair, tugging and pulling at it, making Kazuha release small mewls into your mouth. Unfortunately, you had to part for air, as the two of you panted, your foreheads pressed together in a comfortable silence.

“Y/n..” He whispered, tilting your chin up, directing your gaze into his eyes. “Hm..?” You hummed.

Ah, he was too beautiful, his messy hair strewn over his shoulders, ponytail having fallen apart moments ago from your tugging. His eyes, like crimson jewels staring into your own with such emotion it could make you overheat on the spot. His lips, the soft pink lips that easily sang words of poetry, the lips that captured yours so easily, bringing you into a hopeless love filled daze.

“I love you.”

You hoped it wasn’t just the alcohol in his system making him say these things, because you just couldn’t resist whispering the confession back, letting the walls fall down, letting vulnerability slip out.

—

“Damn, what took y’all so long?” Xinyan wiggled her brows as you sat down, Kazuha back to clinging onto you. “Needed to get fresh air,” you said dismissively. “With Kazuha?” Lumine pointed out teasingly. “Shut up,” you flushed.

Kazuha giggled and started pressing kisses all over your neck and face. “Mine, mine, mine~” he sang in between each kiss. You grumbled, heat once again rising in your face.

“Oh??” Venti smirked at the lovesick birds, noticing the change in your demeanors.

“All of you, shut up.”

Baji Keisuke, Tokyo Manji Gang First Division Captain

Tokyo Revengers Chapter 57, by Wakui Ken

supervillains and unicorn bags ; j.wy

requested by @minghaofilm (36 + villain au) for my milestone celebration !! go ahead and send me an ask <3

pairing ; villain!wooyoung x scientist!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; concocting superhuman serums late at night was your job. dealing with an obnoxiously sparkly villain, however, was most definitely not.

themes ; fantasy, comedy, action, scientist au, villain au, superhero au

words ; 1.8k

warnings / includes ; cursing, weapons, one vaguely suggestive joke, a sLAP, handcuffs, wooyoung being a liddol shit and dresses gothcore x kidcore, surprise guest at the end :D yes he also appeared in gsabb <3

a/n ; my favorite piece i've written for my milestone event yet !! this is set in the same universe of goldstorm and bug boy! but can still be read separately :D wanna thank @subways-stuff for letting me ramble abt this fic cries

masterlist. fanart by @subways-stuff <3

You never worked this late. Not once in your life had you been in the lab past seven in the afternoon. Sure, your hours were long and winded, starting far before the sun crept out of hiding, but you’ve never been kept here for longer than you needed to be. Everybody had gone home, back to their families, probably having dinner or watching late night television. It was the weekend tomorrow, after all.

The lab was eerie when quiet. You could hear the sound of your own heartbeat thundering in your ears.

I’ll go home after cross-infusing the last mutated virus strains, you mused whilst pushing away from the microscope with a lethargic sigh. Who knew concocting variants of superhuman serum from scratch would take so much out of you?

The artificial glow from the lights flickered above you, momentarily suspending the room in a shroud of shadows. You blinked once, and they flashed back on shortly afterwards. That was strange. The bulbs were just changed a week ago, you were there when the handymen came.

Something felt off. The air tasted stale.

Your suspicions were only confirmed when the doors to the lab flung open with a resounding bang, your head snapped up so quickly you were surprised you hadn’t given yourself whiplash.

Please just be Yeosang. Did he forget his jacket? Oh, shit, I don’t see any jackets laying around.

It was safe to say that the man standing by the doorway wasn’t anywhere close to your dry-witted coworker. He wore an extravagant eye sore of a villain's get up, a mesh between something you’d find on backhand EBay and dark leather that clung a little too tightly to his form. His tendrils were combed back, a faded blonde with the roots remaining dark as night. Purple eyeshadow with flecks of golden dust ringed his eyes, crinkled from his malicious grin. What was this, Doctor Strange? Was that a bejeweled collar he was wearing? Were those rhinestones on his boots?

You reared backwards at the sight of the… sparkly newcomer.

“Hands up!” he commanded with a beguiling smile, both his nail-polished hands raising to clasp together into a shooting position. “Just kidding, I don’t have a gun. Unless you count these.” The strange man pointed to his biceps with a salacious wink. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Who are you?” You were pleasantly surprised to find your voice steady, unafraid.

An eyebrow arched as he practically screeched out, “You don’t know me? What, have you been living under a rock?”

You honestly didn’t take any offense to his question because you really didn’t have much of a social life outside the lab. Working for superheroes expectedly forced you into a reclusive lifestyle. So, you shrugged with a slight grin, amused at his worked up state.

“Well, I’m Wooyoung. My villain name is Vaurien. Cool, right? Got that off of a random name generator. I think it’s French or something.”

You remained silent.

“I’m the man that stole the Eiffel Tower?”

You vaguely remembered that.

“I turned the Statue of Liberty neon green.”

You might have recalled seeing them talk about that on the news. It hurt your eyes seeing it on the screen, so you turned it off.

“I replaced the Great Wall of China with legos.”

You had to admit, that was funny.

None of that answered your question, though. Not really. “What do you want?” you finally asked, exasperated. Wooyoung seemed affronted by your lack of reaction at all the wondrously evil feats he’s committed, but he was quick to get over it when you shrugged your lab coat off. “I’m tired and I still have a lot of work to do. If you want to steal some chemicals, I’m sure we have some in the back storage for you. I’ll even hand you a key if you’d like.”

The flaxen-headed villain planted his fists onto his hips and glared at you. “First of all, that wouldn’t be stealing, that would just be you giving me what I want. Where’s the fun in that?” This time, you didn’t hold back the irked eye-roll. “Second, I’m looking for something a bit more valuable than ingredients for baking soda volcanoes… even though those were fun to make. Ever heard of superhuman serum?”

Raw terror clung to your bones, a sickly paste of darkness. In the wrong hands, this serum could destroy society as you knew it. He was a world-renowned villain (apparently), asking for the serum you’ve dedicated your life’s work to. Was now a good time to call for Captain Jongho? Would he be able to get you before you made a run for your phone laying across from you on the counter?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wooyoung wrinkled his nose. “I like it when you lie to me.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say to that.

The sinking feeling in your stomach only worsened when he pulled out a gun一a real one一and held the sleek grey firearm steady, aimed right between your forehead. “Do you like it when I lie to you?”

You clenched your jaw, before swivelling your head to the sealed safe hidden behind a dozen passcodes and iron doors and ID keycards. “It’s down in the basement. Come with me.”

His eyes felt like daggers on the back of your neck.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Why? Do I make you nervous?” You didn’t appreciate the challenging tone in his inquiry, so you didn’t bother gracing him with a response.

Your fingers hurried to key in the last of the passwords onto the computer, a flustered flush dancing up your skin.

“CaptainJonghoCanThrowMeOffABridge666? That’s your password?” The supervillain cackled with gleeful laughter, doubling over whilst clutching at his stomach and propping himself by slinging an arm over your shoulder. You shrugged him off with an annoyed grumble. “Didn’t peg you as the type to have a crush on your boss.”

“He’s not my boss,” you were quick to reply, moving your eyes from the screen to gaze at Wooyoung defiantly. “I just work under him.”

“Hm, I bet you do,” Wooyoung commented snidely, to which you scowled.

Whatever scathing words you held on your tongue dissipated away when the large metal doors of the lab’s foolproof safe slid open a second later, revealing aisles upon aisles of different versions of superhuman serum. There went the days and nights where you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into working, all down the drain.

“You’re a peach, sweetheart,” Wooyoung gripped your fingers, pressing an over-exaggerated kiss to the back of your hand. A small part of you was amused at the faint lipstick mark he left on your skin, but your common sense ripped your limb away from him, instinctively arcing your palm through the air to swiftly land a resounding slap to his cheek. It probably hurt less than a dull flick to the supervillain, but he staggered backwards from pure shock. He cradled the cheek you had hit, staring at you with something akin to awe.

Then, a smile blossomed across his mouth. You hated how handsome he looked just then.

“I like you,” he said, then promptly rotated to stuff all the vials into a sparkly unicorn bag you hadn’t even noticed him holding.

You moved to follow after him, but let out an enraged groan when you found yourself tethered to the computer desk. The metal clamp was cold around your wrist. The kiss was a distraction to cuff you! You should’ve known.

“Sorry about that,” Wooyoung sent you a wink when he sauntered out, the safe now void of serum and his absurd bag bulging to the point of almost breaking. “The cuffs auto-unlock. They’ll come off in an hour.”

Pain flourished in your mouth as you physically bit down on your tongue to refrain from spitting out obscenities.

“A thank you would be nice.” You swung a kick to his shin, but he danced away before your shoe could land against his expensive leather suit. When he stuck his tongue out childishly, you could swear there was steam coming out of your ears. It surprised you when he took his gun and placed it right beside you on the table, a mischievous gleam in his molten irises. “I lied to you again. A teensy, tiny white lie. The gun isn’t loaded.”

This time, you didn’t stop the curses and obscenities from tumbling past your lips, tugging at your cuff as hard as you could. You willingly gave up a fortune’s worth of serum because he pointed an empty gun at your forehead! You’ve never felt more foolish in your life. “You fucking bastard! You won’t get away with this! Captain Jongho will find you, you know!”

“I’ll make sure to say hello to your boyfriend, then.”

“He’s not一!” you huffed, abruptly pausing yourself. “Fuck you, Vaurien. That serum doesn’t belong to you.”

Wooyoung bit down on his lip, staving away a bright smile. “You're right. It belongs to us.”

Confusion marred your features, but quickly faded away once another man materialized beside him.

“San!” Wooyoung exclaimed jovially. “I was just saying goodbye to the lovely Y/N here.”

The other man bore a striking resemblance to the infamous villain always making headlines on newspapers and appearing on television almost weekly. Last you saw of him, he had dark purple strands of hair, found by the police and tied up by the heroes Goldstorm and Spiderman. However, the strands on his head were cropped short and dark as ebony, complimenting the unnaturally green glow of his eyes. It didn’t take a genius to piece two and two together. He broke out of jail.

What did Vaurien and San want with the serum? What would Captain Jongho think of you for letting them get away with it?

“I thought we agreed not to use the unicorn bag?” San asked, but quickly waved the question away. “Doesn’t matter now. Thanks for the help, Y/N. We’ll be back soon.”

“We will?” Wooyoung brightened up (though you weren’t quite sure how that was possible), and swiveled his eyes to you. “You heard that? This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”

A bitter taste climbed up the back of your throat. “What an honor,” you spat out, dripping with sarcasm. Wooyoung’s grin only seemed to expand three-fold at your hateful disposition.

The two villains disapparated with naught another word in a flash of green light (but Wooyoung did send you another obnoxious flying kiss just before doing so, which you pointedly ignored). You wondered what Yeosang’s face would look like when he walks into the lab on Monday. What about Captain Jongho? You presumed you’d call him as soon as the cuffs unlocked themselves. Another deep-timbered groan exhausted your lungs as you dropped your head onto the table.

You were in deep shit now.

lights, camera, action!

premise. in which you get yourself involved in a lot of unscripted drama. (genshin celebrity au.)

includes. xiao, childe, albedo, ayato, scaramouche, thoma & kazuha.

previous episode. watch here.

note. the long-awaited sequel nobody actually waited for lmao. please read part 1 if you still haven't! this entire fic would be incomprehensible otherwise :'D

四 ; ayato, the cannon fodder

although xiao is, with absolute certainty, regarded as your definite favorite celebrity in your heart, ayato comes a close second.

he's a modern day prince; if anyone were asked to say which male lead they liked best, you can guarantee their answer would be among one of his roles.

he played a lot of characters—a school heartthrob, a ceo, a bar owner, and even an actual prince for a snow white retelling. each one with stellar execution, as you'd expect from an actor of his caliber.

so it is to your absolute horror to find him casted in this production as a minor villain. the one that happens to (futilely) seduce the journalist to bed, no less!

is he asking to get his image destroyed?! which... actually does make sense. he's already been typecasted as the “prince” type of male lead, and you can guess how frustrating that can be. it must suck to play one persona over and over, mindlessly spouting recycled lines; not much room for creativity there.

but he's had different roles too, of course. one that stuck to your mind is another murder mystery, a film focusing on the death of a family head. the power struggle for the place of successor isn't a secret even to the public, and the prime suspects are primarily composed of the victim's relatives who stand to benefit from the family head's death.

ayato played the role of the first son, believed to be the one most likely to inherit the riches. which means the sooner the family head dies, he gets to have all the assets. he's suspicious due to his probable motive, but overly so that it's too obvious; ironically enough, this leads the audience to think he definitely couldn't be the killer.

except he is exactly that, but for a reason nobody would expect. rather than greed, the first son murdered his father for driving his biological mother to madness due to abuse and then sent her to a psychiatric ward, where she eventually died. he took in a second wife, a woman only after his money, who kept on pressuring her husband to make her daughter his successor.

contrary to popular belief, ayato's character didn't loathe his step-sister. in fact, he cared about her quite a bit, and his hate for his father grew whenever he scorned her for being “lacking” or “good for nothing.” his scummy personality led to his demise.

in the end, the step-mother was wrongly arrested, and the true murderer wasn't revealed until after the credits, where ayato was shown sitting at his father's desk and laughing to himself, followed by a scene detailing how the actual murder took place and how he tricked the investigators successfully.

the contrast between his acting as a shallow young master and a cunning mastermind had been praised by many. to tell the truth, you don't know how he was typecasted as a prince when he's clearly more suited for “villain” roles.

...even so, his current role isn't anything like the previous one! a cannon fodder and a genius murderer are nowhere near alike! he's only there to make the protagonist jealous and his character is fated to die one week after the scene with the journalist!

you suppose your disbelief must've shown on your face when each actor's respective role was announced because he couldn't help but chuckle when he looked at you.

“...by any chance, did you audition for the murderer role? because- it's hard to believe that-” you struggle to piece together words, rambling while ayato is busy signing his autograph on your phone case. (as luck would have it, you don't have paper on you. you said he could sign the back of your shirt but he politely declined, insisting the shirt would get dirty like you aren't planning to get it framed on your bedroom wall and declare it your heirloom.)

you don't even feel shy talking to him from the sheer incredulity of the situation. ayato only laughs as he hands you your phone case. “i did. but it turned out getting a minor role is a good thing since i'm planning to be on vacation soon.”

“oh. that's understandable, then...” barely. you still have complaints about it. as an actor, you respect the director's decisions, but as a loyal fan, you oughta give him a talking to and demand to give your idol the role he deserves.

“do you dislike it?”

your brows knit together, eyes momentarily leaving your now prized phone case to glance at him. “dislike what?” dislike that you're treated like this? that you have to act as a brainless villain? that you don't get much screentime? then fuck yeah.

“dislike that you're going to do that scene with me.” almost bashful, he leans closer to whisper to your ear. “you know. the one in the hotel.”

all the blood in your body rushes to your cheeks. impishly, ayato's lips curl into a smile of mischievous nature, a far cry from the elegant simper he usually holds. “i... that isn't what i... no, i mean it's not that i don't like you as my partner, but- but-!”

sufficiently entertained by your fumbling, he stops being mean and lightly pats the top of your head. “let's both do our best. truthfully, i'm not the most adept with bedroom scenes, but if you need help, you can always rely on me.”

rely how exactly?!

...

“is it too tight?”

“um... a little.”

“okay. is this better?”

“yes. am i too stiff?”

“mhm, a bit. you don't have to be nervous. it's just me.”

ah yes. it's just THE kamisato ayato pinning you down your bed, breathing down your neck, moments away from stealing your lips. nothing to worry about, clearly.

he adjusts his grip on your wrists, loosening it to your liking. his character is meant to push you down forcibly, but of course he doesn't want to actually harm you during filming—to prepare before the shoot, practice is of utmost importance. you have to give the illusion of an aggressive assault when in reality he's handling you like a piece of glass.

but you're doing this right after a day's work, and you have to blame your stupid mouth for running off without command and casually asking him if he could visit your apartment to go over the scene. in late hours of the night. in what can be interpreted as a much more scandalous suggestion.

thankfully, you're not dealing with childe so you're spared from wiggling eyebrows or phrases with flirty implications.

but him being ayato doesn't make it any easier.

“don't you feel embarrassed making out on screen...?” you laugh awkwardly in an attempt to ignore the weird tension in the air, slightly overwhelmed by his intense gaze. “i know you've done this several times, but i imagine the awkwardness never wears off.”

“not quite,” he agrees. “but a job is a job... i say that, but i'd like to make it comfortable for you, if possible. how are you faring? do you need a break?” he sits up, allowing more distance in the space between you. you shake your head.

“i'm fine. just... nervous. it's my first time doing a bedroom scene...” you look off to the side, staring at the lights beyond your window. though you're in the comfort of your own room, having an unfamiliar man on your bed makes it all feel so strange.

...as you thought, it really was weird to invite a co-actor to your bed! eh? would booking a hotel be better? but isn't it overboard to go to a hotel for practice? inviting him to your apartment is equally as bad, though?!

“all the cameramen watching can be pressuring,” he adds in afterthought, releasing one of your wrists only to pin them with a single hand. you flinch a little when his fingers skim over your cheek, but you slowly relax into the heat. “it's best if you try to forget about them.”

“i'm afraid that's easier said than done,” you murmur, voice growing weaker as he leans down once more.

“really? i consider myself a decent kisser.” he grins, sly and confident. “i'm certain i can keep other things off your mind for a while.”

“wh- i'm not supposed to enjoy it, remember?!” you squawk indignantly with flushed cheeks.

“oh? my bad.” he relishes in your reaction, chuckling lowly. “you'll have to work hard acting like you don't like it, then.”

his lips hover above yours, breaths mingling with each other. the proximity catches you off guard but his hand is a steady weight holding you in place, urging you to look at him.

“don't think about anyone else. just focus on me.”

五 ; scaramouche, the best friend

“fantastic. i was also looking forward to a drama adaption but you've already ruined it for me.”

“that's not nice! you're supposed to congratulate me for passing the audition!”

“my courtesy towards you has already expired 5 years ago.”

“yes. you've made that very apparent.”

“have i also made my ire apparent? it's like the universe is telling me seeing you everyday isn't enough, i have to see you on television too. frankly, we see too much of each other.”

“you say that but you're the one coming over my apartment uninvited.”

“this is where i store my beer.”

scaramouche has a perfectly functional fridge so you know he's only doing that as an excuse. he's been this way for 8 years. (of course, he'd only been storing milk at your house when you were both still underage.)

(the milk didn't do any favors for his height, unfortunately.)

his words are as harsh as ever but believe it or not, he's your closest friend. not that he'd ever admit it, even at gunpoint. it's a feat you should add to your resume, honestly, because as far as you know, you're one of the few people he doesn't hate.

he tolerates you enough that he can practice your lines with you (with enough pressure), though he delivers his part of the script with such dispassion it makes it difficult for you to get into the mood. but in his own brand of patience, he lets you reiterate your lines an endless amount of times until you feel like you get it right.

he helps you with expressions too, albeit in a manner you find hard to appreciate.

“you look like you're constipated, not about to cry.”

“your jaw is hanging open. want to catch a fly with your tongue? act like you caught your husband cheating, not like you're about to eat half my burger when you said you'd only take a bite.”

(personal grudges were involved.)

he's not interested in the film industry at all, but he was the one who pushed you to pursue your dreams when everyone else was discouraging you from taking an unstable career. he's your pillar of support; even if he's glaring at you scathingly or giving cutting words matter-of-factly, he's all bark and no bite. the moment you shed tears, he's already pulling you to his chest, remaining silent as he rubs comforting circles on your back. he doesn't even complain when you bury your face to hide in his neck, soaking his shirt with tears.

underneath all that layers, he's pretty nice.

(admittedly, you have to dig real deep.)

when you're smiling and happy, however, he takes the chance to complain. sneering, he blurts, “what's up with you taking roles in romance dramas all the time? besides, you're way too old to be in high school.”

“i still look fresh.” you batted your eyelashes at him, celebrating inwardly when he made a scandalized noise. “but i'm auditioning for a different role soon. if i get it, you'll see me as a murder victim instead of a high schooler.”

two weeks later, you get the e-mail confirming the love interest role. scaramouche goes so pale you consider taking him to the hospital.

“i know the journalist is your favorite character, but aren't you overreacting? do you hate me acting as them that much?”

he rolls his eyes so hard you almost think they're going to be permanently pointed heavenward. “are you stupid? that's not what i'm worried about. wouldn't you have to- you know- do that scene-”

“which one?”

“...the hotel scene...”

ah. well that certainly is a cause for concern. it's steamier than what you're used to; so far, you've only done light pecks or kisses that don't last too long. bedroom scenes are definitely foreign territory.

“i can only hope my partner is good-looking, then. i wouldn't mind it, if that's the case.” you laugh sheepishly, missing the way his eyes narrow in disapproval.

“...whatever. suit yourself.”

“don't tell me you still feel weird about kissing scenes?”

“i don't have issues with kissing scenes. i just don't want to see you sucking face on tv.”

“don't use that word! it's too vulgar!”

as part of work, it's inevitable you have to do a kissing scene here and there. scaramouche has never been fond of seeing them, turning away from the television or excusing himself to the bathroom whenever they come up. it's a reaction you can sympathize with; it is rather awkward to see your friend making out with someone on screen.

but he especially detests the old recording of your high school play.

long, long ago, you were part of the drama club. by association, scaramouche became a member as well—the pair of you were considered as a package deal. he was your practice partner so often that he got forced into joining.

he'd die before he ever tells anyone, but he had a knack for playing villains back then, specialized in wicked cackling and bone-chilling monologues reeking of depravity.

but in your final year, he got roped into playing the prince when the original actor sprained his ankle. incidentally, you happened to be playing the damsel in distress in your (pretty much unrecognizable) rendition of sleeping beauty.

“why is the prince shorter than-” before you could end your statement, he already slammed your face with the script.

the play was a hot mess. scaramouche couldn't play a decent prince for the life of him, so your club made the play a comedy and reworked the entire script to fit him better. the valiant and heroic character became satirical, forced into saving you not for love but to fulfill a prophecy that definitely wasn't in the original sleeping beauty.

the audience was taking the change well, intrigued by the bizarre twists and turns. the huffing-puffing prince was hilarious to watch, too.

it wasn't long before you laid in the casket, blinded by stage lights even with your eyes closed. the cardboard dragon had already been defeated, and the prince was fast approaching.

to your utter distaste, it was decided the prince would slap you awake. so you prepared for it when the last lines were being said, bracing for the stinging pain.

but then there was a rise in pitch, nearing to a yelp, then a loud thud, then the weight of two hands pressing on either side of your head, and-

your lips were touching something soft and warm.

the squeals and yells reverberated in the whole theater, the narrator stammering awkwardly and improvising ad libs last minute. your eyes snapped open and you'd gotten a front row seat to see scaramouche's blushing face, an explosion of pink dancing across his features.

after the play wrapped up and he peeled off the ridiculously frilly prince costume, he'd been set on destroying every record—alas, your friends weren't so keen on deleting such good footage. to this day, he still bristled at the thought of it; his and your first kiss showcased to hundreds of people.

it's harder to endure when he sees you kissing someone else, however. he never gets used to it, no matter how many times he tells himself to.

“oh, finally. it took so long for them to get together,” his co-worker groans as he watches the tv at the break room, airing the latest episode of the drama you star in. scaramouche glances at the screen, turning away when the camera flits to the boy with ashy brown hair. he's touching your face for the millionth time, bright teal eyes staring into yours so deeply scaramouche almost thinks he's actually besotted with you.

“you're not watching? i thought you liked this series?”

“i don't.”

for his own sake, he doesn't give the tv another glance, stepping out of the room.

this is fine. it's not the first time he's felt like this.

(it doesn't feel any less terrible.)

六 ; thoma, the former male lead

there are as many aspiring actors as there are stars in the sky; it's unfortunate only some of them shine brightly enough to be noticeable, and the rest twinkling weakly in miniscule dots.

for your case, and for your friend thoma's, you belong to the latter.

thoma is handsome, that much you can see with your own eyes, but a pretty face can be found anywhere in the industry—he lacks that special something that makes him stand out. that being said, you don't have it either, so you're on the same boat.

you're best pals, comrades in arms, partners in crime.

actual partners. once. for a romance drama.

(but not the main characters. just an obligatory side pairing, of course. you're the rebound for the second male lead.)

it was your first work, and you'd rather delete your existence than watch it again. hopefully, that also erases your dark history.

your... amateurish acting had been unsightly. the innocence you portrayed wasn't lovely, just a ghastly display of incoherent mumbling and lack of comedic timing. you wanted to tear apart each clip and toss it in some imaginary ditch where nobody can find it again.

thoma's performance wasn't as severe as yours. it wasn't half-bad, almost decent if not for the scant instances of awkwardness in scenes that required more emotional acting.

alas, the end product was just about what you expected; a series no one paid attention to. both a relief and a disappointment, because even if you hated it with every inch of your being, the effort you poured into practice and filming was real.

but after the drama ended, you kept in close contact with thoma, chugging down beer at dinners as you complained to each other about work. failed auditions, mistakes in filming, inability to get roles—you shared everything, and he did the same. each moment of embarrassment and each moment of breakthrough that called for a celebration, you told each other. through thick and thin, you had the other's back.

naturally, he was one of the first few people you called (second only to your manager) when you received the e-mail confirming your role as the love interest for arguably one of the most anticipated series to date.

he'd been overjoyed, above all, his elation overruling his surprise; it was a far cry from other violent reactions. (“are you sure it's not a prank?” scaramouche had said in disbelief.)

“you're finally going to be acknowledged!” gleefully, thoma chattered on, “that's the best news i've heard all year!”

and that was good. it was nice having his support. he'd been the one to give you a pep talk before you had to start rehearsals, soothing your fretful worries.

when you don't understand the essence of a particular scene, he's more than happy to help—“i'm just one call away!”

when you fumble your lines on camera, he laughs but not with mockery (a stark contrast to that little gremlin scaramouche)—“it's no big deal. you only have to do your best tomorrow.”

when you recount your experiences working with famous actors, he listens attentively—“you're starting to get along, huh?”

and then you would hesitate. it sounds like you're... bragging.

he says he's only one call away, but he's busy with his own work; still, he makes time for you. he listens whenever you complain, but he has bigger problems, ones that he doesn't say because he knows it'll dampen your mood. he has to hear about you acquainting with celebrities he can't even dream of meeting, like you're showing him the things he can't have.

you got lucky. what about him?

slowly, your face bleeds to commercials, advertisement banners, even huge outdoor LED displays on shopping malls featuring the drama cast—yet he remains as a blurry, nameless figure in the sea of aspiring actors.

he doesn't show it, doesn't even hint at it, but he must be... envious, right?

it's not hard to be. you've been in the industry for the same amount of time, began at the same starting line, yet only one of you found success, the other one left behind in the dust.

still. still. he never shows it. never stops being your biggest fan. never lets you think otherwise. he watches every episode, every interview. babbles how amazing your performance was in this scene. rambles how you did so well in this drama and he's so proud of you. smiles at how you have to wear a disguise now whenever you go out together so nobody can recognize you.

“it must be hard,” he comments as you hide in a secluded park, nearly getting found out by someone you noticed following you around. “you can't get around as freely anymore. are you okay? nobody follows you home or anything?”

always the worrier, you think. “of course not. my manager drives me around everywhere these days. you don't have to worry.”

thoma grins, plopping down at a bench. “that's a relief.”

for a moment, you just sit in silence, basking in the slight chilly air. the orange and pinks of sunset darken to streaks of blue, streetlights flickering to life.

“...did you know there are rumors of you dating xiao?”

you choke on air, coughing to your fist. “what?!” not that you feel flattered. not at all. (you've badgered xiao to come with you to the carnival last week, and then the waterpark a week before that with the rest of the cast, and- well. you suppose there's reason for people to speculate. you also wore matching animal headbands—how on earth you got xiao to do that, you're not sure either.)“why did that- how did it come to that?!”

“it's surprising for me, too,” thoma says. “if anything, i'd expect dating rumors with the actual male lead. or childe. he seems... particularly clingy.”

“albedo? there's no way he'd like someone like me.” you furrow your brows. if anything, it's only gotten awkward between the two of you ever since the confession scene. “ajax... well. i never know with him.” you honestly can't tell if he's flirting or not.

thoma laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. “you look close with all of them. if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were acting a romance film outside of the project.”

you shudder. “if, and only if, i end up dating one of them, i'll attract all kinds of bad attention. it's not even good PR. i'd hate to think of all the fan girls who'll start cursing me, stealing their man and all that. hell, i'm not even dating anybody and i'm already being cursed.”

“i'll reply to every single mean comment and defend your honor.”

you snort. “do you even have the time for that?”

“...unfortunately, yes. i'm not receiving much work at the moment.”

oh.

fuck.

“i can... i can recommend you to the director. i heard he's starting a new project soon, so maybe-”

thoma frowns and you ground to a halt. “it's fine. i don't want you to do that for me.”

it sounds like you're pitying him. like you don't trust him to rise on his own.

but you want to help.

“is this why you look sad around me every so often?” he realizes, astonished.

“i... can't help but feel guilty,” you admit, unable to maintain eye contact. “every time i say a silly story about xiao, or ajax, or albedo, i feel like i'm showing off. every time i complain, you never try to compare, you only comfort me and never tell me about your problems. i want to do something for you, but i don't know what. i care about you, and i want you to do well because i know how talented you are. except everyone else doesn't, and i want them to see you.”

it's not fair. he's putting in the effort. the same as you are. but it's still not working out for him, and it's not fair.

“you... want to help me?”

you manage a weak nod. you hear an intake of breath, feel him shuffling closer. then he places his hand on top of your clenched fist.

“[name]. can you look at me?”

slowly, you raise your head. his green eyes are shining so brilliantly, bright emeralds gleaming in the moonlight.

yet they also seem... resigned.

“you're really nice, [name]. but you don't have to feel guilty. it's not your fault i'm still like this, and i'm already thankful you're worrying about me. i can't say that i was entirely... not jealous of what you have now, but that's just my problem. so you don't have to make that face, okay?”

he smiles, just like always. you open your mouth to respond, but then you feel that sensation again—that prickle at the back of your neck, the feeling that makes your hair stand on end.

“you're kind.” his hand cradles your cheek ever so softly, tenderly. your lashes tremble, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings. “that's why... i hope you can forgive me.”

this position is familiar. you know this, because you've experienced this before.

long long ago, just when you started your career, you'd practiced this scene with him in the dressing room—hearts pounding, hands awkwardly finding their places;

your lips brushing together in a shy kiss.

now, his fingers are carding through your hair, the closest he's ever been to you in years. you flinch, gripping his shirt, uncomprehending, and-

you hear it.

the shutter of a camera.

七 ; kazuha, the murderer

the first time you heard a complete newbie would act the murderer role, you were in disbelief.

alright, you were an unremarkable actor before your current role, but at the very least, you had experience. not only is this person entirely new to the industry, having nothing to show for himself, he's an amateur. it sounds like a recipe for disaster.

it's even more baffling when you discover ayato, THE kamisato ayato, tried for the role and didn't get it. who the hell is this newbie? someone who got in through nepotism? preposterous! the murderer is an incredibly important character to the plot, the whole series would be ruined if he turned out to be awful!

and then you see who he actually is, and oh boy, he does not look like a murderer.

he's more like a harmless bunny. fluffy white hair, round red eyes, a polite disposition—did you arrive at the wrong set, kid? maybe you were aiming for the high school romance drama and came here by mistake?

the webtoon murderer was no pretty boy. just an average-looking dude working at a convenience store nobody suspected to be the killer because of his unassuming looks, and that was the point. yet this eye-catching hottie is the complete opposite.

but everyone else in the cast is hot as hell, so maybe the murderer needs to be hot too so he can blend in??? director, what exactly did you have in mind?

“[name]!” just as you were staring at him, he turns and notices your gaze, expression immediately brightening. like an innocent baby chick, he walks up to you. “good morning.”

it's another day of rehearsals for the upcoming episode. so far, you haven't gotten to see his true skills yet—the most he's done is act like an ordinary extra part of the background and out of the limelight. it's understandable, since his character doesn't appear much until halfway through the series.

“kazuha,” you acknowledge him, still a little unused to his... general stickiness. you don't know what he found so appealing about you but he's taken to sticking by your side most of the time. childe has teased you more than once that perhaps the little chick has a crush on you.

“do you want to eat lunch together? i know a good fried chicken place.” so it's cannibalism now?

you agree to go anyway because fried chicken sounds great. plus, as much as you came to find that even celebrities are just regular people and you managed to befriend a lot of them, there's a sense of comfort in kazuha—he's the one you felt least intimidated by.

even if you text xiao for hours now, or come over to childe's house frequently, or go on food trips with albedo, or go clothes shopping with ayato and his sister, they're still people you can't get close to without boundaries. there's still a sense of distance separating you, one that you can't cross, but can happily do so with kazuha.

being with kazuha is just comfortable. there's never a need for formalities, and rather than co-workers, you feel closer to being friends.

sometimes, you feel as if you're babysitting though. he just... screams youth. holds the freshness of an amateur, clutching to naive hopes and wishes in the path of stardom. it's endearing to see, and it's like seeing a younger version of yourself.

it's a shame you've buried those naive wishes long ago, but you hope kazuha's career goes well for him. this drama will undoubtedly be a big boost for his popularity, but will also backlash on him if he performs horribly.

“this is my treat.” kazuha pushes the plate of chicken fingers to your side of the table, eyes shaped in smiling crescents.

you shake your head but take one nonetheless. “what kind of senior would i be to make you pay? order all you want, it's on me.”

kazuha doesn't pout but comes close to it, sulking as he bites on a piece of korean bburinkle chicken. “i can't tell if you're doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“letting me off easy.”

...? this kid says some pretty strange things sometimes.

“i'll order some drinks. what do you want?” he offers, standing up.

“iced tea is fine.”

“got it.”

as he moves, his wallet drops on the floor. you're about to tell him so but you think better of it, already considering the possibility of kazuha sneakily paying for your meal on the counter and ordering drinks as an excuse.

you sigh, bending down to pick it up from the ground, but the wallet faces up, revealing the contents.

the first thing you see is your face.

you nearly jolt and hit your head on the table in shock, but you manage to suppress your surprise in a garbled mess of choking. this photo is... from that modeling gig you did a year ago. but why is it in kazuha's wallet-?!

you quickly put it back on the table, just in time for kazuha to arrive. he raises an eyebrow at your flustered expression but doesn't mention anything.

he makes a face seeing the wallet he forgot on the table. you were right after all.

later, as you return to set and practice ends after a few more hours, you recount the order of events to xiao, who could not be anymore uninterested at your entire spiel. perhaps childe would've made a more engaging conversation partner, but you'd rather not deal with his teasing right now.

“-and my face was right there! as his wallet photo! what the hell does that mean?!” years ago, you never could've guessed you'd ever be able to rant to xiao's face like this. yet here you are, unashamed in front of your idol.

“isn't it obvious?” xiao isn't even pretending like he's giving you his full attention anymore, preoccupied with the game console in his hands. “he likes you.”

“???”

xiao sighs, dead fish eyes looking straight at your clueless expression. “don't you have a photo of me in your wallet? that's the same thing.”

“that is certainly not the same thing! you're- xiao, and i'm just me. you're popular.”

xiao almost rolls his eyes. you're way too humble for someone who gets recognized by people on the street daily. “congrats, then. you met one of your rare fans.”

that was an unbelievable thought, before. you? having a fan? whenever you searched up your name, you couldn't find anyone talking about you. your character is different; you're looking for people who's interested in you as a person, not just your role.

now, though. you've accumulated enough fame for a fan club. several maybe, even.

... but even then. that modeling gig hadn't been successful. only someone who knew about it a year ago would know about it now, since it faded from the internet pretty fast.

as far as you know, you didn't have fans a year ago.

xiao makes a realization. “...isn't this the fourth time he invited you to lunch this week?”

“yeah?”

“.....isn't he just hitting on you then?”

now that's just not in the realm of possibility. xiao is so funny.

“he literally baked you cookies the other day.”

“friends give each other cookies, xiao. i can even make some for you if you want.”

“they were heart-shaped, [name].”

(you end up making him cookies to prove a point.)

days pass by, xiao giving you increasingly odd looks, and kazuha finally proves his worth in filming.

his performance rivals that of albedo's—the soft edges of his eyes sharpening into something menacing, gaze cold and apathetic, his lips downturned to an unfamiliar sneer. you're watching the birth of a star, and it's only a matter of time before his talent will be acknowledged.

he's different from ayato as a villain. ayato is cunning, the perfect example of a mastermind. malicious and dripping with spite. but kazuha looks innocent, a cute little bun you'd never guess can make those kind of facial expressions—twisted, vicious, malevolent.

it's part of the act, but you flinch when his character turns violent; kicking down doors, smashing glass windows with a bat. holding the extras acting as murder victims by grabbing them by the hair, throwing down cops like they weighed nothing.

and then right after that scene concludes with the director's “cut!”, with (fake) blood still splattered on his face, kazuha runs up to you grinning innocently, fishing for compliments. “did i do good?”

nevertheless, you give him headpats. “you're terrifying.”

he flushes, not too pleased giving that impression to you. the next day, he acts all sweet to you again, giving you a batch of cream puffs this time. xiao snorts somewhere in the background.

eventually, your manager notices the snacks you receive regularly. “oh, it's from that kid?”

“kazuha? mhm.” you nibble happily on the pastries.

your manager chuckles. “never thought i'd see him again here.”

“...what do you mean?” blinking owlishly, you pause from chowing down. “you know him?”

“he used to work at the bakery you went to often before, didn't he? the kid you kept telling to watch your first drama. you forced him to watch the episodes on your phone during his break.”

...............FUCK.

you do remember doing something that stupid. during the filming of your first drama, you frequently stopped by at a nearby bakery to buy snacks, and you remember there was a cute kid working there. you often pinched his cheeks and cajoled him into watching the series.

but when filming ended, you couldn't go to the bakery anymore. the filming location was far from your house, and the bakery was simply out of the way.

did that kid... kazuha... support you all this time? from that early on?

you curse your manager for telling you this right before filming. your mind is a mess, having trouble connecting that cute, precious child (why are you always calling him a kid, he's barely 2 years younger than you) to the smooth and flirty man today.

it's an important scene today too! the confrontation between the detective, his partner, and the murderer. it needs your complete concentration, and you just don't have it right now. you've never seen the director lose his temper, but you can probably manage to do it today.

albedo is performing well in front of the cameras as always, so much like a protagonist that you feel like you're watching from a television screen already. but you have a job to do too, so you do your best in the spotlight, pretending to be unaffected.

kazuha looks even scarier up close, so unhinged and unreadable. you know what his next move will be, written on the script, but that doesn't make you any less uneasy.

“you're bold,” kazuha drawls, playing with the knife in his hand, “coming to see me by yourselves.”

you can hear what he's saying, but it feels like your head is full of cotton. why are you so distracted? “so it really is you,” you speak, praising yourself for acting normally.

the other two exchange lines, and you thank the heavens you're mostly silent for the time being. for the meantime, you have a few moments to collect yourself; there's a chase right after this, and you'd rather not do something stupid like trip over yourself in the middle of something so serious.

...

sometimes, you're gifted with foresight.

but! to be fair! you did not trip over yourself! the staff forgot to fix the cables in one part of the set, and you tripped over those. so no. not entirely your fault.

albedo is too far away—he's on the side trying to unlock the doors with his brain powers somehow, and you're the bait distracting the murderer before he does. he can't catch you with his male-lead-in-a-romance-drama-slash-protagonist reflexes now.

ordinarily, you would not trip over the cables. you have able eyes, and you could easily step over them. but you're at the stairs where darkness falls with each lower step, and wire cables don't exactly glow in the dark.

...you're at the flight of stairs. and you're about to fall over. FUCK. WHY DID THE DIRECTOR WANT A CHASE SCENE IN THE STAIRS.

you brace for the impact, hands outstretched, praying to at least save your face, but then in a complete break of character, kazuha reaches for you.

you're leaning too far to the edge now. there's no way to pull you back to even ground. kazuha grits his teeth, pulling you to his chest, and in an immense show of strength, twists around so he'd be beneath you.

you descend in a disgraceful tangle of limbs. you're enveloped in a warm embrace, cheek resting on a firm chest. a chin is tucked into the crook of your neck, heavy breaths tickling the skin of your shoulder.

heart pounding in adrenaline, you jolt back to action when the relief fades away and the panic settles back in. “your head-!” you scramble to touch kazuha's head, feeling for any bumps or even worse, blood. kazuha hisses, so you soften the touch, tracing over his body to check for other injuries. he became a literal mattress for you, and you crushed him under your weight. he looks so so frail, what if you permanently crippled him or somethi- what the hell is all this muscle?“what about your back? did you get sprained anywhere?”

“i'm fine,” kazuha wheezes under your caressing.

“you don't sound fine! who are you trying to fool? you didn't have to do that!” you grab his cheeks as you admonish him, frowning severely. they're as soft as ever, just as pinch-able as you remember—but you won't let that distract you now! that was very reckless of him!

you scramble to scurry to the side, but his hands maintain their tight grip on your waist.

bashfully, he averts his gaze, the cheeks beneath your palm growning warm and flushing with a pretty pink. “i'm not hurt. it's because you're... on top of me...”

you blink, glancing down at your position. at a proximity entirely inappropriate, you're hovering above him, straddling his hips and making no move to get away.

this kazuha is too different from two minutes ago! wasn't he just chasing you down the corridor in murderous intent?! now he's blushing underneath you, like a pure maiden you defiled!

what's with this soft, sugary atmosphere?! last time you remembered, this was a murder mystery drama!

(when the drama ends, you're casted for a romance college series with kazuha as the male lead. figures.)