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lieslab · 4 months

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Duck, duck, goose

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: I.N x gn reader

Summary: After a heated argument, I.N finds you at the river and hopes to make it up to you.

Genre: Angst & fluff

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Even though it's Christmas Eve and Christmas day for some of you, it doesn't feel like Christmas to me. This is set in a warmer time period mainly because I miss spring. Anyway, happy holidays!! I hope you're all having a great time and if you're not, I hope this can provide a little comfort and be a gentle reminder that life won't always be so cold <3

_ _ _

You couldn’t even remember what it was about. Everything happened so fast, it was a blur. Words were thrown at one another. Fists were clenched, tensions were high, and faces were scrunched with fury. In the heat of the moment, you grabbed your bag and stormed out of the apartment.

Things had been brewing between the two of you for a while. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped. You tried not to let your relationship with your boyfriend get to that point, but sometimes external factors built up. Neither of you were perfect at the end of the day.

A soft quack pulled you out of your thoughts. You smiled at the ducks bobbing down below in the river ripples. Once one began to quack, another started, and then another. Soon you were met with a chorus of them.

“Alright, alright, I hear you.” A melodic laugh left your lips. You scooped a hand into the ziplock bag you were holding and tossed another handful of duck food into the Han River.

The group of Mallard ducks dived head-first to try and retrieve the grain. Their brown feathers ruffled and their bright green heads dived beneath the ripples. There was always a group of ducks here whenever you were here. Since you loved animals, they captured your attention.

After a bit of research, you ordered duck food online and had it shipped to your apartment. Ever since that moment, when life became too overbearing, you found yourself at the edge of the Han River duck watching. It took a few days before the ducks realized you didn’t mean to harm them.

Watching their multi-colored buoyant bodies bounce up and down provided you with a sense of tranquility. Their beady eyes were always on you curiously or impatiently. They studied the unfamiliar being who gave them food with caution. Usually, humans stayed further up towards the bank.

Around them, you stayed quiet. When you spoke, you spoke softly so as not to alarm them. You were over ten times their size. One wrong move and you were sure you’d startle them and they’d swim away from the shore.

Their webbed feet kicked and propelled themselves towards the bobbing grains bits that had floated away due to the movement of the water. The longer you watched them, the more you found your heart rate returning to a normal speed. Your adrenaline had been high when you stormed out of your apartment.

Footsteps approached you and someone sat down next to you. You didn’t bother looking over to see who it was. You knew just by the oily scent of french fries and beef. You threw in another handful of grain and watched the ducks go wild.

“I thought you’d be here,” I.N spoke after a few moments of silence. “A few weeks ago, you said the Han River was your safety net. You said it was the place you went to clear your head.”

You meekly nodded and continued watching the ducks. Your anger had dissipated by this point. It was replaced with a sense of guilt. You should have tried to take the rational approach instead of screaming at your boyfriend when things became heated on his end.

“Can I try to feed them?”

You glanced over to look at him. He sat looking at you with his legs crossed beneath him. His hands sat idly in his lap with a variety of silver rings on them. You side-eyed the ducks, but they didn’t seem to mind his presence. The ducks were too preoccupied with the ziplock of grain in your own lap.

“You might want to take off your rings. Sometimes they get impatient and lunge. They like sparkly things and I learned that the hard way after one of them pecked one of my rings.”

He nodded and began to pull off his rings. You dumped some of the grain and tossed out your hand to show him how to feed them. He did as he was told and when the ducks dived for the grain, a smile lit up his face.

“I understand why you like it here so much.”

Right now, everything outside was perfect. It wasn’t too warm and it wasn’t too cold. Up overhead, the sky was a Columbia blue. The two of you were in jeans and t-shirts. A delicate breeze kissed your skin every now and then. The vast blue river in front of you rippled with small waves.

At mid-day, the park you took refuge in was flooded with people. A lot of people didn’t work on Saturday, so people had time for themselves. Couples and families were scattered around lush green grass on blankets. Children laughed and couples gazed at each other lovingly. Their voices added ambiance to your spot near the river.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s perfect,” you corrected him.

“It is perfect,” he agreed.

The two of you went silent again. I.N handed the ziplock of duck food back to you. There was only one handful left. You sprinkled it out onto your hand and held it towards the water.

“Okay, this is your last one. I don’t have any more after this.” You threw your hand out and sprinkled the last bits of grain into the water.

A laugh spilled from you which caused I.N to smile. In a rush, one of the ducks rammed into another and sent it bobbing backwards. The duck quacked loudly before it spun in another direction. It’s webbed-feet padded quickly to pick up the bits of grain floating away from the others.

You zipped the ziplock and placed it back in your bag. You wasted no time pulling out your hand sanitizer, squirting it on your hand, and then offering some to your boyfriend. He held his hand out and let you squirt some into it. The two of you continued to sit in silence while you rubbed the sharp scented liquid into your hands.

I.N was the first one to break the silence again. “I came to say I’m sorry. It was irrational of me to take my anger out on you. I’m stressed, but that was no excuse.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” you interrupted. “I shouldn’t have yelled back when you raised your voice, but you caught me at the wrong time.” You shook your head. “I only added fuel to your fire.”

“So maybe we were both in the wrong, but I came with an offering of forgiveness.” He pulled up the bag of McDonalds beside him and held up a rolled up blanket. Beside him, there was a drink carrier with two drinks in it.

You couldn’t help, but snort at his actions.

“What? Is there something wrong with it?” A teasing smile sat on his face.

You shook your head. “There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m surprised I guess. I didn’t think you’d come find me, let alone bring food. I would have come back to the apartment sooner or later.”

“I know, but I knew you hadn’t eaten yet and neither had I. I thought about a picnic, but I didn’t know if I’d find you here and I didn’t know how long you’d be here.”

You glanced back down at the river. The ducks were still staring at you. You watched one of them eye the bag of food. They must have been able to smell it.

“Let’s go before the ducks try to come after us.” You pushed yourself up and held a hand out to I.N. After helping him, you grabbed the drink carrier and slung your back over your shoulder. The two of you headed away from the river bank.

You finally found a spot away from other people. The two of you talked and laughed while you ate. The anger from earlier melted and you were back to normal. Neither of you held a grudge against the other. Smiles were on both your faces.

You were finishing the last of your food when I.N offered to play a game with you. You raised an eyebrow and placed another french fry in your mouth. A grin lit up his face.

“Do you know how to play duck, duck, goose?”

“Duck, duck, goose? Like the elementary school game?”

“The one where you go around and tap everyone’s head and call them duck. When you call someone a goose, they get up and you run around the circle trying to beat them and sit in their spot so you’re not it again. Yeah, that one.”

“What about it?”

“Do you want to play it?”

“How are we going to play it with two people?”

“Easy! Come on! Can we?” His grin grew, “it’ll be fun!”

There was no way you were going to say no to him. He looked so happy with his grin and concave dimples. You brushed your hands together to get rid of the salt sticking to your fingertips. After wiping the grease on a napkin, you nodded.

He pushed himself up off the red and white checkered blanket. Walking around the edge of the large square shape, he began heading towards you. When he reached you, his hand gently hit the top of your head. “Duck.”

He continued walking around the square. Your heart was pounding with anticipation. He walked behind you again and touched the top of your head, “duck.” He continued and looped around the square again and patted your head once more. “Duck.”

The next time he headed your way, you were positive. You were ready to push yourself up and chase after him. A fiery determination to beat him filled your veins. He moved closer to you and you remained on edge. His hand touched the top of your head and you were about to push yourself up.

“Duck.”

“Jeongin!” You cried out.

He let out a laugh and continued on his merry way. He reached you and called out duck again. You sulked and crossed your arms over your chest. You were beginning to think he’d never say goose. He did it twice more before he approached you again.

You were slumped over at this point. Reaching for your drink, your fingers were nearly there when his hand hit the top of your head again. “Goose!”

“Hey!”

He laughed and began running around the edge of the blanket. You shoved yourself up, nearly tripping in the process, and began to chase him. His mischievous laughter floated through the air. Since you were caught off guard, he already had a head start.

It wasn’t a surprise when he plopped down in your spot. He beamed with a sly grin. Your chest moved up and down heavily from the sudden burst of energy. You bent over and grabbed your knees.

“That is so not fair!”

“Hey, you agreed to play the game.”

“But I-”

“I followed the rules!”

A scowl sat on your face. As annoyed as you were, he was right. It wasn’t against the rules to say duck as long as you wanted to. You let out a sigh and plopped down beside him. He laughed and crawled over towards you.

“Did I hurt my baby’s feelings?” He cooed in a baby voice.

“Stop it,” your face went bright red.

“Aw, I’m so sorry about that.” He reached up and gently pinched your cheek.

You swatted his hand away and pulled back. He laughed and sat back in the spot you had been sitting in. “You’re fun to tease.”

“Just for that,” you reached down and grabbed one of his french fries. Without hesitation, you took a bite of it. “Wow, that’s delicious.”

“Hey!” He cried out as he scrambled towards the remainder of his uneaten food. “Get out of here you vermin!”

You laughed and pushed yourself away from his side of the blanket. Crawling back to your own side of the blanket, you frowned realizing your own box of fries were missing. “Where are my fr-”

Before you could finish your sentence, your boyfriend took off running. The bright red box of french fries were in his hand. You pushed yourself up and hurried after him. “Jeongin, come back here!”

“Gotta catch me first!”

You chased after him begging him to come back. There were no signs of the argument you had earlier. The teasing playfulness eradicated the red hot anger from earlier. Over in the water, the ducks watched the two of you. One of them quacked.

Humans; they’d never understand them.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @s3ungmins

Masterlist

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #yang jeongin #i.n skz #i.n x reader #i.n stray kids #i.n fluff #i.n fanfic #fanfic writing #kpop fanfic

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blueiskewl · 2 months

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An Unbroken 1,700-year-old Roman Egg Found in England

A three-dimensional scan of a 1,700-year-old egg discovered at a Roman site in England reveals that, eggs-traordinarily, it still has the remains of a yolk and egg white inside.

It's thought to be the only time a centuries-old chicken egg found with its insides preserved.

"We were absolutely blown away when we saw the contents in there, as we might have expected them to have leached out," Edward Biddulph, a senior project manager at the private company Oxford Archaeology, told BBC News.

The egg was one of four found several years ago during an archaeological excavation of a Roman-era site in the central English town of Aylesbury, about 20 miles (30 kilometers) east of Oxford. Three of the fragile eggs fractured as they were unearthed, releasing a "potent stench," but the fourth remained intact.

Now, the surviving egg has been scanned at the University of Kent with microscopic computed tomography (micro-CT), in which many X-ray scans are compiled digitally to make a virtual 3D model. "It produced an amazing image that indicated that the egg, apart from being intact — which is incredible enough — also retained its liquid inside, presumably deriving from the yolk, albumen etc," as well as an air bubble, Biddulph said.

Roman eggs

The eggs were found in a waterlogged pit at the Aylesbury site, which was being excavated by Oxford Archaeology ahead of a housing development. The archaeologists found evidence of habitation there dating back to the Neolithic period, and the pit dated from the third century A.D., when England was a part of the Roman Empire.

According to a statement from Oxford Archaeology, the pit was first used for malting grain and brewing ale, but it was later filled with water and became a place where passersby could throw in coins and other items as offerings to the gods for good luck.

Organic objects usually rot away when exposed to oxygen, but here many were preserved by the waterlogged soil. As well as the eggs, which seem to have been an offering of some sort, the pit contained a wooden basket, leather shoes, and wooden vessels and tools.

Although Roman-era eggshells have been found before — often in graves, where eggs were thought to be suitable offerings — this seems to be the first time a complete Roman-era egg has been found in Britain. The only other Roman-era egg to survive intact was found in the hand of a dead infant buried near the Vatican, according to The History Blog. But it contained no liquids; archaeologists think it represented rebirth after the premature death of the baby.

The Oxford Archaeology statement noted that the Romans often ascribed symbolic meanings to eggs; they were associated with the gods Mithras and Mercury and had connotations of fertility and rebirth.

The intact egg from Aylesbury was taken to the Natural History Museum in London, where experts were consulted about how to conserve it without breaking it. Senior bird curator Douglas Russell told BBC News that the museum had a collection of mummified bird eggs excavated from the catacombs of sacred animals in Egypt that might be older.

"However, this is the oldest unintentionally preserved avian egg I have ever seen," he said. "That makes it fascinating."

The egg is now back at a museum in Aylesbury, where archaeologists are trying to work out how to extract the contents without breaking the shell.

By Tom Metcalfe.

#An Unbroken 1700-year-old Roman Egg Found in England #Aylesbury #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire

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ii-iikko · 9 days

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BLIND-SIDED

gojo.fem.reader

Your forehead raise.

— |[ series ]| —

|[one]| = |[ two ]|

YOU perked up at the skid of a chair that, much to your surprise, is the one roosted before your table. A lazy drag of the hinds Then, a plap on the seat, later.

"I assumed you prefer your drinks sweet."

You set down the teaspoon that curled round your fingers. It clinked against the rim of your teacup. The dainty coffee shop, you're currently in, bustled with clamour and a rustle of the bell chime welcomed a new patron.

"Not always." The man hummed, paused, then spoke again after a moment. "Do you always have to wear that?"

You smile, tilting your head. "Do you always have to wear that?"

He chuckles. Whether or not you discern it through the thick swarth of your shades, you can feel him pinching the fabric of his blindfold. Kneading the rough material between his index and thumb. The grain rolling across the skin.

"It's not for show, that much I can say." He said. "But if you want an explanation for why that is — it's kind of exhausting, if I have to be completely honest. Not everyone gets it when I explain it to them. Ah, thank you,"

The waitress bows, setting down a can of peach soda along with a cup filled with ice. Not really, huh.

"You don't think mine is worth explaining, as well?" You muse, stirring the tea.

He cracks open the drink with a pop. It sizzles and blisters as he pours it.

"Eh? Come on now, you know I don't mean that."

"Oh, I'm sure you do."

The rim of the teacup kisses your lips. Taking a sip of the green tea, the warm liquid molded through the crevices of your mouth, and down through your throat. You set the porcelain primly on the table.

"Good?"

"Quite the brew, I agree. And, regarding your inquiry : I'm blind, Satoru." You say after a moment.

Satoru chokes on his drink. A startled cough, to be exact. You turn a little away so your smile wasnt seen.

After a moment of hacking, he gathers himself and clears his throat. "...My...My deepest apologies."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"That was insensitive of me."

Oh?

"Hm, well. We all make mistakes, once in a while." You grin. "Even the strongest can, yes?"

You heard a sigh, the sound of the chair creaking, then a mutter: 'Shoko's gonna kill me'. Ah. Quite the hold, the doctor has over him. You lean against your chair, managing a professional outlook — but the smile that breaks out crumbles the facade.

"You didn't know?"

He shifts on his chair, almost huffing. You can only assume that did a number on his pride. "We did have a debrief..."

"I know. You fell asleep half-way through."

"You were there?"

"No, I was informed."

"Hah?' There was that childish whine, again. "Who's tainting my image? Who told you that?"

You shake your head, chuckling. "I was debriefed about all of the teachers, mostly — but you were far with the more, how do I put this, unique disposition?"

The chair creaks. He's leaning back again. "Now, now. I'm not all bad when you get to know me."

"That's what they all say before getting curbed in a ditch, murdered."

"Grim."

"Really? I consider myself optimistic."

He chuckles. "How do you know I was wearing a blindfold?"

You shrug. "I didn't know. I've been informed about it. In case, I would have to resort gouging out your eyes if ever your antics bother me."

"Quite the threat, shades."

"Think of it as a premonition."

You can feel the grin emanating from his words as he spoke. "Hm. If that's so then I'm quite looking forward to it."

You smile, taking a sip of your tea. "Oh trust me. I'm sure you are."

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru x reader #😢 have to repost this again #tumblr deleted half of my progress #iikkowrites

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arteastica · 9 months

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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (4)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters). no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 2.5k

“Everyone is to be positioned at fixed intervals, to extend the message relay range as far as possible.”

At the Survey Corps headquarters, time seemed to pass rather quickly. Two weeks had already gone by, and with them some of your insecurities. The more familiar you got with your job, the more comfortable you felt in your position. And the commander’s words had proven to be true: your days had grown repetitive indeed. But that was something you didn’t feel the slightest need to complain about. In a world where one moment you could be at home making breakfast, and the next, in a titan’s stomach, you found reassurance in the predictability of your job.

Every day, you woke up early, washed your face, walked into the office, disposed of the spent candle, replaced it, prepared the commander’s work space, received a thankful smile in return, brew his morning tea, received another one, organized his mail, wrote responses, then sent them, then trailed behind him, paused for lunch, then trailed behind him some more, sat at your desk, wrote reports, organized them, brought him his evening tea, heard a ‘thank you’, double-checked you had replaced the candle, asked if he needed anything else, got a ‘no’ followed by another ‘thank you’ and the respective smile that always came with it, bid him goodnight, wrote a diary entry, went to bed, and repeated it all over again the next day. Exhausting? No, not for you. Repetitive desk work happened to be your area of expertise. Oh, and once a week, you attended meetings like this one.

“A black smoke round will be fired as soon as an abnormal is sighted, which they will be since the area is full of them.”

From the secluded corner you liked to stand in, you listened attentively as the commander went over the formation one more time. Your eyes drifting from his face to the now familiar expedition plans that were laid out on the wooden table. Every morning, there was a new scribble on the paper, and it was getting increasingly difficult to see what was underneath. But maybe it was just you. Neither the commander nor his captains seemed to have any problem seeing through all the additional lines and hasty handwriting.

“And it’s primarily the forward recon soldier who will encounter them.”

The forward recon soldier. You checked in with your notes before fixing your eyes back on the table. Ever since you noticed it one morning while organizing his desk, you had been wondering if there was a particular reason why the commander assigned only one person for that position. The third column, however, was marked as multiple.

“Anyone who sees the flare should fire the same round to relay the signal”

And when the commander sees it, he’ll fire a green smoke round, and show the formation where to go. Impressive. The formation looked impressive enough on paper, but you wondered how it would look in real life, under actual life-threatening circumstances. And with the expedition quickly approaching, you were surprised to discover in yourself, even though slight, a tinge of excitement at the thought of seeing it all play out in the field. Impressive. The commander was really something. You thought as you watched him. Firing that green smoke round would be nerve-racking for anyone, knowing so many lives depended on whether you made the right call or not. A slip in judgement, even the slightest one, could mean his soldiers wouldn’t live to see another day. And yet, there he stood: solid and resolute.

Impressive, indeed. To think such complex strategy had been devised entirely by one man. Sleepless nights working tirelessly on his project. No, not his. Humanity’s. So many nights spent under the candle light, leaning over his desk, so focused, so determined. Just as he was now. And you couldn’t help but notice that the rumors you heard in the capital never mentioned how attractive he was. Sapphires instead of eyes; neatly combed hair, fair and trimmed short at the sides; well built and broad-shouldered, yet elegant and sophisticated. If one didn’t know any better, one could have assumed he descended from royalty.

“What do you think?” A question with your name attached at the end took you by surprise. The commander was talking to you. “I’ve noticed you’ve been staring at that one spot in the paper since the meeting started. What’s on your mind?”

“Sir, I-” the short woman with strawberry blonde hair, whose name, you had learned, was Petra, gave you an encouraging smile “I just think the third relay, the one in the third column, would work better as a one-person position” you explained, leaving your self-appointed confinement in the corner of the room to join them at the table “I mean, because of the place it is located in, I- I think it is unlikely that they will encounter a titan before the others” you said as you tried to focus your attention on the commander only, doing your best to make it past squad leader Miche’s sniffing and Captain Levi’s dead eyes. “And in the event that they do, I think it would be more efficient to use a strong soldier for that position, instead of multiple of average… strength” you continued, trying to convince yourself that ‘average’ wasn’t an insult “that- that way the strong soldiers could deal with the situation alone as a one-man team, and we would be able to send more people to the peripheral positions and support those who are more likely to find titans, like the recon soldiers, for example. I believe this way the chances of survival would be slightly higher for everyone” you concluded, relieved to have reached the end of your intervention “It’s just my opinion, sir.”

After, what you estimated, had been a century of the commander contemplating the paper before him, he finally grabbed his pencil and wrote something in his small black notebook. Then, he moved on to the next topic.

“You’re not one of many words, are you?”

“Sir?” You looked up from the papers you had been organizing.

“Strange. Something about you also tells me you are quite fond of talking. I can’t decide.”

Oh, you talked. Inside your head. There, you never shut up.

“I used to think it was an innate ability, you know, being able to choose one’s words intentionally” the commander told you as he drew his signature on a report “But one author I read once, said it was actually an acquired skill. And now I can’t decide either. But whatever it is, I respect that” he looked up and smiled softly “Today, however, was the first time I heard you string more than two sentences together. And I must say, I would be delighted to hear your input more often.”

You liked that. Very much. So you smiled back.

“Nanaba told me they had never heard a recruit speak so much for a first interview.” You had to pause what you were doing “She admitted she was overwhelmed at first, but then grateful, because, after such descriptive self-introduction, she knew exactly where to place you.” Did he know about all the things you told them? “I confess that, knowing that, it was starting to concern me, that you may be scared of me. That’s why you never talk. Am I that scary?”

Not scary. Intimidating maybe? But definitely not scary. So you shook your head lightly.

He smiled, looking a little bit defeated by the continuous silence on your end, and then said “In the future, share your ideas with us. There’s value in them. I won’t keep you any longer, you may go.”

But you didn’t move, instead you took a deep breath and opened your mouth. “I think that paper is a mess” you pointed to the formation plans “There’s so much written on it, and it’s getting difficult for me to understand what’s going on underneath. I mean, I understand because I saw it before it turned into the chaos that it is now, and because I go to the meetings every week, of course. And your explanations there are always very detailed. I think you’re great at explaining things by the way, you could explain chess to a titan. But I was just thinking, the other new recruits may find it rather confusing too. When we present the plan to them next week, they’re only gonna see scribbles and doodles and lines that go in all sorts of directions. And they’re gonna be left to wonder if your son grabbed his colored chalk and wrote on it while you were sleeping.”

He looked down at the paper, then back at you, and then threw his head back laughing.

“Very good. I’ll work on that tomorrow. Thanks” he concluded, seemingly satisfied.

“And also” he said as you were almost at the door “I don’t have a son.”

And you found yourself smiling back complicitly.

“Good night, commander”

You opened the map and when you saw it, it made you smile. The forward recon position was no longer a soldier but a squad.

Like hell you were going to let him rewrite the plans. This was the whole point of you being there, to take over trivial stuff like this so he could focus on more important things. So you showed up even earlier the next morning and started working on it.

When he opened the scroll later that day, his eyes immediately went to find you at your desk.

“Scribble on it as much as you like. I’ll make a new one when I see it starts getting messy” this time it was you giving him the reassuring smile.

“Erwin, it was about time you cleaned up that thing. It was starting to upset me.”

“It wasn’t me, Levi. The new recruits will be here” he pointed at the space between the wagon defense squad and the support squad. “They will be moving with the spare horses, as well as relaying signals.”

The one month anniversary of your enlistment had arrived, and the day of your first expedition beyond the walls was quickly approaching. As you had expected, the atmosphere at the headquarters had gotten more and more hectic. That week’s meeting had been significantly longer. They had taken hours going over each one of the soldiers individually, and deciding their positions in the formation.

Captain Levi’s squad was already in charge of Eren, so you assumed they would continue to serve that role for the expedition as well. But the commander hadn’t specified so, neither revealed their exact position yet. Not during the meeting, at least. You didn’t understand what was the reason behind all the secrecy. Did he suspect something was off? Was he worried someone might hurt Eren? If so, who and why? Eren’s name, however, wasn’t the only one missing. You couldn’t find yours anywhere on the paper.

“The forces this time are significantly smaller than in previous expeditions, we should concentrate on getting back with minimal losses. Any questions?”

“Yes, sir” you raised a hand “What is going to be my position?”

“Commander, please”

“I’m not risking losing my assistant to a titan” he said while opening the door to his office “I need you here, not in a titan’s belly.”

“If a titan grabs me I’ll scream for it to unhand me.” Not even you knew if that was supposed to be a joke “Unhand me, monster.”

He chuckled as he sat at his desk, still not bothering to look at you. “I can guarantee you that’s not the way things work out there.”

“I know those plans like the back of my hand. And that too” you said pointing at the map scroll he had just placed on the table. “Commander, I swear, when I close my eyes at night, I’m only able to see that thing. I’m forever haunted. By that and by your scribbles.”

“All the more reason to stay then” he looked rather amused, and for a brief moment you were tempted to ask if he derived some sort of enjoyment from the situation. But you settled for listening instead. “In the event we all perish out there, there needs to be someone left who’s able to pass on the knowledge to the next soldiers.”

“All the more reason to go then” you said as he gave his full attention to a pile of reports. What was he even doing? You were supposed to organize that later. “If you perish out there, so will my intentions of going beyond the walls. Because I’m not following anyone else out there.”

He put down the papers and finally looked at you. And something about his demeanor reminded you of that night.

Are you ready to die if I ordered to? But the memory didn’t make you think of him as much as it made you think of your past self. What would she say? How would she feel knowing that all it took was one month. One month working under Erwin Smith, and you were already begging to be taken on a suicide mission. Talk about unexpected.

“Commander, back then you said all the new recruits would join you in the expedition beyond the walls” You added in a composed manner, watching your tone the whole time because the last thing you wanted was to sound whiny. You knew that wouldn’t help. You needed to make him understand it was not an impulsive plea. Because it really wasn’t. You wholeheartedly believed you could be of some assistance out there. Maybe not fighting titans but helping with provisions, running spare horses, anything he needed. Him or anyone. Plus how would you call yourself a scout if you never, well… scouted.

He remained silent. So you took it as an indication that you could keep going.

“You said you wanted to hear my ideas. I can’t tell you what I think if I’m here and you’re miles away.” you stepped closer, the front of his desk meeting the front of your thighs. “Please, let me go with you.”

He stared back at you. All amusement seemed to have abandoned his eyes. But beyond that, it was difficult to guess what he was thinking. After a while, however, he spoke again.

“You’ll take the position to my immediate right.” You released the stiffness your muscles had been holding. The spearhead. Through your relief, you tried to go over the plans in your mind. “Don’t stray too far apart and keep your eyes open at all times.”

“Yes, sir” you didn’t try to hide the contentment in your smile.

next chapter

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jimilter · 1 year

Text

on the borderline — 02 | pjm.

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: humor | fluff | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.7 k

— warnings: swearing + unresolved sexual tension + mentions of therapy + commitment phobia + innuendos in an office setting + really lame humor, again + some dark humor, again + sexual thoughts (pertaining to ass-grabbing, wet panties, choking, dick sucking) + jimin and yn being annoying bffs to each other + yn does not have a crush...on anyone...bec she's above crushes (but she's also a pathological liar so take that w a grain of salt) + a new (potential) love interest has entered the scene (:

— note: idfk why some bits of this fic are so hard to write??? but anyways, i took 3k words of unnecessary chatter and cleaned this part up. so much more satisfied w this than the mess it was yesterday, smh. anyyyyways, this is a burfday post - guess whose? hehe 🥺 hope y'all like the interesting turning of events in here and prepare yourself for the major twists coming w the next chapter! drop me a word~ 💜

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

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𝐈𝐈 ⇢ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ♪ you give to me, everything anything that i could dream

“That wraps up all the major delegations,” you announce to the organizing committee gathered around the table before switching to the last slide of your presentation which displays, in a large font – ‘The 2G-Spot’, “and brings us to the last discussion of this meeting – our keynote and our guest of honor.”

"Wait, we still don't have them finalized?" Jackie, the Senior Sales Executive, looks at you with confusion in her gaze. "What happened to the names Zac and I picked out last week?"

You gingerly pull yourself a chair and delicately sit down, eyeing the three anxious faces around you in trepidation. This is gonna cause an uproar. Clearing your throat, you quietly inform them: "Boss man rejected them all."

Three gasps echo around you

"What?" Zac, your Social Media Manager, cries out with more than a little drama, both his arms spread apart and face contorted in a grimace. “I picked out forty-three people and Jackie shortened the list to twenty-seven. How could he not like one profile?”

“None of them fit his criteria of hitting the 2G-Spot.” It feels weird even as you say it, and the three pairs of questioning eyes that oscillate between you and the characters on the screen in absolute bewilderment make you clear your throat in discomfort. “He needs a glam guest and a genius keynote. A g and another g. The 2G-Spot. It’s not—” You break off with a puffed out exhale. “Don’t make me talk about it, please.”

Lea, the final member of your meeting of four, and the company’s Sales Strategist pats your back in a comforting gesture. But her eyes look absolutely soulless when she meets yours. “I can't imagine how that meeting must've gone… My brain's dying a slow death, one braincell at a time, just reading this. Did he not see the euphemism? Or did he intend it?"

You just shake your head, honest to God clueless.

She blinks. "Not that it makes much sense otherwise either, because what the heck does glam even mean?”

“Does he want some model to sit in as our guest?” Jackie squints at the screen, tilting her head as if the words will present you all with an answer if you look at them hard enough. “Does our boss hate us, guys?”

"No other way to explain whatever…this is.",

“I don’t think he hates anybody, he just wants us to – learn. Through hits and misses. And grow.” Lea scrunches her nose up in an evident display of how much she believes her own words.

“Oh, I'm learning alright. Learning how many blood pressure spikes my body can handle everyday before I succumb to heart failure under duress. Is that what he wants, Lea, is it?” Zac definitely carries the most amount of dark humor in your team.

You just exhale, because this is pointless. This cribbing about your boss is helping no one.

So although you more or less agree with the sentiments being thrown around, you don't participate in it. As the Sales Manager, the mess that was last month's sales is partly your responsibility. Marketing and Advertising shoulder the blame, too, but you were also at the center of it.

This workshop, being organized as a result of that fib, thus, has to be perfect and exactly how your boss wants it to be.

“Guys, I know it looks unfair,” you begin consoling your disgruntled team, “but I’m sure Boss is just being careful. Remember how meticulous he was with the selection of all the experts for different sections of the workshop?”

A grunt, a sigh and an eye roll. Wow, enthusiasm is rife in your office today. This won’t do.

"Guy, guys. Stop.” You raise both your palms up and three long faces turn towards you, disappointment pulling them down. “We don't get to do this. Let’s not forget the reason why this workshop is even happening in the first place – we ventured a new product into a new market and it absolutely crashed.”

You clap your hands together, drawing attention to the seriousness of the topic.

“We couldn’t sleep properly for days when the numbers started coming in. Remember? We need to think about how much worse it must have been for Boss. He had to answer his investors and even the media because of how huge the launch event had been.”

Lea’s back straightens at that. Jackie’s pout turns into a frown. Zac finally stops scowling and presses his lips into a concerned line. Wow, are you a good leader or what?

“What we can do, here, is coordinate well with Marketing and Advertising for this event. Help make it a learning experience for all. Find our faults and correct them before the next product launch, so that we don’t even have to play the blame sharing game. How does that sound?"

A collective, uplifted sound of agreement echoes around the huge conference hall. You smile, proudly.

“That’s what I like to hear. So. Let's begin by breaking down the implication of the word glam.”

Zac turns his laptop towards you. “We could bring in our brand ambassadors? We've got an A-list model and a daily soap actor with us. They can be glam, right?”

You look at two pictures on the screen. Both your brand ambassadors are definitely glam. But you somehow don’t believe this is what your boss wants. Besides, what would they even say in their mandatory speech?

“Um, I was thinking more of a customer,” Lea butts in when you’ve been silent for too long. “It can be a fun activity to engage with our consumers. Select someone that has used our products for a long time and ask them to talk about their experience with the company at the workshop?”

“I feel like that’d be a bit too attention grabby,” Jackie points out before you can, and you nod because you were gonna say something along similar lines. “Not to mention, a complicated ordeal to execute less than two weeks before the event.”

"We can push the date back if we really need to," you remind them.

“Agreed with what Jackie said, and also, Lea?” Zac clicks his fingers in front of the girl's face. “We sell bulbs. And a guest that can talk about bulbs at an event cannot be called glam, by any means. At least in my dictionary.”

Chuckling, you slowly nod because they’re all correct on some level. Lea looks at you with a sigh. “I’m out of ideas, then.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the strategist? Use your skills, dude,” Jackie prompts her, which has you standing up to turn off the projector.

“Alright, guys, listen up,” you call for their attention. “We have another hour before work begins, so how about we privately brainstorm some ideas and later discuss ’em?”

You’re just making your way back to your seat when a throat is cleared at the door to the conference room, followed by the sound of knuckles rapping against the glass doors. Your gaze flies up to catch the intruder because you weren’t expecting anyone – and freezes in surprise.

It’s Kim Seokjin. The CEO’s cousin. The gorgeous, model-esque guy who doesn’t work here and yet frequents these offices more than some of the employees. The only person in this building that is literally everyone’s favorite.

Well, more like everyone’s crush, to be honest.

Not you, though. You’re above crushes.

You prefer to be an objective admirer of the breadth of his shoulders, the plumpness of his lips and the symmetry of his facial features. It’s just an aimless appreciation of his looks that you expect nothing out of. You would have tried to sleep with him, though, if Jimin hadn’t yelled at you about it being a bad idea.

Seokjin's blindingly good looks, though, are not what has you gaping at the man like a fish. It's actually his presence here, right now, outside the conference hall which is the only occupied room in your office building right now, while the rest of it awaits the arrival of the company’s employees, an hour from now. You wonder who made a social media post about you all being here early. That is the only way Seokjin could have caught wind of your meeting.

But you especially wonder why he has decided to show up. You didn’t know he knew you existed. But now he’s looking straight at you, gaze expectant and lips smiling softly.

“Oh my God, is that Seokjin?” comes an astonished whisper from Jackie, which launches you into action.

Quickly blinking, you pull a grin upon your face and walk up to the door, letting the really tall and really broad man into the huge conference hall that he manages to somehow belittle by his form.

“Good morning, Mister Kim,” you wish pleasantly but with an undercurrent of confusion in your voice.

Wait, is this the first time you’re talking to him? Why do you feel like a fangirl, right now?

Didn’t you just establish you’re above crushes? Where’s your maturity and detachment at?! Wow, liar.

“Hey,” he says to you with a grin, waving his fingers in a butterfly wave as he walks in. “Your guy Zac posted an Instagram story about you being a hardass that made him wake up at six, so I decided to come in earlier and see what it’s all about.”

Your head snaps to shoot an icy glare at Zac, who just swallows and focuses his wide eyes upon the table.

Seokjin, meanwhile, takes a seat next to the guy. “Good morning, guys. Hope I’m not disrupting your meeting sesh.”

A cacophony of ‘not at all’ and ‘our pleasure’ bursts around you as you look on in surprise. While you make your way back to your chair, your team has filled Seokjin in on your dilemma of the moment, for some reason. You wonder if they have interacted with him better than you have.

"Would you look at that," Seokjin begins after they're done, looking towards you with a smile. His gaze is kinda piercing. It's kinda hot. "You guys encounter a problem and the solution walks right into your meeting!"

You're…confused. What problem does he think you're facing? Given the lost looks on your team members' faces, they don't seem to have any idea either.

"Uh, Mister Kim," Lea begins with a frown, "what…solution…?"

He gives a scoff, chuckling as if he finds Lea's joke very funny. Except, you don't believe she was joking. "Come on. Can there be a better fitted glam guest of honor for your event than yours truly?"

Your jaw slowly drops open, stuck in unsurety because you can't tell if he's being serious or just putting you through some impossible to understand test. But Zac is leaning away to eye Seokjin with a contemplative look on his face, already.

“You, um, you will have to say a few words about the company,” you finally speak up, lashes fluttering in unnecessary self-consciousness against Seokjin’s strong stare. “Some good things. And also about the failed product…a little…”

Seokjin shrugs. “Sounds simple enough, I can do that.”

He can?

Jackie suddenly excuses herself, before getting up and dragging you to the other side of the hall too. “This is a great idea, why are you hesitating?” she hisses at you. “There’s no way Boss will reject his own cousin, ma’am!”

That much is true. “But does he even really know what we do here at Sales?” you whisper your doubts back, which makes your sales executive roll her eyes.

“Of course, he does. He’s here all the time!” He is? When? Does the guy actively avoid you or something? “Come on,” Jackie goes on, “let’s give him his moment to shine. We have nothing to worry about even if he messes up – Boss will have to take charge. Not that he will mess up.” Jackie looks over her shoulder and grins at the other three. “Man loves to talk. He’ll be good as the guest.”

At the end of the day, you remind yourself, it’s just a company workshop. No outsiders, no one to impress but the CEO.

Seokjin is a workable idea.

You finally nod in agreement, which has Jackie clapping once and then joining the group at the table. Before you can join them as well, Seokjin’s call of your name has you stopping.

“You need a keynote, too, right?”

Tentatively, you move your head in a nod. “Uh, yeah… We’re – we’re looking for an industry expert from Marketing, Advertising or Sales itself.”

He squints at you. “Your friend that is here every other week… isn’t he Geisha Global’s Regional Director?”

Jimin?

This dude knows you’ve got a friend that you regularly meet up with after work – and what said friend does for a living? What? How? You’re beginning to wonder if Seokjin just doesn't loiter your hallways out of boredom but is in fact some sort of a detective working for your CEO.

Flustered, you try to formulate a response, “I, um, yeah, but—”

“Brilliant! He’s the director of an ad agency, he’ll make for a fantastic keynote for our little event!” Seokjin gets up and forwards a hand for you to shake.

And you obviously take it, because his fingers are so long, palms so huge, and—oh. His hands are warm, too. Before you can stop yourself, you’re envisioning them wrapped around your throat. And then grabbing your ass.

All that, while you still haven’t said a word about Jimin’s participation in your workshop that you’re more than certain he’ll refuse to, because your best friend despises public speaking.

What the heck is wrong with your horny brain, today?

Your team is looking at you with wide, shocked eyes. Damn, they didn’t know who your friendly, flirty, people pleaser friend is professionally. And now the questions will never stop.

“He’s generally a very busy guy, I hardly even get to see him lately.” Your last night’s clothes are still at his place. You're turning into a pathological liar. “But… I’ll try to catch him in a chat about this over the weekend. He might not have time on his schedule to be able to come, though, but…"

“In that case," Seokjin picks up your incomplete sentence, "maybe you should give him a heads up. You guys are friends, I'm sure he'll prioritize you asking for a favor if you give him enough time."

Is it just you, or is this conversation unbelievably weird?

It probably is just you, though, because everyone is looking at you with an expectant gaze again. Shit, the pressure is physically pressing down on your chest the longer they stare. It's as if they're reaching in to pull your intestines out, your stomach starts to churn so badly.

People's expectations ruin your life because you can't freaking say no.

Coughing, you discreetly press a fist against your collarbones and clear your throat. Yeah, people's expectations cause you breathing troubles. Your therapist deserves a fucking raise for dealing with you. But because you just had an appointment last week, you’re gonna have to dump your stress over Jimin, the second this meeting is over.

“I’ll – I’ll talk to him after work. Arrange for a meet-up whenever he has the time, explain everything about the workshop.”

You're lying again because you plan to meet him during lunch hour today, if he's available. You briefly wonder if you are the one with a lying problem and not Jimin, before nodding at the hopeful faces looking at you.

"I'll tell you guys how it goes. Although, next week might really be a short notice for him."

“Hey, didn’t you say Boss will allow us to push the workshop back if need be?” Lea squints at you and you resist the urge to smack a palm against your forehead. Why did you have to tell them that? “We’ll do that if Jimin wants us to. Oh, should I be saying his name like that?” She winces.

“Please do.” There’s a grimace on your face that you can’t turn into a smile despite your best efforts because what a mess. “Please do.”

"It'd be really cool to have Jimin at the event," Zac murmurs with a small smile, sparkling eyes looking at you hopefully. "He's always such a comforting presence…"

"Yeah, he really is," Katie adds with a nod, eyes similarly glittery.

And you nervously swallow. For all the bravado and the general badass energy you claim to walk around with, it's hilarious how you can never say no to people. No matter how wild the expectations, you're always willing to bend over backwards to accommodate everyone. Which is fucking crazy!

You wonder how you've survived corporate jobs and promotions without sucking any dick. Maybe you're lucky to not have faced truly lecherous people.

The point of the matter being, you feel like you're gonna have to drag your best friend to the workshop if these guys pin so much hope onto you.

Seokjin suddenly claps his hands together with a large smile on his face.

"That is wonderful!" he exclaims, as if he has anything to do with this workshop at all. This man would have been so freaking irritating if he wasn't so damn handsome. Sigh. "Please convince Jimin to join us next week?"

Oh God, now he has a shimmer in his eyes too? Why are these people doing this to you?

“I – I’ll talk to him… No promises, though, guys—”

“I’m sure he won’t say no to you,” Zac says to you with a sage smile that makes him look twice his age and makes no sense to you. “You guys are best friends.”

You awkwardly nod, unable to figure out a response. You fear noisy breathing sounds would come out of you if you opened your mouth. So you keep your lips sealed and stealthily reach into your bag to extract your phone.

Texting Jimin cannot wait till after the meeting, you're minutes away from hyperventilating.

Text Message to Min 🌟 ↳ SOS ↳ meet for lunch today?

The response comes within five seconds, and you’re so fucking thankful your phone was on silent. He’s generally very busy, yeah right.

Text Message from Min 🌟 At my office @ 1 Bring pizza From the eatery down my block Pls 👅 ** 🥺 I MEANT 🥺 I SWEAR

Why is your best friend a literal clown? You immediately lock your phone and slide it into your pant’s pocket, holding in the snort that threatens to escape. Well, at least his typo has caused you to breathe easier now.

"That officially concludes this meeting, I guess," you finally say, voice a little tight as you avoid everyone's excited gaze by looking at your laptop. You clear your throat with pursed lips. "We have twenty minutes before work starts, so grab a coffee or some breakfast if you skipped this morning."

Your team, along with Seokjin, bounds out of the conference hall like enthusiastic children, leaving you behind to slowly collect your stuff. You do so with a sigh, already dreading the conversation you will have to have with Jimin.

“I have been blindsided.” Your best friend is frowning at you, hands crossed against his chest petulantly as he leans back in his revolving chair. “This doesn’t sound SOS-y at all."

You exhale. “Jimin—”

“No, first of all, where’s my pizza? Second of all – why would you suggest my name for a public speaking stint when you know I don't like public speaking? Neither of these acts exhibit best friend behavior.”

“There was a mile long queue outside of your damn eatery, okay? And my break lasts thirty minutes, so—”

“Your company isn’t strict on lunch timing, don’t try to fool me.”

“—so, I ordered your pizza online and it’ll be here in the next five minutes.”

He shuts up that, lips curving up in an excited smile. “Hey now, why didn’t you lead with that? I would’ve been more understanding.”

Your eyebrows rise up in expectation.

“Which means I would’ve rejected you softly, instead of yelling at you.”

You deflate again.

“No, don’t get all pouty on me. You know about my weird introversion about public speaking.”

“It’s called stage fright, stop making up new shit.”

“Case in point – you know I don’t like it. Why didn't you say no on my behalf? You’re my best friend, you should be on my side, not your company’s.”

Keeping the way Jimin is dramatically making this a bigger deal than it really is aside, you’re getting irritated at his claims upon your friendship. You do know he doesn’t like it, which is why your immediate thought when Seokjin brought him up was that he won’t agree to do it. You tried to dissuade them so many times, citing Jimin's non-existent busy schedule. Where's your credit for that attempted resistance? Nowhere! Instead, the guy seems to think you had a hand in encouraging this.

"I didn't say no because no one would believe me if I told them a company's Regional Director isn't fond of public speaking." You eye him, askance.

"That feels oddly offensive…"

"Jimin. Be fucking for real. You speak at events, like, every week. What's one more added to the pile?"

"I do that because I'd be out of a job if I don't," he bemoans, eyes shut and face crumpled like a toddler's. "Public speaking as a favor is a completely different exercise that I do not wish to participate in, nuh-uh. Pass."

“What if I’m out of a job because I couldn’t persuade you to come?”

He gapes at you. “It cannot possibly be that serious, babe, it’s just an office workshop!”

“You know what my boss is like – every fucking thing is a huge fucking thing for him,” you grouse, shaking your head.

“Is there no one else you could think of, though?”

Okay, yeah, that’s enough. You’re gonna have to tell him it wasn’t your idea because this is getting irritating. Seokjin’s name gets you earfuls, so you will avoid mentioning he was the one who instigated this, but you can at least tell Jimin that it wasn’t you.

“I didn’t bring up your name as a prospect, Min,” you finally clarify upon an exhale, watching the way his eyebrows slowly start to furrow. "It was…suggested. Because you’re kind of famous, you know? And people at my office know you.”

He leans over the table, a crease in his brow. “You didn’t? Then who did?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “They’re not important.”

“They? Are you being ambiguous or is that their pronoun?” He squints into space, mumbling something to himself, and then shakes his head. “Nope, you don’t have a non-binary coworker in your department, you’re just being ambiguous. Which – a lack of representation. Ask your HR to look into it, okay?"

Scowling, you shake your head at him. "How can you possibly know that?”

“Babe. I know everyone in your department.” He gives you a flat stare. “By name. So, spill. Who was it?” His eyes suddenly widen, glee spreading over his face slowly. “Wait, is it Lea? Your sales strategist?”

Ugh, he’s really on a first-name basis with your entire department. It’ll take him minutes to go down the list and you'll have to lie to get out of this. Or just tell him the truth and face that lecture on why seducing Seokjin is a bad idea.

You shake your head with a resigned sigh.

“Given how she’d looked at me with really wide, shocked eyes, no." With an eye roll, you rest your face on a palm and lean on his desk. "I don't think she even knew what you do for a living… Much like the others.”

“No? Oh.” He slumps back in his seat, lips downturned. And then he sits up again with renewed joy. “Ooh, wait, is it your sales exec? Katlyn? Katie? She always says hi to me, right? Wow, she’s kinda hot…” He leans across the table with a wide grin. “Tell you what, I’ll agree for the keynote thing if you set me up with her.”

“What? No and no, Jimin! You can't date people from my office!” You scoff at the guy when he rolls his eyes. “I mean you can’t date, period, but you shouldn’t even hook up with people from my office."

Jimin gives a drawn out groan, ever the dramatic bitch. “Why?”

“Because.” You shut your eyes and massage your forehead. “Because it’ll make things weird for me.”

“Weird? Why?” He wiggles his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips. “Do your colleagues think we're a thing too?”

You read forth to flick at his forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?”

“Yeah, what the hell? No, they don’t, Jimin. And it’s not Katie, okay?”

“FIne, okay, so then who was it? Why’re you being so mysterious about it?”

He is looking at you through narrowed eyes now, peering into your very soul. And immediately, your brain rushes to compare his stare with that of Seokjin’s for no other reason but to ruin your already tiresome day.

Seokjin looked at you with pretty much the same intensity as Jimin, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Whereas your best friend seems to be scrutinizing you as if you’ve been placed on a slide under a microscope. And yet, the alternating warm and cold currents that run through your nerve endings right now affect you worse than Seokjin’s flirtatious smiles did.

Oh God. The morning’s rush made you almost forget about your recent sexual awakening regarding your best friend. Ew, sounds gross even in your head.

But now that you have reminded your brain of the same – including the innuendo-infused face-off you two had in the bathroom and the wet dream that you had last night – it decides to conjure up all these scenarios where Jimin gives you this exact stare, but in an atmosphere with a dimmer, warmer lighting and few to no clothes on your bodies.

Oh. God.

Desperate to distract yourself from witnessing what is sure to be a very embarrassing x-rated video featuring you and Jimin in your head, you resort to initiating the one conversation you planned to avoid when you came here.

With clenched fists, you stare at the back of Jimin’s laptop, and exhale in a rush: “Okay, fine, it was Seokjin.”

Jimin draws away from the table, back flattening against his chair as if shoved by the force of your words. You just focus on your breathing while you wait for him to respond, strictly keeping your eyes away from his person and trying to fill your head with work-related, appropriate thoughts.

“Kim Seokjin?” Jimin finally mumbles, pulling your gaze to his frown. “Your boss’ cousin, Kim Seokjin?”

“Do you know any other Kim Seokjins?” you grumble, crossing your arms against your chest in irritation.

You’re being unfairly cranky because it’s not even Jimin’s fault at this point. You’re the one with a malfunctioning, horny brain which keeps making you feel like a teenager, Jimin’s just living his life.

So you exhale in resignation, and nod. “I mean, yeah. That’s the one.”

“Dude,” he begins in an accusatory tone, shaking his head at you, “you're totally trying to use me to impress him.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to groan in frustration. “Impress him? For what?”

“Didn't we establish that your crush on him was a bad idea because you shouldn't sleep with your boss’ cousin?”

This time you let the groan escape. “I am not crushing on him anymore, Min! I just…like to look at him from a distance, just some objective admiration…”

Jimin blinks at you. “That's what a crush is.”

“Absolutely not! I respect him and like how he looks, without any unrealistic expectations and imaginary scenarios.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to act nonchalant in the face of the imagery of Kim Seokjin’s gorgeous hands on your throat and/or your ass. “Just some friendly admiration, as – as I said.”

“No, you said objective admiration.” Jimin goes back to observing you like a specimen under a microscope. “And to me, that still sounds like you wanna sleep with him.”

“Untrue, it’s just—”

“Well, do you wanna date him, then?” He raises a brow, a weird eagerness spreading across his face as if he wants you to say yes.

Maybe he actually does, maybe this is him hopping onto the ‘I will convince you to get back in the dating game’ bandwagon again. God, he’s so annoyingly persistent.

“No, Jimin, no way in hell.” You glare at him. “Okay, you know what? Everyone else backed him up too, so I'm not tryna impress just him. The others in my department want you to be there, too. They even talked about pushing the date back to accommodate you.”

“Aha! So Katie does remember me!” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “See, soulmates.”

“You literally called her Katlyn twice…” You deadpan.

“Ah, that's a minor blip that I and Katlyn—Katie," he corrects with a wince. Then clearing his throat, he grins at you again. "I and Katie will work through it, don't you worry."

“Jimin. Please. Everyone will really love it if you’re there. Zac even said you’re a comforting presence…”

He frowns at you. “Zac? Ellis? Oh man, does he still think I was flirting with him that one time? Please clarify it to him that I’m straight, Y/N!”

“It was you that told him and Jiah that story about you hooking up with a guy in college, Min,” you remind him with a giggle, resting your chin on a fist to wiggle your eyebrows at him. “What did you expect to gain out of that, if not an admirer?”

Jimin seems to get a bit serious at that. “I… Well, they just looked kinda tired, sad and uncomfortable, you know? So I thought I’d cheer them up a bit with a fun anecdote…”

His response is so genuine and so wholly him, that your heart goes out for the guy. You reach forth with your free hand to pat the back of his own. “I get it, buddy. But you don’t have to always comfort everyone. You need to think about your own comfort and happiness at times, too. What you need, instead of always taking care of what others need from you.”

He looks at you with wide eyes and then slowly nods. “What I need, huh?” he mumbles, blinking with so much innocence in his gaze, it’s uncanny. “How about that pizza I asked for?”

You lift your fingers off his fist and bring them back down in a snap. Can never have a serious conversation with this for two seconds.

“Ow!”

Checking your phone for the ETA with a roll of your eyes, you hiss at him, “Will be here in less than three minutes. Asshole.”

He just giggles, entirely gleeful and not one bit sympathetic about your predicament. And then he surprises you by getting up and squeezing your shoulder. "I'll think about it, okay?

Eyes going wide and lips curving up, you jump out of the chair to hold him by his forearms. "You will?"

"I said think," he corrects you, but there's a resigned smile on his face which tells you he's gonna say yes.

"That's good enough," you hurriedly tell him before engulfing your best friend in a bear hug. "Thank you, thank you!"

"You are really not welcome to this again and it absolutely won't be my pleasure," he grumbles into your shoulder.

You wack him on the back, and relax in his grasp, silently asking to pull away. "That's enough emotion for a week, Min…"

He throws you away with a scowl, but there's no real heat to it. You laugh at his irritated face, settling down again to fill him in about the details of the workshop so that he can prepare his speech.

Barely into your discussion, the pizza arrives. You two share it while you discuss some points he wishes to make in his speech.

When you finally take your leave, his secretary is on the phone right outside his office doors. You wave at the girl you know is a sweetheart, and she absently smiles at you.

That is when her words register to you:

"...lunch with his girlfriend so we had rescheduled you for three o'clock, but he is available now, if you wish to meet-up?"

The girlfriend part gives you a pause but doesn't really shock you, because now you know what goes on at Jimin's office. What has you stopping completely in place and frowning – is the postponed meeting part. Did Jimin cancel a prior engagement to make room for you?

Whipping out your phone, you shoot him a text.

Text Message to Min 🌟 ↳ did u have a lunch meeting?

His response takes a while, only pinging your phone when you've exited the building and are getting into your car.

Text Message from Min 🌟 Uh 🧍🏻‍♂️ You JUST left my office??? And we had lunch together? So I'd say yeah

↳ no smartass ↳ i mean a scheduled one

Min 🌟 Well Kinda? But it's no issue, I got it pushed to 3

↳ it is an issue w ME! ↳ see this behavior is exactly why your office thinks we're dating ↳ why would u push back a meeting to have lunch w me???

Min 🌟 Because you literally told me it was an SOS situation!

↳ oh

Now you feel kinda dumb. You made the guy postpone a meeting because of a situation that was a lot less than an SOS, if you're being honest. But he should know you're prone to exaggeration.

↳ i'm sorry?

Min 🌟 Are you apologizing for having lunch with me? Because I will physically tackle you to the ground and make you take it back 😠

Your best friend is insufferable but also really fucking cute.

↳ apologizing for delaying your meeting ↳ and causing u to stay longer at the office potentially

Min 🌟 It'll be fine with me if you need to grab your stuff from my place and run home while I’m gone

↳ yeahhhh was kinda hoping I could do that 😬

Min 🌟 You never have to think so hard with me, grumpkim <3

Ew, what the hell is that?

↳ …tf? ↳ is this a new nickname you're trying?

Min 🌟 Yes!!! Isn't it adorable? Like pumpkin cause you’re cute but grumpy because that's your natural state of being :)

↳ okay one - i am NOT grumpy, just a lil short tempered ↳ which im working on rectifying ↳ and two - no cheesy nicknames bw us hello??? u yelled at me for calling u bestie once!!!!

There isn't a response for a while, so you start your car and drive back to your office. You're ten minutes past the lunch break ending, but just as Jimin said, one of the only redeeming qualities to your boss is that he isn't hard about lunch timings.

It's when you've settled into your cabin and have pulled your phone out to keep it on your desk that you notice Jimin's response.

Text Message from Min 🌟 You were friend-zoning me with the “bestie” tag How am I supposed to flirt with you if you do that?

You can’t help the snort that leaves you. This is so on-brand of him, it’s almost funny.

↳ soooo “grumpkin” is flirtatious?

His reply comes instantly:

Min 🌟 It can be if I want it to be ;)

You hate the way that stupid freaking winky face makes your cheeks warm.

This is your childhood best friend, for fuck’s sake! What the hell is wrong with your brain?

The longer you stare at the text, the warmer your face feels. And the warmer your face feels, the hotter your heads get.

At the end of a whole minute when you are beginning to feel how Bruce Banner must feel right before his transformation, you grab your phone and lock the screen, leaving your best friend on read. But that doesn’t feel quite enough, so you jerk a drawer of your desk open and toss the stupid device with your stupid best friend’s stupid text into it.

Just as you have shoved the drawer close, Jackie, passing your office by right that moment, stops to raise her eyebrows. “Need a mallet to deal with that?”

If you could take a mallet to your stupid brain and beat the stupid parts with the stupid thoughts about your stupid best friend out of it, you would take Jackie upon her stupid offer.

The next few days are normal, but…very strange, at the same time.

Normal on the front that work goes back to the usual. No unwanted, tiresome meetings await you at the office, your boss having been really satisfied with the final choices your team submitted for the guest of honor and keynote appearances at the workshop next Friday. Sane working hours leave you feeling productive and a lot energized.

The strange part comes in the form of one Kim Seokjin.

Guy’s been sort of hovering around you lately, and you don’t exactly hate the attention. You’ve decided you’re not gonna “fuck and chuck him” like Jimin has told you not to. Mostly because your best friend never butts into your love-life (read: the academic roll of people going through your bed, but anyways), while for this one guy he has been screaming at you to not do it, every chance he gets.

You’re gonna respect that. And also, you get what he means. Fooling around with your boss’ cousin with no intention of getting serious has the highly delicate risk of complicating things at your workplace a bit. Or more than a bit, depending upon how badly you deal with it – and you usually break your own records of how badly you’re dealing with an ex-lover.

So. You’re not gonna sleep with Seokjin.

But, you’re absolutely giving back your one-hundred percent into the dangerous smirks and heavy glances he sends you any time you meet his gaze, which you find yourself doing a lot of. You’re not breaking any rules if you present him with the hope of possibly pursuing something, right? And who knows? You might actually end up dating, too. Finally break the freaking fast!

It’s strange but also strangely fun doing this, if you’re being honest. And also, this whole back and forth is kinda helpful in keeping your mind somewhat off of the x-rated thoughts your brain has recently found out it loves conjuring up about your best friend. Like, seriously, you feel like you need a fucking mental intermission to get your brain to recover from the constant overdrive it has been riding around in for nearly a week now. It’s exhausting when you have to ward off a variation of the same repetitive thought twenty times in a single hour.

Your interactions with Seokjin have helped a bit in that regard, dwindling it down to five thoughts an hour, Which is a lot workable, so you call it definite progress.

But, despite all of that, this feels wrong to you.

You’re not necessarily betraying Seokjin, right? You don’t even know if he is as much into it as it seems! And who is to say that you aren’t? You could date him if you want. Jimin would be so proud! What the hell is your problem?

You wonder if this is just a psychological repulsion born out of your self-imposed ban on dating? In the way that you have gotten so used to steering clear of anything touching the themes of ‘romance’ that your mind now detects those thoughts as something negative?

In all honesty, you ought to be feeling negatively about all the way your imagination has been running wild about Jimin. Those are the kind of thoughts that stand to harm your deep and profound friendship of years.

But what do they do, instead?

Leave your panties wet.

It is when emotionally available, interested in you and not a childhood friend that you might lose forever Seokjin brushes past you with a meaningful smile that you get this sense of foreboding. As if you shouldn’t be allowing this to happen between you and a perfectly handsome, well-natured, intelligent and funny guy.

Why aren’t you scared of losing your best friend but wish to hide away from a guy you should be fantasizing climbing up?

It could be because you know Jimin is safe. As in, nothing will come out of having thoughts about him because you will never act upon him. But with Seokjin, things are tangible. If you give him signs, he might actually pursue you with a seriousness that might actually, really, factually lead to a romantic entanglement.

Wait… so this is basically your commitment phobia making your life difficult again?

Sure sounds like it.

Your ex should be burnt in fucking hell. And your therapist definitely deserves a raise, damn.

So aside from the whole whatever the fuck you’re doing with Seokjin, the days following Monday go by pretty normally – until, that is, things take a turn.

The first wave of change hits you on Friday.

Zac Ellis comes into work late and somehow catches your boss’ eye. Which leads to your boss unnecessarily giving you all an hour long lecture on the importance of punctuality. Which, in turn, makes you all stay an hour late to finish up the day’s tasks because it is the end of the week.

By the time you finally get to leave, ten minutes later than your team as is the curse of a Team Leader, you are dead on your feet. Dragging yourself out of your cabin, you yawn with your mouth thrown wide open and eyes squeezed shut, allowing them to water. You are dreaming of cuddling under some blankets with a heating pad between you and the cushions because your back hurts like a bitch.

Your colleagues don’t seem to share the sentiment, though, because the six pm clock out time gives them the idea of going out for dinner together.

“Guys… you should go on without me, I’m really tired,” you politely tell them, shaking your head when Lea pouts at you. “Seriously. I would if I could, but I just want to get into bed and sleep for ten hours today.”

“Ah, understandable.” It is Seokjin that speaks up, emerging from the group to smile at you. Yep, one of those secret smiles that seem to convey more than what is visible. “Some days ask ten hours of sleep out of you.”

You give him an awkward chuckle, unsure how to maintain a civil conversation with the guy with all the heavy gazing from the past three days. Especially in front of the entire Sales department.

“Yeah…” You lamely nod, watching as the crowd of people begins to shuffle away from you and towards the elevators.

Seokjin looks at you again, kinda smacking you in the face with his good looks with the way he gives you a lopsided smirk. One of his eyebrows arches up and it’s certain death to your brain, because the damn organ forgets to work your lungs and your oxygen supply just cuts off.

“I hope this wasn’t due to…” He trails off and steps closer. You just started breathing again but now you wish you hadn’t, because his cologne is delicious and makes you want to sniff him. Fuck. “Was it?”

You quickly shake your head to assure him. “No, no! Absolutely not, please trust me.” Forcing a smile upon your face, you thickly swallow and will yourself to not break eye contact. “I really am very tired.”

“I was looking forward to having dinner over some casual chat with you, but… I understand.” He smiles at you fully.

It doesn’t feel nice saying no to such a friendly, harmless invite. To a group gathering, too. But because you are sincerely not kidding about the kind of pain your body is in, you grimace at the man. “I am truly sorry, Seokjin. Raincheck?”

If he finds your sudden usage of his name odd – because you are pretty sure you have never said it out loud before; and it has been well-established that your brain is a dangerous place so whatever happens up there doesn’t count – he doesn’t show it. But your response makes his eyes glimmer a little, and his smile turns serene.

“That is quite okay,” he tells you with a wave of his hand. “How about tomorrow? Just us? That Korean BBQ place down the block?”

You blink, a bit taken aback by the sudden invite. “Uh…”

“My treat.” He smiles conspiratorially, and you wonder if he thinks that the prospect of free food is enticing to you.

Like, of course it is, but of course he shouldn’t know that.

You take a moment and then shrug. “Sounds good to me. What time?”

“I’ll text you.”

He waves as the two of you get into the elevators with the last of your floor’s members, and you wave back with a small smile that matches his own.

It is when you are pulling your car out of the building that it hits you.

Just us… My treat… And that smile? Dude just asked you out on a date!

i, he didn’t specify the word and it may as well actually be a friendly dinner, but… It is definitely going to be a dinner with benefits. Fuck.

And you said yes because you are the biggest dumbass of the century.

“He wasn’t thinking about free food, you absolute idiot!” you yell at yourself.

Your mind immediately goes to Jimin.

What would he say? What would he think? Theory says he will be over the moon, but also… this is Seokjin and the dinner could still be a dinner-with-benefits thing and not an actual, official situation, so.

You really don’t know what your best friend will say.

But you really care about what it will be.

God, you need to call him as soon as you get home, fuck your back!

“Ow!” a pang of pain runs across the small of your back as you accelerate away from an intersection.

Okay, no, not fuck your back. Nap first, Jimin immediately after.

links to be updated at a later date!

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blindsighted · 2 months

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Mourning Dove

A storm was brewing far in the distance. Thunder rolled in the valley, still twenty miles out. Grey clouds set back the sunrise by an hour, and young Kakashi wakes all alone in his father's bed. He shivers. It feels empty in the house. He grips the covers tight just under his eyes, wide awake and alert.

pit pat

The first drops of rain fall against the glass in large splatters. It's going to be a big one. Kakashi shivers.

A low rumble creeps ever closer; ten miles out, and Kakashi sits up all at once, just in time for a bright flash of lightning to illuminate the still and shadowy space around him. It looks like his home, but with the color washed out. His eyes are round with large black pupils that disappear into a dark iris. They scan from left to right, searching for what is missing.

Another droll of thunder lifts him to his feet. They hit the wood grain with a soft slap and the cold jolts him a little more awake. His heart thud thud thuds against his chest and he swallows a dry lump to try and keep it from leaping out.

Something is wrong.

The smell of iron clings to the electricity in the air and Kakashi shifts one foot forward, then the next. His eyes stare wide and fixed across the hall and into the living room, where an unfamiliar dark stain just broaches the edge of the doorframe.

His feet carry him, one shuffling step after the other, closer and closer, until he's standing in the doorway. He can't make out the identity of that shadowy lump, so he steps closer...

A flash of lightning and a sharp bang shatters the darkness, and in that instant, Kakashi's world falls to pieces.

A fragile breath shakes loose from his constricting throat, but the boy doesn't move. His heart is frozen. It stabs through his chest and sends waves of ice and fire through his veins, till Kakashi can no longer stand. His knees give out and he collapses there behind his father's slumped over shape.

A timid hand reaches for him, the unfamiliar hand of a child, and when it touches his shoulder, he feels the solid touch of ice, far removed from the once warm and comforting presence of the man he'd known. The hand pulls back and disappears, and Kakashi sits still. Everything has stopped.

He exists here, and nowhere, for the person he was before has died. In his place, emptiness lives on.

#tw suicide #tw death #the morning Kakashi finds Sakumos body #as sad as it sounds #part of a series maybe #i have more #i just wanted to yeet it to the world #depersonalization #derealization #dissasociation #kakashi hatake #ic #please let me know if you liked it?

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smoments · 7 months

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✧ part 1: memories of a stranger // a satosugu reincarnation au

❝ let's meet again, for the first time. ❞

╰┈➤ in which 19-year-old gojo satoru happens upon a supposed stranger on a rare coffee shop trip who feels like anything but that, and who makes him question everything he's ever known about soulmates.

ao3 link

➽ chapter 1: the first encounter

The truth is, Satoru doesn’t much like coffee.

Part of it is the taste- it’s bitter on his tongue, thin, watery- or, sometimes, entirely too rich; sickeningly sweet, with flavors that he thinks would go better in a dessert- cream-filled mochi, perhaps.

The other, larger issue, is the dependency.

He doesn’t entirely realize it, but he hates feeling like he needs something to survive. The idea of relying on some external source to bring him energy that, in truth, he has never really lacked, makes him feel weak. He knows it sounds silly- it’s just a drink, after all, and it’s not as though he’s sacrificing his sense of capability by supplementing with a bit of caffeine, but Satoru is nothing if not stubborn, and he is true to his ideals to a fault- even when they may not be entirely logical.

Which is why he feels rather out of place now, in the middle of a crowded cafe; the scent of brewing coffee overpowers his senses, its nutty warmth mingling with notes of caramel, vanilla, and cinnamon. Idle chatter fills the air- the barista is speaking to a customer at the counter a few feet away, friends sip lattes and laugh across round, wooden tables, and a businessman, speaking into a black earpiece, follows a menu screen with inattentive eyes as he talks, mild irritation in his tone and an air of self-importance radiating from each perfectly ironed crease of his suit. His shoe taps in a sharp, absent rhythm as he waits for his order- probably a black coffee, Satoru thinks to himself, perhaps unfairly. He turns his attention back to the line and realizes a spot has vacated. Stepping forward, he gives the barista a charming smile.

“Morning. Could I get a hot chocolate, and…” he realizes he hasn’t given much thought to his order, and glances at the menu, choosing the sweetest-looking thing that captures his attention. “A jelly donut, please?”

She punches the order into one of those little machines and smiles back, her expression slightly shy.

“Of course. Anything else?” She asks as she misclicks something in her haste and quickly presses the back arrow, a slight flush rising to her cheeks. He pretends not to notice.

“That’s it.”

“Okay, then- could I have a name for the order?”

“Satoru.”

“Perfect, just step over there and we’ll get that out to you soon.” Her voice grows a little more controlled, taking on a typical customer service tone, professional and slightly singsongy. He thanks her and moves over to an open counter, his hands going to the pockets of his tan coat. His fingers find his keys, then his wallet, and he fiddles with them absentmindedly as he waits, his mind elsewhere. He has an assignment for art class due in a week or two, he realizes- a portrait. He hasn’t yet started, but he has no doubt he’ll be fine. His eyes are downcast, tracing the marbling of black in the grain of the polished countertop, so he hears the voice before he sees the speaker.

“Satoru? Ah… that’s a nice name.”

It is a soft, slightly deep voice that instantly puts him at ease. It’s the kind of voice that a therapist might have, he thinks, and it feels like velvet, blanketing his ears with soft warmth. It’s perhaps for that reason that his eyes are already slightly wide when he first lifts his head from the countertop, but when he meets the gaze of the person in front of him, he suddenly, inexplicably, feels his knees weaken.

It’s not because he is beautiful. He is, of course- his hair is long and dark, tied into a bun at the back of his head, with shiny black bangs framing the right side. His small, round earrings match, and his long lashes flutter when he blinks. His expression is gentle- so, so gentle that even if it weren’t for the tsunami of emotions, of recognition, that rushes to Satoru’s chest, he would probably feel like crying just by looking at him.

The recognition is odd, really- he knows he has never seen this man before in his life. And yet, he has, a voice screams at him. Completely unbidden, it tells him that he once knew everything about him, that he could have recognized him by scent, by touch. If each one of his senses were wiped clean, then he would have known from the simple presence radiating off of him. His soul would have told him like it was telling him now.

Satoru cannot take his eyes off of him, nor can he speak. His lips part slightly, but he makes no effort to attempt to curve them around words. Even when the lines of the should-be stranger’s form begin to blur in his vision and he feels a sharp stinging in his eyes, he is immobile, his hand frozen at the clasp of his wallet.

“Satoru…?” The man’s voice, now, is concerned, but all Satoru can think is how his name rolls off his tongue with the practiced, familiar feeling of a word you’ve known from birth and have spoken so many times over it’s become engrained in you.

Even so, he unfreezes. The wallet slips through his fingers, and he barely manages to catch it before it hits the ground. Satoru forces his usual, easy laugh- sorry about that, but he can’t find the words to offer up an explanation for his sudden trance, because he doesn’t know why it happened himself- so instead, he nods toward the tray in the man’s hands, his expression light.

“How much do I owe you?”

The man’s expression relaxes, and his features shift into a smile that sets his face aglow.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.” Satoru wants to argue. In fact, he should. What kind of person lets a stranger, let alone a barista, pay for their order?

But for once, his carefree, smooth way with words fails him, and he knows he’ll only make a bigger fool of himself if he tries to protest. While he may be renowned for acting like an idiot, the enjoyment is only in it for him when it’s intentional, so he presses his lips together. Those aren’t the words he wants to say anyways.

Have we met before? Do you know who I am? Please, I need to know, I have to-

“Thank you.” He reaches out and takes the tray, hoping the way his fingers tremble as he does so goes unnoticed. He should leave. He needs to turn around and find a table, or better yet, walk out the door of this cafe and never come back. Instead, he pauses.

“What’s your name?” he blurts before he can stop himself, one half of his brain screaming at him for his stupidity and the other, the half that told him the man in front of him was anything but a stranger, diffusing into the kind of self-satisfied silence that only a winner can attain.

To the man’s credit, confusion does not cross his face for a second, and when Satoru finds the strength to look at him again, his expression is kind.

“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” he replies, and Satoru feels something well up within him. He nods, thanking him again before turning away, ignoring the impatient look on the face of the woman behind him.

Satoru feels somehow weightless as he scopes out a quiet seat at the back of the cafe and begins to walk towards it. Through his haze, he hears the man- Suguru, he’d said- speaking the name of the next woman in line in confirmation as he hands her a brown paper bag.

Privately, Satoru thinks that it doesn’t sound nearly as nice- as right- as the sound of his own name falling from Suguru’s lips, the intonation just slightly lilted. He thinks it will echo in his mind forever- low, soft, and sweet.

And at the very least, it follows him to his table as he takes a seat, crossing his legs at the thigh.

He drapes his jacket over the chair behind him, and one hand goes to the steaming mug on the tray. The heat emanates through the ceramic, seeping into the cool, smooth skin of his palm and warming him thoroughly. He lifts the mug to his lips, taking a small sip of the drink and savoring the sensation of the rich, chocolatey flavor flowing onto his tongue.

It’s a perfectly good hot chocolate, he thinks to himself- almost good enough to validate a second trip to this particular coffee shop, and perhaps even good enough for him to convince himself that he’s truly returning for the drink and not the man behind the counter.

“Suguru.” he muses softly, testing the word for recognition. It does not slip past him that Geto gave him his first name- an uncommon practice for a first encounter. His chest grows warm, and he tells himself it’s the hot chocolate as he sets it back down on the tray, his fingers lingering at the handle of the mug.

“It’s a nice name.”

#satosugu #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen au #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satoru x suguru #crying screaming throwing up #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #alternate universe #coffee shop au #reincarnation

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stopsayingthisaccountnameistakin · 2 months

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nothing of importance is happening in VenVille, Camas County, Oregon!

But don't let that stop you from coming over!

Three streets!

Five churches!

Zero household pets!

Home of the worlds most average sized opossum and a white ten gallon bucket filled to the brim with grain sized agates.

VenVille you drop by?

°°°°

I don't have names for these bastard yet but I've been brewing up these characters since middle school : )

The goth boy is venvilles newest resident him and his mom just moved into his step mother's and stepsisters house and he his still having a hard time adjusting to his step mother's stricter parenting style, and his new sisters constant pestering. He has a kind of "I'm the smartest person here " mentality and takes himself way to seriously. But he is an excellent blacksmith and makes beautiful metal sculptures, he is also very loyal (albeit bossy).

The pinktastic redhead next to him is his sister, she has been held back a few times for her lack of teamwork skills and often gets into fights at school. But that's only because she cares enough to fight for her beliefs! She never takes no for an answer and makes it her lif mission to see just how far she can push people. She is also very passionate and puts her very best effort into everything she does.

The boy in the lab coat is obsessed with rue Goldberg machines and combustion engines. He is a very clever inventor. He has Tourettes syndrome, though since he is so focused when building his lil machines it usually doesn't effect the process, but sometimes he will ask the goth boy to help him since he's good with metal. ( This is kinda hard form him cuz he has a hard time asking for help. He doesn't want to inconvenience anyone. But he's made great strides in communication) he's incredibly awkward but the kindest person you've ever met, and an animal lover! Him and the cat girl are best friends!

The cat girl actually does have a name! : Dakota. She thinks she's a cat, I don't mean that she's a furry I mean she truly believes she is a breed of large hairless cat. She is very stubborn and strong willed she can be kinda mean spirited on the grounds that "felines care not for petty human Morales" although if she does go too far she is always determined to makes things right, the lab boy has awful luck with pets ( they always end up dying through no fault of his own) so she has graciously volunteered to be his "familiar". Mind you she is a feral cat and would take great offense at being called a pet! She has a real hard time getting her feelings across to people. But she tries: )

#traditional art #my art #my oc's #Notice : it is a federal offence to bring any outside animals of any size or species into VenVille's boarders.#Ignorance of this law is no excuse. Offenders will face criminal charges and pets will be immediately deported to the bluebell butte pound #so keep your fuzzy friends at home travelers! : D

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silaslich · 22 days

Text

Where There is Light, a Shadow Appears

Ghoap Hogwarts Professor AU

Part 3/10 - Old Habits & Old Hauntings

Part 1 - Here Part 2 - Here

Wc - 4.2k

No warnings

Taglist - @siriuswritingandart @wheezytomato

For the first time in a long time, John had awoken with the rising sun, buttery rays drifting through the gaps in his curtains, stinging his eyelids.

Despite this, there’s something heavy that sits in his chest, perhaps it’s anticipation, but John is wholly convinced it’s his fraying nerves and ever increasing anxiety.

He’d woken up feeling fine, albeit a little tired, but fine nonetheless. It was just as the day went on, something was nagging in his chest, making his stomach flip and roll any time he thought about meeting all of the students and the entirety of the faculty together for the first time. John supposed it was normal, to feel some anxiety, he had never been good at first impressions.

His ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude wasn’t going to cut things, because he needed to care, and he needed to make a good example.

It’s in the confines of his classroom that he begins brewing Draught of Peace. He has a good amount of time before he needs to prepare for the sorting ceremony and feast, but he knows how temperamental the aforementioned potion can be to brew - so he won’t take his chances.

John has brewed this potion a hundred times over, it had been a common supply for all Aurors, to take the edge off and calm their minds. It’s no trouble for him; he adds his ingredients in the correct order and with the exact measurements required, just an extra grain of powdered porcupine quill could make the entire mixture explode.

He stirs the mixture seven times clockwise, and then another seven times counter-clockwise. Then he adds the final ingredient, hellbore, and he finishes it up by lowering the flames and letting it simmer for exactly seven minutes. Not a second longer.

He’s relieved when he’s met with a silvery vapour pouring upwards from his cauldron at the end of the seven minutes. He leaves the mixture to cool, letting it bubble away as he fetches and cleans some bottles to decant it into, he’s made enough for roughly ten small doses - he’s not overly optimistic about his mindfulness for the next few days.

John realises, as he’s buffing his bottles and putting away his ingredients, that this is what he’s been missing. He hadn’t had any time to properly get stuck back into his potion making, he hadn’t done it for a long time even before he came to Hogwarts, due to the incident.

It soothes him. Having his mind busy, letting it get lost in the myriad of memorised recipes and ingredient usage write ups.

Now that he’s in the midst of it, it seems like it was such a simple solution all along, to get his hands dirty.

The Scot has managed to brew his own creations entirely; potions that melt skin and draughts that simulate the worst kinds of emotions and scenarios anyone could ever wish upon anyone. Yet, on the other hand, he’s also brewed a cure for broken bones and created an elixir that stops internal bleeding. For every bad thing he’s created, he’s made something good from it too, it’s a give and a take.

John wants to get back to that. Back to the boy that didn’t sleep for three days because he had to, just had to, read the latest publication from one of his favourite potioneering authors; he wants to get back to the teenager that flew threw his potions N.E.W.T. with flying colours, with one of the best, if not the best, scores and grades in the history of Hogwarts itself. He wants to get back to the Auror that was feared by enemy ranks, knowing he was capable of much more than just curses and hexes.

He was made for this, and he finds it’s time that he got back to it, so he starts as he means to go on. While his cauldron is still hot from the burner, he begins brewing Draught of Living Death - for his seventh years.

Two hours pass by him in what seems like the blink of an eye. He doesn’t even register the time, he’s too engrossed, too enthralled in his books and his potions. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled messily to his elbows and his fingertips are sullied with murtlap syrup and bezoar juice, some of it is splattered as far up as his tattoo. The one on his forearm, the crest of his Auror division, they’re all marked the same, matching. John huffs, annoyed at his hair, he uses the back of his hand to press his hair back out of his face, it’s getting too long.

Through the plumes of green smoke and the sizzle-crackle-and-pops of his cauldrons, he hears a knock against the creaky-old-door of his classroom. “Come in!” He shouts over the chaos, he has three cauldrons on the go now, his books are strewn about his work surface and although he hasn’t noticed it, a stray leech is making its away across his desk. His back is to the door, and as much as he’d like to greet his visitor with a smile, he can’t stop stirring the mixture just yet. “Gimme a second I’ll be right there” he says tongue in cheek as he squints his eyes to focus, making sure the mixtures colour stays a consistent pale blue. John is met with only silence, but he thinks nothing of it.

Once he’s finally satisfied with the state of his potion he grabs a cloth from across his work surface, cleaning his hands and fingers as he turns to greet whoever has paid him a visit.

John’s eyes land on his visitor before his mind can process what to say, he’s face to face with Simon once more.

Unannounced. Uninvited. Unwanted.

Simon stands a good foot taller than John, and it’s made even more obvious in the way Simon chooses to hold himself. He takes up so much space, his wide shoulders are offset by the thick of his arms as he stands with them crossed over his chest. Dark tattoos peek out from under his sleeves, John’s eyes find a specific one first, drawn to it. Simon looks down at John, physically, tilting his head and looking past him, scanning over the mess of his bubbling cauldrons and the scattered chaos of all of his books. A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “still a bookworm then?” It’s a rhetorical question, and the way he says it makes it seem like it’s a bad thing.

Not all of us can be dumb as a rock, John thinks.

Simon’s expression flattens, “careful Johnny”.

Shit

John has never been great at occlumency. Simon had tried to teach him when he first joined up, but John’s mind was a perplexing one. It was just so busy. It was so hard for him to focus on shutting everything away, he couldn’t discern what was worth hiding and what wasn’t. He focused too much on the wrong things, hiding away memories such as breaking his mother’s favourite vase when he was eight or accidentally setting his charms professor’s classroom on fire in his fourth year. While his mind would subconsciously free up the darker subjects, the ones he should keep buried a little further into his memories, it meant that John wasn’t trusted with extremely delicate information - the chances of him getting caught and his mind being ripped apart for such information just wasn’t worth the risk.

Simon on the other hand, it was second nature. Born gifted with talents for both legilimency and occlumency. Due to that fact it had often been a subject of contention amongst the team, mainly between Simon and John.

He was too good at it in John’s opinion, it got to the point that he didn’t know when he was speaking to the authentic Simon or the one that shut his mind off from anything and everything. He supposed it’s one of the many things that made Simon a great Auror, to have such power over his own mind and too over other peoples, he could sift through someone’s mind completely undetected; and could also string someone’s mind into tatters to get the information he wanted.

John leans his hip against his desk, mimicking Simon in the way he crosses his arms across his chest. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t use legilimency on me Simon” he tries his best to seem stoic, but even without reading his mind, Simon can read John like an open book.

The older wizard squares off his shoulders, nodding his head just once. “Force of habit, I suppose” he says cooly, shamelessly staring at John’s bad eye and the scars that go with it. Simon wears his own number of scars, accumulated from not only his Auror career - but from his youth too, John only hopes that it is curiosity alone that peaks Simon’s interest.

John nods, looking down toward the floor, but he can still feel Simon’s eyes, it makes his face burn. There’s a silence that descends, while it’s awfully stifling, it isn’t as awkward as John had thought it would be. He had been dreading seeing Simon, more so dreading the first interaction after not seeing each other for so long, but he finds that he’s telling himself that it could be worse. He isn’t counting their encounter in the corridor the other night, he can’t really say that it was real, they both surprised each other - now that one was awkward.

When John gazes up, Simon is still looking at him. He tilts his head, “there somethin’ on my face?” John asks, and for a moment, Simon doesn’t respond. He blinks hard, “Price told me what happened” he says, John shakes his head, “did he now?”.

He’s not bothered that Price told Simon about the incident, he would have ended up hearing about it from someone eventually, especially if he’d seen the cover up pasted all over the front page of The Daily Prophet. John just wished that he could pretend it never happened, but he knew that the scars would bring questions, so he supposes he may as well just crack on with it.

Simon hums an affirmative, “he said you took a nasty curse to the head” John’s brows knit together, “yeh, somethin’ like that” he mumbles, not wanting to dwell on the subject. He can tell in the way that Simon lets the silence drag for a few seconds that he’s waiting for John to elaborate more, but he soon realises that the incident is probably the last thing John wants to be talking about.

John watches as Simon clears his throat, “listen Johnny-“ he starts, demeanour shifting, just slightly. John tries hard not to focus too hard on the nickname, it seems it hasn’t died away over the years. He watches as Simon moves off, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, he makes his way toward the shelves that are stacked high with bottles and jars, some filled with potion ingredients and others with specimens. Simon looks up, trailing his eyes over the many rows before sighing heavily, “there’s no easy way to go about this” he starts, an out of place laugh huffing from his chest, “but I need your help”.

It’s strange, seeing him again, it seems like it was all just yesterday. John can’t comprehend it, the thought that things will never be as they once were, for better or for worse. It feels like it was just yesterday that they were heading out together; as partners, a routine patrol to a known smuggling ground to see if they could dig anything up to get any sort of lead. Everything was as it usually was, time was slow, and they laughed together over the small things, John found that he never wanted those sorts of days to end. Perhaps that day never did, because the events that transpired seemed to have followed him everyday since then, everyday for seven-hundred and forty-eight days straight John has regretted everything that happened - because it’s all his fault.

“You need my help?” John is taken aback, genuinely, unsure of what Simon could possibly what him to do after everything’s that’s happened between them.

Simon doesn’t turn to look at John, he simply nods, still feigning interest at the vast array of bottles and ingredients on display. From where he stands, his back toward John, the slight sliver of a scar peeks out from the collar of his shirt. It’s a silver-pink, worn by age, the sight of it makes John’s heart sink. Simon clears his throat, “I had an arrangement with the prior potions master here” his tone is flat again, his stone facade back in place, “I was hoping it could continue despite her departure”.

John processes the words, intrigued, what could Simon possibly need from a potions master?

Then, like the strike of a match, realisation hits him and his heart sinks completely.

How could he have been so stupid?

“You need Wolfsbane” John swallows thickly, watching as Simon nods silently, still not looking at him.

Two and half years ago

It’s eerily quiet. A fog laden morning that sits heavy against the backdrop of a cruel winter storm that has just passed. They’re both cold and miserable, having lost their will hours ago, unable to comprehend what this lead could possibly do to help them better their chances at getting the one up on Makarov.

He was nothing but a thorn in their sides, crossing dangerous artefacts and illegal beasts over seas to try and smuggle them from Europe to America and back again. Makarov was worse than an eel, Simon had always said, slippery and always impossible to keep a hold of - they couldn’t prove much in a court at the Ministry. Typical.

The two of them were going into this with the same preconceptions, whatever they found wouldn’t be enough for the Ministry to do anything about, but Price had sent them here; so they’d humour him and search the docks for any dodgy activity.

It’s as they both walk side by side in idle conversation, sheltered by great hulking trees whose branches sway with the breeze, that they hear something crash in the distance. It’s a sharp sound, it vibrates through the air, catching them both off guard. They slow, only for a moment, waiting to see if the sound echoes toward them again - it does, and this time it’s closer.

Simon poises himself, retracting his wand from where it’s nestled in his breast-pocket, John mimics the movement, taking Simon’s lead, as always. He’s only a handful of years older than John, but Simon has been in this game much longer.

There’s movement ahead and beyond the thick bushes and shrubbery there’s lights flailing, likely from wands or torches. The pair move closer, tentative and quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever they’ve happened across this time. Before they can get too close however, something disturbs the ground up ahead, snapping twigs and crunching leaves. Simon flattens his palm to Johnny’s chest to stop him moving any further forward, instinctively inching him behind himself, shielding him.

Then, without any warning, a huge beast jumps forward. Its stark white teeth are the first thing they see, dripping wet and sharp as anything, it’s gnarled mouth gaping and heaving. The creatures eyes glow a bright yellow, almost gold, they pierce through the men as they’re stared down - it’s sizing them up. There’s a deep growling noise, it rattles out from the beasts open mouth, vibrating in its chest. Its paws are humongous, impossible to ignore as it begins to inch closer, crushing leaves and sticks beneath its feet.

John’s mouth dries, “is that a-“ “werewolf” Simon cuts him off, speaking in a hushed tone, as if the creature can’t hear him.

Simon starts to step back, pushing John too in the process, it triggers the very thing they were trying to avoid.

The beast surges forward, snapping its jaws, “run!” Simon pushes John away, out of the beasts line of attack, immediately casting depulso in the direction of the charging werewolf, it knocks it back only a few feet - but it gives the pair a chance to catch their bearings.

And despite being told to run, John is rooted to the spot, digging around in his satchel that is slung over his shoulder, desperately looking for a potion he can use against the beast. Simon notices and anger blooms in his chest, “Johnny go!”, he knows that whatever John has won’t be enough, they don’t have a plan and they don’t have much time.

Yet, John still doesn’t move to run. Instead, he makes a dash for Simon, flanking him, his own wand to hand now too. Simon throws another spell toward the werewolf, watching as it circles them, “confringo!” He lurches forward but the beast is too quick, the spell barely catches its tail as it jumps out of the way. John takes a step, “Levioso!” He predicts the werewolf’s movements and manages to hit it, watching as its paws leave the ground, another quick flick of John’s wand - “depulso!”.

The beast is sent hurtling backwards, its body disappearing into the bushes beyond, a low rumbling noise follows soon after, they’ve pissed it off.

Simon whirls around, now face to face with Johnny, “we need to go” he says hurriedly, “this isn’t worth it”. He’s right, although there’s two of them and only one werewolf, Simon’s observed how high and full the moon sits in the sky. John nods, meeting eyes with Simon, he sees fear in his eyes, and there wasn’t much that scared Simon Riley.

Simon can see it in John’s mind too, fear, he’s scared because Simon is. It rings in his mind like alarm bells, rattling his brain as he desperately scrambles for any idea on how they can get out of this. Running would entice a chase, but trying to fight it directly would be another story entirely, given the beasts speed and size.

Without warning, the werewolf barrels toward them, practically shaking the ground, and before either of them can dodge it - it rams the two of them with its head. They fly backwards, spines connecting with the hard earth, they’re winded and dazed but the beast advances again. It’s headed straight for John, he sits up, trying his best to scramble backwards, but he can’t catch any leverage on the dewy ground. He watches in horror, staring into the open mouth of a werewolf as it closes in, he squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for the impact. It never comes.

There’s a wet splat against his face, it’s warm, his eyes fly open. It’s a sight he will never be able to forget for as long as he lives, the werewolves teeth are imbedded deep into Simon’s shoulder, encapsulating almost half of his torso. Simon’s back is to the creature, having blocked its path as it tried to get to John, his eyes are wide and his mouth is agape - suffering an immeasurable amount of pain. He groans, staring right through John, his adrenaline is kicking in.

John’s wand is still gripped tightly in his fingers, but he feels frozen, almost crushed by the weight of not just Simon’s body shielding him, but also the werewolves entire mass as it sinks deeper and deeper into the leverage it has on Simon’s shoulder.

He can’t think, he can’t process what is happening, it’s the same when his wand is suddenly raised, aimed directly at the werewolf when a sudden burst of scalding heat and bright green light explodes from the tip of his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The pressure dissipates almost immediately, and John’s mind seems to clear when the sound of a large thud meets his ears.

Just a few feet behind where Simon’s still straddling John, the werewolf lays dead.

Simon’s body slumps forward but John catches him, hugging Simon close to his chest, his mind running a mile a minute. There’s only so much John would be able to do, and he fears he’s already running out of time, he consoles Simon as he winces in pain - his right shoulder completely mangled. John tries his best not to touch it as he rolls Simon sideways off of him, making sure to be gentle when laying him against the ground. “It’s gonna be okay Si I promise” he tries to remain solid, but it’s more likely he’s trying to convince himself rather than Simon.

John goes to grab his satchel from his shoulder, only to find that it’s missing. “Fuck!” he shouts through gritted teeth, he jumps to his feet, scrambling to find his grubby leather satchel, he darts through the grass and steps tediously toward the werewolf despite it being very much dead.

Something ripples through John’s entire body as he frantically searches, it washes through him, a symphony of dread and guilt and regret all rolled into one - he’s never felt it before, but he tries to push it to the back of his mind.

“You fuckin’ beauty” John spots the bag as it lay in the grass, quickly grasping it and pelting it back toward where Simon lay, his heart sinks. His eyes aren’t open anymore. “Fuck” John breaths, sliding on his knees across the grass, quickly accessing Simon’s vitals. He’s breathing, but it’s shallow, and when he checks his eyes they flicker when interacting with light. “You hearin’ me Si?” John asks, flinging open his satchel as he watches the blood continue to pump out of Simon’s body, the wound is deep, too deep for him to treat entirely here.

He has dittany, but he doesn’t have anywhere near enough powdered silver for the size of Simon’s wound. Regardless, he tries not to panic, quickly and sort-of carefully ripping away Simon’s coat and shirt, exposing his entire chest so he can better treat the bite. John mixes the dittany and silver into a paste with his hands, smearing it into the wound and packing it into the individual lacerations. It continues to bleed, covering from John’s fingertips to past his wrists, he starts to think that it’s a saving grace that Simon is so out of it.

It suddenly hits John. As if his mind is handed back to him, everything rushes him, the overwhelming sense of guilt that Simon had saved him and the fear that no matter what he tries it won’t be enough to heal him.

His chest constricts and his breath catches in his throat, panic beginning to set in, his hands shaking as he applies pressure to Simon’s wound. He can feel it, the burning sting as tears well in his eyes, “steamin’ jesus” he whispers to the sky, feeling as rain spits down across his cheeks.

He tries to even his breathing, trying his best to keep it even, but his lungs burn and his ribs ache, this can’t be happening.

It just can’t, not to Simon.

Then, it all washes away, as Simon’s fingers close around John’s wrist, his thumb lazily brushing back and forth across his blood stained skin, a sign of comfort, an attempt to calm him down. It works to a point.

“S’fine Johnny” Simon slurs, his eyes closed and his own breathing uneven, he’s trying to keep John as calm as possible. As good as his intentions were, it’s only breaks John’s heart further, and when the tears start to spill he can��t hold them back.

“I’m so sorry” John mutters, his chin to his chest, still applying pressure to Simon’s bite wound via his hands, the tears land on Simon’s throat. Simon doesn’t say anything, he continues tracing shapes over John’s wrist with his fingers, taking his own mind off of what’s happening.

“This is all my fault” John’s chest hiccups, his lips quivering as he loses touch of himself, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, the tears continuing to spill. Simon huffs, it whistles in his lungs, “come off it Johnny” he’s trying to sound stern, but the words are empty. It’s hard for John to see through his tears, he sniffles, unable to wipe his face, “I’m so so sorry” he repeats, still not opening his eyes.

Then his hands are moving, sliding through blood and dittany, they slide down Simon’s chest as he sits up, a heavy grunt blowing past his lips with the effort. As quickly as John opens his mouth to protest Simon moving, their lips meet; and Simon kisses John with a palpability he’s never tasted before. It’s hungry and it’s possessive, and it’s been a long time coming, backed up by so many other emotions that’s it’s hard to place each and every individual one.

Simon cups John’s face with one hand, angling his jaw, smearing blood across his cheek as he deepens the kiss, it pulls a breathy moan from John that gives Simon exactly what he wants. Room for more.

It’s a goodbye kiss if ever there was one.

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xocasper · 2 years

Text

Sunset and Vine

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader Summary: Kinktober Day Four - Hate Sex Warnings: NSFW content Tags: hate sex, degradation, begging, oral sex Word Count: 3756 A/N: My pre-August writing makes me puke, honestly. It's a crime. Unfortunately, it's one of my only Frank fics. I'll definitely write another one after I finish the Ray fic I'm working on. Anyway, the title is a reference to Taylor Swift, not geography. Enjoy!

Having Gerard as a roommate was great in many aspects. He wasn’t loud or overly messy, and he didn’t take long showers–if any–keeping the bills low. It was nice to have someone to talk about your problems with, especially someone as empathetic as him. Living with him was so close to perfect that it seemed like any issue could be overlooked. Unless that issue was his best friend, who was practically a third roommate at this point.

Frank was probably at your apartment more than you were, hanging out with Gerard as often as he could. This would be fine if he wasn’t the most insufferable person you’d ever met, priding himself on his ability to infuriate you. Whether it was waking you up at night by talking too loud, or having the energy of a Jack Russell terrier at eight in the morning, having Frank around always sparked conflict.

Aside from his rowdy behavior, he was also a total asshole. The second he realized you disliked him, he made it his life’s mission to push you over the edge. His tactics varied from playground insults to minor “accidents”, which included shoving past you in the hallway, eating food that you swore you marked, and other intentional inconveniences.

You weren’t much better, often retaliating just as bad. It was mostly bickering and occasional roughhousing, but nothing worth leaving over. Gerard usually got in the middle of things, making futile attempts to settle arguments before someone got hurt. In addition to this, he was always trying to convince the two of you that the other was tolerable, nice even. Until it showed though, you took his convictions with a grain of salt.

Today you had less patience than usual, getting little sleep the night before. It was a Saturday so you had more than enough time to nap, but you couldn’t seem to relax. You could live with that, but things got worse when you went to the kitchen, realizing quickly that you had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Despite the rough morning, you tried to keep an open mind.

Shopping wasn’t awful, but the lines were. After waiting in line for ten minutes, the lane closed, leaving you to wait another ten minutes in another line. Somehow, your day hadn’t been troublesome enough. The universe had granted you fifteen minutes of traffic on the way home, because heaven forbid you try and stop for coffee.

Coffee that you spilled as you got out of the car, effectively staining your pants, warranting a frustrated outburst, or at least a few tears. As if this wasn’t enough, you walked all the way up to your floor, arms full, with no key. Not only had you locked your car keys in your car, but also the key to the apartment, resulting in ten minutes of knocking and calling Gerard.

Thankfully, he came to your rescue, greeting you at the door with an exhausted expression, one that quickly turned to worry as he saw the distress on your face. He didn’t say anything at first, taking the bags and placing them on the kitchen counter before returning to you with open arms. It was nice, cathartic, to be held, and you were more than grateful for his compassion. However, you still wanted to take your anger out on something, feeling a strong urge to go punch a hole in your wall like an angsty teenage boy.

Gerard wasn’t going to let you do that though, unpacking the groceries and telling you to change into clean pants. When you came back in a fresh pair of sweats, he already had the coffee maker brewing, proudly presenting you with a cup as you took a seat at the counter.

“I take it your morning went well?” he joked, blowing away the steam while you held your head in your hands.

“Gerard, I’m running on three hours of sleep and eight ounces of coffee, and my keys are locked in my car. So yes, my morning was fucking wonderful.”

He breathed a small laugh, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee. “It’s only eleven, so you’ve still got time to do something fun. Besides, it’s Saturday, which means no work. At the very least you can take a nap.”

His suggestions were sweet, but you’d already failed to go back to sleep, which took that off the list. “Actually, one of my friends is dragging me to some bar tonight,” you groaned, remembering the promise you’d made to her after she spent two weeks begging you to go.

He gave you his condolences before downing the rest of his cup and returning to his bedroom, leaving you to dwell on the rest of your day. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to lighten up, the afternoon dragging on slower than usual. At least you had your keys now–thankfully Gerard kept a spare–so that took some weight off your shoulders.

You had gotten a couple of texts from your friend, ensuring that you were still going and practically begging you to put some effort into your appearance. More to prove yourself than anything, you reluctantly hauled yourself out of bed to get dressed up, hoping something short and scandalous would be the cure to your problems.

A few hours had gone by since something detrimental had happened, leaving you to believe that the storm had passed and that you could enjoy your night. You tried to stay positive as you picked up your friend, fortunately arriving at her place with less traffic than earlier. She was standing outside already, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of you, who had tried harder than usual to look nice.

Things really seemed to be looking up, as you arrived at the bar with no accidents or road rage, and you were actually starting to look forward to the night. Plus, dressing up proved to be some help, as you were chatting it up with some guy at the bar who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you.

Maybe this was good–you had a pretty poor day, so a hookup wasn’t an awful idea. He was cute and seemed interested in you, but right as you were going to take things further, your friend stumbled over, slurring something about how she had puked on someone’s shoes.

Lo and behold, there was another girl, drunk off her ass, wailing about her ruined heels. Of course, when things began to seem okay, there had to be some sort of sabotage, bringing you right back to square one. You muttered a quick apology to the guy, who waved you off and moved on to someone else, rubbing salt in the wound.

Thankfully, you hadn’t had much to drink, leaving you much more sober than your friend and a much safer driver. You tried your best to keep her calm while she cried about ruining your night, and how there was this “totally sexy guy” that she was in love with–despite forgetting his name–and how she would never see him again. As much as you loved her, it was exhausting, and you were more than happy to walk her inside and get her a glass of water before heading home.

All you wanted was to go to sleep, but the second you walked inside, you knew that wasn’t happening. Instead of a quiet apartment, you were met with the unpleasant sight of Frank, sprawled out on your couch.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re here?” you asked, exasperated.

He rolled his eyes, “Are you always such a whiny bitch?”

Gerard looked back and forth between the two of you, concerned and slightly frustrated as he tried to diffuse the situation. “Hey, I didn’t expect you to be home until later, and I can tell that something happened, but Frank isn’t here to bother you.”

“Look, I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than come home to this,” you assured him, motioning to the mess that was Frank, shirt rucked up and a beer in hand, looking disheveled and a little buzzed.

“Says the one dressed like a back alley whore,” he scoffed; his words would be hurtful if you hadn’t heard them a million times.

“Don’t you moan on stage for people?” you snapped impatiently.

Frank sneered, “You’re just pissed that it’s not for you.”

He was insufferable, absolutely awful in every way, shape, and form. After the day you’d had, you barely had it in you to not take a Louisville Slugger to his knees. The grin he wore as he fueled the flame made it worse, ignorant and mocking as he waited for your insufficient response.

“You’re vile,” you spat, slipping your shoes off and having half a mind not to chuck them at him.

“But I’m right.”

Finally, Gerard piped up. “Alright let’s not do this right now. You go chill out for a bit,” he instructed, pointing at you. “And you, stop instigating them.”

“Fine,” you huffed, sauntering off to the bathroom to shower off the lingering grime from the bar.

As previously mentioned, a perk of living with Gerard was the nearly endless supply of hot water. His hygiene—or lack thereof—meant you could take long, hot showers without any complaints. This was especially helpful after days like these, the warm water cascading down your body, taking your problems with it as it whirlpooled down the drain.

You weren’t sure how long you had spent in there, but it must’ve been a while as the wretched sound of Frank’s shouting had died out. Hopefully, he had left, and realized that he also had somewhere to live. At this point, you should’ve made him start paying rent, he spent enough time here anyway.

Unfortunately, he was still hanging around, making his presence abundantly clear after you finished blow-drying your hair, banging on the door far harder than necessary.

“Could you be any louder?” he griped as you opened the door, eyes lingering on your bare skin, body barely covered by your towel.

“My eyes are up here,” you snapped, annoyed solely because it was him.

“I know where they are,” he said, eyes narrowed mockingly.

”Is Gerard still here?” you asked as you pushed past him, heading off to your room with him trailing after you, sticking around in the doorway.

He knew you were attractive, but it was nearly embarrassing how difficult it was to focus on anything else, watching closely as you shuffled over to your dresser. “No, he went to get food, what’s it matter to you?”

“You actually shut up for once, I figured he must’ve left,” you turned to face him, quickly realizing he was still in the doorway. “Fucking Christ, Iero, have some dignity.”

He grinned as you shut the door on him, heading back to the living room while you changed away from prying eyes. When you finished, you had little choice but to sit next to him, now hungry upon the mention of food. Staying in your room wasn’t the best option when there was a 5’6 toddler in your living room, so you settled on the opposite end of the couch.

“You’re really wearing that?” he asked in distaste, receiving an eye roll.

“They’re fucking pajamas, yes, I’m wearing them.”

“Okay,” he said passive-aggressively, raising his hands in defense. “Better than whatever you wore earlier.”

Impatient didn’t even cover how you felt at this point. “How in the world are you friends with Gerard?”

“How are you his roommate?” he fired back.

“Because I’m not an insufferable douchebag.”

“And I’m not a priss, so it seems like he can put up with anyone.”

This didn’t help, leaving both of you equally pissed off. “Look, I’ve had a pretty awful day, and now I come home to this,” you motioned at him. “In my living room. Go back to the fucking dog pound, Frank.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that the world doesn’t revolve around you? As far as I’m concerned, you pay half the rent. So no, I’ll be staying,” he said, breath stalling as he realized just how close the two of you were.

You hated how attractive he was, from the way he spoke to his appearance, boyish and effortless. It was clearer up close, which only upset you more. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

He huffed a short laugh, breath fanning across your skin from the close proximity. “Is that what you really want? Or are you actually dying to be fucked? I know you think about it,” he said cynically. “Quit being a bitch all the time and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

“Shut up,” you told him, burning up as he carefully placed his hand on your jaw.

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” he mocked you, thumb brushing across your parted lips, and lightly pressing it against your tongue. “You’re so much sexier with your mouth shut.”

Maybe it was lack of oxygen, or the weight of your day, or maybe even the two shots back at the bar, but you could barely think as his thumb left your mouth, swiftly replaced by his lips. You had no issue kissing back though, coming to your senses just enough to gain some control. His hands flew to your waist to pull you closer, yours tangled in his hair.

Frank was an outlet, and you could project all your frustration and anger onto him–he deserved it. When you pulled away, his arrogant grin returned, and you gave him a sharp glare before kissing him again.

His kisses were rough and carnal, wasting no time parting your lips once more and gliding his tongue against yours, smooth and assured. You were on fire, and as much as you hated giving in, he was irresistible.

“We are not doing this on my couch,” you told him, panting softly.

“Why? Don’t want Gerard to see you getting fucked like a whore?”

It turned you on more than you’d like to admit, ignoring him and pulling him towards your room. The second the door shut, he was back on you, hands meeting the bare skin of your waist as he held you, fingers digging into your sides with more aggression than you deemed necessary. He slid your shirt off and pushed you back onto the bed, leaving you surprised that he was even more attractive when he was on top of you. Frank, however, hadn’t stopped thinking about this since you came out of the bathroom, his gaze fixed on your half-naked form.

You grew impatient in the few seconds he spent idle, snapping at him. “Can you hurry up? Or will I have to get myself off without you?”

With a scoff, he pulled off his own shirt, chest showcasing a handful of tattoos, arousal coursing through you at the sight of them. “Can you be patient for two fucking seconds?” he glowered at you.

“Maybe if you weren’t so slow, I wouldn’t need to be,” you bit back, quickly cut off by his lips on yours, his fingers tracing the waistband of your pants before shucking them off.

Everything was quick from there, Frank’s palms warm against your thighs as he pushed you up against your pillows. He nipped at your skin, sucking and biting at your chest, leaving light blemishes as he went, smoothing over each one with quick flicks of his tongue.

“For as much as you run your mouth, I thought you’d know how to use it,” you said, earning a gentle bite in response, Frank perking up as you let out an involuntary moan at the sudden sharpness.

He let out a dry laugh, “You’re in for a real surprise, then.”

Frank proved himself right as he settled between your thighs, making quick work of your panties before resting your legs over his shoulders, and placing his hands under the swell of your ass. His ego grew at the sight of you, splayed out and desperate to be touched, dripping with arousal mere inches from him. He could hear the way your breath caught in your throat, anxiously waiting for relief. Your subtle shifts didn’t go unnoticed either, Frank relishing in your attempts to get closer to him. Finally, he leaned in, tongue running flat as he tasted you, feeling his jeans grow tighter as you arched into his touch.

It was almost embarrassing how eager you were for him, but anyone would be with the way his tongue moved, lapping with a motive. He was a bit shocked to be enjoying himself around you, but he was between your legs, after all, listening to every vulnerable noise you made. It was enough to make him pull you closer, sucking lightly on your clit as you attempted to grind against him.

“You know,” you started, cutting yourself off with a moan as he worked his tongue at a merciless rate, undoubtedly to shut you up. “You’d be so much more tolerable if you did this instead of talking.”

He almost pulled away, ready to shoot back a comment about how you would also be more tolerable if you were sucking his dick, but he selfishly believed his mouth had better use between your thighs.

“Frank,” you whined, rocking down against him as he pulled away for a moment, lubricating the pads of his fingers with your arousal.

The sound of his name on your tongue surprised him at first, but his shock quickly turned to desire. It was easily the hottest thing he’d ever heard, making it a goal to earn every noise he could. Every moan increased tenfold as he slipped his fingers inside of you, moving slowly before picking up an even pace. His tongue was a fierce contradiction, gently licking at your clit while his fingers curled quicker, the contrast sending an orgasm rippling through you.

With quick strokes of his tongue, he cleaned you up, pulling every last sound from you. Hastily, he climbed up the bed, itching to get out of his tight jeans. For once, you had nothing to say, too focused on catching your breath.

“Open,” he instructed, biting back a moan as your tongue lolled out.

He pressed his slick fingers to it once more, but this time you closed your lips around them, sucking and flicking your tongue against the pads, causing him to let out a choked curse.

“You’d be so perfect if you weren’t a bitch all the time,” he told you, pulling away as you unzipped his pants.

To your surprise, he stopped you, receiving a look of subtle concern. “What do you want?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face. You paused, looking at him confused.

“C’mon, I want to hear it,” he insisted, waiting for you to speak.

“I’m not gonna beg for it,” you told him, rolling your eyes. He shrugged and started to slide away from you, and you found yourself giving in quicker than you would’ve liked.

“Fine!” you said, and he looked back, waiting smugly for your pleas. “I want you to fuck me.”

It definitely sounded forced, and he could tell that your voice was laced with annoyance. He hummed, “I don’t know, that seemed kinda rude. Try again.”

You looked at him exasperated, trying again with slightly less irritation. “Please, Frank.”

He still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head, grin still plastered on his face. “Man, you’re really bad at this.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you lashed out, kissing your remaining dignity goodbye as you put on a sweet voice for him. “Frank, please fuck me, please. I need it.”

Proudly, he tugged his jeans off. “See what happens when you’re nice?”

You ignored him, too focused on the generous bulge in his boxers, prying down the waistband with nimble fingers. A wave of sheer want crashed over you, head spinning as he hovered over you on full display, Frank quickly noticing how your eyes stayed fixed on him.

“See something you like?” he asked, breath catching as you reached a hand up, gently stroking him.

“Fuck you,” you muttered bitterly, and he was back to scowling at you.

Frank lined himself up before you could react, taking things slow just until he was buried inside of you. “Has no one ever thought to fuck the bitch out of you?” he asked, eyes narrowed in mild distaste.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but he quickly snapped his hips against yours, any rebuttal you had prepared turning to a loud moan. He built up a rhythm, rough and unforgiving, hooking your legs around his waist to thrust harder, deeper, as you cried out beneath him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, desperate for anything to ground you. He moaned as your nails sunk into his back, the sweet burn encouraging him to pound harder.

With another call of his name, you came undone, legs shaking around him as he thrust a few more times before pulling out. Frank let out a short string of curses as you wrapped your hand around him, pumping him until he came on your stomach.

He laid next to you for a minute, the two of you panting softly from the exertion. It was peaceful, although a bit odd, to have him next to you, without arguing or hard feelings. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought.

“I’m surprised Gerard isn’t back yet,” he said out of the blue, sitting up.

Oh fuck. You had forgotten that he was due home soon.

“Shit, you should probably go then,” you said, eyes barely open at this point. “Could you get a towel?”

He snickered, “Clean it yourself.”

“You’re disgusting,” you said, slapping his thigh. With a melodramatic sigh, he left, returning a few moments and tossing a towel at you.

“Thank you, now get dressed before Gerard sees you stark naked in the hallway.”

He grinned, “So we’re cool now?”

“As if,” you mumbled tiredly, though in your haze you still shot him a smile, listening to him fumble with his jeans as you cleaned yourself off.

Too caught up in your sleepy state, you nearly missed the sound of his soft footfalls and the creak of your bedroom door as it shut, and Gerard’s voice through the walls as he returned a few minutes later. You’d have more than enough time to regret this tomorrow, but at the moment, it seemed like a pretty good end to a pretty bad day.

kinktober taglist: @clichedlovers @halloweenbitch2764 @lubbockshusband @cigarettesandalcohol @couldbegayer1234 @doc-martens-enthusiast @yachiiko @becausethedrugsneverwork @michelethesong @dangerouslittlefairy @chronicallythicc

#frank iero x reader #frank iero smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut

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alien-in-residence · 11 days

Text

The Last Human Diplomat Ch.1

The Greatest Gift to Give is Hope, the glowing holo billboard said to Rhean on her way to work. It depicted a group of dirt-covered humans in tattered robes reaching up their arms towards a handsome looking Rouen-Ta with perfectly manicured horns and fresh, clean clothes. The billboard towered over the foot traffic of the station like a condemnation from the heavens.

Rhean could not help but look at it every morning on her commute. It sickened her. She did not look like that. The refugees she represented did not look like that. They were not dirty primates living in rubble. They were people struggling to tread water in the harsh political currents of The Exchange. And it was Rhean’s job to help chart the course for them.

While walking through the station she couldn’t help but feel a little lost at sea. A miasma of alien heads, tentacles, and eye-analogues bobbed their way through the pedestrian hallways. A sense of otherness threatened to take hold of Rhean. She repeated her mantra in her head, I belong here. I’m as alien to them as they are to me. I am a representative of humanity. I belong here. I am as alien to them as they are to me….

She made it to the embassy offices before most of the other ambassadors. She was the lone human in the cluster of self-important diplomats, but several others also shared her species’ isolation. The Rankart ambassador was a member of a new species on the stage, newer even than humanity. They had made some small talk with Rhean but the fate of humanity always made people nervous. That, and Rhean’s many scars.

Rhean sat at her desk and enjoyed a cup of coffee. Commonalities of biology meant that many species of The Exchange utilized mild stimulants and some of those that did, specifically used caffeine. It was not terribly hard then for Rhean to convince local fabricators to design her some coffee grounds and a machine to brew coffee. The fabricators could not have imagined how important it would be for Rhean’s mornings and for her meetings with other Human refugees. Little comforts like hot coffee went a long way in this alien land.

Rhean was early enough that she could enjoy her morning coffee without interference or interruption. The other ambassadors trickled into the annex and Rhean managed to greet some of them. Being seen and more importantly being seen as friendly were fundamental to her job. She had to fight to undo the message of the advertisement on that billboard. Humanity needed help but they weren’t a huddling mass of miserables waiting for a mighty savior. Humanity was scarred and determined. They would not be at anyone’s mercy ever again.

Rhean poured out her cold coffee as the Rouen-Ta ambassador finally arrived. She entered like a sovereign returning to their castle. Lhuk was the most senior ambassador and represented the most powerful nation in the annex, The Rouen-Ta Republic. Her importance dwarfed the other diplomats like a gas giant consuming a field of asteroids. Lhuk made her usual ‘good-mornings’ to the ambassadors she was clearly working down today. Rhean returned to her office to await her moment.

The human ambassador’s office was not sparse but it was not lavish. She had three paintings on the walls, all of which faced the one chair she had set up for visitors. Rhean’s desk was faux-wood of a dark color with complicated patterns in the grain. She had been very specific with the fabricator and even she didn’t remember her precise reasoning for its design. It contrasted with the generally light metal walls and their obnoxiously clean surfaces. Rhean liked to imagine that it gave her desk the impression of being something ‘real’ placed into a simulated world.

Rhean was pretending to read through messages as she waited for Lhuk to arrive. Lhuk would normally pop her bovine-like head through the door and ask some innocuous question then depart. She did it nearly every day, making appearances, being friendly, being important.

Lhuk was a born and bred diplomat. Among the Rouen-Ta that was likely literally true. Rhean did not dislike her for it, but she found some of her habits clearly disingenuous. Rhean hoped, somewhat naively, that among professional liars like the other diplomats, they could at least be honest with each other. But deep down Rhean understood that a diplomat’s job was being a constant actor, putting on display what she wanted others to think of her people.

Rhean stirred when she heard Lhuk chatting up the Rankart ambassador that shared a wall with her office. She arrayed her desk to have a thin layer of data sheets and print outs. Lhuk popped her head into the door frame and spoke through her ambassador’s translator. It expressed tone and inflection perfectly but the disconnect between lips and sounds could never be removed. “Morning, Rhean. How’s the atmosphere? Not too-”

“The air’s fine, Lhuk,” Rhean interrupted. Her voice was sweet and her tone endearing. She spoke the Rouen-Ta high-language well. “I’m glad you stopped by actually, are we still good for dinner tonight with the representative from the Yonk College?”

Lhuk kept her translator set to Rhean’s language, “Oh yes, of course. I’m glad you reminded me. I’d have been late again. You know how the Duoro ambassador is with his lunches. They always seem to stretch between two meals.” Lhuk dipped her large head almost imperceptibly as she continued her rounds through the office.

Rhean was quite pleased with herself. It took careful tact and fore-planning to get a bow from a Rouen-Ta. That slight head dip wasn’t exactly a bow but Rhean considered it a victory nonetheless.

The dinner with the Yonk representative had been extended to Lhuk, not Rhean. Rhean had been maneuvering for weeks to get her invitation. Four ambassadors were going, including Lhuk and herself. The Yonk representative had been unclear in his invitation and had used a formal plural pronoun instead of a singular one when addressing The Honorable Rouen-Ta Ambassadors. Lhuk, ever the opportunist, had used it as political leverage to lord the invites over the others in the annex. It was likely that any guests brought would be interpreted as servants by the Yonk. The situation had numerous social layers to it, but Rhean needed to be in that room with the representative.

Rhean set herself to actually reading and responding to her messages. Her position as ambassador was tenuous to say the least. For one, she didn't represent a nation or state. The rest of the workday was relatively relaxed. Rhean took calls with refugee representatives across the exchange and worked with suppliers to get relief packages shipped to where they were needed. Lhuk had disappeared around mid day to lunch with the Duoro ambassador who had afforded himself an isolated office away from the ambassador complex. It was clear his separate office was meant to convey prestige and put his Duoro clan on level with the Imperium, but Rhean just thought he was an ass.

With about a standard hour left in the station's main work shift, most of the ambassador complex was empty. They usually worked lax schedules. Working too late into the night could convey you were busy. And a busy ambassador looked stressed. And what would an ambassador be stressed about? It did not look good to be stressed.

Oh yes, what could I possibly have to be stressed about?, Rhean thought as she sighed and reclined in her chair. Everything’s cheery and fine for a human being these days. In her mind her inner thoughts oozed with vicious sarcasm.

Her final task of the day was not logged anywhere and she had been careful not to even write it down on the corner of a report anywhere. She packed up her things early, which to the other ambassadors was late, and locked up her office. Only the Rankart ambassador was still there when she departed. And they were likely to be there well into the night as their people tried to avoid war with the Imperium.

Rhean made her way carefully and casually to a ritzy part of the station known for its exotic food. She walked through the front entrance of an ancient looking establishment and then straight into the back. The staff knew her and some even waved as she came to pick up her order.

The restaurant served a wide clientele but specialized in food tailored for species near the core. This was one of the few places on the station that felt truly multicultural. It was a widely known secret that the chef was Kiran. If people on the station had any issues with him breaking from traditional caste roles, they didn't voice them.

Rhean found familiar faces in the kitchen. She had made herself a regular here and might have gotten a handful of Va-tess line cooks addicted to coffee. A sous-chef saw her and shouted something that Rhean did not recognize. Not soon after the head chef, Mikta, emerged. His facial tentacles moved in a pattern that Rhean had come to recognize as a sign of joy. The two hugged tightly and Mikta replied in Imperium Standard, “You showed up so late, I barely have time to eat with you before the dining room fills up.”

Rhean laughed and replied, “Late? I told you I’d come by seven and it's five!”

Mikta’s vocalizer laughed back, “Come over here, I’ve got your order ready.” He nearly waddled as he walked. His age was evident even across the species border. Rhean did not know what differentiates a young Kiran from an old one, but Mikta nearly shouts his age at the universe with his actions. “I might have some time to make you some guhbaht soup,” he offered.

Rhean raised her hands in defense and protest, “I have a diplomat dinner tonight, I can’t show up full again.”

Mikta waved her protest away, “Fah! Those diplo-corps cooks don’t know what they’re doing. You should eat something edible while you can.” Mikta approached a cook and sent them off to collect Rhean’s order. Before she could protest further, he began making something at the stove top. “You should know you’re not getting out of here without eating something.”

Someone found her a stool and Rhean sat down to watch the master at work. “I surrender, I surrender. But please, nothing too big. I have to at least pretend to enjoy these diplomat’s hospitality.” Mikta grumbled something that was likely another jab at the diplo-corps. Mikta expertly skinned and gutted a fish with more eyes than Rhean was comfortable with. He used his four arms to their full extent and was soon grilling a pungent collection of fish and vegetables. His arms were a flurry as they added spice and sauce. He finished by scooping the slurry into a flatbread cone. He said nothing as he handed it to Rhean and his eyes demanded that she eat.

She bit into the collection and closed her eyes in bliss. The spice was up front but not all encompassing. Whatever species of fish it was, its meat was perfect. It all crumbled together in her mouth as she chewed. Some of the alien vegetables crunched beneath her teeth while others formed a flavorful mash. She was foolish to ever resist Mikta’s cooking. If Mikta could smile, he’d be beaming like an old grandfather.

He turned to Rhean’s order and examined each item with a keen eye. The staff had learned their lesson from previous outbursts and none of it was sent back. Mikta took an extra moment to look over the loaf of human styled bread. He showed the full length of the baguette to Rhean and asked for her approval. He behaved as if she was the expert but Mikta never missed an opportunity to master a new culture’s food.

He looked through the final bag and pulled a long thin fish out of it. “Now be careful with this one. If you cook for any Yonks you have to be careful about deveining it.” He turned the fish over in his hands, inspecting it carefully. “Let me gut it for you.” He moved to grab a knife but Rhean stopped him.

“I can handle it. Don’t worry, I’m not cooking for any Yonks with this. I just wanted to try it.”

Mikta looked unsure but returned it to the bag. “Be careful, still. I don’t know how it would affect humans if you cut it up wrong.” “I’ll be extra careful with it,” Rhean assured him. “You worry too much Mikta.” She looped her arms through the bags and took another bite of her flatbread cone. “And thank you again for the food.”

Mikta switched from doting to adoring, “It is called a nueh. I will make you many more when you come to dinner here tomorrow.” Rhean laughed but agreed to come back for dinner. Mikta shoo-ed her out like a child late for school.

Rhean was running late. She considered taking the station tram back to her apartment but stuck to the pedestrian walkways. The tram would keep a record of where she got on and where she got off. So she took the longer route, sticking to pathways and sidewalks until she finally arrived at her apartment in one of the mid-rings of the station.

Her apartment was the stereotypical ambassador or politician’s home. Wooden surfaces had become the recent wealth display across the Exchange and Rhean had followed along. In her case all of the wood was false with metal or tile breaking up the monotony. Unlike her co-workers, Rhean wasn’t an ambassador for a sovereign nation. Her salary, her entire position, was funded through donation.

As much as Rhean hated the condescending billboard from her morning commute, the donations it brought in funded her job. If the Exchange didn’t pity humankind, they wouldn’t throw money at refugee relief. Without that pity money, Rhean couldn’t buy Mikta’s exotic fish.

She set to work carefully. She put all the produce in her cooler and organized the meats by the prep needed. She set aside a small collection of green vegetables along with the toxic fish that Mikta had warned her about. She turned on her stove top and quickly sliced a few cubes of the greens. She didn’t know what the veggies were called but they were close enough to cucumbers for her palate. She let all the constituent parts of her dinner sit in her frying pan on low heat. Her main objective became the deveining of the toxic fish.

The creature had a set of six eyes that Rhean tried not to look at as she cut off its head. The thing wasn’t a fish by earth taxonomy but translation was already tricky enough without scientific pedantry. The fish had a large chitin plate that ran the length of its back. She ran a thin knife between the plate and the flesh beneath. A web of membranes fought back at her knife. She was careful as she went, cutting as close to the chitin as she could manage.

As Rhean neared the tail of the fish she was tempted to just rip off the chitin. She was diligent however and carefully cut away the last few tendons connecting it to the fish’s flesh. Her reward was a disgusting view of the fish’s red on purple meat. All along its thin back muscles ran deep blue veins, filled with toxins that would kill a Yonk in a minute and make a human feverish. She had practiced this next task several times. She put on sanitary gloves before she started.

The deveining went even slower than the shelling. Her hands cramped before she could finish. The veins resisted careful extraction, wanting to tear in halves and spill their deadly contents. In the end, she had a half handful of loose veins and viscera. She took a portion of the toxic veins and tossed them into the composter. After cleaning her knife she chopped the remaining fish flesh into rough filets.

She threw the filets in the frying pan with little regard for seasoning while she collected the remaining veins into a mortar and pestle. She ground down the viscera until she was left with a pinkie sized pale-blue mash. This was finally deposited into a sealed plastic baggie that Rhean pressed flat into a coin shape.

She made a show of trying to finish up her staged dinner. She burnt the ends of the fish meat and took a few bites that were eventually spit out. Most of the dinner ended up in the composter along with the previously discarded veins. She threw her knives and the rest of her kitchen implements into a sterilizer. Hopefully if anyone got to this point, they’d see what she intended them to see: Rhean had cooked herself a somewhat exotic dinner.

The dress she had chosen was a reserved maroon pantsuit that was maybe a half size too loose along her waist. The designer was over a century dead and Rhean didn’t know of any seamstresses that could fix it for her. Her constructed appearance combined the vague impression of professionalism and a hint of enticing mystery. Or at least she believed it would’ve with a human crowd. For all she knew, she might be the spitting image of some Yonk chicken analogue.

She hid the disk of poison in a concealed pouch along her hip. The ancient designer had been gracious enough to stitch in pockets. Rhean looked to her data slate and saw she was definitely going to be late. She sprinted to the tram station near her apartment block. The wave of alien passengers pressed against each other as she pushed her way into the train car. As a thousand appendages pressed into a confined metal tube, that sense of otherness threatened to overtake her. The small disk of poison became her anchor.

I belong here. I’m as alien to them as they are to me…

#writeblr #writing #hfy #sci fi #Tales from Terra #The Last Human Diplomat

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mrsaguapapi · 1 year

Text

Millaenyia Parker

The Vibe:

Sia-Soon We'll Be Found (Slowed By Beasty Music)

Something has been calling me for days. First, it came as an echo in a dream, an afterthought really.

I was walking along a beach of white sand and clear blue water. The lush vegetation around me had such a vibrant green, that if I unfocused my eyes ever so slightly, I'd see nothing but emeralds and jades through the haze. I could feel the grains of sand move between my toes with each step. The sea spray hits me with the ever-passing gust of wind, cooling off my dark skin from the abrasive sun.

The smell in the air was fresh from the ocean, with sweet undertones woven in between. As I keep walking along the beach I hone in on the sounds of the waves and the water hitting the shore, not realizing I was approaching what seems to be an entrance. I take my final steps and stand in front of this opening in the earth.

Looking closer I see that this was an entrance to a cave submerged underwater; one more step and I could sink. Crouching down to my hands and knees, I hold my head closer to the pool of water in front of me trying to see what I can of the cave. I mostly see nothing but water and rock; I notice a shine of light coming from straight ahead in the water but I can't see much from outside.

Maybe...

"Girl you are not Jacques Gusteau don't even think about getting your ass in that water."

You right.

I get up, brush myself off and turn around to continue my walk. As I walk away I swear the wind started to pick up; it was making long breathy noises. It wasn't the wind. It was whispers of my name echoing from the cave:

"Millaenya.." (Mee-lane-ya)

Before I could fully comprehend the hushed sounds, a loud pound jolts me awake. Within a blink, I quickly sat up in my bed. I was covered in a layer of cold sweat, gasping for air as if I held my breath for hours. My body was vibrating with anxiety, and I started to feel myself unravel again. The last time this happened, Is when I felt Tony Die.

Recenter yourself

Trying to relax my breathing, I close my eyes and chant, "I am real, I am in control. I am real, I am in Control. I am REAL, I am in CONTROL!"

The items in my room began to shake and move, my bed starts to rise upward. I feel myself slipping further away. It would have gotten way worse but fortunately, the two knocks at the door stole back my focus and if that didn't fully bring me back then my bed slamming to the floor sure did.

"Saved by the bell. I'm coming!!"

I unravel myself from the mountains of blankets on my bed and throw on a robe on the way to my door. I open the door and see my roommate peter holding a cup of coffee and ibuprofen.

"Good morning Mills. Figured you'd need this"

I grab the items from his hands, "Ya know," I take 4 pills and take a sip of the cheap coffee, "I'll never get used to that"

"Used to what?"

"Your fancy schmancy spidey senses. Can't even wig out in a separate room without your 'peter tingle' giving me up."

"Why does everyone call it that?!"

"Because our sweet Aunt May, may she rest in peace, was a comedian and I refuse to let that joke die"

----------

Aunt May and Peter took me in when peter was 14 and I was 20. We say 20 but I have no idea how old I was or am. Peter was training late at Kissena Park; he had just gotten his powers a few months prior and was still getting used to his strength and heightened senses. That night he was beta-testing his web solution and swinging back and forth between trees. I, on the other hand, was buried deep within Kissena Lake.

In the middle of swinging to the next tree, Peter got a sudden rush of anxiety and fell to the ground; a vague but strong sense of something being wrong, something dangerous. He wanted to throw up, run, and fight all at the same time. There was a heat storm brewing up that night, nothing the news warned the city about. Peter stood up quickly and tried to collect himself; The city was quiet and with everything standing still, it was almost peaceful.

As quickly as that peace came, it was interrupted by a cluster of lightning bolts that hit the ground and trees surrounding the lake. The unexpected storm ended with one particularly large bolt of lightning hitting the center of the lake. It reached the bottom where I happened to be buried. It must have stirred the dirt up just enough, that I started to float up to the surface, along with a leather book bound to my wrist.

Peter so graciously pulled me to shore and checked if I was breathing. I had a fresh scar (that was quite literally steaming by the way) that began at my shoulder and traveled down my torso through my leg and ended at my left ankle. The scar itself looked like branches of lighting. If Peter wasn't freaked out already, he sure was when he saw my hair turn from black to white in a matter of minutes. When he was sure I was alive he brought me home to Aunt May. He explained what happened from start to finish; the whole situation kind of forced him to explain his powers to May for the first time.

Sorry Pete

When I awoke, I remembered nothing but my name. I had no recollection of who I was, where I was from, or who my family was. Nothing. The book that was bound to my wrist was full of handwritten notes about my gifts; the earliest entry was dated back to 1692. Each account was so meticulously written and described it was like my own personal how-to guide. Outside of that, the only other personal information written in the book is that my mother gave birth to me in the woods, alone. She protected me from the outside as best as she could but eventually died of exposure. A group of traveling women picked me up. Their leader Agatha said she could hear my cries calling her from miles away. Sadly the rest of that journal entry was ripped from the book.

Fast forward a bit; the authorities couldn't find where I came from. My DNA was nowhere to be found and no one recognized my picture. The only key identifiers I had was my stark white twists (which was a new look) and a strange tattoo on the inner part of my lip. I was eventually ruled as a Jane Doe and given all new information and IDs; I kept my name and became a parker. Aunt May accepted me as her own; she took me as I was. My mysterious past didn't matter to her, my skin tone didn't matter to her. When people questioned about me and silently judged she would only say, "I've always wanted a daughter" and her daughter I was. Peter was already calling me his sister so it worked out great.

Millaenya Parker. It has absolutely no ring to it, but it means everything to me. In the early days, I spent my time in the library reading everything I could. I learned every language I could, dead and new. I got my GED and studied at MIT for my bachelor's in Cultural History and Anthropology. Around this time I went with Peter and Tony to Germany for the Avenger's little "family feud". After this, I worked with Stark Industries as an intern while getting my Masters's in Historic Preservation and getting a Ph.D. in Sociolinguistics.

While Peter spent his time as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman I traveled, and finally experienced life; I took the time to study myself and explore my powers. I damn near perfected elemental & weather manipulation; being so in tune with our planet and its history, I swear I can now hear the Earth's breath. I tested my blood for months. I looked like I was in my early 20s but I was very old. I found that my blood shared the same properties as vibranium. Still don't know what to do with that information.

Before I could further my studies, the blip happened; I physically felt the life leave this world, and It made me empty. I was so off the grid that I didn't see my friend's calls for help until it was too late. I should have been there with Peter, I lost him and May that day. For those 5 years, I trained with Natasha and occasionally Okoye (got some fun scars from that) and searched for answers to reverse the mass disappearance. During my research, I studied under Wong at the Kamar Taj and became quite proficient with my sling ring and basic sorcery. In between travels I mostly stayed with Tony & Pepper and their new baby girl Morgan.

When the Battle of Earth came and Tony made that fatal snap, I broke. The pain was too much, I couldn't control my emotions, and when I let out my cries of anguish, everyone around me began to writhe in pain. Wanda had to use her powers to forcefully put me to sleep. Fast forward even further we lost Aunt May and everyone forgot about Peter, except for me. Peter almost didn't come back from that; we have no idea why I remember, nor do I dare to question it. I am just thankful that I can be here for him. But I digress.

----------

I take another drink from the styrofoam cup, I notice the fancy Greek-style lettering

'We Are Happy To Serve You'

"Peter, have you talked to her yet, or are you just going to forever borderline stalk the poor girl at her work?"

"Hey! It's not stalking, I just wanted to check on her."

I begin to walk towards the kitchen to grab some breakfast, Peter takes a seat on the couch, "I promise you, if you talk to her and stop being creepy, she will fall in love with your dopey ass all over again. It was meant to be Pete. I'm so sure about it, I feel it in my bones."

"She could get hurt, I'm dangerous to be around, and everyone I love dies. My Parents are dead. Uncle Ben is dead. Tony, is dead. Aunt May is dead. I'm cursed Millie" he says as he dramatically falls face-first on the couch

"I resent that! I'm still alive, you don't love me?" I say throwing an apple at him.

He swiftly catches it behind his back without looking, "What's a man got to do around here to wallow in self-pity in peace? "

"Peter Parker, Friendly Neighborhood Emo." we laugh together in mutual pain.

As you can tell trauma-dy is our way of coping

"What's your plan for today?"

"Eh, Just work"

"Your freelance work or your freelance work?"

"The answer is yes. You should join me sometime, it'll be fun"

"I did enough crime-fighting during the blip thank you very much. I'm currently in my peaceful academic phase; being a curator has done me some good. I just want to study dead nations and their languages; that's the kind of wholesome fun I want"

"You're a nerd even for me you know that? Anyways, thanks for the apple, ima head out" He opens the window and begins to crawl out. "LOVE YOU!"

"Peter we have doors for a reason; You are getting dirt all over my window!" I yell to him. "LOVE YOU TOO, BUG BOY"

Finally alone with my thoughts, I check my phone and look at my calendar. I remember I'm off for the next few days with exactly zero plans. Lost in my thoughts I was interrupted by a sudden shout of my name.

"Millaenyia!"

Startled I drop my phone. I have no idea where that came from. It was in my apartment but no one is here, I would have felt them. It happened again but this time the voice was beckoning me to follow it.

"Milllllaaaeennyyyiaa"

It was coming from my bookshelf in the living room. I start to walk toward the shelf and the books on it begin to shake. As I move closer, one book falls to the ground and the books stop shaking. I kneel to pick it up and see that it's a world atlas. Before I could inspect the book any further the pages began to rapidly flip. Eventually, the book lands on a map of Mexico and begins to burn up spontaneously. I don't freak out as fire doesn't affect me, but I just watch the map slowly burn until it gets to the Yucatán peninsula.

"Hmm. If that's not a sign then I don't know what is"

------

I packed up a light bag and filled Peter in on the whole spooky situation. He's worried, understandably so; but I have to go. Something is calling me there, that beach in my dream looks like the beaches of Yucatán. In the back of my mind, I hear that voice calling my name. I'm afraid I'd lose my mind if I don't go. Peter wishes me luck and makes me promise to check in with him periodically. I put on a 2 piece swimsuit and layer on some white linens over it; I lace up an old pair of Adidas sneakers and grab a pair of sunglasses. Quickly I twist back my hair to the side and loosely braid it. I grab my bag and sling ring and began to open a portal to Mérida, Yucatán.

"Alrighty Creepy Voice, you've piqued my interest"

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thesistersarcheron · 1 year

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Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Tags: Canon Divergence - ACOMAF, Accidental Courtship, Secret Marriage/Elopement, Human/Fae Relationship, Smut, Fluff, Angst Word Count: 2.2k Summary: After learning of her younger sister's fate Under the Mountain, Elain Archeron struggled to envision her future as the lady of the Nolan estate. Sometimes, when she woke in the night and the iron band of her engagement ring was cold as ice on her finger, she knew only dread. She had no such trouble with the fearsome Fae male who made a habit of checking on her nearly every day. It might have been some trick, a faerie enchantment or thrall, but falling in love with him was the easiest thing she ever did.

Part three of my @acotargiftexchange present for @ultadverb. Cover art by @krem-does-stuff, commissioned by @ultadverb.

Read this fic on AO3 here!

“Isn’t that enough?”

The annoyed look Elain gave him was delightful, but the clatter as she all but stabbed the tongs back into the sugar bowl nearly made him laugh.

Azriel shook his head, raising his too-sweet tea to his lips and taking a testing sip. It was so heavily saturated that grains of sugar gathered along the lip of his cup, but beneath the sweetness, he tasted hibiscus and something else floral, delicate enough to be reminiscent of the first buds of spring that had just begun to shake off the winter chill and blooms in her garden.

Fitting.

“I’m waiting.”

The tiny huff Elain made as she selected a small sandwich for herself would have been inaudible to human ears, but Azriel’s shadows seemed to titter in his ear.

“For what?”

“For you to tire of me ruining your tea and stab me with those.” He tipped his head at the tiny, blunt tongs. “You’re fearsome with cutlery.”

A pretty blush painted her rosy cheeks a deeper shade of pink, and Azriel was charmed when the swath of color spread over her nose, too.

It was alarming how fond he had grown of her.

“You’ve been testing me?!” she exclaimed, though for all her indignation, he could hear the good-natured laughter beneath those words. “I thought you were just too embarrassed to admit it was awful and had to cover it with sugar.”

Azriel couldn’t help it then; he chuckled. “Tea is the one thing that remains the same whether it is grown above or below the wall, and you brew it well.”

It was a bit stronger in Prythian and naturally sweeter, but Elain’s tea was nowhere near as repulsive as other mortal foods. He would eat them, if necessary, but Feyre’s sister hardly seemed offended that he stuck to tea and sugar during their little meetings.

“Besides, I thought it important to know how many cubes it would take to break you,” he said smoothly, wanting—perhaps too much—to see what she would do.

Elain huffed again, louder this time, and buried her face in her hands. “You’re awful.”

“You’re too polite,” Azriel countered. “Eight is a nice, round number, but I hoped we might make it to ten.”

“Oh!” Elain’s head lifted, her nose wrinkled with amused fury, and she pointed a finger at him. “You wicked faerie!”

“Wickedness is what we’re known for in the Night Court. I thought you knew that by now.” Azriel shrugged, rustling his wings as if to shake the insult off of them. He avoided the thoughts of what he had done on the continent this morning to prove he was capable of far more wicked things than teasing a human woman over tea and set down his cup.

“What I meant to say before you started pouring tea and counting sugar cubes, though, was that I can’t stay for long today.”

Elain’s smile dimmed, and Azriel felt her quiet, “Oh,” like an arrow to the heart.

Yes, it was alarming how fond he had grown of her—and in such a short time, too.

Over the course of the past month, he had formed a bad habit of checking on Feyre’s sisters every afternoon.

At first, it was a decision rooted in simple efficiency. He was already below the Wall most mornings, conducting scouting missions and rendezvousing with the network of spies he planted in the mortal realm after Rhys returned from Under the Mountain last autumn, and he decided that learning more about their two human allies living in that small, isolated spit of mortal land was prudent.

It was reckless, perhaps, letting Elain catch him in the garden, but he wanted to judge how Feyre’s sisters were reacting to their request for aid and their sister's transformation into one of the High Fae—whom most humans rightly feared. He wanted to know if it was truly worthwhile to continue using their home as a base of operations for dealing with the queens.

Or if they ought to prepare for a battle of wills before they could prepare for war.

He hadn’t expected Elain to invite him inside. In hindsight, that was his mistake; despite the iron ring on her finger, she still beamed when Feyre asked to stay the night during their first visit to the mortal lands, and Azriel hadn’t forgotten that Elain had made an extra effort the next morning to cook a breakfast that would fill even the bottomless pit in Cassian’s stomach.

That she had been so willing to welcome him inside a second time, when she was utterly alone save for a wiry, napping stableboy in the small stable at the edge of the estate, stunned Azriel into silence.

It was all he could do to follow her into the kitchen and sit where he could watch her prepare the tea and some sort of baked goods that might have been scones, thinking incredulously, This is the girl betrothed to a Fae-killer?

He doubted that her love for the boy—Graysen, that was his name—would last, smitten as she seemed during that first meeting. Barely engaged, and already she was sneaking around behind her fiance’s back with the Fae. Already, his shadows caught her looking at that iron ring with shame.

Azriel was quick to finish his tea and hide the evidence of his presence in their home after she snuck out of the kitchen that day, warmed to his bones. And before returning to Prythian, he’d conducted a quick aerial inspection of the Nolan estate. What he’d found was a brutal, cold place, one that reminded him far too much of an ancient keep he knew all too well. A sweep of the shadows revealed a legion of sentries guarding the thick, useless walls surrounding it, and they were just as harsh and hateful as those who still haunted his nightmares all these centuries later.

The only thing bearing any semblance to the carefully tended garden that had made Elain Archeron smile so sweetly that morning, coated in slush and snow as it was, was a thick grove of ash trees that chilled even Azriel’s cold blood.

Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine Feyre’s kin, the woman who had lied to her beloved elder sister instead of throwing him into the snow as she could have, as she should have, imprisoned behind those walls.

No, he’d decided that day. He hardly knew her, but Elain was a gentle, caring woman, and her affection for the lord’s son couldn’t survive in such grim conditions.

If she shared his reservations about her betrothed, she didn’t show it when Azriel returned the next afternoon, testing her a second time. But true to her word, she had ushered him inside again with a blushing smile, barely sparing a glance at his wings or his shadows.

And so he found himself meeting Elain for tea day after day, following her into the kitchen, the parlor, or her balmy greenhouse—wherever Nesta wouldn’t bother her.

Days turned into a week, and Azriel barely managed his surprise as she slowly, steadily grew out of her fear; within days, her heartbeat stopped fluttering into that quick, irregular rhythm that had nearly vibrated her out of her chair during that first dinner with their families. One week turned into two, and somehow, Elain always knew when to have a cup of tea and another plate of misshapen sweets waiting.

As the second week bled into the third, Azriel had been forced to admit to himself that he was no longer there on some unassigned reconnaissance mission. Hell, he hadn’t even told Rhys that he was monitoring the estate; that particular mission had been handed down to Cassian, who always returned from the mortal lands in a black mood.

No. Azriel visited Elain for one reason alone: the simple pleasure of spending time with someone kind who didn’t cower from his shadows or gape at his hands.

By the time the queens had condescended to answer their letter, he realized with no small amount of shock that he considered Elain a friend.

Azriel didn’t make friends easily. Hell, if he asked Cassian or Rhys, his brothers might protest that he didn’t make friends at all, full stop. That was how Azriel liked it; he preferred to keep his circle small, trustworthy. Far too often, trust came at a cost too precious and tenuous to pay, so he budgeted his intimacy, even amongst his family, and kept it locked away in a vault deep inside himself.

But somehow, somewhere along the line, Elain had quietly offered her hand in friendship, and he had dared to reach out to take it before he thought better of tainting her with his touch.

So they met for tea every afternoon, and their cautious questions grew into longer, deeper conversations.

They talked about anything and everything.

They talked about anything and everything, that is, except for what he did for the Night Court and her pending nuptials.

Azriel caught her sketching plans for her garden, and she spent the afternoon thumbing through books with him—almanacs and manuals for growing modest vegetable gardens and preserving the harvest. The spines were heavily creased, the pages stained with soil and brine. They were the first thing she’d bought once their fortune had returned, she admitted to him quietly, her cheeks stained red. Though her memories had been glamoured by Tamlin at the time—a small slip of information that made Azriel’s hand twitch toward Truth-Teller—the scars of hunger had somehow remained when she looked out at the flower garden surrounding the new chateau. As had the shame of failure, of not being able to forage more than wildflower seeds or coax even the hardiest crop from the dead earth at the cottage where she’d spent most of her youth.

When she finally gained the nerve to ask about his shadows, he explained too easily how they sang their secrets to him, how they weren’t a part of him but were kin to him all the same—something he’d never told anyone, not in five centuries. In return, she shyly, fondly admitted that the wisp of darkness that usually rested on his left shoulder reminded her of a little black cat that her governess once owned. The shadow itself had hissed, not at all unlike a wet, pissed-off cat, and Azriel had thrown his head back and laughed heartily and without reservation for the first time in decades.

The morning after the queens finally answered their letters, he found her pale and withdrawn, hunched over herself in the back of her greenhouse as she stared into a watering can with unseeing eyes. When he laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, she whirled on him, shakily demanding that he tell her what he expected from the coming war—and what Feyre’s precise role in it would be. He’d barely hesitated before ushering her to sit on a nearby stool and crouching before her, murmuring what he could tell her without compromising the oaths he had taken to his court.

Elain had gone green, but calmed enough to let him know about the letter, and then it had been the work of an afternoon to fulfill the queens’ ridiculous request and obtain a blueprint of the Archerons’ home. He had followed Nesta on a horrendously awkward tour to map out the layout of the furnishings, politely doing his damned best to ignore the way Elain bit her lip when he finally came to her room. He’d kept his eyes on the parchment, copying down the intimate details of her life in ink, and made a show of leaving once he finished… and then he returned once Nesta was distracted by a book, and he and Elain talked into the night, perched on the pair of settees beside her dressing table.

If she grew tired of sneaking about with him, lying to her sister whenever Nesta almost chanced upon their secret meetings, she never gave any hint of it. And although Elain Archeron was a gracious hostess to him and a surprisingly good friend, it had not come as a shock that she possessed a backbone as strong as either of her bullheaded sisters after the queens spent an afternoon wasting their time with posturing, preening, and blatantly empty promises.

I hope they all burn in hell.

Indeed, Elain Archeron was a gods-damned delight.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said as he rose from his seat, bending at the waist.

“I know you are.”

Elain held out a hand to him, a silent request for help getting out of the overstuffed armchair that had swallowed her in a puff of sweet jasmine-and-honey scented air, but he merely took it in his own. He didn’t look at their joined hands, didn’t dare allow himself to think too much on the soft, mortal, breakable fingers he held.

The blood on his hands was as tangible as the scars, and the stains ran deeper than their ruined surface. He could still feel the grooves of Truth-Teller’s hilt on his palm from his mission on the continent. If he was quick, though… If he was quick, and he didn’t look, he might not transfer the taint to her.

And he knew now that Elain liked it when he took her hand like a gentleman, so he held onto her as delicately as he could and bowed over her hand until a bit of light returned to her eyes.

With the hand she hadn’t offered him, she rolled that hideous ring around her third finger, utterly unaware of the curious shadow chasing the small fractals of light the diamond reflected back onto the table.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised.

“Bring your own sugar. I won’t be supplying you with any more until you learn to behave,” she sniffed.

Her fingers tightened around his before she let go.

“I’ll bring a brick of it,” he promised again. He expected another bout of trickling laughter, or possibly a subtle, endearing roll of her eyes, but Elain simply blinked up at him. “Elain?”

She blinked again, and her expression cleared, her smile softening. “Of course you will. Be safe.”

Mor was waiting for him on the balcony at the House of Wind.

“How are Feyre’s sisters?”

Azriel sighed, but knew better than to be surprised; with her uncanny intuition, Mor always seemed to know of his comings and goings.

“They’re fine. Still furious with the queens.”

“Hm.” Mor nodded, and the sight of her golden hair gleaming in the sunshine didn’t elicit the response it once had. “And on the continent? All’s well in the mortal realm, then?”

Six months ago, Azriel would have cursed his blackened heart for giving up on her, for finally proving that he was an unworthy, undeserving wretch once and for all.

“As well as it can be.”

Now… It was a funny thing, the clarity he felt around Mor.

Fifty years in close proximity, practically living on top of one another beneath the shield Rhys had cast around Velaris, had tempered the burn of desire without Azriel noticing. He continued to go through the motions of it; a lifelong habit was hard to break. His eyes were still drawn to her in every room, he still agonized over her Solstice gifts, and he still had no clue how to talk to her about it, about any of it, without violating the boundary she had set eons ago.

But after Rhys came home and Azriel and Mor were once again called to opposite corners of the world as they always had been, he slowly realized that he felt the old, bone-deep ache of missing her less and less. That the longing that had once hounded him across seas and on battlefields and in the dungeons below the Hewn City was simply… not there.

He didn’t miss it, either. The agony of wanting, the soul-stretching sensation of yearning for someone who didn’t want him in return… The soft, soothing thing that replaced it was relief. He was relieved to exist alongside her without feeling such raw pain.

“Feyre told me that one of them is engaged to the son of a man who hunts Fae.” Azriel didn’t know what his tell was, or if it was the lack of a tell, that made Mor’s lips tighten. “Be careful, Az. That’s all I ask.”

Those were words that would have once been life-giving, a cool stream of air caught in his wings keeping him aloft.

But as Azriel nodded, a shadow curled affectionately around his ear, and an echo of a lovely voice murmured, Be safe.

Thus began weeks of waiting... for the mortal queens to answer our request to meet. Azriel continued his attempt to infiltrate their courts—still to no avail. I heard about it mostly from Mor, who always knew when he’d return to the House of Wind, and always made a point to be there the moment he touched down... The standards to which he held himself, she confided in me, bordered on sadistic. - ACOMAF, Chapter 39

[The queens] had wanted the exact geographical location of the house. The layout and size of each room. Where the furniture was. Where the windows and doors were. What room, likely, we would greet them in. Azriel had provided it all, with my sisters’ help. And it was Elain—Elain—who sighed and murmured, “I hope they all burn in hell.” - ACOMAF, Chapter 40

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger #elain x azriel #acotar #my fics #a court of thorns and roses #acotar secret santa gift exchange 2022 #acotar secret santa 2022 #acomaf #acotar fic

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