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capslocked · 8 months

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DIPLOMACY

male reader x kim minju

7k words

For those not paying attention - of which there seems to be an increasing number - it’s not that she doesn’t have the pedigree. But just shy of getting into that storied history or into the nitty-gritty of her curriculum vitae, the only thing that really matters is:

"This all seems a little beneath me."

It’s another day of this. Of you, of her, of trying to gather the mien of someone who isn’t utterly disarmed by Minju’s usual, beautiful, challenging self. Which, let’s be honest, is always an uphill battle.

Minju nearly pouts, flipping through a copy of the dossier idly from the other side of the desk in a gesture that reads both bored and dismissive and every little thing it needs to annoy you.

"Look," you offer up, graciously diplomatic all things considered, "it's about finding the right springboard, to something else more… substantial."

"Or to something else, you know, beneath me." Her red lips turn down ever so slightly. She doesn't seem so interested in playing ball on this one. And, for you, amounts to something of a huge problem.

See, Minju doesn't quite understand how the working world really, actually works. That the carrot that's dangled in front of her is your carrot just as much as it is hers - that you stand to lose out just as badly. That it's both of your asses on the line if things fall apart and Minju's shortsighted insistence to only work those certain roles befitting a name like hers puts that all at risk.

"Maybe you can tell me something,” you start, coming across more curt than you possibly intended - but not by much, “how many of your former cohorts have had their career aspirations line up with reality, Miss Kim?"

“I’m picky, not naive,” she sighs, not missing a beat, and you watch her dark hair cascade gently down her shoulder when she reaches a hand back to unfix her loose ponytail from its hair clip.

“You might see how I can get the two confused.”

“Then spare me the lecture,” says Minju.

Though she says nothing else, an unspoken you already get paid too much for that hangs in the air.

The tricky part is that no matter what else Minju does, her contract has some non-negotiable clauses to them that no talent has before, or will likely get afterwards. Things that cannot be broken. Like the requirement of her making x number of media appearances, and she gets to approve all of them.

Or that her agent's take home comes from a fixed fifteen percent of her gross earnings, with further incentives when her roles hit specific milestones. But with her refusing projects like the ones in the dossier before you, it leaves you in the unenviable position of losing out on your guaranteed fixed income or trying to convince your diva talent to do what it is she ought to be doing.

The truth is that there’s quite a long list of things no one has had the guts to say ‘no’ to yet.

And, well, it's rather simple and obvious when you look at her:

Minju is that particular blend of A-lister gorgeous. The special look that’s all kinds of mesmerizing and magnetizing, in full bloom - that makes you feel like you're suffocating in beauty. Like if she said come here, you would go; the type where a single look is all it takes and then - just like that - she's got your number forever.

Because everything about her is tailored - from her clothes to her perfect porcelain features. And they made her that way for a purpose: to sell records. (Which, that's exactly what they did.) You can hardly blame the people in power over there, wanting what's best, in a position where everyone would kill for a taste, or even just a glimmer of possibility.

"I don't suppose the part of the governor’s neglected wife is capturing your imagination.” You push the dossier closer, and she doesn’t so much as look at it. “It’s this year’s big budget political thriller, a shoo-in for awards.”

“You mean the one who ends up in a lot of very steamy shots on the apartment’s rooftop pool. Maybe I’m mistaken, but you can’t really unshow your tits.”

"This isn't about being above, Miss Kim, it's about being well regarded; it’s about proving you’re easy to work with,” you argue. “We could-"

"Find a better use of my time?" she cuts in, closing the dossier shut. There's a long moment in which she's looking you over, her gaze sizing up every little inch.

"Your big break won't happen just because you ask for it." You grimace a bit, hating to tell it like it is, but not really wanting to just coddle her either. "But listen - we work together, one project at a time - we can build up to it."

Minju crosses her arms with a loud hmph. "And what are you going to do if I decide not to accept these projects?"

There’s enough edge in her voice that it gives you pause.

"If," she says again pointedly, a teasing little grin tugging at her lips.

So - actually, another thing: when you start digging into the details, there’s more problems than just what can be seen at the surface. Which perhaps it’s too reductive, but essentially everything between you and the talent sitting on the other side of your desk is not quite so straightforward. It was never about Minju doing the best she could for either of your careers; it was about Minju making sure her needs were taken care of, no matter what.

Months ago, thanks in part to the way Minju filled out this tiny black excuse of a cocktail dress, and as a compromise of sorts, there’s an uncharacteristic mistake you ended up making. Or two or maybe a couple.

Because there’d been the perfect backdrop - an end of year party, beautiful dresses and suits, lots and lots of champagne, the kind of jovial mood that inspired one drink too many - and then you and her, taking off down one of the hallways, towards the exit.

Of course, you ended up exactly where neither of you should have ever been - where the snow was falling gracefully and melting into the pavement, behind a private accessway at the back of the venue, somewhere dark and dingy and dripping with a smell reminiscent of garbage; somewhere your hands had gripped firm fistfuls of Minju’s waist before you shoved her up against the back of the building.

In short:

You remember how she gasped when her palms hit the brickwork, how you figured you may as well give her everything she wants.

(So what, it was one time, you hear yourself explaining, mildly repentant, and to say that it’s complicated the matter is a massive fucking understatement.)

In the interest of full disclosure, you tell her, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

"That maybe," she hums, tongue flicking out over her lips before she purses them thoughtfully. "You should persuade me a little better."

"And let’s suppose, I don’t do any of that," you persist.

"It'd be a shame, wouldn't it, having such a promising future cut short so early? If word got out. From such a respectable agency too, of all places. Couldn't live with yourself," Minju remarks, leaning forward on her elbows until her eyes are level with your own. “Come to think of it, it’s the kind of thing that could totally, like, end your career.”

But as she sits there, arching that perfect brow again, you don't feel so good about the whole thing. You take another look at her - which, your mistakes start there, if nowhere else - at the girl that is somehow not the airheaded starlet she’s supposed to be. No, she’s calculating. A rarity, though you do know the type: here’s a girl who just happened to take her brains for granted in the years she was pampered by the industry - the same one that fattened on her only to later spit her out. And that thought, the look of cold intellect in her eyes and the slight upward curl at the corner of her mouth, has you frozen just a bit stiff.

She takes a key card from her clutch, and throws it onto the desk in front of you.

“Minju,” you caution, and there’s a taste of danger on each syllable of her name - more of a warning for yourself than you can conceive of it ever being for her.

"I'm only suggesting" - she’s watching you nearly fucking choke, amused - "what's best."

And when the lines get muddied between the two of you, that's exactly the issue. What's best. As though this was always Minju's aim. Maybe you've read it wrong, maybe you've gotten too lost in your own delusions, maybe - maybe, it doesn’t matter -

"For work," she adds, at which point her knee bumps yours playfully beneath the desk, leaving the suggestion open, and the implication unmistakable. "Whatever's required."

Here, you should definitely tell Minju no. Say no. Say: you're a professional, and getting involved with her, romantically, officially, personally - whatever - would lead to nothing but disaster. That’d be the responsible thing probably. It’d be generous to say you end up getting even halfway there:

"There's rules against this, you know."

Minju tips her head. “Why ever would there be rules in place against doing your job?”

She thinks that if she feigns being clueless, you'll bite, which -

“Against me folding you over this desk and fucking you until your forget your name.”

"My apologies," she practically coos, knowing that she’s not only made progress, but that she’s wrapping you around her finger. She is a bright girl after all. “You might see how I can get the two confused.”

At that, you figure, the only real move, to be perfectly blunt, is to play Minju at her own game -

To convince her to bend, just a little. To persuade her. So you lean closer, you start to promise, with your face just next to hers:

"You want me to show you how I might handle an uncooperative talent? Would that do it for you, huh?"

And now if that isn’t enough to earn you a whole look, one that’s equally a challenge and a triumph; you watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, not that she can help the smirk creeping across her pretty mouth, a grin full of want and need and all those dangerous, thrilling thoughts that're probably too predictable given your unique sliver of history you’ve already carved out.

She arches that perfect brow of hers once more, toying with the corner of her lip between her teeth.

You navigate around your desk to hand her your pen, with instructions that are perfectly clear: "then for once in your life, be useful, and sign on the fucking dotted line."

And her whole act falls apart just like that.

She’s humming almost pleasantly to herself as you settle in flush behind her, sinking into you just a little when your hand arrives at her waist, another carding through her hair. “Here,” you point out, watching her name materialize in ink on the document - pressing your lips to the nape of her neck each time she finishes penning out an exaggerated curl of a u.

“And here.”

“And here."

She signs again - and again - and that merits a reward; she’s good when she wants to be. Persuasive when she needs to be.

You can hear her murmur your name when your mouth slips just beneath her jaw, when you mark your next path across the bare skin of her shoulder and when she gets started on the last page of the documents, it happens just like this -

The pen drops from her fingers at some point, tumbling onto the desktop with a clack that might as well be a round leaving the chamber of a starting pistol. The office door isn't even locked and you have half a mind to check on the blinds, but the idea of some desperate executive running face first into this scene - where you’re smoothing your hands down the fabric of Minju’s top, down the rise of her jeans, fiddling slowly with the button at her waist - it holds an unfortunate sort of appeal; those blinds, they're mostly closed anyway. And at this hour of the afternoon, well - maybe it’s a little more clear why Minju asked to reschedule this meeting in the first place.

At first, it’s just a few of your fingers dipping under the waistband of her pants, following the curve of her hip, her thigh, then inward, and when you reach down to find her already burning up in anticipation, she inhales sharp, a noise that makes you groan in turn, low, right into the hollow behind her ear. Minju, to her credit, is absolutely willing, so very helpful and - as you pinch the soft, tender skin at her hip, she's saying something but you haven't quite paid it a moment's mind.

Her head turns, eyes looking up at you ever-so-slightly-more-vulnerable than their usual mischief and calculation, and there’s a hint of a demand dancing on her tongue, ready and waiting; she moves her leg upwards just a few inches, settling to rest her knee on top of the tabletop, a calculated little pose, angling her hips so you can sink your hand lower, closer, press your fingers into the lace over her hot cunt even deeper.

Here you figure you're probably ruining the fabric, drenching it in her own slick as you work two, then three fingertips in tight circles. You’ll ruin it, and you’ll ruin more - ruin everything and take what you're owed. As her breath hitches again, in some way that makes your senses come to life: you can feel her skin become taut and tense, gooseflesh rising when your hand untangles from her hair and slides up under her shirt, can hear the steady rush of blood in your ears, her pulse quickening, the heart in her chest beating rapid -

(She can pretend all she wants that this was an attempt at extortion. She can pretend she’s not an easy read; that she doesn’t like being easy for you, when she’s hot and whimpering and aching so wet, creaming on your fingers when you haven’t even gotten her pants off.)

- as if every part of her wasn't made for this, as you lay out your first real proposal:

“Do you remember what I asked you? The first time, right after you signed on, when you were so good for me up against the bricks in the alley?”

Minju chokes out an affirmative when you toy with her pussy where she’s craving the shape of anything, but, boy, are the rough pads of your fingers more than up to the task.

"I remember you almost couldn't answer, you didn't dare want to admit that it's what you needed - isn't that right?"

She moans with a voice thick as honey when a couple more fingers brush up against her wet lips and fuck, she does look breathtakingly good; she's exquisite, she's irresistible - the image of a living wet dream.

"Say it, baby," you croon, her voice beginning to melt a bit at the edges, her own heat burning her resolve up from the bottom up as you tug sharply at a string on her lace.

Minju sighs. Arches into your touch.

Because you’re settling into this torturous pattern, where you draw inwards, closer, so close to the little bundle of nerves, her cunt flexing and rippling hungrily when your fingers flick once or twice around it, only for her to wince just slightly as your fingers trace down towards her entrance to start all over again -

Minju steels herself, drawing in a heavy breath past her teeth. “You asked how rough you could be.”

There's something so painfully wicked, how her voice falters there - but then your own voice is rasping right back in a similar caliber of depravity.

“Hm. That’s pretty close to how I remember it.” After all, you are always taking care of Minju - her concerns, her contracts, her needs. So if she was interested, why the fuck would you hold back on providing exactly what she wants. “But help me out, what did you tell me?”

Another twist - another catch. Another push - another pull. She's going to break so sweetly if you're patient - and, ahh, patience - she's shuddering underneath your touch, squirming against you so nicely that you've already gotten away with a bit too much, this much, these fingers and you and Minju's breathy gasps.

"M-that you could be. That you could-" she stutters, all as you feel her folds start to swell, then quiver, as your thumb drags painfully over her clit again -

And in that moment Minju starts to consider if this were a good idea or not, but her back is already arching against your chest. She's gripping your arm to get you right where she wants you, and the reality of this hits her - a rush of cold clarity through her head just as everything else threatens to spiral into something else, something frantic, something hot and animal and making the muscles at her core begin to clench up.

But you just ease out of her completely, a whine coming out from the back of Minju's throat - her thighs parting further in desperation.

And oh, the disappointment, the sound, it’s incredible - a high pitch - almost a sob -

You slide your other hand in her hair to make sure she's got an earful of your words:

"What was it you said, hm?" you whisper, nipping at the skin on her neck, the side of her jaw - she's shuddering with it when your mouth lingers so close -

“As rough as you fucking want.”

God, the little things that her voice does to you. “Exactly, sweetheart.”

And how's that boundary supposed to hold up and remain uncrossed then, really, if you just give her whatever the fuck she asks for - especially if you have your mouth working it's way around her pulse-point, toying with her as she starts to tense and soften all at once.

In fact, Minju can only stutter out an okay or two as you grind forward, the hard suggestion of your cock nestling up against her rear, just shy of the perfect spot between her legs, and even with still a few layers of clothes between you, the feeling - fuck, the friction, the sight - it’s enough to get you grinning.

Enough to form this near-half-coherent thought: that it’s what's always had you on edge with this girl. She is absolutely every bit your type. Everything about her, right down to the way that she was put together.

All her hard edges and soft curves that should've never really been yours to covet and now, somehow, have become exactly that. Oh, she's the kind of temptation that's better suited for the life of glitz and glamor and the time it requires for indulging in it. You never thought that you would actually ever get here, even as the years have begun to stack up and time starts to grind everything in the back of your head and turn it all over into something like resentment.

If only Minju weren't so good at making you a sucker for those pouty lips and big doe eyes.

Particularly when she's turned around - face to face now - she's the epitome of gorgeous, equal parts aphrodite and adonis; a fucking knockout, her body sculpted and lithe and athletic. Those lines curving out and away like they might tell time, like her thighs could count the minutes and seconds until she's straddling you in your lap with her ankles locked in at the small of your back and you're rutting up into her without reservation, without doubt.

(So what, really, is your goddamned excuse? Your pride? The nature of the beast in you that demands that you must have some degree of control over yourself? The power that your position, here, now, provides? But you can hardly be blamed, even when it's wrong and filthy and so fucking good.)

"You’re stalling." Minju’s leaning back against the desk, tilting her chin up, blinking lazily, and there’s a bit of bite in her voice again.

It takes a minute for it to dawn on you that it must be intentional, trying to get a further rise out of you, the same way your hands have risen up to trace the dips and elevations of her spine, her every vertebra, your fingertips mapping the hollows and rounds of her back. To learn the geography of her shoulders and where, and when, and how to get her breath catching in her lungs, each labored intake of air a little harsher, hastier, hotter than the last.

"You know," you start, spreading your palm across a soft plane of denim, fingers pulling onto the cheek of her ass, dragging her even tighter against you, "I always figured your reputation was a little overdramatized. Most everyone's bound to have a story or two."

She laughs, full of mirth. When the mood strikes, she's the picture of perfection, and she knows it. "Well? Were you disappointed?"

As she coils an arm around your waist to slide your shirt free from the confines of your pants, and as a deft hand slips its way in, you stop asking yourself about right or wrong, good or bad, or about the kisses that land playfully at the corner of your mouth - until you hold her tight and seize her lips, hard, like you mean it - it isn't long before she's fumbling and scrambling with the zipper at your waist.

"That depends," you’re pulling yourself away long enough to say.

"I think I know the answer."

And by the way she shivers a little when you shove up the bottom of her top, the way she's melting into your mouth and demanding more and more and more, Minju does. You think she probably has since the first night that your threads got all tangled up. Especially when she slides off her top - her bra - her jeans - leaving them in a pile that lasts barely a second where it started once you sweep everything off of your desk in one broad, efficient gesture -

There's a thud when a pair of binders and a couple of books hit the floor. Someone exclaiming in recognition, the muffled noise drifting through the office door, and, oh, this would probably be the best moment to remember how painfully thin the walls are; you consider whether to walk over and lock the office door, and when Minju’s fingers run up your sides, you decide you won’t.

Too little too late, you figure.

And before you can take a second to give it the more congruent thought it deserves, Minju opens her mouth: "which, in your professional opinion," a hum and a slur as her nails find their way to your collar, "is well, that the thing I should take," she gets out, unbuttoning you at the cuffs, loosening the last of your shirt, "really," her hands palming over the fabric on either side of the lapels, working their way downwards, "how - how do you think this goes?"

“Oh, Minju.” She’s all but begging you to fuck her and still has the wherewithal to be asking for terms.

Like her fingers aren’t completely down your pants, locking around your hard cock - pumping you with soft, lazy strokes - not too different from how you have her chewing on her lip every time your fingers circle over the entrance to her cunt, tenting the last of her lace all slow and careful.

It’s driving her crazy. She just bites into the edge of her thumb in response.

"Fine. Alright. Let me explain it clearly." You dip a finger into her cunt; the whimper is short-lived when she tightens around you and it hits home, the pressure so delicious that she can barely stutter to keep up.

“A negotiation, of sorts-”

“Yeah, sure, we can call it that.”

The mental picture you have of your length outlined against Minju's tiny fist - as she works it into her hand, steady - it's all almost more than you can possibly bear: the way her long legs stretch out so pretty in front of you, the way her wrist twists with each pass and every bump at the veins of her forearm that is such a damn perfect shade of porcelain white in the dim glow of the desk lamp.

This girl with her pert pink mouth and those lips, the ones that aren't quite touching yours but rather smirking the whole time. (If only you were to make her scream loud enough, because you know she could be so much prettier.)

The thought flits through your brain, unbidden and treacherous -

"Think, fuck - think of this, as a one-way track into your career. Think of me, a guiding hand - if you want to. The key to all this," you continue, spacing the words carefully so you don't falter under the pace Minju is picking up, "is that you're going to need to be compliant. Easy."

"Mm. And in exchange?" she bites, choking down an embarrassing moan.

"Here's the basics." And there, there's no fucking reason for you not to dip the tips of your fingers right on downwards, tap into her soft heat until her hips are arching away from the flat of the desk, searching for more. “Whenever you need me to take care of you, I’m there, however you need it: on my fingers, my tongue, my cock - I’ll make you fucking cum over and over.”

"That sounds," she gasps, losing track of the end of her sentence, rolling herself along the pads of your fingers, taking them deeper into her, "very-very-oh fuck-”

Her grip around your cock releases, arms throwing themselves around your shoulders, holding on tight as she starts to trust you implicitly - to give her exactly what she wants, what she needs - and give herself over to you, to your fingers, circling and circling and circling.

“See, tomorrow,” you start, “there’s an audition,” and when you pull your finger out of her cunt, Minju lets out this sound that’s between a whimper and a whine. Her pretty mouth has dropped open, like she's all out of words, lost somewhere, chasing this. Getting dire.

“It’s this teen soap; they need someone young, someone pretty, do you think you can do that for me?”

She doesn’t answer so much as grab and tug and pull you even closer as the heel of your hand pushes and presses over her clit, just about enough force behind it that, eventually, you begin to feel a certain rigidity through her limbs, how the lines of her face and her faultless features grow more and more focused, fixed and concentrated; her voice reduced to the high-pitched huffs and half-formed syllables of pure and utter desperation.

I can, I can - she’s murmuring - please, yes, I will - putting herself right into your capable hands.

When you feel Minju tightening, flexing around nothing, then seizing and shivering, her pussy throbbing hot and wet and clenching around your finger as it again works deeper inside her, an anguished groan finds its way out from her throat.

And from yours, well -

"Show up," you command, giving her another knuckle, curling it just right - watching as her expression contorts and twists up for all her worth. "Make a good impression. Don't make me fucking beg. Show up, Unreserved. Understood?"

And if her body wasn't making her pleas utterly transparent, she's screaming in agreement. It takes you barely a couple seconds, working up inside her cunt until she's all full-body, fully, blissfully spent. She starts to nod, needy, eyes screwing shut.

“And let’s say, something else pops up. A little racy, a little more gravure, just the right amount scandalous, I need you to keep an open mind.”

When it sinks in what you've said, Minju gives this wail, low and perfect - her cunt throbbing over the pulse at your palm - inches away from cumming and shaking and creaming on your hand. You could ask for anything, you think, and she’d give it to you -

“My PR team,” she gasps out, the consonants of her words fraying at the seams, “it’s up to my PR team.”

“Minju,” you say, priming a loaded question and a half. “Do you trust me?”

She nods, expression readable and open like a book. It starts to set in just about then, how you’re going to fucking ruin this girl.

Your breath runs hot, right against her temple, and you whisper the slightest affirmation, “good girl, I’ll take care of it.”

Because to be fair, you’ve not made it this long in your career without learning how to pull a string - how you might pull up on the sensitive skin straddling Minju’s clit and get her reeling; her pussy flutters in the tight, wet heat, muscles clamping, demanding as you work yourself in deeper and then, when the timing's right, pull out to slide a second finger past the slip of lace she has covering her cunt.

She's this tight, dripping, overwhelming fit - even more than you have yet to discover, to tease and then take, the heel of your wrist landing on her clit in a heavy pattern, circles - circles - circles -

- so you figure: fuck the PR team.

If only they knew how well and thorough you were going to fuck the rules right out of Minju.

That you were going to remind her who's the one in the driver’s seat of her life, of her career, that you would make sure she stays in her lane - the proper lane - that this, you think to yourself, might become a recurring sort of negotiation, the kind she's so shockingly eager to accept.

You'd be doing her a favor, fucking a couple good lines into her head, into her skin, into her cunt.

And soon, before long -

She's gritting her teeth around the shape of your name and giving one last heave against the hard wood of the desk underneath her. It's almost beautiful to watch how Minju crumbles into herself; the way she grinds back onto the digits in her cunt. How you’re dragging her underwear down her thigh, pulling your cock into your fist and twisting her leg around your waist until finally, you press yourself right up against the heat radiating from her cunt.

“I’m going to take good care of you, Minju, don’t worry, I’ll fuck this pussy of yours just right. I'm going to make you shake and cum all over me.”

“Please.” Fuck, she looks at you sincerely - no games, no bullshit - pupils so very blown out with want, with need. You watch her adorable mouth uptick into this faint lazy smile as she tilts her head into your collarbone, lips parting slightly to remind you: “as rough as you fucking want-”

And you sink right in.

It’s all skin-on-skin as Minju practically collapses in your arms; pushing deep past her soaking entrance - your hips slotting together just so, cock engulfed by her tight heat. Minju fucking wails when you drag back from her cunt, slow - so, so agonizingly slow.

You let her recover just a bit, watching her breathing quicken and shallow.

And the word on her lips becomes something reverent, the most indecent prayer, pleading please, please, please let me have it, please fuck me with your cock-

You brace yourself, thrusting back in, and she doesn't wince this time, holding fast to you like you aren’t the one fucking her open and taking her apart.

“God, I - look, this perfect little fucking cunt, look at how you’re stretching around me, Minju,” you’re telling her - promising her really - all of which doesn't count for shit when, once, and then again, and a couple more times after that, your hips meet hers and she starts to break just so slightly around you. “I can’t believe - it’s like you were fucking made for my cock, baby, you’re taking me so fucking well.”

"Now, show me why - why the fuck everyone wants you - wants you to be their-" she's trying, in a fashion all to her credit and her fault. She should probably care more about that raw, unhinged noise you’re making right into the crook of her neck when you bury yourself deeper into her pussy. But in the next moment, with another wild crash of your hips, the tables start to turn.

Slowly at first, and then all at once.

Because the sound you’re ripping from her chest when you start fucking her - truly fucking her - becomes far, far filthier than anything you've ever heard a girl like her make. All of it coaxed out from you working the edge of her pussy open, stretching her, hitting each and every sensitive spot inside her.

Minju tips her head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling and fluorescent lights, brow creasing in the middle, mouth gaping open. You find you might have missed something, when she moves to hold you down, hold you in place with an insistent leg, the back of her heel digging into your ass. As though there were somewhere you might possibly want to go.

It all comes down to something she's murmuring, quietly, harboring this smug lilt like you aren’t fucking her raw and senseless: how maybe the key to unlocking the rest of her potential isn’t all that dissimilar, not as off-brand as you may have been initially worried about. And the notion that both of you might actually be profiting off of this - how it shouldn’t sound as incredible as it does - is doing absolutely fucking nothing to slow the brutal pace you fall into.

"Fuck, just like that," and she's smiling, grinning really, nails biting into your nape - your name and curses and a fuck you or two falling out of her mouth as you pound each short breath right out of her chest.

"The only talent I'm gonna need to show," she manages, dizzy, and with one arm hooking around your waist, she pulls the two of you close, right up against each other. The sound your skin makes, clapping against hers - her cunt tight, pulsing, quivering around you - "is my, my, my-"

Your thumb should have never left her clit, you realize, pressing down on where your cock is disappearing between her legs, pushing up against that bundle of nerves that can get her screaming. That’s how you’ll punctuate your end of the bargain, how you’ll make her cum and cum and cum -

"-talent for being such a-"

There's something ungovernable in you, something fumbling, as you find yourself drawn to her lips like a magnet - claiming them in a kiss that has you both growling with all the intensity you can muster, groaning as her jaw goes slack, surrendering to the fucking. To this hard, solid snap of your hips, a raw fuck forward that pushes Minju against the edge of the tabletop.

It doesn’t matter what she had wanted to say, though it must be evident how easy she can wind you up, and you do your best not to be too gentle. Pushing into her so rough that her breasts, oh-so-delicate, bounce up and down along her chest, nipples tight and rosy, begging to be tasted and played with.

You’re pressing your mouth on hers hard, fucking her harder - fingers digging into the flesh around her thighs and leaving marks and memories, all these reminders you’ll be sure to come back to.

But the fact is that this is your girl in so many ways: needy and a dream in all her curves, and how her waist rocks back, her body fitting so perfectly against yours - you're hooked on all of it. On her - she is temptation made real, in blood and bone and soft, supple skin, so exquisitely touchable, just like the sound that she makes, high and tittering when your thumb starts to work her clit over; each swirl and figure eight sending a jolt through her nerves and straight back into your own spine. It's difficult - hard to focus, you find - when all her exposed skin has these drops of sweat standing in saltwater relief, how it rolls down the plane of her chest and disappears where her waist flares wide.

Minju turns her cheek, mouthing falling open, and asks with a certain helpless pleading, “yes, can you-”

she sighs,

“right there,”

she hiccups,

“please, again,”

she begs,

“again, harder, i’m so close-”

Not before long, the desk is scraping loudly across the carpet, moving right into the next office over, all from where you have your hand trapping her voice back in her throat, palm over where she’s practically sobbing for you to let her cum.

From where you’ve got her locked in tight, lifting her up into your arms, into some perverse, unspoken promise to carry her the rest of the way. To do with her whatever you want.

"I'm going to show you," you're gritting out, "exactly how a professional handles their star, the girl at the center of it all, their top draw - and it's so easy, isn't it? This is - fuck, sweetheart - you're nothing more than a - just a desperate little cockslut who's aching to cum, and it's good - oh so, fucking-"

When that next shiver courses down the length of her perfect form, it's entirely because of you, when her legs are still locked and clamped over you like this, as she sputters and babbles, totally cock-addled and barely managing a coherent thought. “Please, sir, please, fuck-”

And then a keening, sounding low, lost.

“Sir. Please, sir, please just - I just wanna-" Her lips are shaping all these words that never quite materialize - because her cunt is slick, the whole of it hotter and softer than anything else in this goddamn room. Maybe anything else in this whole building. Or in the entire world. It makes her whimper and ache, her voice rising and rising, belting out, need it, need it, please let me cum -

Which -

Minju, oh god, Minju cums, and you are fucked sideways to hell and beyond when her whole body convulses, shakes, every single part of her contracting, contracting - all at once - the way her hands claw desperately onto the blades of your shoulders as the room gets taken up with the scent of her; the sounds she's making are fucked and filthy. She starts to become undone as you double your pace, aiming true - thrusting, pounding, nailing Minju right into the finish.

“Minju, sweetheart, I’m going to cum in you,” you tell her, and it’s not even a question, or a concern. You’re dictating, not negotiating when you say it to her again, when you tell her you’re going to fill her perfect pussy so full with your cum, she'll be hung up on it for weeks.

One long, stretched out moan is all it could ever take; a split second, where everything runs blindingly hot, and you bury yourself as deep into her pussy as you possibly can.

Cumming so much, spilling out deep inside - this heavy flood of cum that pools warmly at the back of her cunt and fills every corner of Minju - she whines and sobs and tells you it's too much, please, all this hot and thick white cum pumping right into her -

As you throb into her, she's having a hard time saying anything beyond your name, actually, because if anyone can, if anyone would, if Minju can trust anyone and anything in this world more, it would be you.

Her chest shudders and shudders, and she kisses you in a vain effort to quiet her own body, to quiet yours. She has all this faith she's pouring right down your throat as you rock the last of your orgasm into her twitching heat, spilling and spilling and spilling, not caring about the wetness leaking onto the carpet. Not bothering to mask the obscene slickness, how everything gets completely fucking sopping between the two of you.

When she's practically drooling over you, eyelids growing heavy and fluttering, Minju sags heavily into the bend of your arms. In that shallow heaving and gasping for air that bathes the both of you - blissed the hell out, a lazy tangle of limbs - and without warning she turns to speak into your neck, her breath cooling, like a whisper of a dream:

“Okay, and already… I guess this isn’t entirely-”

“Completely terrible,” you offer after you swallow the dryness in your mouth.

Minju smiles into your shoulder. “And sir, in the spirit of honesty and transparency, I think I - I think I really did want - this - you - the entire thing…”

You stop her there, right in the middle of that particular train wreck. A drop in your voice, and the message is clear, when your mouth works its way to hers.

(No more of her talking like that.

Besides, she looks even better on your lips like this, and fuck, doesn’t Minju taste like you will have to remember, like a little bit like desperation, but only in the way that it has you both completely hopeless, hanging on to every whimper as your cock slides lazily about her well-fucked pussy, a bit deeper, a bit further.)

Like there is something far beyond professionalism guiding the hand with which you hold her hip and let her ass spill through the gaps of your fingers.

It’s all mixed up, how in this exact moment you figure this is a terrible, terrible idea, the worst kind of agreement, this pact - because no one could look at you, could look at either of you and have any doubts in mind now. But you can see it, how you’ll both wear this little agreement like the most beautiful stain in your histories. Even though it might, conceivably, cost one or both of you dearly at some point in time.

And yet, still.

"Will you - can I - can you..."

She's clinging onto you with all her remaining energy, like she wants to see it through.

But her eyes - the poor thing - her expression is melting into this haze, her face contorted in something like pain and something else entirely: a different kind of satisfied glimmer. It's almost unreadable how that sharp mouth softens at the edges as her cunt gives this small flutter over the head of your cock, as you pump her so full, threatening to overflow.

And in your ear, you catch this little whisper. It says, “please, let me show you,” she's practically purring, “let me, let me - I'm gonna clean you up now, lick my cum right off you.”

It's true. Minju can act and perform and pose and make faces, for a shit ton of people - but she’ll play-act any facade you might ask her to, and she'll do it for you - because, this time around, all you ask her is this:

To be yours.

To be a good girl for you, an obedient little thing, in your private audience, away from the cameras and the lights, away from everyone.

When her knees hit the carpet, she is perfectly between your legs, palms on your hips and fingers splaying out against you.

And when she tries her damnedest like this, no one should bother ever pretending to think differently - least of all, you - and certainly, not while your cock is hardening again in the wet heat of her mouth, under the curl of her tongue, the gentle touches of her fingers -

How can anyone ever bring themselves to tell her that she isn't completely, indisputably the greatest.

(The very, fucking best.

And in every other way: the woman of your dreams. A woman, you realize, you ought to endeavor to keep, in all manners, and forever.

Minju, who could probably do anything, and you, who just might be able to give it to her.)

#minju smut #izone smut #kpop smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #male reader smut #izone minju smut

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 5 months

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Hi! Finally able to request. I really enjoy your work!

Can you try a creator who use their power through music (like singing or playing instrument) in an Imposter-AU with the Archons? (The voice of the Creator is heard as the sound of nature like wind or water, though. No one knows their true voice)

Thank you so much.

🎄Merry Christmas🎄

Welcome @peaceindreams ! I'll see what I can do with Your Request :D

Also VERY LATE Merry Christmas—I'm writing this a few days after Christmas.

Archons Realize Reader is a MUSICIAN WOAHHH

To be honest, you were kinda just minding your business when the Archons found you and your ever-singing glory.

They SHOOKETH so good job! Let's nitpick at their reactions! >:)

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Venti

Wisp boi HELLA SHOOKETH. But he also happi boi so good job!

Wants to hear your voice sing and not the wind just continues to gently smack his face. Don't get him wrong, he's probably the only one who can actually listen and understand and compute with what you're singing, but like he really wants to hear your actual voice. He thinks it'll be such a treat!

"Your Graceee...Is there a way to let these humble gods hear your voice? Pleaseee? This bard will make a ballad about it and the world shall start spewing about it right after!~ Hehe, it'll be a big hit, one as grand as your visage!"

He really wants to hear you sing now. Good luck explaining that you got no control over dis :)

Zhongli

GRANDPA ABSOLUTELY SHOOKETH. But he finds it pleasant to see that you're having fun and enjoying your time in Teyvat.

Unlike the airhead beside him, he cannot understand what you are singing, and he feels kinda disappointed that he can't enjoy it too. He would share the memory—

Ahem, anyways. Loves it, 100%. Bro's a huge supporter even though he legit has, like, zero comprehension of the situation. He's also giving Venti some bombasic side-eyes.

"Your Grace, please do not be pressured by this wind god. While it would be a stunning blessing, do NOT feel like you owe us anything." You know those memes where like, one person is forcing someone's head to bow while they bow to apologize to whoever got offended? Yeah, it's that one meme except it's Zhongli making Venti bow for his idiocy.

Grandpa wants to hear your voice fr this time, but bro's not gonna force it upon you. Grandpa will, nevertheless, share the memory over osmanthus wine, because "Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I—"

Raiden Ei, Raiden Ei...I honestly think she feels like she doesn't DESERVE to hear you sing. Like, she feels like she just intruded on your personal space and she crossed some sort of line.

But the wind's pleasant and all of the surrounding area is practically glowing as you sing. Your voice practically carries throughout the place, becoming the nature, the water, the wind, everything.

"Your Grace, you need not heed to the request at all. We are more blessed to be in your presence enough." As much as she's getting more and more used to the present times of Teyvat, she's still kinda stuck in her ways a little. She still thinks of you highly and does not let her beliefs falter.

She really doesn't think she deserves to hear your voice, but she is also very curious. Never wants to push though because she's old-school.

Puppet Shogun looking at this and going "This will be forever engraved in eternity" as Ei is shaking the Puppet Shogun by the shoulders like "NO, WE SHOULD NOT BE HEARING THIS WHAT KIND OF PROGRAM ARE YOU ON I DID NOT PROGRAM YOU LIKE THIS—"

All in all? Mental crisis! :D

Nahida

Cute god loves you! She loves how the flowers bloom, how the wind flows, how the water speaks—not even analogies can describe the amazingness of it all!

She's grinning so wide with such wholesome-wide eyes, like an actual child discovering music for the first time or smth ykwim? IT'S ADORABLE IS WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY.

"Your Grace...is it possible if we could see this more? You don't have to, of course, but this is really amazing!" She's practically GLOWING with excitement and nervousness. While Nahida wants to hear you sing and see you enjoying your time, she doesn't want to push boundaries!

Safe to say, she'll support whatever your answer will be!

Furina

Girl's flabbergasted. She thinks she might have been sent to both celestia and hell because it was hard to compute whether she was trespassing or if she was being blessed.

Furina is utterly speechless to how your voice alone commands presence and power without even needing to try so hard. Anyone, absolutely anyone, can tell you are truly the Almighty Creator.

Though she's retired from being the Hydro Archon, she still has the slight dramatic flare she has had for 500 years. And she's got to say, she absolutely loved your performance!

"Your Grace, if I could humbly suggest a request on the behest of the follow archons beside me." Furina dramatically bows a little. "May we be humbled by your presence, and continue to gaze upon our unfathomed eyes of what a real god can truly do in the likes of the world? I'm sure this will bring many beautiful pieces of art—be it music, visual arts, dramatic arts, and so on!" Girlie doesn't realize she made a beautiful monologue about your singing on the spot, but one thing's for sure—she loves you and you singing, even if her ears can't understand it. It was still a beautiful piece.

After all, she was the All-Powerful Hydro Archon before she retired. She knows power and art when she sees it, and you bypass all forms of mortal concepts. You're practically her favorite musician!

Please grace her—I mean them—with your singing! It's too beautiful to miss!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I am SAD I couldn't finish this when it was still AROUND CHRISTMAS SOBBING, but I hope y'all like this post, though! Hopefully my next post won't take too long—but I'm not gonna say anything because rn I'm EATING those words up like it's for breakfast lol—I'll see you all next time :)

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #sagau x reader #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #yandere genshin x reader #sagau furina #sagau nahida #sagau ei #sagau zhongli #sagau venti #genshin x reader

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inventedfangirling · 4 months

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My friends i watched love for love's sake and I swear i don't have a fckin clue where even to start.

I know a lot has been said about the show already and i know a LOT more would be said about in the future, but i just can't help adding my own two cents to one of the most thought-provoking, moving and brilliantly executed pieces of art i have ever seen.

I'm not gonna go on about just how much I loved Tae Myungha's character and how he is one of the most interesting people I've seen on screen in a long time. I'm not gonna talk about how unbelievably squishable Yeowoon is and how his duality totally ruined me that I need him to get into my pocket and NEVER leave. And oh I need him to put Myungha in his pocket while at it. I'm also not gonna talk about precious 'of course i'm gay, i've always liked girls, you don't know how to be loved' Sangwon is to me, cos if i start I can promise you I will most certainly never stop.

So for the sake of the rest of this post, I'm moving on. (NOT REALLY THO)

I just LOVE LOVE LOVE all the interpretations that people are coming up with, LOVE LOVE LOVE the show for filling in the gaps but LOVE it more for still leaving room for pretty thought-flowers to bloom around.

You know those artworks or puzzles that have something obvious hidden in a maze of confusion and haze until somebody points out the pattern, you zoom out and realize wow it was this clear all along?? That's a LOT of what watching the show felt like to me. The pattern being how inexplicably inter-connected Myungha and Yeowoon are. Not because they are each other's blorbos, but because why they are eo's blorbos. Why they don't care for each other from a sense of sympathy, but from empathy, despite not knowing the depth of their connections explicitly.

Eventhough we do see glimpses of it from the start, it only gets more clear later how Myungha and Yeowoon really are mirror versions of eo. How the first time Myungha sees Yeowoon he's stopping him from killing himself, and then we later find out that Myungha ends up killing himself. How both of it was triggered by a series of disappointments in life, starting with a troubling family and ending with a grandmother who passes away. Of how both of them seem to really have no one else to call their own in the world. Of leading very lonely depressing lives, that seem to never have a glimpse of hope. How both of them seem closed off, but inside they really are so fragile it hurts to perceive the depth of their feelings. It all comes and hits you once you've taken the whole show in and have gotten a few 1000 seconds to think about it.

We start off with myungha's character wanting to make his blorbo's character happy, and he's in it cos he cares about him, he doesn't have to think about himself. A 'pathetic' character experiencing a lot of pain, what's not to love, Myungha thinks, not realizing that it's his own mirror self that he is feeling so much for. Myungha sees Yeowoon's problems as someone from outside and is therefore able to objectively look at it, and approach it proactively, taking so many steps to help him, my favourite (and arguably most important) of which is the effort he puts in to help form yeowoon a friend circle. Something that he couldn't do for himself cos he never even considered a possibility of that. Why would anybody want to be around him? He ruins everything right?

And then to go on despite believing that, to falling in love, to deciding to choose to save both his grandma and yeowoon, finally FINALLY taking control into his hands even if for a bit to say what he wants, to spending the last few days together, to breaking up cos he just thinks the worst of himself, cos he doesn't know better. And then to the eternal darkness, where moments before leaving, just like in his real life, he realizes he wants in, he wants to live, he wants to love, but more importantly this time, he wants to try being loved. Even if it's difficult, he wants to try.

I love how eventhough the show is heavily Myungha focused, we get meaningful dynamics with multiple characters. Round eyed gasp inducing moments dont just belong to the two mains but also to sangwon whose line to myungha post the stalker incident just ruined me and really set the tone for whatever the show was later revealed to be all about.

I love how complicated the narrative got while still telling a more or less coherent story, how in hindsight, a lot of it makes even more sense now. How as Myungha gets closer to yeowoon his self-hating tendencies manifest in the form of debuffs and errors, because of his own brain's inability to perceive himself as somebody deserving love. His childhood trauma and the numerous rejections life has given him, because of the kind of person he turned out to be because of those rejections, all appear to stand in his way of happiness, as if he can't help being a bundle of sadness and a harbinger of problems. Even as he says he doesn't believe in destiny or fate. Or as we initially are made to believe in the game as, yeowoon's happiness, when in reality this was never about yeowoon at all. Yeowoon never existed in the first place and in "real" life, he never does.

I was blown away by how Myungha is in fact no longer in the mortal world but that fact doesn't hurt as much as that he would have to leave a world where he could finally feel happiness, feel loved, feel cared for, even if he consciously tried avoiding them. They still came to him, they still cared for him, they still fiercely wanted to protect him, (Cos he is just a tiny meow meow, who has been hurt a lot in his life, who wouldn't wanna caress and nurse him back to health HUH) just as much as he wanted to protect them.

And coming to the question of what's the game, where is it happening and who orchestrated it? It's definitely set in the afterlife or the limbo between life and the life after. It could be the author friend doing it, or the author friend has given myungha's brain the power to control the game OR of course the possibility that this has all been happening in myungha's head the whole time.

Whatever it is, the whole point has been to take Myungha from a person not wanting to live his life, feeling so devoid of love and happiness, to a journey of love and friendship, of the importance of fostering connections, of making efforts, of helping others, but equally of letting others help you, of putting your hand out and asking for that help. And in my head I love it most when I think of it as entirely Myungha orchestrated. Of it being a desperate cry of pain to himself, from himself, to save himself. Yeowoon and the game and the missions and all of it was for him to see himself in ways he never allowed himself to be seen as, to take care of himself in ways he never has, to love himself like he has never known to. To finally run towards himself, even if pathetic and sad, the Cha Yeowoon of the game, the person waiting at the end of the finishing line was the Tae Myungha in him all along.

You know that tumblr quote 'do it for her' but its about your future self, right? Myungha rooting for Yeowoon is sort of like that? When he's protecing him, he's protecting himself? When he's cheering for him, he's actually cheering and rooting for himself? When he's loving him, he makes space and place to love himself?

I just love the idea of a (self) love story.

Eitherway Yeowoon x Myungha supremacy.

Extreme(ly accurate?) Interpretations apart, Love for Love's Sake is truly one of the, if not THE finest (self) love story I might have ever seen.

As a person who avoids fics/books with mcd or shows with tragic endings, it felt absolutely revolutionary to me that my biggest joy and relief came from the fact that the main character is dead (the thought of myungha having to leave the game was too much to handle) and he gets to live in this game where he has a cute boyfriend, a supportive, caring friend group and his grandma back. it wasn't the game that was temporary or non-existent, it was actually his life outside. And that's not bad? Cos this is a story and Myungha isn't real, but as real as he is, he got his happy ending.

The show taught us to love, to see love, to be loved and to share that love. It told us that maybe the afterlife is a videogame simulation where we all get to live in friendship and love forever, with our blorbo and our friends. There are a lot worse lives to live. And I'm glad he found it in himself, enough love, courage and hope to write himself a better one :')

#love for love's sake #love supremacy zone #bless this show #tae myung ha #cha yeowoon #korean bl #myungha x yeowoon #kbl #already 2024 favourite #i'd be shocked if anything could beat it #this is ofc just my own interpretation #meta #love for love's sake meta #okbai i have to post it now or i will be writing for EVER

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ozzgin · 9 months

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I am absolutely in love with mommy prehistoric reader😍🧎‍♀️.

Idk if you like the idea , but imagine someone coming to close to the twins. And mommy reader and pickle are carefully watching what happens. But when the person gets to close reader gives the baby’s to pickle. And then goes after the person who got to close with her babies. And simply beats the living crap out of them.🤭

(Also I am sorry about requesting so much mommy/pregnancy headcannons with a baddie mom)

The general consensus seems to be that prehistoric reader needs a comeback as a protective mother of 2 infants and multiple grown men. Makes a lot of sense and I’m here for it!

Baki Headcanons: Prehistoric Mother! Reader

Featuring Pickle, his challengers, and an aggressively protective ancient reader that has taken everyone under her (buff) wing.

You’ve always approached the men with a certain sense of fragility (to their shame and dismay), as if you needed to be extra careful not to break them. Pickle has fought them and tested their sturdiness himself, so he treats them without gloves like any creature of his status. You’re not as certain, especially now that you’ve become a mother.

It’s not just the hormones being all over the place, though the heightened oxytocin levels have certainly contributed to your peculiar attachment to the modern creatures. Holding the two little beings that have made their way out safe and healthy (despite being frozen for millennia, might I add), a certain kind of newfound protectiveness blooms within you. They will grown and go out into the world and face threats and dangers and you wish to serve as their guardian for as long as possible.

In fact, you’re now more than ever convinced of your purpose. You have no desire to showcase your strength unless with the purpose of assuring the safety of those around you. The power bestowed upon you is not for conquering worlds, but to fortify the walls around them.

So now it’s harder than ever to refuse your random acts of motherly care. Katsumi has fully resigned to his new role as he doesn’t have the heart to push you away. He already has two mothers, one extra won’t make any difference. Besides, if he lets you groom him he can hold and play with the worryingly muscular babies. He finds the twins entertaining and they’re equally amazed by his karate tricks.

Retsu accepts your affections with solemn silence. He doesn’t particularly care for the children, but he’s surprisingly patient with their shenanigans. He’s rather curious to see when their strength will overcome his.

To Pickle’s annoyance, Baki has started calling him ‘dad’ jokingly whenever you groom him or take care of him. You’re very protective of the young boy and despite managing to use simple sentences by now, you prefer to deter Yuujirou away with quick threatening growls.

Jack detests the public displays that you insist on, feeling as if he’s infantilized, though he’s rather hesitant to downright reject your service. Especially since the…incident.

In fact, all of them are tiptoeing around you in hopes that your instincts will cool down over time. They’ve had to witness firsthand what happens when someone disregards your boundaries. The stranger might’ve had good intentions, nonetheless the same in your eyes the moment they got too close to the twins. You didn’t say much, just placed the children in Pickle’s arms and dragged the clueless person to a quiet place nearby. Needles to say you returned alone.

The worst thing about the whole ordeal was your flaccid smile that never left your face. Most humans are so weak they don’t even elicit the slightest frown from you. It hadn’t even registered in your head as a fight. The men gulped in unison and just minded their business for the rest of the day. Being groomed is a small price to pay if it saves them from your anger.

#baki #baki the grappler #baki headcanons #baki x reader #pickle baki #pickle x reader

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luviemax · 3 months

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cedar- oneshot

a/n: ANGST!!!!!!! YAY!!!!!! song inspo here!!!!!!!

-> charles leclerc x female!reader, no physical descriptions of reader

warnings: none, probably.... just angst, yay!

word count: 803 words

masterlist

A four year long relationship isn't just something you 'forget'.

Especially not when you had told yourself that he was the love of your life. Your soulmate. Your other half.

However, all things have to come to an end eventually, right?

As of recent, the two of you hadn't been... talking.

Yes, maybe he called you on a daily basis when he was away, but it always felt like there wasn't enough to talk about. He felt distant, like his mind was somewhere else, but so was yours.

Half the time when he was away, you'd spent the time doubting the integrity of your relationship.

At times, it would take him hours to even respond to your texts. Hours which were spent contemplating if he even wanted you.

But you always brushed away those thoughts.

For these past few years, he was something of a lifeline to you.

Throughout everything, he always gave you his undivided support.

He lent you a hearing ear whenever you needed it.

He never failed to give you logical advice.

So why was it that you felt this blooming resentment towards your relationship which was one of the only consistent and good things in your life?

You figure that it'll pass.

You still greet him warmly as ever when he comes home after a long header.

He smiles, kisses you, embraces you, but you can tell something is off. It's apparent to you that something is weighing heavy in his mind.

It's almost as if this unmovable wedge has been placed front and centre in your 'perfect' relationship.

Of course, it's quite impossible to avoid the inevitable.

You know it's coming when he sits you down one afternoon.

"Mon coeur," he beckons you over, sitting on the sofa, "Can you come here? I've been meaning to talk to you." "Yeah?" You settle yourself next to him, making yourself comfortable. "I've been meaning to talk to you," He states, taking a moment to find the words. "I need some time." The both of you say at the same time, and momentarily, you look at each other with a hint of shock. "Okay," he breathes, "I have a double header after this so you can move your things out in the meantime." "Yeah." You agree. "Yeah." He sighs. A tense silence fills the room. "Thank you for everything." You tell him, placing your own hands on top of Charles', folded on his lap. "You too." The two of you embrace, possibly for the last time.

For the first time in three years, you're living alone again.

You decide to leave Monaco, and go to Nice instead, and although they aren't far apart, you just figure that Nice suits your lifestyle much better.

You find a new job doing something that you love.

You move into a beautiful beach house by the shores.

As a teenager, this is all that you could dream of, a life of self sufficiency, independence and solidarity, but as an adult, so much seems missing.

Or more appropriately, someone is missing.

Honestly, in these past few months of being single, you've chosen not to think about him.

He was all that was good in the world. He did you no wrong. He treated you right, and throughout those four years, he was a gentleman, and yet, you chose to leave him.

Yeah, maybe at the end it was mutual, but the thoughts had been simmering for a while.

In a way, you feel guilty, as if you've wronged him.

You miss his dimpled smiles.

His random piano sessions when he couldn't sleep at night.

His hugs.

His voice.

Well, whatever it is.

You just missed him.

But then again, the two of you were still young adults, who were maturing and finding their paths in life, and during those times, it's perfectly acceptable to want to do that in solidarity.

But he felt like a piece of you.

Nevertheless, you decide not to dwell on it. It would only make you feel worse.

It takes you by shock when he calls you, but you still pick up in an instant.

"Hello?" You answer tentatively, in case he had misdialed you, or something of the sort. "Hi." He replies, slightly breathless. "Charles? Are you ok?" You ask, slightly concerned. "Yeah," he replies, "I'm sorry. I just really wanted to hear your voice. "Charles." You sigh. "Yes?" "You know you can talk to me anytime, right?" You ask, a wistful smile on your face. "Yeah." He sighs. "You know that you're still my friend, right?" You question. "Yeah," He replies- was he choking up? "I have to go now. I'm sorry." And with that, he hung up, quite abruptly.

With that, you go home, and stare at the ceiling blankly for hours before being able to fall asleep.

#charles leclerc #cl16 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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appocalipse · 2 years

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tell me again — steve harrington

this is for @sparklingsin 's spookinktober! ♥ my prompt is: "Would you stop stuffing your face with candy for one moment and listen?" and somehow i turned this into angst + friends to lovers hehe ♥

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You're halfway between the door and the counter when you hear your name.

Instinctively, you stop. It's Steve. You peek around the shelves and see that he's talking on the phone, absently leaning over the counter, phone cord wrapped around his index finger.

“What about her?” he is saying. He frowns and breathes out a nervous laugh. You'd really like to know what the person on the other end of the line is saying. Steve shakes his head emphatically, though they obviously can't see it. “Oh no, of course not. She's nothing to me.“

A stake through the heart, it seems. A punch to the gut. You'd come to the conclusion that you and Steve were friends at the very least and two people harboring a mutual interest in trying something else at best, but it seems that in reality, you're worse than a stranger to him— nothing. She's nothing to me.

These words keep ringing in your ears. You'd like nothing more than to turn your heel and leave, but the tape in your hand needs to be returned, so you try the second best thing: finding Robin. However, this too fails. She must be in the storage room in the back…or maybe it’s her day off. You really don’t know.

You are many things. Coward is not one of them. It's especially easy to be brave when you're so angry.

Steve is still in the middle of a conversation — no doubt with one of those gorgeous girls he hangs out with — when you emerge from behind the shelves and slam the tape on the counter.

Shock, absolute shock blooms over his face — and then all the color drains from it, you realize, in a matter of seconds.

“I just came to return this,” you say, chin lifted with a confidence you usually wouldn't be able to show. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, Steve.”

He's lowering the phone, opening his mouth to say something, but you don't wait to hear. You ignore the guilt and regret on his face — perhaps more for getting caught than for saying those things in the first place, you think bitterly — and turn toward the door without waiting for an answer.

Experiencing something terribly similar to panic, Steve jumps over the counter rather than walking around it. “Y/N, I don't-”

He lands a little awkwardly on the other side but you're fast, faster in your rage, he notices, and the front door slams hard behind you long before he is anywhere near reaching it.

Robin appears from the back. Her face is a mixture of surprise and disapproval.

“Uh,” she mumbles, giving Steve a pointed look, a crooked smile. “That went well.”

🕸 ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩🕸

Someone is calling your name.

Someone tall, unfairly handsome, and who has quite possibly the best hair in the world — someone you've been avoiding.

Steve Harrington. You don't have to turn around to know the voice belongs to him.

Ever loyal, Dustin starts to turn around to wait for him, but you turn him back around by the shoulders and keep walking. Steve is closer now.

“Y/N, c'mon,” he calls again, footsteps resounding against the concrete behind you.

You pick up your own pace — damn, you would have happily run down the road if you thought you could get away with it — but it's no use because Dustin suddenly decides to walk at the same speed as his neighbor, Mrs. Jones, does— and she is eighty years old.

Dustin turns his head and you see his face, his expression; it's like staring at a big neon sign that says ‘guilty’.

Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice water.

“Traitor!” you accuse, and are still staring at Dustin — who has the decency to look slightly regretful — when a warm hand closes around your elbow, making you jump.

“Can we talk? Please?” Steve asks. Begs.

You try to pull your arm back. It's useless. “I can't believe you told him I was here,” you say to Dustin, still refusing to engage in any kind of interaction with Steve.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Dustin smiles the kind of sweet smile he reserves to save himself from trouble and shrugs, looking from you to Steve with barely hidden delight. “I hate it when my babysitters fight.”

You're not really his babysitter anymore, although his mom still calls you to stay with him when she’s out for the night or something. You’re more friends than anything else.

You scoff, anyway. “He's not your babysitter,” you say pointedly, somewhat jealous. It's kind of ridiculous if you stop to think about it — so you don’t.

“And yet I'm the one who's always driving him around.”

On instinct, you turn your head to look at Steve, angling your chin up with fire in your eyes.

“And which one of us gets paid?” you say.

You're too close, too defiant, and Steve feels dizzy, his traitorous eyes falling straight to your pouty lips, momentarily forgetting he's standing in front of a bunch of kids. Well, not exactly kids anymore, but…

“Oh, sweet lord,” Dustin rolls his eyes dramatically. His friends are calling out to him, already several steps ahead, and he makes a gesture with his hand asking them to wait. He then turns to you and says, “We'll wait for you in front of Mrs. Jones' house when we're done, okay? Byeee!”

“What- no! Dustin-”

Running, he looks over his shoulder and chuckles. “You better kiss and make up before we head home!”

He doesn't wait for an answer, knowing what it will be, and rushes down the sidewalk after Will, Lucas, and Mike, all wearing very detailed costumes. You make to follow them, all responsibility and focus, but Steve's hand slides from your elbow to your wrist and he holds on tight for a moment, your arm stretched between you and him.

“I can't let them go alone!” you say, putting some drama into your words to see if he wavers and lets you go.

He doesn’t.

“They do it on their own every year.”

Just because it's the truth doesn't mean you're going to let him think he's right. You haven't forgotten what Steve said before. You absolutely have not.

“You're just trying to avoid me,” he accuses.

“Well, I said I would take them trick or treating this year!” you argue. And it's a pretty weak argument, because they're all teenagers now and nothing violent has happened in Hawkins for a long time.

Steve thinks you're not as invested in Halloween as you'd like him to believe. He's seen you wearing that black dress before (he's not complaining) and these knee-high boots too (definitely not complaining), so probably the only thing you bought specifically for tonight is the pointy hat you’re using. You're a witch, a pretty one at that, but little effort was put into it.

“What do you care?”

Steve doesn't let go of your hand, but he’s not holding it tightly either; your brain doesn't register that your body can run away, though.

Maybe you don't want to.

“I heard you say,” you add, “and I quote, 'she's nothing to me’.”

“I didn't mean it!”

“Then why did you say it?”

“I-” he opens his mouth, closes it, not sure what to say. Your hand slips from his and you turn around to keep walking. Steve holds it again. “Wait! Please, just…don't go. Let me explain?”

You snort. It's a bad idea. A smarter person would take that as the perfect excuse to smother any feelings for this boy blooming in their chest.

You open the candy bar in your hand — your favorite, which Dustin gave you about ten minutes ago, and say, “You have until I finish eating this.”

And starts eating at an impressive speed.

Steve watches for a moment before realizing that his time is very, very short and decreasing by the second.

“Y/N, I- I didn't mean what I said about you. I was just-” half of the candy bar, you’ve already eaten half of the candy bar, he thinks, bewildered. “Just…what can I do to make this right? Please- just tell me. I want to fix this. Just-”

Just, just, just. You’re nearly finished eating and you're barely looking at him, barely interested in listening to whatever he has to say. Steve squeezes your free hand and tries to find your eyes and he's losing his mind and…

He grabs the candy bar and holds it behind him, arms stretched, frustration and desperation clear in his warm brown eyes as they find yours.

“Steve!” you chide.

“Would you stop stuffing your face with candy for one moment and listen?!”

Your body moves before your mind can process. You step forward as Steve steps back, keeping the candy bar safe behind him when you reach for it, at first just on instinct, then with enthusiasm, once, twice. Hopeless attempts, really, but you don't have it in yourself to give up easily.

That is until you, already up on tiptoe and desperately reaching for the candy Steve is deftly holding over his head, feel his breath on your face. A second — you’re unarmed. He senses the closeness before you do, of course, and it doesn't go unnoticed that you are the one who put the two of you in this situation in the first place.

His eyes are already on yours when you finally avert yours from the candy you’re trying to retrieve. His pupils are blown, his lips parted. Close, very close. You swallow hard and neither of you pulls away, although probably — says the voice of reason in your head — you should have.

In the end, the words come out of your mouth almost without permission, almost on their own. “You really didn't mean it?”

You certainly look more vulnerable than you'd like.

“Of course not,” Steve says quickly, and there's the faintest trace of hurt behind his eyes as he does. “Of course I wouldn't- I never meant to hurt you.”

“Well,” you say, smiling the saddest smile he’s ever seen on you, “you did. You really fucking did.”

You don't notice when you lower your arm, giving up on retrieving the candy bar altogether. You don’t think he notices either, even though Steve lowers his own arm. But both of you definitely notice when his hand touches your cheek, gentle, warm. It's more of a reflex; no time for hesitation, for thinking about what he’s doing.

I'm sorry, this touch means.

But you close your eyes tightly, almost as if you're in physical pain, and take a very long step back, shaking your head. For a long moment, Steve hates himself, hates the way he’s making you feel. His hand stays where you left it for a little longer, between you and him, seeming awfully empty, awfully cold.

It surprises both of you when you're the one who speaks again.

“Why did you say that?” you question without looking him in the eyes. The fear of the answer is smaller than the frustration of not knowing.

Steve shifts his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

“Because- because Heidi was jealous of you, okay?” he says.

Heidi, the wannabe supermodel he's been seeing lately. You give a particularly bitter laugh and look away for a brief moment. You can't believe it. That’s his excuse?

“What was I supposed to say?”

"The truth!" you're not proud that you raise your voice even though you're not really yelling. There's anger, fear, frustration, things beyond your control burning in your throat. “You could have told her the fucking truth, Steve!”

“Oh, really?” Steve raises both eyebrows, ironic. "I was supposed to tell Heidi that since we met you've been the only damn thing on my mind?" He steps forward and you don't step back, caught into some sort of hypnosis, a connection you can't break even when he gets close enough to be too close. “That she has every right to be jealous of you because every time you walk into the room I don't have eyes for anyone else?"

Your heart is doing all sorts of things inside your chest. “What do you-”

“- that I'm head over heels for you… pathetically so?” he chuckles a bitter sound, though it's entirely true, then gazes at the ground when his ever-reliable self-confidence finally wavers in your silence. “Yeah, well… I thought it'd be better if I lied to her too, so I did.”

Your chest rises and falls like you've run just run a marathon. Thump, thump, thump. And then you look at him. Just…look at him.

“You're an idiot,” you say. But your voice is soft, the way you speak feels more like a hug than an attempt to push him away, an invitation disguised as a tease.

He lifts his eyes to yours, tests the waters.

“I think so,” he whispers after a moment. Because he really is. And this close to you, he feels sillier by the second. He mumbles your name and you lift your chin as if to say 'huh?'

She's going to kill me, he thinks. One of these days. Today.

He can almost feel the intimacy from before that day on Family Video, that comfortable feeling that always existed between you, the warm smiles and the curious looks; everything coming back. But there's also something new now, something he tried to build with all those words he’d confessed moments ago.

Steve tries not to make anything fall apart when he asks, “Do you forgive me?”

“Um…” you pretend to think deeply. “...maybe.”

“Alrigh,” he says, catching the glimpse of a smile on your face. And then… “Alright.”

And there, right in the middle of the street, on Halloween night, Steve gets on his knees. Yes, the street is deserted now — there aren't any kids around at the moment, but people in their houses might see a strange scene if they were to look out the window now; a boy on his knees in front of a witch.

He drops what's left of your candy on the floor and you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a laugh you can barely hide. “Steve! Stop it! Get up. You’ll get your pants dirty.”

“Who cares?” he says, beaming up at you. “I'm humbly begging for your forgiveness.”

“This is ridiculous.”

He smiles and doesn't say anything, and before you know what you’re doing, your hand rests on his face. But Steve doesn't pull away; he leans into your touch and you hold your breath for a moment.

“You're smiling, though,” he points out.

You can't help it.

“Do you really…” His skin is warm under your fingers and you’re momentarily unsure whether to ask what you want to know, thinking that maybe you're pushing your luck, that you should be glad you've heard him say it once, that he might change his mind. …

Steve turns his face and kisses the palm of your hand. "What?" he asks softly.

“Do you really think of me in that way?” you finally ask, now without looking at him. “Or are you just… trying to make up for what you said that day? Because if you are, you don’t h-”

Instead of answering, he stands up, wipes his knees as best as he can (not very well) and offers his hand, palm up.

“C'mon.”

You take it. His hand in yours feels right, and you let him guide you towards a large tree by the side of the road, big enough to hide you from view.

“Soooo…you’ll kill me now?”

It's a bad excuse of a joke, a terrible attempt at easing the tension. He smiles anyway.

"Actually," Steve brings your clasped hands to his lips and kisses the back of yours tenderly. "I was thinking about kissing you."

You must be a sight — cheeks warm, eyes wide. A mess inside, a mess outside.

"You didn’t answer the question."

“I'm not going to kill you now, Y/N.”

“ No, before that…you didn’t answer."

“I know,” Steve says. "Here’s my answer."

Then he holds your head in both hands and kisses you, and something comes alive in your chest. It's slow at first, slower than you'd imagined a kiss with Steve Harrington would be, and ten times, a hundred times, better, sweeter, kinder. Your pointy hat falls from your head and you couldn't care less.

Steve takes his time. You taste like chocolate, smell like spring and he kisses, kisses, kisses, walking you backwards until you're pressed up against the tree and smiling against his mouth. You giggle when he redirects his kisses to your left cheek and hold back a moan when his mouth finds the soft skin just below your ear, nibbling gently.

"Does this answer your question?" he says against your skin.

“I, uh, don’t know, Steve,” he bites your neck lightly, then presses his lips on the spot. You sigh happily and say, “I think I need you to tell me again.”

He would be happy to tell you a thousand times more.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #fanfiction #stranger things drabble #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #strangertober

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astrobiscuits · 2 months

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Local space astrology - a guide + some obs

Local space astrology is a tool for identifying the effect of planetary lines in different geographical locations. It's basically astrocartography, but at a local level. It's a great tool to use if you're planning to move to a city, but have no clue which neighbourhood you should choose, which university you should choose, which gym would give you the best results (aka you won't quit after 2 weeks lol)

To calculate local space charts for yourself, you can use this link

I've noticed that the geographical maps provided by astrodienst are a bit outdated, so for the best results, compare those maps with the ones on google maps

(i'm sorry for the slightly cut map😭😭 there was no option to save the whole picture without taking a ss)

This is a map of (mostly) central London. Let's assume i'm going to move to London because i want to pursue a major in arts/music. Generally speaking, the best lines for me would be Neptune line, Venus line or MC line (which is at the bottom of this map).

You have probably noticed that some lines have a symbol of two united circles. Those are the planet opposition lines - they're indicators of the energy that is located on the point opposing your natal placements.

Let's go back to my example. While dealing with my university dillema, i've decided to pursue my higher education on my Neptune line. But which side of my Neptune line would be better? My natal Neptune is in Aquarius in my 11th house. The upper Neptune line, my Neptune opposition line, points out to the energy of my natal Neptune being expressed in my 5th house of hobbies and creativity. If my goal is to become a world-renowned artist/musician or i'm someone who produces an unique style of art/music, then i'm going to choose my Neptune line. If my goal is to become an art/music teacher, then i'm going to choose my Neptune opposition line. The outcome depends on the natal chart's planetary configuration, not just the local space chart.

Now that you've got the gist of it, here are some additional general observations:

🥧 Choosing to go to a gym on your Venus line will only bring results if your natal Venus is in your 1st house/conjuncting Ascendant or in your 6th house. Your body will look aesthetically pleasing and your health will improve drastically

🥧 If you want to study medicine or law, one of the best lines for you would be Saturn line. Choosing an university on a Venus line might prove to be too laidback for you and it won't offer you the possibility of becoming your best self through difficulties and hardships

🥧 For the best internet connection, you should move to your Uranus line. Or find a coffee shop where you can work on your Uranus line (unless your natal Uranus is heavily afflicted, then don't - just don't)

🥧 If you have a lil kid and you need to enroll him in daycare, look at your child's local space chart. It would be best for him to go to a daycare where his Moon line passes through. He will feel safe and his caretaker will closely resemble the way you take care of your child

🥧 Seeking a therapist in a new city can prove to be challenging when you have no trusted opinions. According to local space astrology, it would be best for you to go to a therapist's office on a Pluto line or Moon line, but you can choose a different line depending on your 12th house placements

🥧 The best parties you'll attend are probably going to be on your Jupiter line. The memories you are going to make on this line will last a lifetime and you'll remember them fondly. You are also likely to find your favorite restaurant on this line

🥧 If you are feeling sleepy, sad or just in a funk, going to a park where your Sun line passes through will uplift your mood instantly. You might often feel like you are being renewed on this line, like a blooming flower on the verge of springtime

#astro #astro community #astrology #astro placements #astro observations #astro posts #astroblr #astro blog #astro notes #local space astrology #astrocartography

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possibilistfanfiction · 4 months

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Surgeons au: "please take a break"

[idk where this started & idk where this went but boy is it soft lol]

beatrice is exhausted.

you get home — to her house, but you have a key and most of your things have migrated over steadily: a drawer for your underwear; your favorite coffee roast in the cabinet; your spare cane in the corner of the bedroom; the garden you’d planted and tended in the back yard in full bloom now — and see her slumped over, her head in her hands, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. it’s been like this for days, since she lost a patient from a routine surgery that went badly and then went worse than badly. it wasn’t her fault, not at all, but beatrice, you’ve found, despite her reticence and calm, is a person who feels everything deeply. for all of your differences, you think this is maybe the similarity that makes the most sense to you, the one that lets you navigate what she needs when things are too big and too near and impossibly sad.

she lifts her head, a blush rising to her cheeks, when you come in from the garage. ‘oh,’ she says, like she lost track of time; she probably did.

‘hello to you too.’

she smiles apologetically. ‘hello, darling.’

you toss your tote on the couch; on a normal day, when things aren’t so heavy, this would make her sigh in fond exasperation, but now she just waits, still, for you to slip your shoes off and pad over to her.

‘i’m all sweaty,’ she says, holding up a hand before you can hug her. you glance down and see that she’s still in a pair of her climbing pants and an old hoodie, her hands still slightly dusty with chalk.

‘you went to the gym?’

she nods, and you spare her the lecture of why it’s a bad idea to go bouldering after a marathon shift, especially when she hasn’t been sleeping even on her days off.

‘i just needed something else to think about, to — to feel with my hands.’

you’re, like, the most mature person in the world now, basically, because you read the room and refrain from making one of many of the dirty jokes that immediately pop into your head. it’s too easy anyway. ‘are you feeling better?’

she sighs, slumps even further onto the stool. ‘i’m feeling tired.’

‘yeah, i bet you are.’ you don’t care about her being sweaty, don’t care about any of it, really, but how to possibly comfort her. you rub your hand along her back, her perfect, strong spine, her exacting, taut muscles, the grief wedged between them all.

‘i have to read dr. adebeyo’s new research article, and review for my septal myectomy on thursday, and —‘

‘you’re not at work right now, babe.’

‘i can’t think of anything else.’

you don’t often ask things of her, mostly because she offers so much so readily but also because asking is still hard for you, impossible some days. but you’re working on it and, besides, this is for her: ‘please, please take a break.’ what happened wasn’t your fault, you want to say, but it would be too much and you get the feeling that she still isn’t quite ready to hear it yet.

she leans into your side then, a little awkward but bone-weary and still, you can tell, in love. it’s scared you for so long, what it’s like to be adored by someone, to be valued and admired; it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever felt in your life, worse than your accident and the scars along your back and the hollow of your throat and all the surgeries to follow, worse than the horribly hopeful future spread out in front of you when you got accepted to work with jillian, worse than when you matched with your dream program. beatrice simply is — in love with you, loving you — and, finally, finally, you’re starting to trust it.

‘you need a haircut,’ you say after a while — beatrice usually buzzes her hair every week, neatly and like clockwork, because ‘it’s easy, and, so i’ve been told at least, that it looks good,’ she’d told you, to which you’d rolled your eyes but had no argument against — and she snorts a laugh from where she’s pressed her face into your arm. it’s amused and exhausted, all at once. ‘i can do it, if you’d like.’

she waits for a moment, considers it. there’s the intimacy you’re familiar with: how warm her center is with your fingers curling inside, the way her mouth feels when you’re about to come. the way your body was able to feel during sex was the wildest, most heartbreaking discovery for you at first, but you settled into it with joy after a while. after chanel had very seriously given you a lecture your second week of college on how to be safe, it was fun and light and never so serious. with beatrice, it’s easy intimacy: you know that kissing her pulse point makes her arch her back and beg, that you know how to be kind, even when rough, every single time.

the intimacies of life, though, are where you sometimes both get stuck, the smallest parts of you that had hurt the most, that had had to heal so slowly, that you hold so tight to your chest. you hate playing all your cards, and you’re certain she does too: to be cared for can feel suffocating, in the wrong circumstances. to be cared for, though, you’ve discovered a few weeks ago when she brought you a heating pad and picked up the new pain medication your neurologist wanted you to try, in the right hands, in beatrice’s hands, is a miracle.

beatrice looks up at you, the question clear: you would do that for me?

you smile softly, lean down to kiss her like things are easy, like things are good. in so many ways, in the ways that sit in the marrow of your bones, they are.

she smiles back, finally, eyes brightening, unfurling after days trying to hide in the dark. ‘you think you can manage it?’

you nod. ‘you can trust me.’ it comes out so sincere, despite the fact that you add in a wink to try to dissipate it.

she straightens up, then, and squeezes your hand. ‘thank you, ava.’

you tell her, ‘of course,’ because, of course.

‘you know,’ she says a few minutes later, sitting on a kitchen chair in the big primary bathroom, her shirt discarded in the hamper in your room, ‘i’ve never let anyone do this for me before.’

‘really?’

‘yes.’ she’s quiet for a moment, the buzz from her clippers, with the guard she’d precisely put on, the only noise as you run them along her scalp. ‘well, it’s fairly simple, for one.’

you hum. ‘and for two?’

she rolls her eyes, shrugs, blushes. you love her. ‘i didn’t…’ she pauses, tries again, ‘it’s close.’

‘yeah.’

she meets your eyes in the mirror, quiet. you know from what she’s told you about her past, when she was younger, when she knew who she was but was made to feel scared and so ashamed : the tears and the heartache and how much she thought her life wasn’t worth anything, the heaviness that sits around her like a soft cloak sometimes, even still. but, right now, you see her, and you care for her, exactly as she is. it’s different than anything you’ve ever had before, more than you could’ve convinced yourself to want: she’s going to stay. she wants to stay.

a smile grows on her face and it’s like the whole world lightens. ‘lilith thought i was having a breakdown, the first time.’

you laugh, go over the spiraling, small cowlick a few more times so it’s all even. ‘was she maybe a little bit right?’

she hums. ‘a little, perhaps. but i’d been curious for a long time, and i knew — it would feel right. i knew it.’

you resist the urge to kiss the top of her head, one of your favorite activities, only just avoiding it when you brush all the little hairs from her bare shoulders and some of them stick to your hand. ‘well, it suits you. i mean, i think anything would suit you, probably, but i get it.’

her smile softens, just for you. ‘plus, my mother almost fainted the first time i went home for the holidays. worth its weight in gold, honestly, for both me and lil.’

it’s rare beatrice mentions her parents, especially in a way that encourages a little laugh to bubble out of her chest. you grin. ‘i would’ve paid to see that.’

she fiddles with her watch band, one of her only nervous tells, and then sighs. ‘well, they’re visiting in a few weeks, after my boards.’

you take the guard off and tilt her head forward slightly so you can clean up her neckline. it gives her time to take a deep breath, and for you to calm your nerves. ‘oh. how do you feel about that?’

‘i mean, well, it’s fine. i suppose this is the sort of things parents would be proud of.’

‘any sane parent would be, like, bursting at the seams proud of you. i need you to know that.’

‘i —‘ she pauses, puzzles through it. ‘i do, for the most part. when they’re a continent away, it’s different. easier.’

‘for sure.’ you walk around in front of her and brush hair off of her forehead, the tip of her nose which she scrunches up. you’d told a patient the other day, scared and hurting, that dr. choi was the best, and, in all the ways that matter — her steady hands and kind hugs and the stretch of freckles across her cheeks — you had meant it.

‘do you — would you like to meet them?’

you’d like to fucking punch them, but — ‘do you want me to meet them?’

‘yes,’ she says, certain and stoic. ‘you’re my partner, and we live together, and i’m going to spend the rest of my life with you.’

there’s such tenderness, such assuredness, the rain calming and her strong shoulders and the smile you feel on your face. it’s quiet, now, the clippers turned off and sitting on the counter. ‘we live together?’

‘that’s what you got from that?’

you shrug.

she takes your hand, laces your fingers together. ‘your lease is up next month, right?’

‘yeah.’

‘i can’t remember the last time you didn’t spend the night here, and i certainly can’t remember the last time i didn’t want you to.’

‘you’re full of big declarations today.’ it’s ineffective, because your laugh comes out as mostly a snot-filled snuffle when tears press at your eyes. you’ve never, really, had a home before.

beatrice just squeezes your hand.

‘you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with me?’

‘ah, there we go.’

‘you do know that i’m, like, a whole lot.’

‘yes,’ she says. ‘and i love you.’

just like that. just like that, and it’s so easy. ‘i love you too.’ you wipe under your eyes, grimace for a moment when stray hairs get stuck on your cheeks, but you let out a big breath. ‘i can’t promise i won’t at least tell your parents off.’

‘if they say anything that warrants that, i’m fine with you causing a scene if you’d like. shannon loves to, so she’ll have fun.’

‘i think that might be too much of an opening for me, honestly. i’ve been waiting to yell at them since like, two hours after i met you.’

‘there’s no way you knew after two hours on my service.’

‘i could sense the, like, childhood trauma, gentle, brooding, gay vibes. i’m talented that way.’

she rolls her eyes but she’s clearly so fond of you, still holding your hand. ‘well, shall i shower, and then we can order in? catch up on the traitors, maybe?’

‘god, that is my love language. for real, bea.’

‘would you like to shower with me?’

‘okay, i take it back. that is my love language.’

she laughs, and stands, and you clean up and get in the shower and kiss her. you don’t do anything more, not tonight, not when things are still the raw end of a live nerve wire, hurt dissipating near the surface. you cuddle on the couch and steal bites of her biryani and she falls asleep, warm and soft, her head resting on your chest while you scratch her scalp. you live her, for real, you think, as you pause the episode before the roundtable because she hates missing it even if she pretends to not care — asking for a full recap the next day — and then rouse her as gently as you can and lead her by the hand to bed, to rest.

#wn #wn fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #butch bea 🥺🫡#surgeons au #idk! the INTIMACY! mary oliver was right!#the girls who get it get it (gender expansive)

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five-rivers · 10 days

Text

Hunger Chapter 2

“Well, if it's the lone star tick, that only makes you allergic to red meat, right?” said Sam.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Danny, staring hard at the plate of chicken nuggets Tucker had just pulled from the microwave. He was also under the impression that the tick thing got you all at once, not gradually if rapidly over the course of a few weeks, with the effects going from thinking meat tasted off, to just ‘not being in the mood’ for it, to actively throwing up upon taking a bite of a hamburger.

He tried to determine if the faint sense of nausea he felt while looking at the chicken was from his memory or, well, from looking at the chicken.

“Cheese was fine,” observed Tucker. “Eggs were fine.”

They had been. Danny picked up a chicken nuggets and tried to ignore how his skin crawled as he did so. Before he could double-guess himself, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed as quickly as possible, hardly even chewing.

His body immediately rebelled.

Luckily, he had a good mental map of Tucker's house, so he was able to dive through the wall and into the bathroom before he started puking his guts out.

“Not the tick, then,” said Tucker, sounding like he was going to barf himself.

“You know,” said Sam, “I'm all for having more vegetarians in the world, but I think you should maybe… see someone about this.”

Danny finished emptying his digestive system and went to the sink to rinse out his mouth.

“Who?” he asked, tone matching the bitter taste. “It's not like I can go see a doctor. Half ghost and all.”

“I know that,” said Sam. “I meant your ghost friend. The one that helped you with your other changes. The freckles and skin color and ghost puberty stuff.”

“Oh,” said Danny. “I don't really want to bother him too much, though.”

And, when he wasn't actively experiencing the need to be eaten, or the disorienting second childhood that came after, he was rather shy about the whole arrangement. Understandably so, he thought.

Sam crossed her arms and stared at him, unimpressed, through the bathroom mirror.

“What happens when this does spread to eggs and cheese? Or fruit? Or vegetables? Would you go see him then?”

Danny grimaced and went ghost, hoping he could get rid of the foul taste in his mouth that way. If anything, it made it worse.

“Whoa! What's that on your back?” asked Tucker, pointing.

Danny looked back at him, alarmed at the tone of voice, then twisted so he could see his back in the mirror. Pushing up on his suit from below were two bumps, just under his shoulder blades. He quickly unzipped and pulled down the top of his suit. It wasn't something stuck on his back. It was part of his back. Two upwards distortions of skin.

“I don't know,” he said. He touched one of the tiny knobs. It was sensitive, though not in a bad way. On the other hand, it didn't really feel like skin. More like… petals, maybe. Soft and silky.

He swallowed. As strange as it may sound, being eaten had removed some of the sense of wrongness Danny had felt about his body since the Accident. But this… this mutation… he didn't know what to do with this.

But maybe Clockwork would.

Half curled in Clockwork's lap, listening to him rhythmically list off things he thought were appetizing, things that Danny could feel his core taking special note of, he didn't know why he'd been so nervous.

When Clockwork finished his list (which included things like statues, silver, gemstones, the smell of lilacs and lilies, chocolate, vanilla, cream, sugar, and the sound of clocks) Danny looked up. “So my wings will bloom… like a flower?”

“They tend to be similar in appearance, yes.”

“And my body will change to be tasty.”

“As you ripen.”

“And then you'll eat me, and that's it? Things will go back to normal?”

“What do you mean by normal?”

“You know. Like it usually is for me.”

“You will have to grow up again, and when you near ripeness, the wings will grow back, but, to some degree, yes.” He paused for a moment, playing with Danny's hair. “Once your wings bloom, you will find yourself compelled to seek out places with high concentrations of ectoplasm, so you can feed. You may also find yourself losing mobility, either from physical changes or psychological pressure. At least, those are all things experienced by other ghosts with this adaptation. I cannot tell you your future, after all.”

Danny wrinkled his nose at the obvious loophole-ing, but pressed on. “To make it easier for someone to find and eat me.”

“Yes.”

“And this will happen again?”

“It may happen more slowly, if you are not under quite so much pressure to improve, but yes.” Clockwork started to braid some of Danny's longer hairs.

“Can I, um, can I come here, when I start to bloom, then?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork. “I believe the garden will be most suitable, should you feel the need to plant yourself, but your bedroom is also available, and you may choose any space you like.”

Danny hummed. “And you'll still eat me?”

“Of course.”

Danny's stomach rumbled, jolting him out of his half-doze and reminding him that he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten today.

He blushed, then blushed harder when he realized that, without his top on, Clockwork could probably see the blush working its way all down Danny's back to the base of his spine.

Clockwork chuckled. “Speaking of eating, growing wings is hungry work. Come.”

Reluctantly, Danny got up and followed Clockwork to the kitchen he had stocked with human things. Danny hadn't thought about it much, but he must have made it especially for Danny, for when he was growing up again after being eaten.

Clockwork reached into the fridge and removed a large, clay jug of something, then a smaller glass bottle full of something red like wine. He examined the bottle for a while. “I could,” he said, after a moment, “accelerate the growth of your wings. Just this once.”

“Why only once?”

“The cycle of consumption and regrowth would become unbalanced if done too frequently. You may eventually wind up growing wings shortly after hatching.”

“Yikes,” said Danny. “Um. I think I'll pass this time and just go at the normal rate.”

Clockwork nodded and put the glass bottle away. Then, from the jug, he poured Danny a cup of what looked a lot like thick paint but smelled so good Danny's mouth was watering before Clockwork even gave it to him. It tasted a lot like a vanilla milkshake, and as soon as he was done drinking it, he fell asleep.

“He says it's normal,” said Danny.

“Really?” said Sam, with all the sarcastic bite a goth teenager could manage, which was a lot.

“The type of ghost I am doesn't eat other ghosts, and since I'm half human, that crosses over to animals. It's not going to get worse, it's just…” He sighed. “A thing.”

“And the stuff on your back?” asked Tucker.

“Same kind of thing. They're like antlers. They'll fall off eventually.”

“Well,” said Sam, when Danny failed to elaborate, “I can at least give you some vegetarian meal recipes.”

Danny found himself eating more sweets. And more cream. A lot more cream, since usually he didn't eat any. He wasn't sure why, since it wasn't like eating those would make him taste like them. Unless it did? Ghost logic was strange, sometimes.

Whatever. It was food. It wasn't like he was eating flowers.

The process of growing wings was both painful and satisfying. Painful, because the growing buds made his back ache in both forms, despite only existing in one. Satisfying, because the bigger they got the less wrong they felt.

Like he was growing back into himself.

Okay, so he was eating flowers. It wasn't like he was eating anyone's jewelry.

He'd thought he'd have to change his jumpsuit to accommodate the wing buds. He didn't. His jumpsuit changed on its own, not stretching, but weaving itself over the buds as they grew. It was like the suit was part of the buds, too, that way.

Even the seams lined up with the edges of the petals.

He booted Johnny Thirteen from the jewelry store, then froze, looking at the display cases. His stomach rumbled a little.

No. Just, no. He wasn't an animal. He had control over himself. He wasn't doing that.

In the dead of the night, he woke from the kind of deep, heavy sleep he only got when he had truly exhausted himself. His core sang with resonance.

With an automatic response that came from being taught it from early childhood twice, Danny rolled out of bed and followed the pull down the stairs and into the basement. He transformed sluggishly, groaning a little as his wing buds came into being. They were still furled, but they had grown long and heavy and while the weight and tension could feel good in some positions, the same tension could stress every muscle in his body if he moved the wrong way.

He flew through the Zone on autopilot, following the resonance all the way home to Long Now. He snuggled into Clockwork's side, seeking the core that had called him.

“Hi,” he said, tiredly. “What's up?”

“Hello, Daniel. Your wings are about to bloom. I thought it best to call you here.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Danny.

“Here, I've set something up for you in the garden.”

“Hm? Why?” asked Danny, letting Clockwork steer him.

“The garden has the best ectoradiation and flow of ectoplasm.”

Those things did sound good…

When they got to the garden, in all its multi-season glory, Clockwork took Danny down a path he'd never noticed before. At the end of it was a cool, pleasant glade, with a small pond and a wooden bench and table. On one side of the pond was the statue of a veiled angel, holding a mirror. Directly opposite the mirror, on the other side of the pond, was a clear space and a a moss-covered rock that was just the right size for a pillow.

Clockwork guided Danny down to kneel by the rock, then to rest his head on it so he was looking at the mirror.

The first thing that Danny noticed was that Clockwork had arranged him in the classic, semi-fetal “baby angel” pose. The second thing was that it was absurdly comfortable, the position perfectly accounting for the weight of his wings.

“I thought you would like to see,” explained Clockwork.

Danny, still only half awake, was about to ask see what when his whole body was seized with acute, anticipatory tension.

The covering of his jupsuit peeled away first, revealing the silver-freckled purple of the outside of his wings. Then, with a sticky, tearing sound, the petals themselves separated, falling open to the sky. There were three for each wing, their insides a dull, clouded green.

He trembled with the sudden influx of energy. He could taste the sky, the wind, the delicate variations of ectoenergy. But none of that energy was available for him. He could feel it being stored away, packed tight and out of reach, a treat for whoever ate him.

He tried to stay awake, but the exertions of his new functions bore him under swiftly. He didn't even remember closing his eyes.

An advantage of his wings senses was that he knew exactly where he was when he woke up. Directly in front of his face was a ladle with a note that said “stay hydrated!” on it, and a plate full of… clock parts?

He picked one up - a small silver plate with emeralds pressed into it - and popped it in his mouth without thinking about it.

The freak out was immediately followed by the rest of the clock parts disappearing.

Danny's jumpsuit was shredded and didn't seem to be reforming like it usually did, so Danny put on the pair of pajama pants that had been left, folded, on the bench. Then, he went to look for Clockwork.

(Stepping inside made his wings droop ever-so-slightly. The environment outside really was better.)

“Thanks for calling me over,” said Danny, floating closer to Clockwork, “and for the, um. Snack. But should probably go back to Amit–” Danny was hit with a massive wave of disorientation. He very much wanted to go home, but at the same time, he was completely certain that was a bad idea. He would have fallen out of the air if Clockwork hadn't steadied him. His core whined, confused, and a very small part of him was pleased to detect a slightly mechanical, ticking note to the noise.

“Daniel,” said Clockwork, very gently, “Amity Park is back on Earth, outside the Zone. There wouldn't be enough ectoplasm there for you.”

“But,” said Danny, uncertainly.

“Can you turn human right now?” asked Clockwork.

Danny tried. He couldn’t. His wings held him firmly in ghost form, refusing to be banished before their task was done and Danny was being digested in Clockwork’s stomach.

“I intend to keep our arrangement from earlier,” said Clockwork, before Danny could panic. “You will not be missed.”

Danny relaxed. The times Clockwork had eaten him, he'd stopped time until Danny could go home. “Thanks,” he said.

Clockwork nodded graciously, then pulled Danny towards him to kiss his forehead. “I can already tell that you'll taste delicious in no time. Please, relax. There is no hurry.”

“I think I have more freckles than before,” said Danny.

“Indeed,” said Clockwork, setting a bowl of what Danny knew was just cream, sugar, vanilla, and ectoplasm mixed together in front of him.

That didn’t stop his body from craving the mixture like nothing else.

Clockwork stopped him from grabbing it, and emptied a small jar of flower petals into it. Then flakes of silver and diamond dust.

Danny made a hungry noise. One layer of it was human enough, but whirring and ticking and something bell-like were clearly audible.

(Danny could not match any clocks, yet, but he was working on it)

“They’re getting bigger, too,” he observed, after guzzling half the bowl.

“I see,” said Clockwork.

“And they feel different. The skin.” The freckles felt smoother, slicker, and cooler than the skin around them.

Clockwork picked up one of Danny’s hands and ran his thumb over a tight cluster of freckles. “Like icing on a cake.”

Danny took his hand back and finished off the bowl. “Do you think I’ll taste like cake.”

“I think you will taste like yourself,” said Clockwork. “Sweeter than any cake.”

Danny tried to sleep in the room he’d grown up in, the last two times, but the air in there felt so stale when compared to the garden, and he found himself sleeping at the pond, resuming the position Clockwork had put him in the first time.

Well, he supposed Clockwork had foreseen how well it would work.

Clockwork spent a lot of time there, too, sitting at the bench and reading out loud to Danny as he dozed.

The freckles started to merge together into broad silvery-white patches. When those patches were around a joint, the joint became hard to move. Extra force was needed to bend the tough, shiny, skin. And within those silver patches, gems grew, set into his skin like bearings in watches.

Danny’s wings started to pale. Streaks of color - silver, bronze, blue, palest lilac and pink - made appearances, organizing themselves into complex fractal patterns.

“I know I’m sleeping more,” said Danny, “but I don’t know how much more.”

They were still in the garden. Clockwork was rubbing a cream into Danny’s back, near his wings. There were complex structures there, under his skin, woven through his ectoplasmic muscles and around his bones, and they were working hard, all the time. Even in the best position Clockwork could put him in, they often ached.

And even the satisfying ache of a job well done was still an ache.

“How much time you spend here doesn’t matter,” said Clockwork. “You should sleep as much as you need to, and not worry about it.”

When Danny woke up, he couldn’t open his right eye. He looked at the mirror across the pond and saw that a silver patch had completely covered the eyelid.

He groaned and tried to push himself up. Tried. His wrist didn’t bend when he told it to. He glared at it, one-eyed. Silver had circled it, too, and the thumb on that hand. He tried to bend it again, and had some success, but as soon as he stopped actively forcing it, it returned to the position it was in before.

A quick check showed that his eye and wrist weren’t the only body parts affected. His left hip was partially covered, and so was a great deal of his spine.

This would have been a much bigger problem if he couldn’t fly.

“I can bring you breakfast in the garden,” said Clockwork. “You don’t want to be stuck in an uncomfortable position.”

Danny was already itching to go back to the garden. His wings had started to produce a thin, fragrant nectar from their bases the other day, and since then, sitting upright made his back feel bloated and leaky.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but instead of a human voice, a complex series of ticks and chimes rolled out. The ticks sent pleasing vibrations through his bones and flesh, and the chimes hummed in his throat. It was all completely incomprehensible to him, but it felt good.

He glanced up at Clockwork, who was smiling. “Go on,” Clockwork said.

Danny grinned - skin moving strangely around the silver patches - and started to chatter.

The next day, Danny couldn’t open either of his eyes. The air smelled strongly of vanilla and lilac.

“Don’t worry, Daniel,” said Clockwork as he tipped a cup of cream into Danny’s mouth, “I will take pictures of what you look like ripe.”

Having spent so much time at Long Now, Danny hadn’t released the cold energy that naturally built up in his core over time. It spread outwards, now, freezing him from the inside out even as the silvery-white coating his skin did the same from the outside in.

But it did not touch his wings, which stayed soft and flexible and took in energy and ectoplasm at the same steady rate.

“I wonder if you are even aware of all the sounds you are making,” said Clockwork, fondly, as he rubbed Danny’s back in that way that felt so good. “They’re enough to make me want to eat you right away, but I can tell you aren’t quite ripe yet.” He patted Danny’s back. “Just a little longer.”

Danny knew when he was ripe. Not from any external stimulus, but because something like a switch popped up in his brain. Not a literal switch, of course, he wasn’t hallucinating, but he knew that if he flipped it, if he made this one, last, tiny conscious decision, he would send out a signal that said eat me, I’m tasty!

He flipped the switch.

(The next thing he consciously remembered, he was hatching from an egg in Clockwork’s hands.)

#danny phantom #dannymay 2024 day 11: mutation #dannymay #dannymay 2024

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yuesya · 5 months

Text

“You wish to visit Inazuma?”

Lumine tilts her head in confusion. There’s something about those measured words that seems to be cautious and reserved. “Is there something wrong with visiting Inazuma?”

Zhongli hums lightly, gloved fingers tapping idly at the stone railings. Amber-gold eyes flick swiftly over to where the majority of other people are still preoccupied with the ongoings of the Rite of Parting that is currently taking place, far enough from where they’re standing that it would be difficult for anyone else to overhear their conversation.

(And isn’t that hilarious to think about, in a way –who would’ve ever thought that a god would help prepare for his own ‘funeral?’)

“Your goal is to seek an audience with the Electro Archon, in order to inquire what she may know of the whereabouts of your brother,” the newly-retired god finally says. “But I suspect that it will prove to be difficult. Inazuma has recently been ravaged by civil war, and their current Archon is said to be the leader of the rebel forces who slew her predecessor and took her place.”

Lumine chokes. “What?”

A civil war? A god who had been killed by her own people? … What in the world went down in Inazuma?! No, more importantly, if the Electro Archon was dead, then–

“Wait, no, how can the Electro Archon be dead?” Paimon gasps, voice shrill with panic. “She’s the patron god of Inazuma!”

“Yet all news coming from Inazuma confirm the same thing. Quite concerning, isn’t it? Although… I also have my suspicions about the veracity of what actually occurred,” Zhongli sighs. “For if the Electro Archon had truly been killed in such a manner, then it would’ve been impossible for such a cataclysmic event to have gone unnoticed by myself.”

The words are said with a certain sort of confidence and surety that makes it hard to doubt him. Hope blooms inside Lumine’s chest again.

“So you think the Electro Archon is still alive?” she asks anxiously.

“I cannot say for certain. But yes, I find it to be a very real possibility,” the god answers. “There is no longer an incessant lightning storm blocking Inazuma’s borders, but the travel distance is long, and entry into the country itself is currently still restricted. If your next destination is Inazuma, then I would advise you to find someone both willing to sail the waters and well-versed with arranging for the proper documentation that would be required.”

“Okay,” Lumine nods firmly. For the sake of tracking down her sibling, she needs to find the Archons of each country. If Zhongli thought that the Electro Archon was still alive… then that meant Lumine needed to find her and track her down, in order to get the answers to her questions. And if Inazuma had a new Archon now, too, then… maybe the new Archon might know something as well, if they were a god? She’d have to be careful about how she approached them, though, if they’d overthrown their predecessor through bloody revolution.

Aether had better appreciate what she was going through for him, geez.

#Writing #zenith of stars au #genshin impact au #why is this happening #why am i writing genshin impact au #i remember saying that i was going to HOLD OFF on this #i am still not out of sumeru...

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nightghoul381 · 2 months

Text

Ellis Twilight~ Main Route Chapter 1

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

Additional Content Warnings: None

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Part 1

--What is happiness?

It’s like a twilight sky that changes color the moment it burns into your eyes…

Even though it holds my heart forever and never lets go, I can never have the same one again.

Time, stop—don’t let this happiness fade away.

(From today onwards, my life will be monitored by the members of the assassin organization “Crown” that controls evil with evil.)

As a ‘fairytale keeper’, it is my duty to record their sins—my only lifeline.

Getting ready in front of the mirror, I try to re-energize.

(Honestly, I’m scared to face ‘sin’ again…)

(Up to this point, I’ve only had to deal with complaints at the post office or handling deliveries in crazy busy situations.)

(I’ll be okay, I’m sure it will work out somehow.)

Kate: “Okay, only one month. If I try, I can do this…okay.”

I repeat this to myself like a mantra, opened the door and took a brisk step forward--.

???: “Woah.”

Kate: “Kya!?”

I accidentally bump the tip of my nose into the chest of someone who was standing in front of the door.

Kate: “I-I’m sorry…!”

Ellis: “I’m sorry too...are you hurt?”

(Oh…this guy--)

--Flashback—

Harrsion: “…So what are you going to do now that you’ve explained everything so thoroughly, Victor?”

Victor: “Hmm…That’s right…”

Ellis: “Shall I kill her?”

(Eh--?)

Ellis: “She doesn’t look happy at all, but I’ll take the job.”

--End Flashback—

(He was the first to suggest killing me.)

(But, after that…)

--Flashback—

Ellis: “I’m Ellis.”

Kate: “Ellis… Nice to meet you.”

Ellis: “Mmhmm… likewise. Jude and I are often away on business.”

Ellis: “While I’m here, I’ll make you as happy as possible.”

--End Flashback—

With the same mouth, a line that sounded like a marriage proposal was said without hesitation… what an odd person.

(Why is Ellis in front of my room?)

Part 2

(Ah, I see. Surveillance has already started.)

If I misbehave, I might be killed.

(I can’t just keep acting like everything is the same.)

(I’ve already stepped into a different world.)

Kate: “Mr. Ellis, right…? I look forward to working with you from today onwards.”

Ellis: “Yes, Ellis Twilight, nice to meet you… no need to be so formal.”

Ellis laughed lightly and looked into my face with concern.

Ellis: “…your nose is getting red.”

Ellis: “Sorry, the door opened just as I was about to knock, so I couldn’t avoid it.”

A long, slender arm holds the door.

Behind his curly hair, as his name suggests, are twilight eyes.

I gasped when I notice how close we were and hurriedly apologized.

Kate: “No! I’m sorry I got anxious and jumped out…”

Ellis: “Are you anxious? Why?”

Kate: “What!? Um…”

(“I was getting anxious because I was scared of living with all of you.”)

(I can’t say that…)

Kate: “It’s like I was transferred to a new department that I don’t know at all…”

Kate: “It’s like… Gaahhh!”

Ellis: “Gaahhh…”

Ellis blinks in surprise.

(Ah, that was too weird…)

Ellis: “… you’re a cute person.”

Kate: “Um… it’s okay, you don’t have to follow me…”

(I should have been able to make up and excuse, but I feel so embarrassed.)

As I avert my gaze, looking for a place to move to, Ellis returned to a straight face and spoke in a whisper,

Ellis: “ I’d like to give you your first job in the ‘new department’… is that okay?”

Kate: “---Wow…”

(What a beautiful garden.)

I was taken to the courtyard of Crown castle…

There was a beautiful English garden that had been carefully maintained down to the last detail.

Seasonal flowers are in full bloom, and it smells like paradise.

(Last night, I could only feel the majesty and dangerous atmosphere of the towering castle…)

(But there are places where I feel so at ease.)

As I followed Ellis down the path, admiring the beautiful garden, a gazebo came into view.

Tea and scones are set on the table, as though a tea party is about to begin.

Ellis: “Please sit.”

Kate: “Oh…uh, thank you.”

Ellis pulled out a chair and was waiting for me, so I sat down in the chair, confused ,and he sat in the seat across from me.

(You said earlier that you wanted to give me a job, but…)

Kate: “Is this where I’ll be working my first job?”

Ellis: “Yeah… your first job is to eat breakfast with me.”

Part 3

Ellis: “Yeah…your first job is to eat breakfast with me.”

(…hmm?)

Ellis: “Tell me about yourself while eating delicious food, I’ll tell you about myself too.”

Ellis: “If you record it, it will count as your report as fairytale keeper, right?”

--CHOICES---------------------------------

That’s honestly helpful/ That honestly helps +4 +4

Isn’t that a nuisance? +4 +4

Why would you help me? +4 +4

----------------------------------------------

Kate: “Why are you helping me?”

Ellis: “I thought it would make you happy.”

It seems like he’s seriously trying to help me.

Ellis: “I’ll also tell you about the other members of Crown.”

Ellis: “I think it’s a little scary to live among people you don’t know.”

Kate: “…!”

(I never expected this ‘first job’ to be…)

Kate: “Did you invite me just to relieve my anxiety?”

Ellis: “…That’s a little bit correct.”

Kate: “A little bit?”

Ellis: “It’s also for me to talk to you… that’s the bit that was incorrect.”

A faint smile appears on his lips.

(Maybe my first impression of Ellis last night was a misunderstanding.)

Just being near him made me feel like my temperature dropped instantly.

It felt like something was peeking out at me from the gaping darkness--.

I’m sure I felt that kind of anxiety last night…

(I don’t feel that way from Ellis in front of me now.)

(Maybe it was because I had just witnessed the murder scene.)

I gently pushed aside the strange feeling in my chest and decided not to acknowledge it.

--In hindsight, that turned out to be a mistake.

Part 4

(Anyway, Ellis took the trouble to arrange this for me.)

(I’ll take his word for it and listen to various stories.)

Kate: “Thank you, Ellis.”

Ellis: “I haven’t done anything to deserve your gratitude.”

Ellis: “Do you like sweets? These are scones Victor baked this morning.”

Kate: “Eh? Victor baked…?”

Ellis: “Yes, it’s like his hobby. Al is also a good cook.”

Ellis: “The clotted cream is something I learned from Al and made myself.”

Ellis: “Liam recommended this jam, so he bought it for me.”

Ellis: “Perhaps he knows a lot about what’s trending because he’s a stage actor.”

Ellis: “This meat pie is from the restaurant where Roger took me to lunch the other day. He treats me to drinks often.”

Kate: “W-wait a minute. I want to write down what you just told me…!”

When I take out my notebook that I had kept in my pocket,

Ellis told me a lot about the people in Crown--.

Kate: “Oh, I know about the shop that sells this apricot crumble too! There’s usually quite a line there, right?”

Ellis: “I bought it with Harry. Harry apparently has a sweet tooth and is obsessed with delicious sweets shops.”

Kate: “Hehe… Everyone in Crown is good friends aren’t they?”

(I felt like I was living in another world,)

(I feel relieved to know that we are all people living in the same London.)

(Thanks to Ellis.)

With a big smile on my face, I spread cream on the scone in my hand.

Ellis: “Kate.”

Kate: “Yes…?”

Very naturally, the palm of Ellis’ large hand reached up to the side of my face.

Ellis: “You’re going to get cream stuck in your hair.”

Kate: “Huh? Oh…”

(That’s true, I didn’t notice.)

Ellis scoops up my hair with his fingertips and gently tucks it behind my ear.

Kate: “Thank you.”

Ellis: “You’re welcome… It was so good you went crazy for it didn’t you?”

Ellis, resting his chin on his hand, looked at me and smiled.

Kate: “…Yes, it’s delicious.”

Ellis: “Good.”

(If Ellis can do something like this so casually… he must be popular.)

Realizing that my heart was pounding, I tried to calm down my erratic heartbeat.

Kate: “Preparing a seat, caring about me like this…”

Kate: “Why are you being so kind to me?”

(I don’t remember doing anything to Ellis yesterday that would make him treat me so kindly…)

Ellis: “Kate, you haven’t looked happy since last night.”

Ellis: “I want the people around me to smile as much as possible.”

(That’s all…?)

(Even though I’m a complete stranger to Ellis… I don’t know anything about him.)

Kate: “Do you do this for anyone? Even if you just met for the first time?”

Ellis: “Huh…? Yeah… is that wrong?”

The simple question, in turn, made him look confused.

(Ellis is a bit of an odd person after all.)

(But…)

Kate: “…I’m happy.”

(I’m sure I feel better thanks to Ellis.)

Ellis: “I see… If you don’t hate it, good.”

Part 5

By the time the peaceful breakfast was over, my wariness had completely subsided.

Ellis: “Is going to the theater your hobby?”

Kate: “Yes. In fact, last night I took on an unfamiliar night shift because I wanted money for tickets…”

Ellis: “Heheh… you’re quite passionate.”

I chatted endlessly with Ellis, as if we were new friends.

Then, the sound of another set of footsteps echoed.

Victor: “Hey, hey! This is exciting!”

Ellis: “Victor.”

Kate: “…! Good morning.”

Victor: “Oh, you don’t have to stand up! I don’t want to interrupt your pleasant conversation.”

Victor: “Since Ellis offered to do so, I left breakfast to him… Do you feel a little less nervous?”

Victor kept smiling and looked at me searchingly.

The shadow of the unfathomable feeling I felt from him last night has faded, and I can feel the warmth of concern in his jewel-like eyes.

(Maybe it’s because I enjoyed my first job with Ellis and it relieved my tension.)

Kate: “Yes. Thanks to Ellis and the delicious scones you baked for me.”

Victor: “…”

When I smiled gratefully, Victor seemed a little surprised.

But soon a smile appeared on his face, like a flower blooming.

Victor: “Yeah, yeah. Your smile says ‘I’m so happy to be Crown’s exclusive fairytale keeper!’”

Ellis: “…Did it really say that much?”

Kate: “…hehe.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed as he watched my shoulders shake.

Victor: “Well I had two requests for you as fairytale keeper, keeping our secret and recording our sins.”

Victor: “The former is fine, but the latter I would imagine has you at a loss as to what to do specifically.”

Victor: “May I give a little explanation?”

Kate: “Yes. Please.”

Victor: “It’s not difficult. I want you to carefully observe the people of Crown and write down what you feel is a sin.”

Victor: “I’ll leave it to you to figure out how.”

Victor: “You can have multiple people watch over you on a rotating basis or you can choose one person to work with.”

(Observe the members of Crown carefully. I am free to choose my methods and partners… I see.)

Kate: “I understand, um, how far does my surveillance extend?”

Victor: “Even though I say surveillance, I don’t mean to restrict your freedom of movement other than going out alone.”

Victor: “I may ask you to accompany us on missions, but you can spend the rest of the time however, you like.”

I was a little relieved as I had expected to be under much stricter surveillance.

Kate: “Understood. Thank you for your explanation.”

Victor: “…Honestly, I was a little surprised just now. I didn’t expect to see your smile so soon.”

Victor: “You witnessed a terrible scene, and we are an evil organization that cannot be said to be safe.”

He gave me a joking wink…

Then Victor squinted his eyes as if looking at bright sunlight.

Victor: “I hope that the darkness that will inevitably touch you from now on won’t take away your smile.”

Strangely enough, I didn’t believe what I was told was a lie.

(The people of Crown are definitely dark and terrifying people who don’t mind harming others.)

However—I thought that if I looked deep into my heart, there were feelings that I could understand.

Victor: “Then I’ll excuse myself. The Queen’s Aide is quite busy.”

Victor seemed to have just come to see what was going on and immediately left without coming to the table.

(To record their sins, first I’ll have to take a good look at the members of Crown.)

In that case—I’d like Ellis to be the first one I want to know more about.

Such feelings come naturally.

Kate: “Um, Ellis…What are your plans for today?”

However, my question was interrupted by a harsh voice.

Jude: “Yer supposed to be workin. How dare ya slack off.”

Ellis and Kate: “!”

I jumped at the sound of a loud voice.

(That voice is--)

When I hesitantly turned around, I saw Jude standing in the garden with his arms folded, looking irritated.

(Oh, you’re angry…!)

Ellis: “Sorry. I’ll go now.”

Without even standing up, Ellis leisurely turned his gaze toward Jude and answered.

(Such carelessness….)

Jude clicked his tongue, quickly flipped his cloak with a flourish and left.

Ellis: “…As you can see, that is today’s schedule.”

Kate: “You work for a trading company right?”

(Jude is the president and Ellis is the president’s assistant...right?)

(I was thinking of observing Ellis, but maybe I should try another day.)

Kate: “Thank you for making time for me. Good luck with your work.”

Ellis: “……”

Ellis was staring at me, thinking about something--.

Kate: “Um…?”

Ellis: “If you don’t mind, would you like to come with me?”

Kate: “Why are you helping me?”

Next Chapter

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains translation #ikevil translation #ellis twilight #ikevil ellis #ikevil ellis twilight #ikemen villains ellis #ikemen villains ellis twilight #ellis twilight main route

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choicesficwriterscreations · 2 months

Text

April OC of the Month: Olivia Hadley

Please welcome April 2024's MC of the Month! Each month, we highlight one MC or OC on our Meet My MC / OC List. They are selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

This month’s OC of the month is…

@storyofmychoices's Olivia Hadley!

More below...

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC / OC.

Olivia is literally sunshine. She is the most genuine and empathetic person. She constantly looks for ways to help others and make life better for those who are not as fortunate as she is. She always tries to make everyone she meets (especially children) feel special and heard/appreciated. It doesn’t matter if she knows them or not. She looks out for everyone. She is just a good person with the most beautiful heart and soul. She is so precious to me. In an ideal world, there would be a lot more Olivia’s to help us all feel special.

Do you feel your MC / OC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I do think Olivia and I have a lot in common. While I wish I could be as kind and empathetic as Olivia, I am still human, and I make mistakes. I try really hard to live by the principles of “leave the world a little better than you found it” (even if it’s just putting away a grocery cart someone left or picking up one piece of trash in a parking lot) and “be kind whenever possible; it is always possible” (this one is a little harder, but I try every single day to show kindness to everyone, even when I cannot show it to myself). I feel those principles also represent Olivia, she’s just better at it than me.

I also think we have similar occupations. We both wanted to be veterinarians and then learned we’d have to put animals down. Then we both switched to Pediatric Medicine. Olivia stuck with it. I decided to be a teacher because Pediatricians need to know how to deliver babies, and that’s a hard pass for me. Childbirth might be a miracle, but it’s disgusting (IMHO) lol. But we both work closely with children and try to make a positive impact on their lives. We both do whatever we can to create a safe place where children can tell us stuff they don’t know if they can share with their parents yet (questioning their sexual identity or gender). I’ve been very lucky to help several transgender elementary students feel more confident and accepted as well as work with parents to help them help their child. I’ve also worked with students with abusive home lives or their families can’t afford basic needs so I’ve gone out of my way to try to help them through anonymous donations and gift cards through the school. Anything I can do to ease even one struggle, I will do it and I think that is very much the person Olivia is. Olivia will always look out for anyone in her life.

As for differences, Olivia is a little more confident than I am. I drink far more coffee than she does. We both love plants, but she keeps them alive better than I do. I try, but I don’t always succeed, though a cactus I got as a gift from a student 3 years ago just bloomed for the first time this month, so I’m super excited for that. Maybe Olivia is finally rubbing off?

What is most important to your MC / OC? What is their motivation in life?

Olivia’s motivation is truly to make the world a better place. She knows that it’s not always easy, and there are so many struggles and so many hardships. She really wants to make a difference in the lives of those closest to her as well as in the community she serves. She knows she can’t conquer world hunger or global peace, but if she can make a difference to people around her then maybe those people can help some others and things would ripple out from there.

After she has children, her motivation splits. She’ll never stop caring about those around her or the patients she sees, but her children are her first priority.

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

Olivia doesn’t like gossip. She doesn’t like when people talk about others behind their back in a negative way. It makes her feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t like passive aggressive responses to situations. She genuinely believes that people are good, and if we all just try to have a little more empathy and understanding, the world would be a better place.

She doesn't like rudeness, pettiness, or dishonesty.

Olivia prefers order and organization, so she dislikes chaos and messy places.

If your MC / OC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

If Olivia could change anything, she’d find a cure for childhood cancer. She takes each case to heart and watching children struggle is something that is very hard for her. She would never trade her time at Edenbrook for anything, and she feels guilty for even thinking it, but she is grateful when she opens her own practice that most of her cases become regular checkups and normal/everyday illnesses.

What is your MC / OC’s favorite quote or song?

“My favorite things in life don't cost any money. It's really clear that the most precious resource we all have is time." — Steve Jobs

“You are the sum total of everything you’ve ever seen, heard, eaten, smelled, been told, forgot - it’s all there. Everything influences each of us, and because of that, I try to make sure that my experiences are positive.” ― Maya Angelou

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." —Antoine de Saint-Exupery

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow." — Mary Anne Radmacher

“Even miracles take a little time.” — Fairy GodMother (Cinderella)

“Happily ever after is about finding happiness within yourself and holding on to it through any storm that comes your way." —Chris Colfer

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC / OC? (It can be why you created them, how they’ve inspired you, or you could write a little blurb as if it is coming from your OC - an acceptance speech. :) )

Ahhh what else to say about my precious Olivia?! She truly brings me so much joy.

If you’ve been in this fandom long enough, you’ll remember I was an Ethan romancer when OH first released. I enjoyed Ethan/MC’s dynamic. They totally reminded me of Thomas Hunt x MC. However, just before the pandemic, I wrote Bryce, thinking it was a one off thing, but as the world started to shut down, things got darker and scarier, Bryce Lahela’s sunshine and encouragement was something that resonated with me. I tried to make Olivia fit in the role of MC, but I just didn’t like the setup of MC with Bryce. So I made Olivia an original character. Taking her out of that MC role gave me so much more freedom with her and so much more freedom for telling her and Bryce’s story. I loved being able to see where each story would take them. I’m eternally grateful to Olivia (and Bryce) for helping me get through the Covid Pandemic. Having her and Bryce and their friends and family helped me have something positive and hope-filled to hold onto.

Olivia is actually really competitive. You might not see it or notice it at first, but if you’ve ever been a part of any competition with her, you’ll see she will not hold back.

Olivia has a black belt in taekwondo, even though she never talks about it. She got it in High School. She wanted to do something to challenge herself and she wasn’t participating in any team sports, though she did try to get a pingpong team started in her school but it never took off.

Olivia volunteered with Habitat for Humanity for a summer in the Dominican Republic.

Olivia has Scottish roots and has always dreamed of going to Scotland. She hasn’t gotten there yet, but one day!

Olivia is almost as lucky to have such good friends in Casey and Merida as I am to have @jerzwriter and @lilyoffandoms in my life. I can’t even begin to express how special they are to me and how I treasure their friendship.

Thank you to everyone who has ever supported Olivia. She is truly a special character who is so close to my heart. The fact that she is truly an original character and you still adore her means so much to me. I can’t say thank you enough. The amount of serotonin I get from writing and sharing her with you should be illegal, and then when anyone interacts, my heart explodes with unicorns and rainbows and all the sunshine. I’m eternally grateful for the support of Olivia, Bryce, and their little world. Thank you!!!

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc oc of the month #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #meet my oc #olivia hadley #storyofmychoices #playchoices #choices #choices stories you play #playchoices fanfic #choices fanfic #open heart fanfic

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intimidating-fettuccine · 7 months

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BEN scenario visiting the grave of his Y/N please

BEN spends all of his time after you pass between two places, either his bedroom or visiting your grave. He can't stand to be around other people, but he also can't stand to be alone without you. He misses you more than he ever thought it possible to miss someone, and it leads him to lay and sit around your grave most of the time, and sometimes he even sleeps out there beside you, camping out and refusing to leave your grave. When he's in his room, he's either burying himself in his work or forcing himself to play games to make himself focus on something other than missing you.

BEN barely even truly enjoys games anymore, as he can no longer play them with you. The others are also growing concerned at the rate that he's handling his work, as he's working himself far too hard, and while as a ghost he doesn't technically need to sleep, working for 18 hours straight isn't healthy in the slightest bit. Even when resting next to your grave, he always has his work laptop or a handheld game console in his hands, unable to just rest and come to terms with the fact that you're gone. Now, as he sits beside your grave, his back resting against your tombstone, he has his face buried into his Switch, clicking away at the buttons as he tries to ignore the growing emotions in his chest.

"I changed around the formation of my island again. It was annoying having to move everyone's houses again, but I really like the new design. It was the one I told you about last month before--" He cuts himself off, sniffling as he goes back to running around his Animal Crossing island.

Before you had died. He had told you about his plans before you had died, and that had been the cause of him putting it off so long. He'd thought to himself that if he did anything he'd told you about before the day you died, that it would be a show of proof that you were gone. That he was progressing and moving forward while you had to stay behind.

"Should I... Change it back..?" His words are a whisper as he stares down at his Switch, and it's not until wet droplets start hitting his screen that he realizes he's crying.

He looks up, away from his screen, and it's the first time he takes a moment to notice his surroundings since he's been visiting you. The tall, protective trees hanging overhead. The beautifully blooming flowers that decorate the surrounding area. The gifts surrounding your grave, placed there by other members of the mansion. The words stamped into your tombstone to commemorate you. The violent shaking of his shoulders, the loud cries escaping his lips as he turns around, clinging to the stone as he shuts his eyes, trying to close out the world once again.

"It was my fault...! I assigned you to that mission...!! I did this!!" He screams out, sobbing and weeping and finally letting all of the tears he'd been fighting so desperately to hold inside out.

BEN has been feeling extremely tremendous guilt since your passing. He was the one who assigned everyone to their missions, and he had been useless to protect you from harm as you died that night. He felt himself hyperventilating as he sank to the ground, his hands gripping the grass covering where you'll rest eternally.

"What a disgusting person I am... I'd even wished that you'd have come back to me as a ghost, even though that means you would have had to have an extremely traumatic death... How horrible of me, even after being the one to cause your death inadvertently... But I just miss you so much!" He screams out again, choking on his breath and heaving, gagging as he tries not to throw up from anxiety and the overwhelming emotions taking over him.

He lays there like that for what feels like hours, sobbing and choking on air, despite the fact that as a ghost he doesn't even need to breathe, but he can't seem to remember that with all the emotions flowing through him. Eventually, he collapses, lying motionless and staring blankly ahead of himself.

"Maybe I should just... Disappear...? Would that make up for my sins...?" His voice is broken and scratchy when it comes out of him in a whisper, and he chuckles sadly at himself as he nuzzles into the ground below him where you rest.

"What am I even saying..? You'd yell at me for that if you were here... Tell me I'm being too hard on myself..." He sniffles loudly, whining as he feels more tears prickling in his eyes.

"I just want to be with you forever... Even if it means I just never leave this spot ever again. I've considered it before." He whispers again, his eyelids growing heavy despite his body not needing sleep, his brain simply overworked from his emotional outbursts. A deep, heaving sigh leaves his body as he finally closes his eyes, resting above you.

"Goodnight, honey... I love you... Let's sleep here together forever, okay...?"

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta scenario #creepypasta scenarios #ben drowned scenario #ben drowned #ben drowned x reader #ben drowned headcanons #ben drowned headcanon

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emepe · 2 months

Text

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A journal entry. Meanwhile, Armin does what he can to help Eren out.

— Content warnings: mentions of murder and torture of a woman, misogyny.

— Notes: Hello, hello! Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged chapter 1 of this series. I really appreciate it <3 Happy reading, bubs!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

just friends

September 8, 2024

There’s nothing I hate more than arrogant women. That’s why I had to kill her.

All I wanted was for her to smile at me. She wouldn’t. I filled her room with all her favorite things and even loosened her handcuffs. But she was so fucking hard-headed it drove me crazy. The little bitch even dared to spit at me. I had to teach her a lesson. I had to let out my anger somehow.

For a while, it was exciting to watch her writhe in pain. I can’t even begin to describe how thrilling it is to see how much a human can tolerate until they break. I told her it was compensation for the look she gave me the day we met. She kept lying and saying she didn’t even remember having bumped into me on the street.

I really wish she could’ve bounced back this time. I’m so lonely without her now. I miss her.

Humans are social by nature, it's what all the books say. When one is young, we need protection and love from our caregivers. As we grow, our world gradually expands and we bond with other people — friends from school, teachers, neighbors, coworkers. If one must stick to tradition, there's bound to be a romantic relationship to develop at some point. But for some people, that imposed path doesn't come naturally. Or rather, there have been blockages throughout the years that resulted in stunted social growth.

That's where you find yourself. It's not your fault. When one grows up forced to believe she's nothing but a burden, it's only natural to try to take up as little space as possible. But again, it's not your fault. One doesn't acquire those thoughts on their own.

You ruined my life!

As much as wellness and self-help gurus will preach there's a place in the world for everyone, self-awareness keeps you from blinding yourself toward the baggage you carry. It wouldn't be fair to lay that on anyone else.

So you've shrunk yourself. No making yourself seen, no making yourself heard. No talking outside of what is strictly necessary to survive. No inserting yourself into other's lives. For the most part, it's worked. Albeit, you've been deemed unlikable, weird, and rude. It's better this way. There's no use in putting yourself out there if there's so much to feel ashamed of. It's too much to trouble others with your pitiful self.

Who in the world would want to put up with you?

After the usual snarky murmurs and judgmental glances, you're rarely acknowledged save for when someone — usually a man — tries to “take a crack” at you and the whispers float in the air for another while. Other than that, you're at peace with yourself. You're almost convinced you've developed invisibility powers.

That is until Armin came along. At first, you sighed at the prospect of going over your routine yet again. Cementing boundaries and erasing any hope that it just takes the right guy to “loosen you up”. It was disgusting to have your quietness be misinterpreted for arrogance by the men at work. Even if that were the case, who was anybody to assume you needed to be knocked down a peg through sexual advances?

But Armin proved himself to be different. He tore away at your skepticism by simply being kind with no ulterior motives. Men can be so stupid. They'll believe a girl can't pick up when they're being slimy. It must've shocked them when you started having lunch with Armin more frequently.

It was thanks to him that you slowly expanded your world's limits. It was because of him that you began to question the voice that rang in your ears. After receiving the housewarming party invitation, you wondered whether to step forward or back. There was no denying Armin's expansion had awoken something in you. You wanted company — craved it — but you didn't want to risk bringing trouble into the group. What if Armin was an anomaly and the things that echoed in your head were true? Maybe Armin wasn't an anomaly at all, he just didn't know enough about you. You certainly didn't let him in enough.

In the end, your heart overruled your brain. You wanted more. With a hopeful heart, you went to the party.

A heavy sigh slips past your lips as you pick at your dinner on Sunday night. Your hair is still damp from the shower and it rests uncomfortably along your neck. Your phone lies next to your plate, buzzing every few seconds to match the texts that come into the group chat — arrangements are taking place for the next get-together with Armin and his friends.

After your moment of realization on the balcony, you faked a yawn and went back inside to pretend to fall asleep.

This morning, you avoided being alone with Eren. Not out of fear of something happening, but you needed to sort out your feelings on the situation.

There's no denying Eren is an attractive man — but that doesn't faze you.

Catching Eren's eye wasn't something you planned. Your world suddenly expanded outside of your will — out of your control. You're not annoyed, just overwhelmed.

Being the center of someone's attention means more expectations, more to live up to — he has no idea you're not the kind of girl he needs. Nobody needs someone who's a burden. It's not as if you're open to reciprocating any special attention, anyway.

If history has taught you anything, it’s that love isn't in the cards for you. It's best not to entertain any silly ideas.

Friendships are tricky, but no more than romance — or whatever crossed Eren's mind each time he looked at you. Keeping to oneself is easier than either one. But with the latter idea being too late to return to, you'll have to nip this problem in the bud.

The few hours before lunchtime seem to drag slower every Monday. Given that sparing time to eat was nothing but another task to check off your to-do list, you never used to pay much attention to the clock. But since Armin, lunchtime means more than bringing food to your mouth, methodically stretching your pace to fit the length of your lunch break.

Now it means meeting with a friend, having someone fill in the silence with tales from the accounting department, and occasionally going on quick drives to Kuchel.

So when you venture off to his cubicle, only for him to tell you he's swamped with work and won't have lunch until later, you're mildly disappointed. You don't let it show. After all, work trumps your trivial need for company.

So you wish him good luck and return to your desk. Without any conversation to fill in the minutes, you finish your food fairly quickly. When you glance at the time on your phone, barely fifteen minutes have passed. Your fingers tap rhythmically against your desk before you decidedly stand, grab your bag, and head for the elevator.

The coffee shop on the corner of the street has been your go-to spot since you started working here. You've been there alone and with Armin. It's where your feet take you on the rare occasions when Armin is too busy. There's nothing wrong with the in-house coffee kiosk from your office building, but you find more comfort in being surrounded by strangers who keep to themselves than bumping into someone who doesn't like you.

The early September days serve as a transition into cooler temperatures. A light breeze has added to the warmth leftover from summer. The leaves have yet to develop a clear change in color, but some yellow streaks are popping up here and there. The beginning of autumn pushes you toward all things cozy. By the time you reach the shop, you've got your heart set on having a warm cup of cinnamon tea.

You settle at a table, place your order, grab a book from your bag, and wait. Before you can reach the second paragraph of your read, a shadow casts over your left side, forcing you to look up in confusion. It's too soon for your tea to be ready.

You're met with striking green eyes and plump lips that pronounce a bashful hi.

It's a strange coincidence. You wish you could say you've never seen him around here before, but you've never bothered to commit any face to memory if it's not necessary.

“Eren, hi.”

The tint on his cheeks you remember so well from two nights ago resurfaces. A nervous swallow pulls at your throat. You never did map out a plan — then again, you weren't expecting to see him again so soon.

“I wasn't sure if it was you. Are you here with someone?” he asks, taking a second to look around the shop.

You shake your head.

“No. Armin's busy so I came here alone,” you explain.

He nods, rocking his weight on his heels. A question seems to linger on the tip of his tongue as his gaze flits between you and the floor. It takes him a moment for him to find his voice, though. In spite of yourself, you have to admit it's actually a bit endearing. It's different. It's refreshing.

“Is it okay if I sit with you?” His eyes are overflowing with hope.

You nod. He sits. The book in your hands is put away.

For a while last night, you debated the validity of your theory. Maybe Eren wasn't interested in you in the way you thought. After all, it was your first time meeting and he might’ve been nervous. You know enough about the way you present yourself to acknowledge you're not the most approachable person. Maybe all he needs is time to get used to you.

“Do you want to order something?” You ask, prepared to wave over a server. He stops you with a dismissive hand.

“It's okay, I already had some tea.”

Your eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Not a coffee guy?”

He shakes his head, sputtering a nervous chuckle.

“Not really. I don't like bitter things.” His nose scrunches as if he can savor it on his tongue.

A server brings over your tea along with a small tray of additives. You thank them before returning to Eren's statement.

“You can always add sugar,” you point out with a shrug.

He shakes his head again. This time you're relieved to find a playful smile dancing on his lips.

“Nothing can beat tea with honey.”

Your hand pauses mid-air on its way to pick up the wooden wand half lost in a jar of golden syrup.

You hum in thought as you reach for the sugar spoon instead.

“Really?”

“Yeah. That's how my mom made it for me when I was little. I'd get a stomachache or a cold and it was the first thing she'd make for me. I feel like a kid each time I drink it. It makes me think of her.”

The corners of his lips tug into a smile. You find yourself mirroring his expression as you look down at your hand stirring the sugar into your tea.

“Your mom sounds nice,” you murmur.

“Oh, she's the best. I love her.”

Eren's shoulders relax. He feels at ease talking about his mom. He feels even better knowing he's successfully carrying out a casual conversation with you. In the light of day, everything is less scary. There's less to worry about. That carefree feeling blankets over everything. Suddenly, the motive he walked into this coffee shop for seems doable.

Then a sinking feeling comes over his stomach.

“Sorry.” The word bounces off his tongue without thinking.

“What for?”

He doesn't want to say it, but he hopes his apologetic gaze is enough to convey an explanation.

Your eyebrows shoot up in realization at his hesitance. Then they furrow as you press your lips into a fine line and shake your head dismissively.

“Oh, that.”

The recall of Saturday night when you drunkenly talked about your mom causes your cheeks to flare with heat.

Guilt settles in Eren's stomach. He didn't mean to bring up his mom. He also didn't mean to be so quick to apologize. It just made things worse now that you know he's tiptoeing around you. That's probably the last thing you want — to feel purposely pitied.

Flustered, he rummages through his brain for a solution — a way to get back on the track he was on.

You fix your gaze on him. It's obvious he feels troubled. It's a foreign experience having someone worry so much about if they've caused you any harm. You're unsure of what feelings to associate with it other than guilt. He's not at fault for your crappy family life.

“So you and your mom are close?” you ask.

The crease in his forehead smoothes over.

When he shyly reconnects with your gaze, your eyebrows raise ever so slightly in encouragement. The movement is so subtle it's hard not to miss — but not for Eren, who takes in every detail of your face with so much care. For Eren, the small shifts in your features are so interesting to look at. You express so much with so little. And yet there were times when you would accentuate your expressions as much as you could. What you held back vocally was compensated tenfold through your face. It's fascinating to him.

“Yeah.”

His voice is soft — a trace of his withering embarrassment.

“She's my best friend,” he adds with a little more confidence.

You take a sip of tea. The drink warms your stomach, mirroring that of your chest elicited by Eren's words. The fondness in his voice taints him with a childlike innocence.

Eren Jaeger isn't worried about looking cool. He's honest and clumsy. It's charming.

A light shake of your head keeps your thoughts from drifting further.

“So not a coffee guy but a mama's boy, for sure. Got it.” You nod along with an overly serious expression painted on your face.

He laughs, the sinking feeling in his stomach now dissolving into nothing. Had he not been on the receiving end of your bluntly spoken teasing the other night, he might not have laughed so easily.

A blush spreads across his cheeks.

“Come on, don't tease me,” he mumbles.

You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Eren falls back into his previously relaxed state.

The conversation continues to flow in between every sip of your tea.

“Do you come here often?” you ask as you prepare to take another sip.

Your eyes are locked on his. He struggles with the intense eye contact. At least, it's intense on his end.

“Not really. Armin mentioned it to me so I thought I'd try it out.”

The pads of his fingers drum a nervous beat on the table.

You nod, relieved. You'd feel silly if it had turned out he was a frequent customer and your disregard of the people surrounding you kept you from noticing him. It would've piled onto your embarrassment from the Kuchel incident.

“Ah, so are you on your lunch break, too? Do you work around here?”

“Um, kind of. I do media production and marketing for a museum, but I do a lot of hours at home. My place is just a few minutes by car.”

“That's so cool.”

The amazement in your voice in addition to its sudden turn up in volume is enough to make him blush.

“It's nothing special. I'm definitely not raking in the big bucks like Jean.”

“Still, it's cool. It's a lot more interesting than being an office manager.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together with newborn disdain for your job before you finish the remainder of your tea.

“Well, I can't argue there,” he says, imitating the sliver of bitterness in your voice.

You gasp in mock hurt.

“Hey, only I can say it.” Your tone is serious, but he knows you're joking. He can tell by the twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

He laughs.

“How long until you have to get back to work?”

You peek at the clock on the wall across the room.

“I still have some time. It's a short walk back, anyway.”

Despite your wording, your answer triggers his nervous antics. You're bound to part ways eventually and he swore to himself he would get the words out. He runs a hand through his hair to distract himself from the anxious flutter in his stomach.

It's no big deal, he thinks. She's just a girl.

He regrets not ordering something else when you asked him. It would give his hands something to do. Then again, he can't keep them from shaking as he gathers the courage to pronounce his next thought. So it's better he doesn't have any breakables in his hold.

He pronounces your name carefully. His heart skips a beat when your eyes meet his. It's strange to think that you hold so much power over him within just a couple of days since meeting. He wants to get closer — he needs to. Again, that feeling of wanting this moment with you to stretch farther squeezes at his chest.

“Do you want to hang out sometime? Just the two of us?”

He can feel himself growing numb to his surroundings as he awaits your response. It's similar to the feeling he gets after stepping foot off a rollercoaster. The adrenaline is pumping furiously through his veins while his mind goes blank. It's a weird moment of chaos and bliss all at once.

You clear your throat.

“So… a date?”

He swallows thickly and nods.

He watches you contemplate his proposal. Your lips are pressed in a fine line, your gaze low and brow furrowed.

It's too much to hope you're equally attracted to him — he's aware. But he hopes you like his company just enough to say yes. Or at the very least, you're curious to know more.

Your mind is in conflict. This is more than you've bargained for. All you wanted was to get along with Armin's friends.

“I'm sorry, Eren. No.”

He instantly deflates to your firm tone.

“It's nothing personal,” you explain. “You're a really nice guy. Really. But I'm not interested in dating… at all.” You sigh, dreading the pending words on your tongue. “And I don't really see you that way. I just want to be friends.”

He remains quiet, chewing on the inside of his cheeks as he processes your words.

The situation is uncomfortable for you, but his defeated form weighs heavier on your heart. He looks so small. It's definitely worse for him.

“Eren?”

Your voice grounds him.

“Sorry, I really spaced out there,” he nervously laughs. “Friends, though. Yeah, friends is good. Friends is perfect, actually.”

The word leaves a bitter taste on his tongue each time. He can pat himself on the back for shooting his shot later but, for now, his senses have been blurred by the disappointment of being turned down.

“I really like talking to you, Eren. Really.”

Your attempt to lighten the defeat on his shoulders works — a little. It's a relief you're not entirely opposed to having him around, at least. Eren finds comfort in that. Maybe it'll suffice while he fights away at his attraction.

“I like talking to you, too.” His voice carries a tint of helplessness.

Your eyes soften.

“I should get going.”

You pull out a fresh bill from your purse and place it under the empty teacup before standing.

He stands with you and holds the door open. It's not until you're both out on the sidewalk, bidding each other goodbye, that he forces a smile.

“I'll see you around.”

“Bye, Eren.”

“Sorry I couldn't make it to lunch,” Armin says. He leans against the edge of your desk with his hands in his pockets.

It's been an hour since you got back, and you've been typing away, replying to emails.

You shrug, tossing a small reassuring smile his way before focusing back on your computer screen.

“It's fine. I wasn't alone this time.”

He perks up.

“Really?”

You hum in affirmation.

“I went out for tea and bumped into your friend Eren.”

Armin's jaw falls open.

“Huh. Well, what do you know? That's a crazy coincidence.”

There's something suspicious about Armin's theatrical tone, but you're too engrossed in going over your email for typos to notice. You only manage to murmur a simple uh-huh.

“What'd you talk about?”

You send off your email with a satisfied click and look up at Armin as you lean back in your chair.

“Just this and that,” you reply nonchalantly.

His lips press into a dissatisfied line.

“Well, what do you think of him?” His eyes light up expectantly.

“He's…” You lose yourself in thought for a moment. Images of blushing cheeks, boyish smiles, and shimmering green eyes flash through your memory. You remember the honey and his simple confessions. “... like a little kid.”

Armin's face bears a mix of confusion and amusement.

“What do you mean by that?”

A soft pensive hum vibrates through your throat.

“Dorky,” you reply firmly.

Armin snorts, readying himself to come to Eren's defense, but you continue.

“He's… honest, like a little kid would be. And he's a little clumsy with his words but it's… Kind of endearing. He's a sweet guy.”

Armin nods along, his face serious. Finally, he smiles.

“Sounds like you had a nice talk, then.”

Date proposal aside, your moment with Eren was enjoyable. Even taking your rejection into account, you didn't sense any resentment directed at you and that just further proved your pure perception of him.

It's not the first time you've been asked out. It's certainly not the first time you've said no — that's always been your response, albeit for different reasons. A few guys in the office have tried getting closer to you but, even if you were open to dating, you can always tell it's nothing genuine from their approach. Their overly kind performance just makes it easier for you to decline. Once that's been done, their creepy narcissistic truths come to light — you're stoned with sexist slurs and disgusted looks. It'd hurt more if you were still the kind of person who craves approval from the wrong people.

There's a clear difference between them and Eren. So even though you rejected him, you still wish to be close as friends. He's a nice person to know.

“I did,” you tell Armin.

There's a shimmer in your eyes he manages to catch. Your features are soft and serene as you prop your chin on one hand while you mindlessly scroll through your emails with the other. Your lips are shaped into a discreet smile. Like a kid.

On his way back to his cubicle on the opposite end of the floor, Armin hums a cheerful tune to himself. There's a proud bounce in every step he takes.

“Armin, check your phone. It was buzzing like crazy a few minutes ago,” a female coworker says in passing before grabbing a manila folder from her desk and rushing off to a meeting room across the hall.

“Thanks, Mina!” he calls after her.

Armin taps the missed call notification on his screen and brings the phone to his ear, grinning expectantly.

“You suck,” Eren's voice comes through the speaker after the first ring.

“Woah, woah, woah. What did I do?” Armin laughs as he steps out onto the empty smoker's balcony.

There’s a groan on the other end.

“What do you think? I crashed and burned.”

Armin’s face contorts in confusion. From what he could gather on your end, the coffee shop incident went well. You were smiling, and although the things you said about Eren didn’t seem like it, you meant them fondly — Armin knew you well enough to confidently confirm that. At the very least, it meant you weren’t completely repulsed by his company. Even if there are different sides to every story, the discrepancies shouldn’t be anything major.

“What are you talking about?” Armin sighs.

Another groan on Eren’s end. If Armin wasn’t so patient, he would’ve hung up.

He really is like a little kid, he thinks.

“I asked her out and she said no.”

Armin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. How could you keep that part out of the conversation you had earlier?

His shock doesn’t stem from your rejection, but rather because of Eren’s unexpected bravery. Although Eren was tough on the playground when they were kids, he grew up to be a fairly meek guy. When it comes to a girl he likes, he’s never been the bold type. Armin found it a bit strange at times. Eren’s had a track record of being popular among women, so his confidence should be over the roof and his personality, unbearable. But if he’s honest, it’s a good thing he doesn’t pay much attention to those things. It’s easier to root for a friend who only acts on more honest feelings. Even if that confidence didn’t stick with him.

“This is all your fault, Armin. So much for having my back.”

Even through the phone, Armin can tell his best friend is pouting. He has to hold back from rolling his eyes — it feels deceitful to do it behind his back when he has to play the role of a sympathetic friend right now.

He rubs at his nape, unsure of whether he should feel proud of Eren for making a move or apologetic for not contemplating what seemed like a far-fetched risk.

“To be fair, buddy, I didn’t send you over there to ask her out. I just thought you would like the chance to talk to her and get to know her a little better.”

“You couldn’t tell me that before? I don’t think I can ever face her again!” Eren half-yells.

Of course, Eren chooses to focus on the negatives. Armin cherry-picks the situations he meddles in. Even if it’ll serve as a confident boost to reveal to Eren what you said about him and how you said it, it could do him some good to bounce back on his own — and learn to pace himself.

“First off, you have to relax an—”

“I can’t.” Eren’s voice is reduced to an embarrassed murmur. “She makes me nervous. I can’t help myself.”

There’s a long moment of silence.

It’s been obvious from the start that Eren is attracted to you, but the near confession pulls at Armin’s heartstrings. It’s times like this when he’s reminded how cute Eren can be.

“That bad, huh?” Armin smiles down at the people walking on the street.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not in love with her or anything but…”

There's a long pause on Eren's side, only disturbed by some light rustling as he moves his phone around.

“... I like looking at her… and I like hearing her talk. Do you ever notice how soft her voice is? There’s just something about it… There’s this thing with her eyes, too, it’s crazy.”

“Well, as long as you’re not falling in love with her.”

Eren releases a third groan.

“Armin, please. I just want to get closer to her. And I don’t want to make myself look like an idiot each time we’re alone. I wish there was something I could do to make her like me.”

“I don’t think she dislikes you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“She said she doesn’t see me that way. She just wants to be friends.”

Eren’s desolation is seeping through the phone now.

“Maybe I jumped the gun by asking her out so quickly.”

When Armin suggested Eren find you at the coffee shop during your lunch break, he figured it would help him get used to you. So that when the time came, he could ask you out without being more anxious than he needed to be. Had everything gone accordingly, Eren wouldn’t be moping now and wondering what would have happened — if anything was meant to happen — if he had just given you a little more time.

“Maybe,” Armin echoes.

“Do you think I blew it?”

Armin shakes his head even though there’s no way for Eren to tell.

“I think you just got a little excited. You never know how she might feel later on.”

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I hardly think she’ll like me any better if I act like those guys who can’t take no for an answer. I should just try being her friend.”

Armin wants to beg him not to feel discouraged — that there’s a reason why he was so excited to introduce you to each other, and why he teased him at the housewarming party after he caught him blushing while doing the dishes with you.

It didn’t start that way but, the more he got to know you, the more he thought you and Eren would be good together.

Soft-spoken girl who keeps to herself meets the most dependable and kind-hearted boy.

Armin would be lying if he said he wasn’t swayed by the promised satisfaction of playing matchmaker in the fantasy playing out in his head. Not that he felt you absolutely needed to get together. But he could feel it in his gut. You and Eren could do each other a lot of good. He already knew Eren would feel a pull upon meeting you and, if there’s anything he gathered from both sides of the coffee shop incident, it’s that you like Eren enough to let him stick around. It was a good call on your end, though he may be biased.

If you happen to fall in love along the way, then so be it.

“You’re a good guy, Eren. Everything will turn out fine.”

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