#I have to finish this degree so I can work off my debt and build a good reputation for myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eoieopda · 11 months

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meet me at the bar (ksj)

You're supposed to be staring down the barrel of the last — and most important — examination of your life, but you only have eyes for your study buddy.

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x AFAB!Reader Type: One Shot | Fluff w/ Smut | 18+ — Minors DNI Word Count: 7.5k AU: Law school, study-buddies, best friends to lovers, highly educated idiots in love CW: Bad jokes, Latin, fingering (v), unprotected sex (p in v), Seokjinnie hits it from the back. A/N: My inaugural Seokjin smut is dedicated to my donsaeng-in-law (see what I did there?) @yoongiphoria, who is now embarking on this stupid, stupid gatekeeping journey IRL. Best of luck, my lil love. I'll be waiting for you on the other side of the war! MJ FIGHTING ~ Big ups to my other lil love, M, for beta reading 💕 I posted an epilogue drabble on 7/26/23. Also: This is written based on my experience in the American legal (educational) system. I was, frankly, too lazy to study up on South Korean law for a fanfic, lol. ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

You are not spiraling.

You are a paragon of health and wellness, you tell yourself as you gulp down a mug of coffee that is still far too hot, like you’ll die without it.

More bitter than the taste on your tongue is the realization that you might die with it — your third cup in fewer hours. As far as you can tell, though, it’s a win-win situation: You’ll either generate enough anxious energy to finalize your property law flashcards, or you’ll drop dead before you have to review them.

And you won’t have to take that exam…

And you won’t have to pay off your student debt…

Besides, you figure, the stomach ulcer you’re likely inflicting on yourself will be infinitely less painful than dragging your under-caffeinated corpse through yet another day of studying. Another eight, consecutive hours spent forcing forgotten subjects back into your maxed-out brain.

It’s worth it, you repeat to yourself, though this gauntlet has turned out to be a full-time job that steals, rather than pays. You can faint on top of the finish line, so long as some part of you crosses it.

You should be used to it by now, running a marathon at a dead sprint. That’s all you’ve ever done — push yourself. You attended your first day of preschool and never stopped, never took a breath. Through elementary, middle, and high school; then for four years of university. Going, going, going.

Stumbling through that eighteenth lap around the track, you kept going because — well, being a student was all you’d ever been. That’s your toxic trait, you’ve since discovered. Your concept of self is rooted exclusively within the context of a classroom.

You didn’t know it at the time, but your decision to take the Law School Admission Test — or the HellSAT, as you’ve come to call it — might have been the start of a quarter-life crisis. But you didn’t stop there. No, you took that score and ran with it. Slapped it onto every application as a desperate plea for acceptance.

When you received your admission letter, you were a bright-eyed twenty-two-year-old with a bachelor’s degree and a vaguely defined dream.

Call it naïveté or call it gravitas, there wasn’t a doubt in your smooth little brain that law school was the logical next step to take. That being intelligent and hard-working made you well-equipped for the challenge that came with pursuing a Juris Doctor. After all, you’d spent nineteen years delaying gratification — what difference would three more make?

Within the first hour of your orientation, you — a professional student — had already learned something new: You were a masochist and, frankly, somewhat of an idiot.

Thankfully, you weren’t alone.

Sitting — dissociating, more like — at a nearby table was a lanky boy you’d first noticed on your tour of the law building. His glassy-eyed stare was aimed somewhere in the middle-distance, and even though his slightly agape mouth said nothing, it communicated everything. He was the only other person in that atrium who looked the way you felt: scared shitless and riddled with buyer’s remorse. A can crushed under the boot of self-doubt.

It was the first time you and your wobbly knees went running in his direction, but it wouldn’t be the last.

He was so deep in a daze at that moment that he didn’t notice the way you threw yourself into the open chair next to him, didn’t look up at the scrape of wooden legs against the granite floor beneath them. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you announced your presence with words, however.

It was less of an introduction — the way people in a society tend to greet each other for the first time, ever — and more of a twister. Words whipped through the air at a dangerously high velocity, no syllable ending before you started on the next. Just one breath, a few consonants, and a pair of dark eyebrows shooting up to cower behind his bangs.

“Was — was that Korean?” He asked when you finally ran out of wind.

Judging by the way his wide eyes softened, you knew he wasn’t making fun of you. You’d simply scrambled his brain so thoroughly that you’d transcended the known limits of language.

More of a question than an answer, you peeped, “I think so. Maybe?” You wavered with a sigh. “I’m no longer confident that I know any of the things I thought I knew, though. So, um, don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re giving me too much credit. I didn’t catch enough of whatever that was —” He gestured vaguely. “— To even attempt to quote you.”

Within seconds and without knowing, he’d disarmed the bomb ticking away in your gut. He must’ve sensed it, too, because his face lit up so completely that you had to look away. One glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows confirmed that the sun hadn’t reappeared at that time of night.

That rush of warmth you felt then — that absolutely insane brightness — was powered exclusively by the grin taking up the entirety of his face. If that megawatt smile alone hadn’t rerouted your oncoming anxiety attack, the distinct, squeaking laugh that erupted out of his chest would’ve done the job.

You doubled over, either under the weight of your own giggling or with the relief you felt in finding someone equally lost. Eyes swimming with mirth, you wiped wetness from your cheekbone and snorted. “Was that a windshield wiper?”

“No, that was embarrassing.”

The tips of his ears and the apples of his cheeks went some dizzy shade of pink.

He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck with one hand and held the other out to shake yours.

“And I’m Kim Seokjin.”

Now, when the door of your apartment flies open without warning, it’s that same savior standing on your threshold. That designation may be melodramatic, but if that brown paper bag contains what you suspect it does, it’s deserved.

Seokjin, patron saint of breakfast sandwiches, flops down on the couch that stretches along the opposite side of your coffee table. From where you sit on the floor — hunched over your notes like a hobgoblin — you reach out your expectant arms and make grabby hands in the space between you.

You see mischief flash in his eyes, but only for a second. In the next, he’s pretending like he doesn’t see you; doesn’t hear your petulant little whines. He extends long legs out over the cushions, clutches the bag to his chest, and lets his head roll back to rest on the couch’s arm.

“Wanna know what I did today instead of practice essays?” He asks, eyes unfocused on the ceiling above.

All you actually want is whatever that smell is. You can’t stop staring at the bag of food in his hands. If you try hard enough, maybe you can summon some sort of psychic energy, make it levitate towards you.

He doesn’t wait for your response. “The math.”

“Huh?”

You frown; and as you do, you reluctantly shift your gaze from Seokjin’s hands to his face. He isn’t looking your way, but you can tell he’s grimacing based solely on the way his jaw twitches. It’s a miracle he hasn’t ground his teeth to dust over the past three years, given how often he makes that face.

In an attempt to ease the tension in his posture, you tease, “Didn’t we go to law school because we can’t do math?”

He cracks an unwilling smile. A tiny one, but a smile nonetheless. Without turning his head, he extends his arm out in your direction. In the split second it takes for yours to spring forward like a snake, that blessed bag dangles; the scent of sausage, egg, and cheese wafts through the air and restores your will to live. Clutching your prize, halfway to feral, you tear into it without hesitation.

As you bite off more than you can chew, Seokjin prepares his rant with a sigh, “So, consider this.”

“Mmphf,” you advise through a mouthful of greasy bliss.

“Bar exam prep takes eight weeks, right? If we’re only counting business days, that’s forty — forty days, for a minimum of eight hours each.”

He becomes more restless, the more he talks. Heated, he sits bolt upright and turns wild-eyed to you.

Oh, he’s gone full-tilt insane.

“Three-hundred-and-twenty hours, then. And if you think about that in terms of our clerk wages —” He slaps his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. “— at 2,625 won per hour —”

Then, he points to you, as if the increasing volume of his voice wasn’t already holding you hostage.

“— we’ve sacrificed nearly two million won in income, just by studying for this fucking test.”

You swallow down the last bite of your sandwich, which you downright hoovered while Seokjin took the path of most resistance. After clearing your throat, your interjection overlaps with his next point:

“Seokjinnie, why didn’t you just double our monthly —”

“That’s after we paid ninety million in tuition, hundreds of thousands on study materials and registration fees —”

You cut him off. “Is this your way of asking me to Venmo you for breakfast?”

He freezes, caught fully off-guard. Shocked eyes widen like you’re the ridiculous one. “Of course not!”

He waves you off like his thoughtful gesture is no big deal. Then, like he’s tired himself out, he sinks back onto your couch. From his back, he grumbles with crossed arms, “‘M just sayin’ that I’m tired of this shit.”

You can’t help but giggle at the pathetic pout working down the corners of his mouth. “Felt,” you agree, though it feels a little bit like a lie.

Truth be told, you feel more awake now than you did ten minutes ago, and you can’t attribute it to the coffee — not when the evidence so clearly indicates otherwise.

Over the course of three years, you’ve built up quite the case against yourself. You’ve made the following findings of fact:

Whenever he pops up, Seokjin brings your mood up with him. Even now, as he marinates in anguish on your couch, his presence gives you a reason not to beat yourself unconscious with the four-kilogram prep book that sits beside you on the rug. Makes you hate your circumstances a little less, if only because you share them with him.

And, for a rapidly deflating balloon, you have to concede that Seokjin looks stunning this morning.

Unlike you and your day-three hair, he somehow had the energy to wash his. The mid-sections of some strands are still damp; the parts that aren’t frame his face in fluffy waves. His shampoo is something fruity mixed with something crisp — grapefruit and mint, maybe? — and it floods your senses, causing question marks to replace any coherent thoughts you might otherwise have. You’d be lying again if you said you didn’t want to find out for sure how soft those tresses really are.

The verdict?

Well, the jury’s still out, but you know you’re guilty.

If being down this bad for your best friend isn’t a criminal offense, it should be.

You shake your head to clear it. To smother the flame licking up the inside of your belly, you grab the certified mood killer off the coffee table and hold it up in front of you. Surely, the cure for a sexual tension headache is an eight-centimeter stack of color-coded, neon index cards covered in information you shouldn’t need to memorize in the first place.

“Exam’s in one week,” you say with a shiver.

Seokjin rolls onto his side to look forlornly at you. You are not looking at his bare hip bone, which appears where the hem of his shirt shifts from the waistband of his joggers. Nope.

You continue the search for the point you’re trying to make. “I can barely spell mortgage, let alone explain what the fuck to do with one.”

“Don’t think I know what land even is at this point,” he sighs. Dejected, he lets his arm go limp. It spills off the edge of the cushion and dangles until his knuckles brush against the rug. “What is this property you speak of?”

Biting back a grin is impossible, so you press your lips together instead. Just like that — just by Seokjin being Seokjin — the hellscape you willingly walked into gets a little brighter. Maybe, you think, you can do this.

You look down for a moment to shuffle up the cards you spent the better part of two days preparing. As you stare down at the staggering amount of knowledge you might be tested on, you can feel the crease returning between your eyebrows. Your grimace is back, too, like a reflex.

If you make it through this experience without premature wrinkles, you’ll be shocked.

There’s shifting on the couch ahead, but you don’t look up until Seokjin breezes, “From this angle, it almost looks like you’re smiling.”

His arm is no longer dangling off the edge of the couch. His entire upper body is. Knees now hinged over the backrest for balance, he’s upside-down and smirking impishly at you.

He has to know you’re in love with him, right? How could he expect you not to be?

You clear your throat and arch a single eyebrow as a challenge. “What is the rule against perpetuities, Seokjinnie?”

Like you, he can recite it in full at a machine-gun rate of fire. It’s been beaten so far into your heads that you might utter it on your deathbeds, with your last gasping breaths.

“No interest in land is good unless it must vest, if at all, not later than twenty-one years after some life in being at the creation of the interest,” he responds with a smug smile. “Easy.”

It’s your turn to smirk.

“Great. Now, what does any of that mean?”

Without missing a beat, he fires back, “Does anyone know?”

“Absolutely not. Next question!”

Having had the same day, every day, for seven weeks straight, Seokjin is struggling. He’s spent hundreds of hours on the same routine, feeling beaten down and burnt out, all the while. It goes like this:

Every morning, he wakes up and goes for a run in a feeble attempt to feel something other than dread. After that, he eats a lackluster breakfast, and then he promptly chains himself to his desk. When he finally gives himself permission to get up again, it’s dark out; and he’s too brain dead to check the hundred or so notifications that amassed on his phone during his fugue state.

Scratch that. There’s one person he responds to, no matter what. As far as everyone else is concerned, though, he’s a ghost.

Today is the first day out of the last fifty-five where Seokjin doesn’t feel like his brain is being hydraulically pressed. For the first time in too long, he fell into an old routine; one he’s missed. It started with a shower — and honestly, that was overdue — then, he swung by the café he’s frequented over the past three years. There, he made his usual order.

One iced americano, and one sausage-egg-and-cheese croissant with extra hot sauce.

Before he walked back up the block, he downed the former, but he didn’t touch the latter. The latter wasn’t for him, anyways. None of the breakfast sandwiches he ever stops for are.

The subsequent hours looked semi-similar to the three-hundred-and-twenty he’s already devoted to studying. Well, sort of. To be clear, the subject matter still sucks, and he’s still angry that he has to touch it at all, but he isn’t waiting for the sweet release of death in the same way he has been all summer.

This might have something to do with the fact that, for the first time in nearly sixty days, he’s not on his own.

More than that, he’s with you.

Having switched away from covenants, easements, and servitudes, he feels a slightly less stupid. Contract law is a little more straightforward and a little less caked in colonialism. Unfortunately, after six hours of burning all his brain cells on shit like liens, Seokjin has begun his descent into madness.

The worms are digging in, he can’t focus, and neither of you can stop — fucking — laughing.

“I’ll give you a hint,” you giggle, shifting in your spot on the neighboring cushion. You give his knee a pat that feels a tiny bit patronizing, but that makes his pulse race, nonetheless. “It’s a Latin term.”

He snorts so loudly that you do a double-take, just to make sure it wasn’t a sneeze. You both stare at one another for a beat, then comes the eruption.

“It’s all Latin!” He roars.

To muffle the way he’s wheezing, Seokjin slaps his hands over his face. It’s already tear-stained from his abject failure to keep his shit together. At least he can attempt to hide how red he knows it is.

Your laugh comes straight from your belly. You double over completely when his comes out in squeaks, hand reaching out to squeeze his forearm. It used to bother him, the sound he made when he truly loses it, but it doesn’t any more.

How could it, when it makes you cling to him like that?

Wiping at your cheeks, you take a deep breath, then sigh, “Does it help if I give you the translation?”

He doubts it because you just pinched your bottom lip between your teeth, and now, his mind is blank.

Really, it’s a fucking miracle he graduated at all with you around. You and that face you make when you concentrate have always made it impossible for him to do so. It’s why he wasn’t paying attention in class when this shit was taught in the first place, he realizes now.

To cool himself down, Seokjin grabs the Camelbak bottle off the coffee table, realizes too late it’s yours and not his — oh, well — and shoves the straw into his mouth. He nods once, firmly, and sucks in as much water as he can.

It all sprays back out of his mouth when you say:

“Naked promise.”

He had always wondered what his life would look like if it ever flashed before his eyes. Now, he knows. It’s not a montage of his finest moments, the most recent of which would not have made the cut. All he sees is you, wide-eyed, glancing between him and the wet spot that’s now soaking through your sweatshirt.

You press your lips together, probably to keep from laughing in his face. It’s a valiant effort on your part and a kind gesture, but honestly, he doesn’t deserve it. His fingers twitch as he clutches the bottle, wanting nothing more than to dump the remaining water on his face. He embarrasses himself more often than not, but this stings his cheeks like a sunburn.

“I am —” he raises his hands, flustered, “So sorry. I don’t remember waking up in a sitcom this morning, but I, uhhh, clearly did.”

When you stand up, you’re grinning. And not in that scary way you do when you’re about to retaliate for some prank he’s pulled. No, that look on your face is genuine amusement.

Thank god.

You shrug as you cross your arms over your torso and grip the hem of your sweatshirt with both hands. “All good, Seokjinnie,” you laugh. “This needed to be washed, anyway. You see that coffee stain?”

No.

No, he does not see that coffee stain because the tank top underneath your sweatshirt is clinging to the wet spot as you tug the top layer up your stomach. He feels bad for staring — really, he does — but fuck, your skin looks soft. Like, so soft that he has to grip his water bottle to keep a grip on himself.

Eventually, your tank top separates from your sweatshirt. It falls back down to where it belongs, to Seokjin’s dismay, and the sweatshirt keeps going.

“Nudum pactum,” you remind him as you pull the drenched hoodie over your head. Playfully, you toss it at him. It smacks against his chest, splays out over his lap.

Once more with feeling: thank god.

You sink back down beside him on the couch, and he can’t help but notice that you’re the tiniest bit closer than you were before. It’s innocent, just your bare knee bumping his shin as you re-cross your legs. Still, it leaves his tingling through the fabric of his joggers when you don’t move away.

The silence surges as it settles, crinkling like static in his ears. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask him again: “What’s it mean?”

Uhhhh.

“It means —”

Unfortunately for him, the water he just forcibly ejected from his mouth didn’t help him. His throat is dry now, and he sounds strangled, he’s sure. The way you’re watching him so intently doesn’t help one fucking bit, either.

Are you doing that on purpose?

You nudge him physically this time, knuckles connecting gently and playfully with his leg. He wonders if you can hear his heart hammering against the wall of his chest in all of this quiet. You might, he figures, especially when you tuck your hair behind your ear.

Instinctively, his eyes flick down to the length of your neck. Without a curtain of hair in the way, it’s even more exposed skin that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with. Making matters worse for him, you tilt your head to the side expectantly. His breath catches when he tears his gaze away, back up, and sees the way you’re looking at him now.

You are absolutely — without a goddamn doubt — doing this on purpose.

If that’s the game you want to play, Seokjin can play it, too. He turns away from you to set the bottle back down on the coaster he took it from. As he does, he finally answers your question — the nonchalance he’s faking even sounds convincing.

“It’s an unenforceable promise,” he replies casually. “One with insufficient consideration.”

He rights himself in his seat, stretches a bit further backwards until he’s resting comfortably against the arm of the couch. You hide it well, but there’s a hint of a pout on your lips when you clock the newfound distance.

Check, he smirks to himself, your move.

A flash of pink slips out. Your tongue wetting those lips before you prompt him more quietly than before, “And consideration is…?”

He slips up, makes the mistake of noticing the rise and fall of your chest as you take measured breaths. So, he sees, you’re buzzing with anticipation, too. He wonders if it’s him that’s having that effect on you, or the circumstances.

For all he knows, it could be pent up steam that you need to release. Stress weighing down your body that you want to get off.

Fuck, he wants to get you off.

He swallows thickly. “Can’t get something for nothing. There has to be an exchange, otherwise it’s meaningless.”

You say nothing, so he keeps talking.

“Quid pro quo, essentially,” Seokjin adds. He chuckles slightly when he realizes. “See? Told you. It’s all fucking Latin.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at his joke, but you don’t make a sound. The hand that previously pushed against his leg inches closer, just barely. It’s such a small shift that you don’t seem to realize that you’re moving it.

Maybe you feel that pull, too; the one he’s been fighting since you barged into his life without warning.

Maybe the consideration has been there from the start; a promise for a promise. I’ll jump if you do. Because it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? Since orientation.

Pulling all-nighters in the library, developing matching caffeine dependencies, getting sick too often from the strain of it all.

You and him.

Laughing quietly in the back of lectures, cold sweats through cold calls, bitching about unpaid internships while you spend indisposable income at the bar down the block without acknowledging the irony.

There are only two real differences between this night and that first one, he notes.

Now, Seokjin isn’t questioning every decision he’s ever made that led him to this point. He’s not scared shitless, not really. Not when you’re around.

You cut through the silence with a sigh that’s barely more than an exhale, so breathy that your voice dissipates as soon as it hits the air.

“Seokjin.”

He could probably hear a pin if you dropped one — can hear everything you don’t say. It’s all packed tight inside that utterance of his name like gunpowder, locked and loaded.

So, who shoots first?

You shift again. Now, when you speak, it’s deliberate and in a language he can parse.

“Tell me you want me, too.”

Bang!

His body answers for him, pushes off from where he leans until he can get his knees underneath him. He’s waited three years to kiss you, but he can delay gratification for the brief time it takes to overtake you. Pinned with his palms bearing weight on either side of your head, you wind up caged in and breathless beneath him. His right knee occupies the space between your spread thighs.

Again, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far with you around.

He hums, beyond pleased with the position he finds himself in. “Maybe. Tell me if I got the answer right.”

“Oh my god.” You toss your head back to the extent that you can, which admittedly isn’t far. Your frustration rolls off you in waves, heat palpable. “I’ll kill you, I swear.”

“Sounds admissible to me,” he teases further. He flexes an eyebrow. “Isn’t that an exception to the prohibition of hearsay evidence? Speaks to motive, I think.”

Seokjin has no idea why he’s riling himself up like this. If he could shut up — just this once — he could be kissing you by now. You seem to be aware of that fact, too, because you grip his shirt so desperately, one right move might tear it.

You huff out a laugh despite the circumstances, “This friendship is over, by the way, in case that’s not clear.”

That tiny smile on your face spreads to his. Not over, he knows, just modified. Amplified, finally. Knowing that, he continues to push his luck.

“Can I make one more joke?”

“So over!” You emphasize with a wail.

He takes a second to center himself before hitting you with award-winning drama, sincerity dipped in the kind of humor he never misses out on with you:

“You have adversely possessed my heart.”

Your jaw drops at how stupid that line was, but you reign it in just in time for his lips to crash into yours.

It almost knocks the wind out of him, the way the pieces fall with force into place. They slot together easily, just like you do. With fingers clinging, the weight of his body molding overtop of yours.

You kiss him until he forgets what life tasted like without your tongue licking into him, your little moans melting in his mouth — until you break apart, gasping for air. Panting, you ask, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting on you?”

He doesn’t, no, not at all. Thankfully, you take his stunned silence for what it’s worth. After relinquishing your grip on his shirt, you bring your hands up to cup his face gently in your palms.

With you touching him like this, he has no option but to stare down at you. Bit redundant, he thinks, since his focus has always been locked right here, right on you, by choice. Given that, it’s a little funny that he managed to miss every signal you’ve apparently sent him. But really, it doesn’t necessarily surprise him to hear that he’s even dumber than he thought.

You kiss him slowly this time, briefly, before nipping affectionately at his bottom lip. It drives him exactly as crazy as you want it to; makes his cock twitch inside his joggers, makes his brain foggy with a potent combination of fondness and filth.

Do you have any idea how many times he’s thought about this? He’s genuinely wondering because even he doesn’t know. He’s lost count of all the times he’s watched you nibble on your own lip and wished it was his instead. A million or more, if he has to guess.

Seeming to sense the way you've scrambled his brain, you nudge the tip of his nose with yours and giggle.

Seokjin can’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Thought of a good one,” you answer. Your smirk does his head in. The contrasting, goofy wiggle of your eyebrows squeezes his heart. “Better than yours, I think.”

He kisses you quick and hums, “Oh?”

You nod.

The suspense is killing him. So is the way your clothed cunt grinds ever so slightly against his thigh.

Fuck.

He wants you, he wants you, he wants you.

“You gonna make me come, Seokjin, or do I have to wait for you to file a subpoena?”

You may have to seek a refund for the prep course you paid for.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve learned best through application. You could read the same chapter, over and over, and not absorb a word. The same was true with lectures, even more so when they’re pre-recorded rambles by the weirdest adjunct professors known to man. Sure, you may eventually memorize concepts this way, but they don’t sink in deeply enough to stay. You can’t use them in any way that helps you.

To no one’s surprise, no part of your civil procedure lecture sticks until it falls into your lap.

Strike that.

Until Seokjin loses his balance in trying to take his pants off, and falls onto your floor with a yelp.

A moment or two passes while you stare at each other in shock, but that dissolves quickly. And so do both of you, right into another fit of laughter that makes your shoulders shake. Then, you jump to your feet and hold your hands out to him.

Seokjin accepts them, though he doesn’t rely on them at all when he stands back up. He seems more than content just to hold onto you, whether or not he needs you to keep him steady. You have no complaints, for once in your life.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “Venue change?”

“I think —” You hum and kiss the column of his throat. He swallows hard enough that you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. So sensitive. “This is what they call forum non conveniens.”

He’s having none of that, and you don’t necessarily blame him. As it turns out, the shoe isn’t terribly comfortable when it’s on the other foot.

You’re lifted without warning, bent over his shoulder, and hauled off in the direction of your bedroom before you can even squeak in protest. You drop like a bag of dirt — albeit a beloved bag of dirt — onto your mattress once he reaches it; his lips are on yours to swallow the gasp before it can leave your mouth.

As eager as his mouth are his hands, roaming down the curve of your waist and over your hips. With fistfuls of the pajama shorts you hadn’t bothered to change out of, his head dips down under your jaw. The warmth of his breath is quickly replaced by that of his tongue, flicking a short, languid line along your neck.

“Want you so fucking bad,” he breathes. A shiver shoots straight down your spine and you keen, head crashing gracelessly back against the pillows. “Just like this.”

And he means it — you can feel how true it is with him settled between your spread legs. He presses his hips forward to meet your clothed cunt, cock teasing you through four goddamn layers’ worth of fabric.

His lips flutter against your earlobe just seconds before his teeth graze your flesh. He continues, voice vibrating through his chest to yours, “All the time.”

You outright whimper when he grinds against you a second time. Halfway to crazy, you knot your fingers in his hair and wrap your legs around his back in a silent plea for friction. So hungry for him that it aches.

“Seokjin, need — oh, god.”

You lose your train of thought the second his hand slides into the gap between your bodies. Long fingers slip below the waistband of your shorts and panties, too. He doesn’t stop there. Not with fingertips whispering over the mound of your cunt, not until he finds you wet and wanting.

So wet that you can hear it when the pad of his index finger runs along your slit.

His mouth curves against your neck, prompting you to shift your head on the pillow. You tilt your neck just enough to meet his eyes.

To your surprise, he’s not smirking. Not even close. If anything, he looks awestruck. Like he’s finally realizing what he does to you, how your body reacts to him. From the looks of it, that discovery is flipping his whole damn world upside down.

For once, Seokjin doesn’t crack a joke and neither do you. It’s quiet, save for your tiny gasping breaths and the ripple of his fingertip swirling over your clit. Even the moan building in your chest gets the memo. It disappears somewhere in your throat when — fucking finally — that middle finger penetrates you.

And god, he sounds so wrecked when he finally speaks.

“Tried to imagine it a thousand times, you know,” he murmurs.

You clench around his finger as it curls upwards, shiver when he starts to stroke the sensitive spot along your front wall. His thumb picks up where his middle finger left off, pressing against your clit in a way that makes you mewl.

Seokjin only stops talking to kiss you deep and leave you dizzy. It’s too brief. If asked, you’d never be able to quantify what amount of time is enough, but you know that wasn’t, so you pout.

Ignoring your little whines, he continues with a hum, “How perfect you’d feel, if I ever got this lucky.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

You laugh as you say it, but you’re dead serious: “If you keep talking to me like that, you’ll never be able to get rid of me.”

Marry me, why don’t you? Beautiful bastard.

“Threat or promise?”

He adds a second finger; and suddenly, you’re not laughing anymore. No, the strangled sound you make while you grind against his palm isn’t funny at all, but you can’t care about that now. Your focus is stuck on remembering how to breathe. In, out. On the stars blinking behind your eyelids when they give up and flutter shut.

He works you open for him like he’s already attuned, like it’s the fiftieth time he’s finger-fucked you and not the very first. And, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing how little time it takes for him to pull you apart at the seams.

No one has ever made you cum with such little effort. You’re scared to learn what it’s like when he tries.

You catch the triumphant gleam in his eye in the split second before you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He’s earned it, you suppose, so you’ll let him relish the personal record he’s managed to set on his first time out. You might even let him brag about it, so long as he continues to make you tremble like this.

“Shit,” he chuckles low near your ear.

If he sounds muffled, it’s because you’re still waiting for your system to reboot. He knows this, knows how fucking sensitive you are, and slides his fingers out of you as slowly as possible. Still, those aftershocks throttle you; the unintentional stimulation makes you jolt.

“Yes,” you nod helplessly, squeezing your eyes and jaw shut simultaneously. “Shit is right. Perfect analysis, no notes.”

A chaste kiss is placed on your temple. It’s petal soft and subak sweet, but it functions like a defibrillator. Within a split second, he’s revived you. Eyes now open again, you exhume your face from where you buried it and blink up at him. Warm brown eyes light up when you reappear.

He’s so fucking beautiful that you almost want to avert your eyes. Key word: almost. You’ll drink in the sight of him until you drown, you think.

Seokjin looks concerned. With a shy smile, he checks in: “You okay? We can stop right now if you’re not.”

You don’t know who they are, but you know that they don’t make them like him anymore. Which is a fucking bummer for the rest of the world — just not for you. This one is all yours.

“You quitting on me, Kim?” You let your knee fall inwards to nudge his side, and you pretend not to notice how boneless you still feel. “Didn’t wait all this time to tap out early, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, nonetheless. His warm palm massages the outside of your thigh affectionately, if only for a moment. Then, he pats his fingertips against the same spot. “Shorts off, champ.”

You follow his instructions and move to shimmy out of them, but not before snorting, “Champ?”

“Fine. Old sport?” He offers with a shit-eating grin. Your shirt smacks him in the face once you peel it off and chuck it at him. He pouts. “Hey!”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

He tugs his shirt over his head, launches it over his shoulder without looking. Your unabashed stare immediately clocks the slight hint of his abdominal muscles. Lean, but not sharply contoured in a way that looks painful to touch. Soft. Perfect, even.

What lab were you engineered in?

“For someone with so many opinions, you don’t offer many suggestions.” He shoots you a pointed look while he unties the knot at his waistband drawstring. “What’s your proposal?”

You’d love to bite back at him. Really, you would, but he pulls his boxers down alongside his joggers, and every meaningful thought you’ve ever had goes flying out the fucking window. All that’s left is I want you, I want you, I want you.

Automatically, you reach out with a tentative hand, craving nothing more than to feel his velvet length in your hand. To your surprise, he stops you. He catches your hand in his, lifts it to his lips, and brushes a kiss over your knuckles.

“Rain check, baby,” Seokjin smiles against your skin. There it is. That’s the one. “Need to fuck you, posthaste, or I’ll simply pass away.”

You open your mouth to comment; he breezes right past you. He points to the mattress, then to the wall to your left. “On your side, love.”

That works, too.

“Face away from me.”

Never in your life have you moved so fast, all but throwing yourself down where he told you to. As you land with a slight bounce, you mouth to yourself, Posthaste? Nerd.

A second slips by, then Seokjin slips into the space behind you. His lips tickle the back of your neck when he kisses the base of it, causing you to gasp yet again. Maybe that’s just how you breathe when he’s around — like you don’t know how.

His hand drifts down the length of your side, passing over the doughy flesh of your ass. He gives it a squeeze for good measure — because of course he does — but he doesn’t linger, not now.

That hand continues until you feel his fingertips scratch affectionately at the back of your right thigh. He doesn’t need to ask; you lift your leg, allowing your knee to hinge overtop of his hand. Now that his hands are occupied, you offer yours to assist.

This time, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your fingers around his length. And fuck, there’s so much of it. Part of you wants to ask where the hell he thinks he’s going to fit all of it, but you’re not a quitter, so you keep your mouth shut.

Seokjin shivers under your touch, breath catching in his throat so blatantly that you can hear it right behind your ear.

“Hmmm,” you tease, squeezing the crown gently as you circle your wrist. “Does that work for you, champ?”

His forehead drops against your shoulder. The groan you force out of him is twice as long as necessary, followed by an unwilling laugh. “You’re right, okay? You’re fucking right. It’s awful. Just so fucking bad.”

Your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, smearing the bead of pre-cum waiting for you there. You’re relentless. “Sure you don’t like old sport better? Huh, buddy?”

“Baby,” he warns. There isn’t much heat to it, but it burns white hot in your core anyway.

The stretch of his cock does, too, when you finally stop fucking with him and start letting him fuck you. The breath he holds as he enters you slowly is let out in a shuddered groan when he bottoms out. Perfectly full and fully incapable of teasing him further, you simply melt back against his chest.

He’s careful to start, testing the waters and refusing to push you too far, too fast. You want more, though, you always have. Greedy, you rock your hips back against him to force him deeper into your weeping hole. He takes the hint, fingertips pressing bruises into the underside of your knee as he picks up his pace — and you’re far too blissed to care.

He pistons into you eagerly, deliberate. His hips clap against the flesh of your ass, but the sting of it all can’t compete with the way he splits you open. Makes you reach back to cling to any part of him you can get your hands on, claim whatever you find for keeps. Buried to the hilt, and somehow, he’s still not close enough.

You’re close, if your fluttering walls have anything to say about it. You’re babbling, too, so lost in pleasure that you can only repeat — over and over — how fucking perfect he is. How perfect for you he is.

Seokjin peppers kisses down the curve of your shoulder as he thrusts. It’s the only real indication you have that he’s at a loss for words, too; that he’s compensating for the quiet. He kisses you with an open mouth, teeth grazing the space he finds, leaves a mess on your sweat-slicked skin.

“Fuck,” he grunts. You mewl. “Can’t stop thinking about —”

“Just like that, please.”

“— how many times I could’ve —”

You wail, “Shit, Seokjin, don’t stop. I’m so close.”

The staccato strokes will be the death of you, you’re sure of it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop. Not when he kisses the back of your neck again, and not when he murmurs directly in your ear, “— had you like this, if I’d said something years ago.”

Please, please, please.

It’s all you can say, again and again, as if he isn’t already giving you everything you want before you even ask for it. Responding to every movement you make, fucking into you with precision so that each vein of his cock brings friction where you crave it. Fucking you through your orgasm when it catches you in a riptide and sends you reeling.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice is soothing despite the recklessness of his thrusts. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

You’re still gushing when he snaps his hips forward and stills, cock twitching as he lets himself go inside of you. Still trembling when his head droops forward to nuzzle against your shoulder blade, and when you feel his breathing begin to slow in tandem with yours.

Once he pulls himself out of you, a few moments pass in fucked-out silence. It’s comfortable, if you ignore the mess between your thighs — and you do, for now. Your brain is too busy to waste time on that.

You’re exhausted and bordering on delirious when you say it, but that doesn’t make it any less true:

“I might love you, probably.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. He doesn’t move either, which makes you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with his face smushed into your bare back. But you feel the tiniest exhale through his nose; the kind of laugh you get from him when he’s too tired to be any louder.

His reply is muffled, lips still pressed against your skin, but you hear it perfectly.

For the record, he probably loves you, too.

Epilogue, posted 7/26/23.

final a/n: i have a follow-up drabble planned for these two! stay tuned 🥰

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acefms · 5 months

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if you’re hearing LOSER by BECK playing, you have to know ACE MILLER (HE/HIM; CIS MALE) is near by! the 31 year old ANIMATOR has been in denver for, like, FIVE YEARS. they’re known to be quite AVOIDANT , but being AMIABLE seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble DREW STARKEY. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those LATE NIGHT DRIVES TO NOWHERE, SMUDGED INK AND PAINT SPLATTERS, WEARING SUNGLASSES INSIDE TO HIDE A HANGOVER, NEVER WALKING PAST A DOG WITHOUT SAYING HI vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the DOWNTOWN DISTRICT long enough!

NAME: ace miller AGE: thirty-one and oh so dumb ... HOMETOWN: philadelphia, pennsylvania BIRTHDAY: october 19th ZODIAC: libra GENDER: male PRONOUNS: he/him SEXUALITY: bi bi bi ( slight male lean ) RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single OCCUPATION: animator for tv shows/comics/movies — is currently working on his own comic (name tbd)

[ tw: gambling, addiction, abandonment, depression. ]

• Ace grew up in south Philadelphia with his mother and father until the age of seven, when after years of a toxic relationship his father left and never came back. Ace struggled with the abandonment throughout his life, but was lucky enough to have his grandfather who was more of a parent to him than anyone else could ever be. Through his grandfather he discovered his love and talent for art, and began to use it as his form of escapism. It was his saving grace during his turbulent teenage years. He would definitely derailed had it not been for art and the worlds he made in the comfort of his room.

• His mother was loving in her own way during his childhood, but was always driven by materialistic possessions that she couldn’t afford. Her job as bartender just wouldn’t cut it, and she began to gamble. But after a few wins, she found herself hooked on the feeling and soon developed an addiction that grew out of control. Ace had to take on two jobs before he was finished with high school just to help pay off her debts which left him drained to the point that he struggled to keep up. He sank into deep depression and found it hard to get out.

• Despite this, she continued to try and live lavishly behind his back while he was on the verge of a mental breakdown due to how many things he had to juggle at once. By the time he graduated high school, he’d grown to resent her completely and she continued to put her addiction, and boyfriends, above him. They have no relationship at this present time and he has no current desire to ever see her again.

• Leaving for college ( which his grandfather had paid for ), he gained a dual-degree in graphic design and animation and built his way up in the business, taking a good few hits before finally landing his dream job working in film and tv, online content as well as comics. He genuinely loves his job and it’s probably the one aspect of his life he’s completely happy with. He is very creative and has several little worlds inside his head.

• He travelled for years, moving at least every six months before finally settling in Denver in attempt to build some kind of solid life, but so far the only part he’s got right is raising a a crazy pup named charlie and gaining a lifelong best friend in the form of his roommate theodore.

HEADCANNONS

• he never sleeps before 2am and never wakes before 10am. he will literally be acting like it’s the middle of the day in the middle of the night.

• he’s a terrible cook. he can heat things up and make basic stuff, but overall he’s kinda hopeless. someone help him.

• he drinks way too much coffee, and too often occasionally too much whiskey and beer. randomly likes to get high a few times a month if he needs a little help falling asleep. will be seen with sunglasses on constantly to hide who zombie-like/hungover he is.

• before he realized his mothers addiction he would often take trips with her as a young boy to vegas or places alike ( most of, but not all, his time was spent waiting for her in hotel rooms ) so he’s actually really decent at playing poker because she taught him how to play. but ace hates to gamble.

• during his time travelling he’s spent a lot of time sleeping in his car ( when he wasn’t abroad ) and he actually really enjoys the outdoors. likes to hike with his pup. also is likely to end up with a million dogs.

• he has a small ace of spades tattoo on the inside of his middle finger on his left hand -- he got it as a dare when he was drunk at seventeen. he hates it, but he’ll never get rid of it. he also has a fingers crossed tattoo on his right forearm, and a melting smiley face on his right index finger. more tbh he has at least ten. random tattoo supremacy. i'll add more when i can think.

• aside from his cartoons, he also loves to paint, sketch, play around with pottery and just get as creative as possible with anything artistic whatsoever. it's his safe space, his own form of therapy in a way. though he doesn’t let many people see the results as somehow they feel a lot more personal than his cartoon/animation work.

POSSIBLE / WANTED CONNECTIONS

roommate/ best friend -- taken by theodore cohen.

past flings/hook-ups -- ashamed to say there's been many. ace struggles with emotional vulnerability and absolutely runs from things.

childhood friends -- god forbid anyone knew him when he was openly sad, haha. jokes to disguise emotional damage for the win.

people who don't like him -- he's annoying, it's so likely.

party pals -- you're his favourite people.

a cousin ? aunt, uncle -- there will probably be some tension as his family is a mess, but this could be fun to play out.

idk he's an idiot give me everything.

#chq;intro #love him please he needs it.

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femmefatalevibe · 10 months

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Hello, I'm a first year university student. I've always wanted to go to uni but I didn't really have an idea of what to study, so I chose to study a major that I'm interested in. I'm enjoying it so far and I know I'd love to finish my degree, but I also know that I probably don't want to have a career in the area this degree would get me. Do you have any tips or advice about whether or not it is a good idea to go through the trouble of getting a degree which might not be put to use?

Thank you.

Hi love. I don't know what country you're in, so I don't know the culture and commonality of your peers switching courses (outside of the U.S., I know it's fairly uncommon and your career tends to be more tied to your degree choice). Coming from the perspective of someone who completed a more unconventional degree in the U.S., here are the things I would consider:

The cost of attendance: Are you going to accrue a considerable amount of debt to attend this university or have you received a scholarship/grants to attend/have your parents decided to help pay for your education? Going into debt for a degree you don't even know you want is not worthwhile in my opinion. It's better to take a little time off and only invest in education that's worthwhile to you/your future career.

Consider the ROI of your degree & transferable/marketable skills: If you're ever going to pursue a degree you're not passionate about, it better be one that is highly marketable/demonstrates a high-value/income skill (e.g. computer science, economics, finance, a law degree, etc.). However, if you're passionate about your degree, consider the skills you're learning and how they are a value-add in the career field you desire to pursue. Connecting the dots and showing why having this "unconventional" degree for your field makes you a desirable (and even one that offers a unique advantage) candidate for prospective employers is key.

Leverage internships, jobs, & all professional perks you get as a student: If you have great professors, a school with a valuable professional reputation in a field you want to pursue, on-campus interview opportunities, your school name/degree looks great on your resume for internship opportunities, etc., make sure to use these opportunities and resources to your advantage to get work opportunities/internships in your desired career field. Learn everything you can through these experiences, work hard and smart, and build your network. Often, your first job opportunities result from a successful internship or a job you took in your last 1-2 years of university, so these professional experiences will be more impactful on your career path than a choice of your degree. If your school and university network is resource-packed and marketable, I think learning these extra skill sets outside of your degree is more than worthwhile once you get your foot in the door vs. starting from square one again and still needing to overcome these modern-day professional hurdles.

I recommend speaking about this concern with your degree with a university advisor, a trusted professor(s), and/or mentor(s) before making any final decisions unless you're going into considerable debt while questioning your degree so heavily.

Hope this helps xx

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youareinbarbados · 1 year

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"How do I keep the feeling of the 'wish fulfilled ' ?"

Great/HUGE question. We have to unpack this carefully.

*PHEW* ok. SO.

To understand how to most efficiently and effectively stay in the "SWF" (State of the Wish Fulfilled), one has to understand what a state IS. A STATE is a subconscious Default. It's where you reside, subconsciously. It is fed by your habitual thought patterns, as well as habitual assumptions. These states are able to be changed by altering your thought patterns. These thought patterns are the results of conditioning. A good example of this is someone who often "catastrophizes".

Example:

"If my parents die, I'd have no one to live with. I have no family. I'd have to get 2 jobs, to maybe pay rent with a roommate. I'd have to drop out of school. I'd have to give up my business degree and I'd still be on the hook for financial aid. I'd be in massive debt for things that I cannot finish. How would I even pay these things off when I can't even afford rent ? How would I eat ? Omg, I wouldn't be able to afford my car insurance. I'd have to take a bus. Are there even any busses that go here ?...Etc."

We see here, that the mere act of this person's parents dying has , in their mind, created an entire timeline/universe where they must now figure these things out. The main idea here is the parents dying, or being gone. Given enough time and thought this idea will be given enough thought energy to being a possibility in the objective world, as this person has created what Emmet Fox calls a "mental equivalent". The more this person thinks about what they'd have to do when their parents are no longer here, the more that *state* grows . Soon, this person would be living in a world where their parents are gone. This would then reflect on the objective world.

Notice how they didn't have to affirm that "My parents are gone" x 30 times a day or do SATS. All they did was think, at length about all the implications. This state grows PASSIVELY.

THIS IS WHAT CHANGES STATES. THINKING AT GREAT LENGTHS OF THE IMPLICATIONS OF AN EVENT. THIS IS KEY.

People try so hard to change states through exercises like SATs and Meditation, but have forgotten how they most naturally change states. Meditation and SATS are not natural practices. You have to understand that states are changed PASSIVELY. You may try to actively change a given state, but the truth is that you don't know when the exact moment you change the state is. It's a condition that you suddenly realize, as a result of unconscious thought, or conscious exercise.

We often wonder why 2 hours of stress DURING a day can undo 24+ hours of our attempts at SATS. Well, ask yourself. What world did you create in your SATS sessions ? SATs is a world building exercise. You are God. God creates. How detailed were your creations ? This idea needs to be it's own post, but I'll get to that when Im not running after kids all day, lol

In the example above, the person who was afraid of losing their parents was at the point where they were trying to figure out how their car insurance would be paid. That's how detailed their "nightmare world" was. How detailed is your "wish fullfilled" ? Thinking about these things feed energy to the implied end. Everything has a purpose.

Want a house ? Then how often are you cutting the grass ? Are there termites ? How's the lighting ? How much is the electric bill per month ? Where are your posters hanging ? What is the texture of the floor tiles in the bathroom ? Is the neighbor nextdoor nice ? Do you trust him ? Where do guests park ? Do you have a guest room ? Does your mailbox have a "no commercials" sticker on it ? How often does the recycling truck come by ? Cardboard collection? Do you park in the garage usually , or the driveway ? How far are you from your best friend ? Are they too far now ? How's the work/commute ? How's being late going to affect your job ? Are you as loud as before now that you have picky neighbors who like "quiet" ? Should you plant flowers in the front yard, every one else has, and you're the only house without? What will they think ? Why didn't that asshole who lives across from you say hello yet ? She saw you move in, who does she think she is ? Her husky always barks at 10 pm. If she doesn't handle it, I'm going over there. Your sister just broke up and needs a place to stay. Is she going to ask you ? How long will she stay?"

Do you have answers for these questions? Do you realize that answering these questions PASSIVELY puts you in the state of you having your desired house without you realizing it ? Ever drive to your best friends house ? Ever BEEN DRIVEN do your friends house ? Notice how it takes longer when you're driving ? It's because you're actively driving there. It's fast when you're a passenger because you're not driving. You're probably on your phone not paying attention to the commute. We feel like it takes forever and we fall out of the state because we're paying too much attention to the commute rather than planning what were doing when we're there. This post is too long, and I'm definitely going to make a podcast episode of this, as it's alot to talk about, and it's just scratching the surface. I'm gonna stop because I have to clean. Please take care, and stay hydrated.

#neville goddard #nevillegoddard #iam #manifesting #wish fullfilled

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imightbeatomato · 1 year

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okay but what if I drop off the map. I drive to a sea port, I stow away on a transport vessel. I end up wherever I end up. I feign ignorance- I have no idea who I am or how I got here. I end up in the hospital. Its a medical mystery, they cant find anything wrong with me, but the brain is still so full of unknowns and mysterys already so they help me back on my feet and let me go. I find a farm willing to let me work for food and shelter. I get a part time job but I save up money because I have no expenses. one day, years in the future, canada forgives student debt, so I come back. I claim its a medical miracle- I've remembered who I am and where I'm from (still dont remember how I got on the boat though, that one will remain unsolved). I come back to canada with money and connections and finally come back to finish my degree BUT oh no. I've miscalculated. They only forgave student debt if you finished your program.... I am once again in debt. more than before because the juice has been building. Now my only hope is to finish university, even faster than I was supposed to the first time. Worse than that. I am now so old and tired, and I havent been in school in many years. I dont know what I'm doing. I get a part time job at a shipping company so that I can at least afford to feed myself while still buried under massive debt. But one day, during a long shift, after a couple sleepless nights, I fall asleep at work. I fall into one of the large shipping crates. I hit my head. I get loaded onto a cargo ship. Who knows where the ship will take me. I have a concussion. I have no idea who I am or how I got here. I end up in the hospital. Its a medical mystery, they cant find anything wrong with me, but the brain is still so full of unknowns and mysterys already so they help me back on my feet and let me go.

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productivityera · 2 days

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Life is weird

Today I:

Walked a dog (pet sitting/dog walking business)

Went to bunnings with my mum, bought a lot more than we came in for

Burnt my hand on a long black that was way too hot (from bunnings)

Researched my degree and found that instead of doing an honors year, I am qualified to go straight into my Masters degree.

Drafted an email - asked for help from a fellow research friend for tips and tricks

Read up on gene drives to be used as biocontrol on vertebrates for said email

Found some great potential supervisors - including a lab that focused of biosecurity work (which is my dream career path)

Made an asmr video that kinda slaps

I feel like throughout life, you get stuck in some places where you feel like you've set yourself on the wrong path, where you feel doubt and exhaustion. That has been the past yearish for me - I've been finishing up my Bachelor, and it's taking forever. I have so many unanswered questions about what I'm doing after I graduate (which is completely normal!). A few of those questions have been along the lines of "I have no idea what my life will look like in a few months, so how can I make any commitments now?". As a result of this question, I have been staying in this sort of limbo, forever anxious.

I live about a (maximum) 2 hour commute away from my university. Committing to an honours year may have meant doing this trip 5 times a week for full time study load. How could I possibly amass any savings with that sort of thing, while also keeping myself sane?

For context: I am like a little animal that needs nourishment, social life and exercise. If I go without those things, my mental health suffers. So - given that I need maybe one day a week to get in some time with friends, plus an hour (or less) a day doing some sort of exercise - how tf am I going to find a job that will hire me to support my train tickets and city coffees, and save up for a new car and pay off debts? How will I continue my pet sitting business? I have a few returning clients - if I pet sit - leaving for 10 hour days in the city isn't exactly healthy for their pets.

So many unanswered questions, so much has been building in my mind for the past few months. I need answers, and I'm afraid to get them in case they turn up new problems.

For the past year, my focus was to do an honors year - I was told I had to do this before I did a masters course if I wanted to study in the veterinary faculty. Since the veterinary faculty does not do mid-year intakes (which I didn't realize before now), in a round about way, if I do research in the biosciences faculty, I am able to do my masters without an honors requirement. Yay! I can finish my course in 2 years - and be very qualified for a job I am looking to apply for!

So - this turns up a whole new wave of questions and concerns and anxieties for me.

Am I smart enough to do a masters degree? Will my supervisors think so? What if the supervisor that has the perfect research project for me rejects me? What happens if everyone rejects me? Do I look like a smart person on the outside, but really I'm just faking it?

tldr: anxiety about supervisor applications

#productivity #study motivation #study #studyspo #studyblr #supervisorenquiries #why is my brain like this !!!

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flesheatingstar · 4 months

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Why Not Me?

This is a oc insert

Summary: The Wayne family is busy so often that they routinely forget about their sibling. They're out all night or too busy during the morning for their sibling to be acknowledged. Salim is simply done with trying, so they look to other alternatives for attention and care and find it as a therapist for a certain asylum. But what happens when the family notices their absence?

Pt 2

With baited breath, Salim waited in the damp and stone wall hallway. Their foot tapped nervously before being called into the office. They pulled up a seat in front of the scrawny brunette man sitting across from them, "Ah, you're Salim Wayne-Blackwood. Thank you for coming in. Please tell me about yourself." He asked.

"Thank you for giving me this chance. I grew up in gotham, was adopted by Bruce Wayne after an accident when i was young like his other kids, I grew up trying to figure out what I wanted to do only really knowing I wanted to help people. Eventually, when I looked into psychology, specifically of the crimally insane I realized I wanted to help rehabilitate or try to help them somehow. At 15, I immediately started looking into it further and researching it and going to college for it. I was top of my class, I interned, and my job shadowed a lot, and I even got a doctoral degree and masters degree after graduating." Salim finished, the interviewer looked at them, seemingly becoming more curious.

"Hm, what would you say is your greatest weakness and strengthes?" He asked. "Getting attached to people is hard for me, but I also pry a bit too much into things that don't always involve me. I'm heavily goal driven, and I'm big on being accurate with what I'm working on." They answered, "Hm, I guess that'd be expected. If you don't mind me asking, could you tell me more about the accident? Or what made you eligible to be adopted?" The questions surprised Salim and made them slightly uncomfortable, but they couldn't exactly walk out or say anything against it.

Taking a deeper breath in, they answered as best as they could. "My father died when I was 8. he was deep in debt and wanted to try anything to pay it off, but because of the people who he was indebted to, there was no way he'd live to pay them off. The only thing I really remember after it was Bruce Wayne finding me and bringing me to the police before adopting me when he learned the situation." They finished closing their arms around themselves and gripping their sleeves, trying to ground themselves somehow.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your loss. What best motivates you? " The interviewer asked, narrowing his eyes, "I'm driven by the thought of slowing down crime by helping people so if they get out, crime will be a last resort. I'm also driven by being able to maybe understand them to a point." The man smiled. "It's refreshing to hear someone say something that isn't hate, spite, or revenge. Those hires only last so long after all."

Silence fell for a second as the man stood up."Would you be available well days and be ok with being on call for weekends?" Salim nodded quickly at the question, standing up as the interviewer as he led them out of the building. "Good to know. Again, thank you for coming in. I think it'll be nice for the inmates to have someone they can latch into again. We'll call you back to let you know if you do or don't get the position, and even though it's not for sure, I will say you will be high on the list. " The man shakes Salims hand, with Salim thanking him for the chance, before they leave to their car.

When they got in their car, they sat in silence for a second before it hit them completely. "Omg, I trauma dumped, holy sht I'm not gonna get the job they don't want some idiot who pours everything out! 'High on the list' YEAH HIGH ON THE LIST OF PEOPLE WHO WON'T BE GETTING THE JOB! Was I too extra? They didn't even say when they'll call me." Their thoughts ran wild as they drove to the manor. "Hey Alexa, call Alfred, please." They say looking at their phone.

"Hello Master Salim. How'd the interview go?" He asked. "I don't know, it's actually why I called you or part of the reason I did. Um, what does it mean to 'be high on the list' when talking about a job position?" Afred laughed slightly, "Sorry for laughing, I'm just surprised hearing someone so smart not realize something so obvious. It means you're highly likely to get the job." He explained. "Are you sure? He didn't say when he'd call me back?" Salim heard a small huff, "I'm sure they just forgot. You probably were so impressive that it caught the person off guard." Alfred reassured, "Really?" They asked, getting a hum back from alfred.

A ring makes them look over. They parked in the driveway and grabbed their phone to see who it was. "OH MY GOD, THEY'RE CALLING ME I GOT TO. GO ALFRED THANK YOU!" They quickly explained getting a soft "Bye master salim" in response, "Hello, is this Salim Wayne-Blackwood? " The voice wasn't the same as the interviewer, "Yes it is." Salim responded. "Well, looking over everything and seeing other people, it's decided that you'd be the best fit for the job. Can you start Monday next week?" The person asked, Salim was still in shock hearing they got the position. "Mr. Wayne-Blackwood?" - "Sorry! Yeah, I can start next week. Thank you so much, I'm grateful for this opportunity." They smiled. "Of course, have a good day." The person hung up before Salim could say the same.

Running into the house, they immediately went to find Alfred. Eventually, heading down to the batcave just in case. "Alfred, I got the -" Salim stopped immediately after seeing Dick and Alfred. Dick was bruised and scratched up, well alfred tries to help. "It's like 4 in the afternoon. What the hell happened Dick?!" They asked, going to rush over. "SALIM!" He snapped, making both alfred and Salim flinch. "God, can you just stop hovering and leave?" He asked annoyance and pain clear in his tone. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Salim responded storming out of the cave.

"Fcking dick, always ruining everything." They mumbled walking to their room, "Watch it." Jason sneered after bumping into Salim. Biting their tongue to keep silent as they sped up to their room. Closing the door, they flopped onto their bed, trying to keep calm. It'd been a stressful few months, and finally, after working so hard and getting what they want, no one cared. Grabbing their phones, they made their decision. They had one person who could get them out.

"Hey Mattie, I think it's time I get out." The simple sentence was all Mattie needed. "Hey, I'll come get you, ok? Are you ok?" Salim hums tiredly "yeah I'm ok, just sick of this place." The jingle of keys could be heard through the phone. "Ok, I'll be there soon. Don't do anything stupid, ok?" After a small hum, Salim and Mattie said goodbye, leaving Salim in an all to quiet and clean room.

As they packed the things they'd need, they noticed just how much they'd truly done, how much they put themselves through. And now here they were packing up in a room that was all too neat. They felt as their body shook an indescribable feeling filling them to the brim, like so many times before, but this was too much to push down. Everything was too much.

They weren't thinking, their body moved seemingly on its own as it grabbed the sides of the bookshelf full of trophies and let it fall, breaking each trophy, the feeling lessened, so they contuined Shelves they put up and filled were ripped from the wall, the painting they made where ripped, everything that they made was ruined. The mirror they'd repaired and made a frame for was laying on the floor as Salim gasped, a sob racking through their body as they fell to their knees, hugging themself as tight as they could.

The tapping at the window caught their attention quickly, getting up, and they looked down from the window where Mattie stood quickly they opened the window bag over their shoulder and jumped. It was then that they'd decided that having a room on the second floor might've been a bad idea. With a harsh thud, they landed on the grassy ground, an arm wrapped around them. "You're much braver than me." Mattie laughed to himself, "Shit, you're bleeding. Uh, I have a first aid kit in my car c'mon." He said leading them both to the car.

Mattie cleaned and wrapped up their hand in silence, continuously looking at their wet bloodshot eyes. "I trashed the room." They muttered just audible enough for Mattie to hear. He gave them a concerned glance. "It's ok, we can figure that out later. Do you want food?" Salim shook their head no, "Ok, we can just head home then." The wording wasn't something that surprised them. They'd hadn't called Wayne manner home since they were 15 and had hope thinking it'd be home.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bruce had entered the room beside his after hearing all the crashing become silent. He'd been frustrated and had to finish paperwork, meaning the random tantrum from his kids' room wasn't exactly music to his ears. The room, however messy, was completely still. No one was in, when he took a step an audible crunch was heard under his foot.

It was a broken trophy. The base had been wood base with a name carved into the bottom, and the glass acrobat was scattered to the point of almost being unrecognizable. Looking at the base, he realized it was salims, but what confused him was, he never knew they did acrobatics.

He continued looking at the trophies. Every other one was for a Hobbie or activity that Bruce had no clue they even thought about. Why would they ever break the rewards they earned? Why was he never invited to any of the ceremonies or events that they got the awards from? Why did they get such high-level awards well still being a senior in high school? Most importantly, what happened to his kid, and where were they?

#dc universe #dc oc #bruce wayne #batman #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth

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sesmantelar · 1 year

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staying late at work today - it unintentionally happened but I have four ish weeks until my next vacation. I just sold my sectional yesterday because it was way too big/wide for my dollhouse, and I used the cash to order a new couch (more like a loveseat, but I think it's perfect and the perfect size for my dollhouse). My apartment feels like it has way more space in it now so hopefully I will not feel inclined to stash hella stuff on the couch. It feels like I can now move around and breathe for the first time in forever, and I'm kind of excited to redecorate a little bit. Considering adding another large faux plant to the living area, as well as my harp once it arrives/a little music section. Good thing about my pedal harp is that it won't be an eyesore and it serves the energy of my dollhouse: angelic, feminine, grand, elegant, quiet, melodious, harmonious.

either way, I have no choice but to detach from my wants and prioritize my needs - I need to take two weeks off to travel, take gorgeous photos, make amazing connections and also relax/recuperate when I return before my summer contract - and when I start the summer contract I want to be in a much better place. I need to hit my savings goal for the year (a large chunk of the money I want to be sat on prior to leaving for switzerland next summer/fall). I need to have the majority of my debt paid off - meaning continuing to snowball (which I have been very consistent with lately) and continue chipping away at the larger amounts. I need to start my degree on july 1st, and when I do I need the majority of the tuition to be handled so I don't have to worry about budgeting all over again. I need to. I need to be able to allocate ALL of my spare funds towards self improvement - learning my pedal harp very well, advancing my figure skating, saving and depositing money for my grad school in europe next fall, getting my procedures finally done, building my travel portfolio.

I have sooo much to get in order but I genuinely do feel as though I'm taking the steps in the right direction - especially as it pertains to snowballing my debt. Now, regardless of how I feel, I never touch the credit cards. I will use them again once they are all paid in full (including the bigger card), but only to continue rebuilding my credit. Hopefully I can have a really good travel credit card by next year. I think the little over a year I have remaining is plenty of time to reach all the goals I previously set for myself.

Tomorrow I likely will wake up early to stretch, get ready, go to the rink closest to my job, skate four an hour, break my fast and then go to work for 14 ish hours. I need to be in the "montage" mode again so I can get to the point where I want to be. Amazing things are coming my way if I just maintain my discipline.

I will be paying off the hold for my previous college this coming week so I put off my filler touchup appointment - I just feel like if I get my priorities in order, I will be able to really enjoy indulging and treating myself once my cash isn't so tied up. Sigh because it's all in the name of improving myself and situation for future me.

Lastly, I FINALLY finished my carrd for my social media and started posting art again. I plan on posting art on here too once I have some more pieces completed, framesand my apartment together. I want my whole aesthetic and personal brand to finally flourish this summer. This feels like a new beginning.

I feel like I haven't touched on everything I could touch on in this entry but I'm here late so I will be updating as the night goes on :)

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misscarolineshelby · 3 years

Text

Spanked

Part Three: The Proposal

Pairing: Modern Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 1,045

Warning: None…This is only the beginning!

Original Blog: @queenshelby (this is just my backup account as I have been having Tumblr issues)

Two weeks later…

Your heart fluttered when you saw his name pop up in the lower right side of your computer screen.

Over the past two weeks, you had learned that you weren’t the only one at the firm whose breathing quickened when they saw a notification from him and rumours had it that, if he sent you an email himself, you would either be fired or there is a serious issue he required you to fix.

In the company, Thomas Shelby was certainly known for his bluntly worded feedback, demanding expectations, and his particular style of putting employees on the spot and, whilst many of the females in his company took a liking in him, they feared him at the same time.

You quickly opened your inbox and clicked on the email. It was short and straight to the point.

‘My office at 4 o’clock. Don’t be late’ it said, giving you no indication on what this was about.

You had never been to his office and asked Lizzie where it was. She confirmed that it was on the top floor of the building and you already dreaded going in there even after you had run into him in the building almost every day for the past two weeks and he had never said anything bad to you.

***

At 3.50pm, you grabbed a pen and your notebook, flipping to a fresh page. You began mentally preparing yourself to speak to him, wishing his email had given you any inclination as to what he might want so you could prepare yourself further.

You found him rather intimidating and stood up and smoothed down your outfit which was a navy-blue dress that fitted you quite well. It clung to your small figure and it was yet another dress you had borrowed from your roommate.

You straightened the tight blazer you wore over it and fiddled with the long necklace that sat on your chest.

Clutching your notebook against your chest, you quickly made your way to the elevator which took you to Tommy’s office.

***

You approached his partially opened office door. Taking a deep breath, you hurried up to it and knocked twice on the door.

‘Come in’ Tommy called out, not bothering to lift his head up to face you.

You stepped in and stood waiting at the table that separated you while he finished typing a sentence in an email. You surveyed the office. It was extremely neat and tidy. It was also perfectly fitted out. In one corner, there was a side board with a record player and expensive bottles of whiskey while, on the other side of the room, there were some large book shelves.

‘I looked at the charitable contributions made by my Michael Grey two days ago. Was that your idea?’ he asked and you nodded nervously.

‘Mr Shelby, I know it is a lot of money but the penalties imposed by the tax department would have been higher and, at least this way, you will be seen to provide essential services to the community’ you explained, justifying your report to Michael Grey who was one of the senior business advisors of Shelby Company Limited.

‘Well, according to my cousin, you saved the business 800,000 pounds’ Tommy then said while looking up at you for the first time and instructing you to take a seat.

You nodded shyly in response to his comment and sat down in one of the large arm chairs in front of his desk. By this point, you were fidgeting your hands and it was obvious to Tommy that you were nervous.

‘Now, I need you to develop a plan to deal with some more money coming in next week. I want all of it invested across our different businesses’ he said.

‘How much are we talking about Mr Shelby?’ you asked.

’27 million pounds’ he responded, causing you to gulp.

’27 million pounds? The forecasts I’ve been given don’t show this kind of money coming into the business as a lump sum during this quarter’ you said somewhat surprised.

‘That’s correct’ Tommy said, looking at you sternly.

‘It’s off the books and you want me to launder the money?’ you asked nervously, assuming that this is what he was referring to.

‘I don’t like to use this word, Love. Let’s just say, I want you to get creative’ he explained and you were surprised that he had just admitted to you that his company was, indeed, involved in some illegal operations.

‘What makes you think that I agree to this? I could just go to the police instead’ you said somewhat surprised and, just as you did, Tommy began to laugh.

‘You have a 70,000-pound debt Love. University degrees are expensive. If you get creative with the company’s accounts, you will be debt free in no time. Your name will not appear on any of the accounts and, if there is formal investigation, your identity will be protected’ Tommy explained and, after you took a moment to think about what he was offering you, you nodded.

‘I want 5 cents on every dollar laundered’ you stammered after having gathered all your confidence.

‘Love, we work in pounds here, eh. It’s 27 million pounds’ Tommy clarified and you nodded again, but this time with a smile.

‘Yes, but I won’t be laundering the money through your UK businesses. It will be done through some brand-new enterprises in the US, which I will set up slowly. Thereby, no connection can be made to Shelby Company Limited’ you explained, causing to Tommy to nod with approval.

‘Alright, 5 cents in the dollar it is Love’ Tommy smirked before asking you to put together a proposal for his consideration and prepare all of the necessary paperwork and forecasts by the end of the week.

You nodded again before standing up and thanking Tommy for his time. Then, you walked towards the door while holding on to your notepad which is when Tommy said something else.

‘Y/N’ he said and you turned around to face him.

‘Yes Mr Shelby?’ you asked nervously.

‘The dress suits you’ he complimented you, causing you to blush.

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall@elenavampire21 @hanster1998@mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-your-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x @kasaikawa @littlewierdalien @sad-huffle-nerd @theflamecrystal @peakymalfoyscullymulder @themissthang@0ghostwriter0 @stylescanbeatmyback @1-800-peakyblinders @datewithgianni @momoneymolife @ntmynouis @lilymurphy03 @mcntsee@cloudofdisney@missymurphy1985 @peakymalfoyscullymulder @otterly-fey @janelongxox @uchihacumdump @basiclassy @being-worthy @chaotic-bean-of-smolness @margoo0 @chocolatehalo @vhscillian @ysmmsy @littlewierdalien @crazymar15 @stickyknightflowerbailiff @im-constantly-fangirling @goldensunflowe-r @tellingyouastory @captivatedbycillianmurphy @namelesslosers @littlewhiterose @ttzamara @ttzamara @cilleveryone

@peaky-cillian @queenyshelby

@severewobblerlightdragon @ysmmsy @midnightmystic

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #modern tommy shelby #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x you #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

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aetherarf · 3 years

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Good to hear I was wrong, and I have 0 problem waiting given how good you are!

I was hoping to requests Diluc x Demon reader, where Diluc had intended to kill the reader because they're a demon but when they saw how defenseless the reader is and how much they're begging Diluc to not to hurt them he just cant. And the Demon reader sees this as a debt that needs to be repaid so they work for Diluc as a maid/butler. Can be romantic or platonic, all I ask in that regard is that you please make it fluffy.

Thanks! Hope you feel better by the time you get to this!

Here you go! However this gives me some... stockholm syndrome vibes so i'm tweaking it a little bit the main idea is the same.

[[ Demon!Reader ]]

[[ Summary: Hunting Abyss creatures, he finds a humanoid soul which seems just as afraid of the Abyss creatures as he hates them, and finds that... it's just another soul he can't abandon, despite the fear in his heart.

Word Count: 1'422 ]]

The Abyss was a mysterious thing, leaking at some points into Teyvat... But Diluc knew that they were a dangerous thing, and wasn't about to let them do what they wanted.

The creatures, more horrifying and mangled than expected... But he did not shake. He did not tremble, he killed them with the fury he killed every Abyss Mage that had died at his hands, every Hilichurl that had caused harm to humans...

When they lie dead, decaying into pure energy, to be absorbed back into the ley lines of the world... he heard a sound. Panting, sobbing... It sounded, to a degree, human. Had a poor soul been kidnapped in this cursed place?

It seemed unlikely, since they wanted to consume Diluc as though he was nothing but an annoying sack of meat, but he knew better than to forget the noise... Instead, he hunted it down, behind a door closed tight, and he tackled it down--

A shriek, a horrified shriek, that was all human, all broken, all terrified. He looked around for the soul that was screaming, and his gaze settled on the humanoid figure, hiding in the corner like a terrified pest with no place to hide, shackles on their wrists and ankles and chains trailing on.

And when it- no, no, this was not an it, when they saw him, they flinched, curling further in on themselves, brokenly sobbing out jibberish... He could only helplessly look upon them, upon you, seeing their horror...

"Wait," he said, softly, and you gasped for air, and looked at him... "I'm not here to kill you." He said, not sure why he already declared that he would spare you-- but he was honest. He knew better than to ever, ever, go back on his word.

"Wh-where are they?" You looked behind him, trying to see if there was anything that would follow.

"They," he said, slowly, "Are dead."

You breathed, unsteady, "But... But you said-"

"You," he pointed to you with his claymore, and just as quickly, his claymore disappeared into nothing but light, "I will not kill. You did not try to kill me on sight, and I will grant you the same mercy."

A clawed hand steadying yourself against the wall-- you stood, and he eyed you, trying to observe for any actions... But you seemed genuine enough. Bruised and cut, black and blue and red on skin, rings under your eyes...

Admittedly, a long tail, horns, and claws made of the blackest material he had ever seen, somehow, did not deter him... only mildly concern him, beyond anything else.

He got closer, and you stared... Eventually, he grabbed your hand, with the gentlest touch in the world, and two fingers were set on the keyhole to the shackle-- it turned red, then orange, then white-hot, and he suddenly grabbed the edges and broke it off, it clattering to the ground...

And now, you were not as afraid when he moved to your other wrist, and your ankles, the last metal cuff clattering to the ground as he stood, dusting off his hands.

"You should leave before reinforcements come, I can handle anything, but I'm not sure about you."

"... I-I have nowhere to go," you admitted, quietly, "I don't... Know what I'd do after leaving."

...He should have considered this, but this soul-- they seemed to be just as victim to these creatures as humans were. He turned and looked at the door... He didn't want to let them retake this place, but he also didn't want to abandon a, allegedly, innocent soul.

"Can you walk?"

You nodded.

"Come with me. I'm going to clear out and patrol this place, if a fight breaks out, just hide and wait for me to finish. I have a place for you to stay for a few nights while you figure out what to do... you'll be safe there."

You could only nod again...

With the simple hope that you would not be bound in chains once again.

... ... ...

And you weren't.

The first night, you were brought to a large building, the heavy scent of wine from every direction, and you had a room to yourself... warm, and soft, and comfortable... Exhaustion set in, and you slept like a corpse.

When you woke, there was a tray of food set just inside the door, a jar with a salve, a set of simple clothes, folded neatly and still smelling as fresh as a clear water spring, and a note.

I'm busy today, the staff know you're friendly, but don't go too far from the Winery. Adelinde, the lady with green eyes in charge, will make sure you're tended to. I'll be back tonight.

P.S., the salve is to be rubbed on any bruises, it aids in healing and acts as a minor numbing agent.

Diluc Ragnvindr.

Diluc, that was the name of your savior.

You ate with fervor, it had been a long time since you had a solid meal... and you woke until you finally met 'Adelinde.' She didn't seem offput by you at all, and that was nice.

When Diluc came back, he smelled like flowers and rust and blood, an assault of many dramatically different scents.

"S-Sir Ragnvindr."

Diluc looked at you oddly, looking you over, "You don't have to call me that," he waved you off, "Have you been alright today?" He asked, as he took off his boots, not wanting to track in any mess, and you nodded.

"I... Just... Wanted to talk with you."

"Then say what you need."

You almost wondered if he was just always... cruel..

No. That wasn't a tone of anger, it was one of exhaustion... you were determined to think that.

"I... I owe you my life, Sir Ragnvindr," he looked up at you, a slightly sour expression, "I... I don't want to be indebted. For- Ah, especially for me, that's a literal death sentence."

He didn't comment on it, and instead took off his coat, "You owe me nothing."

"But I do," you insisted, "L-Let me... Let me serve you!"

He looked up at you... and shook his head.

"I don't want anyone to serve me."

"Then- What about Adelinde? Does she not serve you?"

He shrugged, "She works for me, but her life is more than me. Does that make sense? She does things for me, I pay her. That's the extent of it all."

You thought about that-- It was... Unfamiliar. After all, you weren't the most accustomed to... humans.

"Let me work for you! But- You don't have to pay me. I- I still have nowhere to go. Conn...ie? No, Conner, he... He looked at me with fear-- Won't everyone fear me, too?"

He looked up at you for a moment... and sighed.

"You really want to stay here?" He asked, looking around... And you followed his gaze.

Why wouldn't you? There were some people here, enough that there was usually someone to talk to, and it was comfortable, bedding soft and things to do, and it kept you from the burn of the sun and the shivers of the wind.

"It's a good place to be," your gaze shifted to him, "And... you're good. You're a good person. You're not weak, you could have killed me, but... you didn't."

He shook his head, "That's... you should care about more than if someone just won't kill you."

"But-You are more! You... You're nice, you made sure I was fed and safe, and- And I wasn't hurting... Please," you all but begged, "Let me stay here. I promise, I'll be good... I won't hurt you, or anyone. I'll help however I can-- With the... uhm, plants? I saw many people doing something with that, I can learn."

He looked at you... near helplessly.

What could he do? Say no and let you live in terror, scrambling in a world where no one knew you?

"Alright... But, on a few conditions."

You nodded excitedly.

"You're not my servant. I'm not Sir Ragnvindr, I am Diluc. You will be given compensation for your time... And, for now, I don't want you going far. I can... I can convince people, over time, that you're not a threat, and make you a familiar face in Mondstadt, but I need time. Is that alright with you?"

You nodded, "More than, more than..."

A bubbling in your chest, and... you found yourself jumping at him, holding him tight, "Thank you," you said, softly, "Thank you, Diluc, I...

...

"I don't have to be scared anymore..."

#genshin impact #diluc #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #genshin x reader #demon reader #bark writes #hurt and comfort #anonymous #request #// im so bad at tagging #// this is sort of a multi parter so i stopped here.

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streamacademe · 2 years

Text

Week 239, Day 1668.

I have been contemplating over how lengthy, complicated, and exhausting the journey is to get a PhD. I was therefore not very surprised to discover that only 2% of the population in the UK have a PhD. The highest percentage around the world can be found in Slovenia, but even then that’s only 5%. I’m going to remember that statistic whenever I doubt my capabilities.

What I am finding difficult at present, is the lack of conversation around the come down after the PhD. After your viva, everyone sort of expects you to just resume normal life, but life has been very abnormal for at least 4 years by this point, and a PhD does not just magically finish after the viva. There are still corrections to do, papers to write, and presentations to give on the outcomes of your work.

PhDs are REALLY hard and they have a massive impact on your personality and mental health. My partner, friends, and family seem to be under the illusion that I am somehow suddenly going to be my old ‘going out, bubbly, non-busy’ self again. However, most days I just want to sit in silence, alone, processing the impact the PhD has had on my life and my wellbeing. The experience, although incredible, is also traumatic, and there is a dependence you build on your work and the process itself. There is, of course, a feeling of celebration for the freedom regained after a PhD and a huge sense of achievement, but also a mourning for a loss of purpose and unwavering dedication to one specific subject.

I also realised how isolating PhDs are and how lonely I have been. Since joining my new company, I remembered everything that I missed about working as part of a team. The pandemic has exacerbated that state of solitude even further.

Furthermore, no-one talks about the financial implications of a PhD. Even if you manage to submit your thesis prior to the end of your funding period, there is still a long way to go to finish the degree, which will likely put you out financially. My funding ended in September, I submitted in January, had my viva in March, am still waiting on my corrections in April, and will likely not see them until May. Assuming I receive them by May, I then have three months to do them (with major corrections, that number can go up to twelve). My internal examiner then has to approve the corrections and everything needs to be signed off by faculty, including any thesis supporting documents, before a degree can be awarded. So, that’s at least ten months of the process being completely unfunded. I am fortunate in that not only did I manage to save four months worth of salary for the period after my funding ended, but in that I also have a job. However, I am still very much part time, and despite my best efforts not to be, I am in debt. And mine is a very fortunate scenario. Sigh.

Anyhow, I wanted to put these thoughts to paper as I believe it is important to talk about these things and provide other PhD candidates with realistic expectations and struggles of undertaking such a difficult degree.

I know that I am not quite done yet, but despite all the PhD challenges and the slow transition away from PhD life, and I am sure that it will take a good while before I start to feel like ‘myself’ again, I wouldn’t trade the experience of doing a PhD for the world; it was worth every second.

Picture: The mood of this post. Source: Alena Aenami.

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Dreaming of a Different Day

Reader, Fe3h Characters, Modern AU

Blood, gore, fighting, dead bodies, homework, sweating

7986 words

Working night shift at a gas station isn’t the most glorious job, but it helps pay the bills while you are trying to complete your degree at college. Determined to graduate without getting buried under an insurmountable amount of student debt, you work two jobs, sometimes three, even if it means taking 10 years to get a 4 year degree. Scoring a job in building maintenance for the college certainly helps with getting reduced fees on classes and books. Between two current jobs and classes or study time, there isn’t much time to sleep. Sometimes you volunteer your body as a lab rat for some of the studies done at the university, if you can work them in to your hectic schedule. This time they want to study your brain while you sleep. Getting paid to sleep? Sign me up!

Filling your 32oz. thermal bucket with coffee, you head out to catch a bus to campus. You have about an hour to study before you make it to the appointment at the psychology building.

An alarm sounds on your phone, time to pack up to make it to your appointment on time. Stashing your laptop and books into your backpack you head up the stairs to the third floor. Opening the door, you see a sleepy looking green haired student gathering forms together and stapling them into packets, placing them into manila folders.

“I’m here for the 8:00am appointment.” You announce.

He hands you a folder and a pen, telling you to fill out the paperwork and return them to him when complete.

You fill out the forms completely and honestly. Your sleep schedule is hell, you sleep when you can, mostly during daylight hours. You don’t recall any of your dreams or nightmares. No drinking or drugs. No sense in lying on these forms, they’ll find out if you’re trying to say something to please them or force yourself into their study group. Forms complete, you place them on the front desk as the young man nods.

Returning to your table you pull out your laptop and begin working on homework. You notice someone is standing in front of you.

A tall young woman with short blonde hair smiles at you, asking you to follow her. You grab your things, she leads you to a small room with a bed and several different machines, some on tables, some freestanding.

She tells you to change into a hospital gown, tie in the front because they need to attach some wires for monitoring. Most of the wires are attached to your head. She tells you the liquid they use to have it stick to your head is easily washed out of your hair. Once you are fully wired, she leaves and comes back with the fluffiest, warmest blanket you have ever felt and wraps it around you leading you to the bed. She asks if you want a sleep mask to block out the light and you do. The hum of the machines, the darkness and the fluffy warm blanket are enough to get you to fall asleep quite quickly.

A soft alarm goes off and you hear the voice of the green haired man asking you what you remember. You stay still, thinking. You recall walking down a corridor, speaking with other people. They are dressed differently. Maybe wearing a school uniform? You were carrying a book headed to…you can’t remember. It is strange, why suddenly have a dream here of all places? Taking the mask from your eyes you look to see him writing. He finishes his notes and leaves muttering a soft “Thank you.”

The wires are removed, you are told to change back into your regular clothes. They will message you if you will be chosen for further study. Handing you an envelope full of cash you head out the door, just in time to make it to your class.

Classes done for the day. You are mopping the floors of the student housing building 3. Yet another party to clean up after. Sure, you could notify the RA’s and make the other students do it, but they would make more mess and take too long. It is easier to simply clean it up yourself. Giving the floor a final mop, you shriek as someone steps behind you and taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, sorry we made so much mess for you.” A handsome male with dark hair, darker skin and brilliant green eyes smiles at you.

“No prob. No mess, no job, right?” You answer. They always show up when the work is about done.

“Can I interest you in some cake? We have some left.” He gestures with his hand open towards you.

“Nope. Smelled it too long cleaning it from floor vents.” You keep swiping the mop back and forth, then dunking it in your soapy bucket, squeezing it out and slapping it back on the floor.

Claude attempts to introduce himself. “Claude Riegan, Senior, Political Science.”

You answer in a monotone voice, “I am the janitor.“

“Hah.” He forces a laugh. “I’ve seen you in the halls here and there. You’re a student as well.”

You shrug, going to the closet to dump out your bucket. “Gotta run. Bldg 2 calls.”

He smiles and waves, you sort of wave back.

Work complete you head back to the smaller than an efficiency apartment you rent. Hotplate, and microwave for cooking, it has a half bath so you wash in a plastic tub. One small room for everything, no closets. Everything you own is in labeled tubs. No windows, but there is a door that locks.

You work on homework until your brain is fried. Collapsing on your bed you set an alarm, plug in your phone and laptop and sleep for a few hours before you have to get up for work tonight at the gas station.

Making it to class 5 minutes early you haul your bucket of coffee with a straw in it to your seat. Did you see that Claude guy in the halls? He likes yellow shirts. Both times you saw him in that color.

Today you listen to the lecture while looking around the room. Most of the time you take notes but you know this particular subject well. There’s a guy with light green hair and glasses to the right. Why does he look familiar? Have you seen him in a class before? You recognize the emo guy in front with a brown haired girl always huddled together. Oh no. The horrendous heartbreaker is here. Who doesn’t know about him? How many messes of his have you cleaned up because he’s dumped a girl and she resorted to violence and damaged school property? At least 100. You had no idea he was in your class. You lift up a book to block his direct view of your face. Perhaps you can remain nonexistent to him.

The professor ends the lesson. You note the work to be turned in, due date, assigned reading. Just as you’re about to finish tossing everything into your bag, you get a text. The psych guys want you for another sleep study. You tell them you can daytime sleep Tues or Thurs or Fri til 5. Great. They take all 3.

Cool. You may actually have some free cash for a few weeks. Maybe you can splurge on new shoes.

Monday night at the gas station is quiet. They usually are. Coffee keeps you coherent enough to make correct change and clean things properly. You have enough time to get home, clean up and hit the psy lab by 6am. They are to wake you 2 so you can make your class in plenty of time.

Mercie is the girl that wires you up to the machines. She hands you the sleep mask and fluffy blanket. It doesn’t take you long to go to sleep having come off your caffeine high a couple hours ago.

The alarm goes off and you bolt upright to a seated position in the bed, gasping for breath.

“Tell me quickly.” The green haired man encourages you to speak.

“I was fighting for my life. There was a battle. It was primitive. There were swords and long spears and huge axes with blades bigger than your head. A woman had fire coming from her fingers killing a man. I could smell his flesh burning. I stabbed bad people with my spear. I had to help my friends. We were fighting…um…a gang? thieves? They were hurting people nearby. My friend was hit by a spear and I killed the guy that hit him. Then I was…touching my friend’s stab wound. Light came from my fingers and I watched the hole in his side close up.” You sat there, staring at your hands. They were your hands but no longer covered in blood. You were grimacing as hard as you were in the dream, concentrating on your hands. But they did not glow.

“What else? What about the land?” His disinterested voice demands more.

“It was in a wild undeveloped area. No buildings. Just trees and rocks and bushes. We were fighting our way up a hill. Some of us going up one side, some going the other. I could hear them fighting on the other side of the hill. We were going to meet at the top. I couldn’t wait to see the leader, I kept looking for her blue hair. I knew she was the best fighter ever and would do everything to keep us safe.”

“Anything else?” His last follow up question.

“It’s faded a lot now. So much blood everywhere. The smells, they were awful. Metal banging on metal was so loud.”

He stands and stretches. “Thank you.” He says as he closes the door behind him.

You get dressed and grab your stuff heading for your afternoon class. Why are you suddenly dreaming? You don’t remember dreaming much before since you were a kid. This was a nightmare. You didn’t drink anything. You had slept over 7 hours, that’s the longest you’ve slept in…months? If the nightmares keep up, you’re not sure this is worth the extra cash.

After class you head home. You don’t feel as exhausted as you normally do, so you work ahead on a class or two. Most of the time homework can be done while you’re at the gas station counter.

Class in the morning is boring. Only a few more weeks to suffer before you get a break. Heading home you lay in your bed. You want to sleep. You really, really do. But now you’re afraid if you close your eyes, will the dreams continue? You grab your accounting book and start reading. You wake up with your alarm going off so you can get ready to head to work tonight. You do not dream, not even a about spreadsheets.

Work is uneventful. Mostly the same people coming in to buy the same things. Taking deliveries of different foods and replacing the purchased items on the shelves. Completing homework as time allows. Finally, it is time to clock out as the next shift comes in to deal with the daytime crowd.

You hit the bus, get to your room, swap out what you don’t need with what you do, toss your backpack on and head out to the Psych lab. You’re wired up and under the blanket. You feel a bit anxious about sleeping, however it is totally dark and the humming of the machines soon overtakes your thoughts and you fall asleep.

You awaken to hear the same guy as before asking you to talk.

Not opening your eyes you go through what happened.” There was a battle but not a real battle. Everyone is fighting but you aren’t really trying to kill each other. The weapons are fake. The magic is real but not seriously real. It reminds me of watching football practice. Each team wore their colors and are trying to beat up the others. The yellow team wins and everyone goes to a party. The blue haired leader lady said I had done a great job. She asks me to have tea and wants to talk about joining her house. Is she leading a fraternity? I woke up as I was helping clean up the mess after the party.”

“Tell me where this happened.” He asks.

“Well, the battle was on a big open field. There was a hill that someone could pull a lever and fire stuff at others. Scattered clumps of trees here and there, where some people would hide. It was a long walk to get to the field there. When walking I spoke with a grayish haired guy that would talk about stories he read about knights and do gooders. Oh, and on a big hill were three people with bright green hair. A man, woman and a younger shorter girl. They were watching. But they did not go to the party after. The party was in the dining area back at the school.”

You’re dressed, your hair feels sticky, so you put on a baseball cap with the university logo on it and head to your janitorial job. Mind numbing floor sweeping, mopping, and emptying trashcans fills your night. You are glad you had a good sleep at the psych lab, because it’s a short night tonight after getting off at 3am and having a class again at 8am the next day, you make it, like any other college student.

Grabbing something awful to eat after class, you head back to the third floor in the psych building for the last sleep of this week.

You wake up completely and totally freaked out. What a nightmare. Walking forever in the rain until you are soaked through, your skin all cold and wrinkly, and now you go into the creepy tower with the rest of the Blue Lions. You’re on the blue team. An older woman is the teacher, you wish you had the blue haired lady, she was so awesome.

Everyone creeps around and around going up higher in the tower while bad guys are firing arrows and popping out of hidden spaces. You remember using magic. You concentrated and this circle with marks on it appeared in your vision and next thing you know you shot lightning out of your fingers at a monster. A horrifying monster. It used to be a mean ugly guy but he changed and got big and evil looking, like a T-rex heavy on the claws and teeth. Everyone is fighting for their lives.

The worse part is one of them was his brother and had to get something back for his family. There was so much blood. Everyone was freaked out, especially the guy that killed his brother. It was horrible. By the time you finished talking to Linny, you were shaking and holding yourself. He just kept saying it was only a dream and told you that you would be fine.

You head to classes trying to best to concentrate.

Normally the job of polishing floors is nice. The machine does all of the work, you just change out the heads to clean then polish. The hallways here lead to rooms that have been reset for a large Art show presenting the student’s works. Many of the students are in your way, hauling in stands and setting up displays of their work. You keep looking down, studying the polishing machine. You can’t look at most of the artwork it, reminds you of the monsters you’ve dreamed of, or swords, or there is blood everywhere. What happened to fields of flowers? Paint a bowl of fruit or something bland.

You clock out at 3 am, head back to your room and crash burying yourself under a ton of blankets. One class today then you don’t have to be back to the university until 6pm. You need to hide in your bed. You are mentally exhausted. You need to sleep, so you down some cold medicine and it knocks you out.

Sleep is not kind. You aren’t in the lab, you are in the safety of your own bed. The dreams, okay, nightmares continue. Some girl is missing. Everyone is trying to find her. The Blue Lions leave to find some item and fight monsters, when you come back they found her, some other gal that was missing, and a creepy skeleton looking guy on a horse fought them in the basement. Ugh. You remember that head someone had on a stand in the art class, with the red glowing eyes. At least before you woke up you remember having tea with the blue haired professor and you agreed to join her group. She also gives you nice flowers for your birthday. You wake up just after tea was over.

You’ve never dreamed before. What the hell. You aren’t getting paid to dream at home. You don’t want this. What can of worms have they opened on you? You want your regular dreamless close your eyes, sleep, open them and go again. Not running miles and chasing horrible things and stabbing stuff and getting hurt and bleeding.

After class this morning the library is your destination today. Gotta get some references and info for a class. You stop by a quicky mart on the way. Need coffee. You’re not one of those fancy coffee kids, just creamer and go. You could care less what mountain they grew the coffee on as long as it is caffeine and keeping you awake.

Filling your cup with the elixir of consciousness, you see a girl with purple hair having problems with the whipped cream function of the expensive coffee and creamer dispenser.

You walk up to her. “Hey Bernie, want me to help?”

“Sure.” The girl says still punching buttons.

You fiddle with the machine knowing how temperamental they can be and get plenty of whip cream on top of her coffee.

She looks at me to say thank you, drops her books and screams. “Who are you? I don’t even know you!”

You shove a lid on her cup and put it in her hands. “Take your coffee.” Picking up her books, you stuff them in her arms. You head for the checkout. Your brain is confused too. You don’t know her, but she’s in the dreams and it’s her, Bernadetta.

Heading to the library you pull out your laptop and begin working on a project for class. You keep your head down, concentrate you keep telling yourself, but pieces of the dreams creep up on you every time you try to focus. Writing a few sentences, you click on an arrow on your laptop screen. You remember Bernie shooting arrows and she’s an amazing archer along with Ignatz. They love to paint. You wonder what it would look like if they did something together.

Concentrate. Fingers on the keyboard. The page is filling with text, the project is coming along. You need to find another book for reference. Signing into the library website you search for its location. You find the book and take it back to your seat. Flipping through it you find the section you want. Inside there is a postit note:

“Don’t bother with this. It’s wrong. See…” It lists a book you passed on, thinking this would be better. Perhaps the mysterious postit writer has been through this class and is saving everyone else from the same headaches. Nice. You get up and trade out books. This one does have exactly what you are looking for and your project speeds forward. You flip through the book once you’re finished with its contents and surprise! Another postit. “Bonus: Check out…”

You are enraptured, of course you go to find the next book. It is even better than the last one. The section related to your task has a note. “BTW, don’t quote that last book, Prof hates it. Do this instead. The curious get the rewards!” OMG. This is the greatest stuff. But the game is over, no more notes, you even check behind the last one. It did keep you entertained and focused though, a great help or you may have never finished this.

Saving everything and backing it up onto the cloud you have enough time to toss your stuff into the employee lockers and get your janitorial getup on. Baseball cap and earbuds in, it’s time for 8 hours of cleaning up after everyone else.

Building 3 is the party hub of the campus. At least they cleaned up some of the party decor, floor vents contain no cake, but they still leave a mess. You have to wash down the walls.

About 1:30am a dark haired guy with a ponytail comes in all frazzled asking if I’ve seen a red headed guy passed out somewhere. Nope. We both check the balcony and there he is out on a plastic chair. It is heartbreaker Sylvain.

You ask for help picking him up to get him to a standing position. You tell his buddy to hold him still. Throwing your right shoulder into his crotch you grab his left arm and throw it over your opposite shoulder. Sylvain is now up over your shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

His buddy gets the door and elevator for you. When the door opens there is a wheelchair close by and you dump Sylvain into it.

“How’d you know how to do that?” His friend asks.

“I’ve carried him before.” You answer as you help wheel Sylvain to the car. You help pour him into the front seat and reach over the seatbelt to his friend.

“Good luck. He’s your problem now.” You mutter as you turn around and head back to work.

At least this time he wasn’t bleeding you think. Wait. You’ve carried Sylvain before, during a fight. To get him to safety. That was Felix who came to get him. When you carried him, you were in leather gear and had more muscles. It reminds you of highschool wrestling. You did that for a few years. It felt so right doing that, but this college doesn’t have women’s wrestling, so you left it behind. It was how you got the job in janitorial because you are a female that can lift and move heavy weights, doing it the right way and not getting hurt.

Finishing your shift it is early Sunday morning. You go home, sleep, and dream.

You’re playing chess with Hubert. You’re beating him and he is pissed. He threatens you with cheating, distracting him, etc. You laugh at him. He’s always threatening someone or something.

Byleth comes in and ends the game. You head to a war meeting with the rest of the Black Eagles Strike force. Now that Byleth has returned Edelgard wants to recapture the great bridge at Myrddin.

After the meeting you head out to the training area for magic users. Warming up with a few Thunder spells, you work through Thoron then Bolting. The magic flowing through you feels amazing, you are one with the forces of nature.

You can feel the cold flowing from your fingertips as you cast blizzard at a target. Casting Fimbulvetr you watch as a solid ice grows around and surrounds the target.

Taking a few cleansing breaths, you then cast sagittae, the arrows breaking chunks of ice off of the target. Agnea’s Arrow finally strikes the ice, causing bright flames releasing steam into the area. The ice and target are obliterated.

You feel a good exhaustion come over you. Practice complete, you head to your quarters to complete additional research for some spells you have been working on.

The next moment you are on the bridge, fighting Alliance fighters and a few former classmates. Byleth has you stationed further away from the students, your goal is to take out a number of heavily armored ground troops and clear the way to Judith, leader of the enemy forces. Your fingers spark with electricity as your favorite spells are prepared. You remind yourself to keep your jubilant shrieks to yourself, in the last battle Hubert chastised you for frightening Bernadetta.

You wake up in your bed. This time you are not revulsed by the fighting. It felt thrilling. That scares you more than when you were upset and afraid. Things are so different in this dream. Byleth is a woman. But you’ve seen them before as a man. You know Edelgard was your enemy before, but this time you practically worship the ground she walks on. You remembered the singular focus you had in the dream. Nothing to distract you from your goal. You would forgo sleep, train well into the night.

Why were you playing chess with Hubert? Oh. He had tricked you, saying that chess is training of the mind to think more strategically. You thought he was trying to keep you out of the training grounds for a while. He’s always playing mother hen over everyone, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.

Sitting up in your bed you shake your head. That was not part of the dream. It felt more like a memory. Are these dreams making you delusional now? You would like to get off this mental merry-go-round.

The next two weeks are filled with working nights, classes or sleeping during the day. Your bank account is getting fat. Your brain is not doing so well. Things from your dreams hit you during the day. Stopping at the cafeteria of the college, you look down at your tray of obviously poor choices. Mercedes voice is in your ear, suggesting that you eat more vegetables. You swear you can hear Manuela tell you to put the pie back on the shelf and get brussels sprouts, dark greens are much healthier for you.

You wear hoodies to class now that the weather is getting a bit colder. Tying the hood around your face to block your peripheral vision helps you concentrate on where you are going. Otherwise you feel like you recognize so many people.

Yesterday, while in the cafeteria you ate your oatmeal with extra raisins and apples, less sugar, thank you Marianne, when you heard a male voice over the rest of the throng. You knew it was Ferdinand. He was being boastful and incredibly proud of his stance on the subject, as a noble should be. It had to be him. Gulping down your food you grab your carton of 2% milk and head out the door to take the long way around to class.

Being a lab rat for the psy group seems to be getting easier. It is like you slip into an alternate universe in the past. Everyone there has the right names and faces, while here in the future, most of them don’t know themselves as you do.

Linny gets lazy about writing down everything. He simply records everything on a laptop and someone else can transcribe it. He sits in his chair, folds his arms and drifts off to sleep to the sound of your voice telling of your dreams.

It is getting harder to keep your accounts of what happens in the dreams simple. You know everyone’s names, the weapons, the enemies, the spells. You feel the need to translate them into something that relates to modern equivalents. You are also trying to be careful about revealing just how deep you are into these…are they just dreams? Memories? Recollections?

Finishing your recitation of the dream, Linhardt is asleep again. Linny!! It’s Linny now. You poke him in the ribs where you know he is ticklish, he quickly wakes and demands that you stop. You ask him to unhook the wires so you can head out. Taking your envelope, you head out to the ATM, deposit the cash then get ready for work.

Noting the amount of posters on the walls for the party in Student housing building 3, Claude is going to have a huge mess for you to clean up. Finishing work on the admin building you head over to whatever disaster awaits you after the party.

The common area and meeting room used for the event are not the worst you have seen. They even bagged up most of their trash. Hauling in a huge plastic dumpster on wheels, you load up the bags to make room to maneuver. Wiping down the tables and chairs you stack and move them to make mopping easier.

“Hey, hope things are better this time, Janitor.” Claude announces as he walks into the room.

“It’s nice. Thanks.” You mumble, surprised that he is here.

“I know we left a huge mess before, so I put Hilda in charge of cleanup.” He has that smirky grin on his face. It’s funny how some things never change. He’s still handsome too.

“I bet she was pissed that you’re making her work.” You say without thinking.

“She was.” Claude nods. “You know her?”

“I..uh..know some people in common.” You answer, wiping a table harder. Claude has always been intensely curious and you are now on his radar. Great.

“You look familiar. I can’t recall where I know you from.” Claude’s voice trails off as he puts his hand to his chin and thinks.

“I have pretty common looks. One head, two eyes with bags under them from lack of sleep. Same as most students.”

Claude sits cross-legged on one of the not too dirty tables, making himself at home. He is staring at you, his chin resting on his fist.

You finish the tables and chairs, except for the table that is occupied and sweep the largest chunks from the floor.

“Please tell me you are not majoring in sanitation or building maintenance.” Claude finally speaks.

“I thought you fell asleep.” You shake the broom onto the building pile of crumbs and debris. You answer him, “No.”

“Too simply dressed to be arts. Rocket scientist?” Claude asks, raising an eyebrow. “You hang out in the science and mathematics buildings.”

“Allergic to RP-1.” You answer, sweeping the crud into a dustpan and heading to the janitorial closet for a mop and bucket. As you emerge with your tools, Claude is in the hallway waiting for you.

“Thank you for an engrossing and in depth conversation.” He yawns and stretches his arms. “Next time don’t talk my ear off.”

Giving a happy sigh of relief you finish cleaning and reassembling the room into its standard configuration. Finishing for the night you grab a shower and head home for a nap and a homework filled day.

Sunday night at the gas station starts off with the normal routine. Delivery trucks unloading overpriced snacks, little old ladies holding up the line while they dig out exact change from their purse, kids dumping sodas on the floor. Past midnight the customers are few and far between. The door sounds and you look up from your bookwork. Some guy with messy red hair starts to come in, turns around and yells at whoever is in the car parked outside in the handicapped spot.

He turns around and faces you. First, you see the gun in his hands. Second, you look at his face and see Miklan.

“Hands up, Bitch. Listen or you are fucking dead.” He snarls, waving the gun.

You put your hands in the air alongside your head. A gunshot rings out, you hear the bullet hit the wall behind you, just over your head.

Miklan snickers, “Yup, loaded. Open the fucking cash register then get back.” He orders.

You open the till then push your back into the cigarettes displayed behind you. He climbs on the counter, reaching in the drawer, looking to grab the cash, but still pointing the gun at you. You keep your hands up, moving them in familiar positions as you softly mouth the words.

An incredibly bright flash of light goes off in front of you combined with a near deafening boom. Miklan’s body flies in the air, landing on his back on the floor. The entire store goes dark. The car outside flashes its lights, then backs up, crashing into a gas pump and speeds off.

You grab your cell phone out of your bag, thrilled when the screen lights up. Calling 911, they say they are on the way. In minutes police, a fire truck and ambulance arrive. They let you grab your belongings and take you outside away from the building under a nearby streetlight. You see camera flashes coming from the building as the ambulance hauls a stretcher inside. An officer speaks with you for a while, telling you to relax and saying a lot of nothing. They frequently ask if you are okay. Your voice shakes and you are visibly trembling from the experience.

After almost an hour they make you lock up the building (minus one Miklan) and take you to the station for questioning. You call your employer while riding in the car. They will handle the store, they are happy you are alive. Take off the rest of the week with full pay.

At the police station you tell them what happened. He came in, shot the gun, you opened the drawer and while he was taking the money something electrical must have happened because there was an electric flash and the whole building went dark. You try to describe the car that was parked outside. You never got a look at the driver.

The police thank you for your cooperation, giving you a cup of coffee, a Danish, and a ride home. You head up the stairs to your apartment and unlock the door. Turning on the light you notice an unmarked envelope on the floor. Nervously you open it. Inside is a slip of paper that says:

“We need to talk. -B.”

You fall onto your bed. You know the handwriting. Its them. Byleth is here, now. There is nothing else on the paper. No phone number. You have no idea what to do next. The only thing you can think of doing is wait. Since it is 3am, you may as well try to sleep. For seeing a dead body for the first time in this life, you are more relaxed about it than you feel you should be.

You wake up to your phone announcing a text message. You sit up and see you have 3 unread messages from an unknown number. You take a deep breath.

[8:00] Hey

[8:05] Wake up

[8:07] Wakey, wakey

I’m up. [8:07]

[8:08] Blue Prius outside, get in and take a ride

Every alarm in your head is going off telling you that this is a bad idea.

Give me a couple minutes to get ready. [8:08]

Stepping outside there is the Prius. As you arrive you open the door to see a huge man hunched over the wheel. He is so large part of him is in your seat. You close the door as you wonder how he got into the car in the first place. You move his elbow away to put on your seatbelt.

“Heya pal.” He says.

“Balthus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” He smirks and hits the gas so hard you fly back in your seat.

He takes you downtown. You are glued to the seast, white knuckled, hanging on to the door handle as he drives like a maniac. You can’t say anything because your heart is in your throat. He suddenly stops in front of a large, unmarked brick building with a 16 above the door.

“Go on ahead, it’s going to take me a while to get out of here. Elevator is through the doors, fourth floor.” Balthus grunts as he opens the door and begins to unfold himself to get out of the tiny car.

As you step up to the door you hear it unlock. Going inside there is no doorman, no security, simply a hallway that leads to the elevator. Punching the up button, you wait. Checking your phone there are no new texts. The doors open and you go inside, hitting the 4thfloor button. You are shaking with excitement, nervousness, dread and who knows what else. As the doors open, they reveal an elegant and very tasteful office setting. Behind a high counter you can’t recognize the person sitting there until they stand up and smile widely at you, holding out his hand.

“Hi. Just call me Gavin. I’m sure you know me as-“

“Gatekeeper!” You gasp and laugh, shaking his hand warmly.

He hits a button on the desk and a voice on the intercom responds, “Okay.”

The door on the other side of the room clicks and opens.

“You can head on in now.” Gavin gestures to the slightly open door.

You walk to the other side of the reception desk and the door is open to a richly wood paneled hallway. The door on the other end of this hall opens as you approach. You pull the door the rest of the way open, stepping in to see Byleth sitting in a large comfortable office chair and Yuri partially seated on the top of the desk on the opposite side.

“Welcome to the fold.” Yuri holds his arms out wide.

You rush over to give him a huge hug, like you would any dear friend. Because he was? Is? You’re not sure, but you hug him anyway.

“I’m sure you have many questions.” Byleth folds his hands on his desk and looks at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t get a hug?” You ask, holding your arms out.

Byleth stands and steps around the desk and hugs you, then looks down at you. “I apologize. I am not certain what you know and what you remember.”

“A lot. This is going to take a while.” You answer. “Can we drop the formal setting and sit somewhere comfy? With you behind the desk it’s like we’re back in school.”

“I’ll get us some coffee.” Yuri offers. “Cream only, right?”

“Yup.” You chime as Byleth leads you to an overstuffed corner couch in front of large windows that offer a great view of the city. You take a seat at one end and take your coffee, placing it on the end table next to you. Yuri and Byleth sit beside each other on the other end.

“So you two are together this time?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Yuri smiles as he takes Byleth’s hand in his own.

“Awesome. My favorite.” You nod.

“Just how much do you remember?” Yuri asks, tilting his head.

“I remember fighting alongside each of the houses. If I was not in the house when Byleth led them, they recruited me. Byleth was a male once, a female twice. Three times altogether.” You begin, then frown. “Strange. None of them are like the history books.

Yuri and Byleth look at each other for what seemed like a long time. Yuri bends over and hits a button on the telephone on the table.

“Gavin, order lunch to be brought in and make reservations for dinner. Cancel any remaining appointments for today. Thanks”

“Okay. Start from the beginning. Let’s say Blue Lions. What is your first memory with them?”

“I was staying at an inn, Remire Village. I just made it to the dining area and was stuffing my face full of food when Jeralt comes in all pissed off because these kids show up and they’re in trouble.” You begin. They let you keep talking. Yuri tents his fingers at times, mostly sits back sipping his coffee.

Byleth is spellbound as you begin. He stares into your face like he is reliving your memories with you. Well, they did live them with you. They were your best friend.

You tell them of the battle with Miklan, finding Flayn, Remire, the fall of Jeralt, the defeat of Solon, the battle of Garreg Mach, the five years of being without Byleth, reuniting for the Millennium festival, Dimitri’s madness, the battle at the bridge and Dedue’s return, the nightmare that was Gronder, Merceus and Enbarr.

You then go silent. You look at Yuri and Byleth. You grimace for a moment.

“BylethmarriedDimitri.” You cough into your hand. “I don’t remember much after that.”

Byleth sits back on the couch. “Fascinating.”

“You never told me that-“ Yuri begins to say until Byleth gives him a look that obviously says now is not the time for this.

A beep sounds from the telephone.

“Time for lunch.” Byleth says as he stands up.

You leave through a different door and are led to a dining room. The food smells delicious.

Over lunch you begin your questioning. “Okay, so was this all real? I know you merged with Sothis and everything, convenient to leave that out of the history books, but this actually happened? It’s not just dreams. I began to remember while dreaming, then it moved on to remembering while I was awake. The memories flooded my brain like a tidal wave.”

“Yes. It was real. It did happen. Several times.” Byleth answers you without hesitation.

“You kept reliving that part of your life over and over until you arrived at the best solution? That is fucking amazing. Hawking would've loved it.” You shake your head in near disbelief. “You were the archbishop, but the church isn’t around any more. I guess you just let that go away on its own. What are you doing now?”

Yuri comments about how well the meat is spiced and that they should order this dish again. You interpret this as new subject time.

“There was no mention of dragons or Agarthans in the history books. Did that happen?” You ask quietly.

Byleth nods, “Yes. It did. It was a fantastic combined effort to take them down. We agreed it was best left unwritten.”

The food is quite delicious. You try to think of more pleasant things to talk or ask about, your head spinning with this revelation before you.

“Who else remembers?”

“Just you.” Yuri answers.

“You gotta be shitting me.” Your jaw drops nearly to the table.

“Only you.” Byleth nods.

“Is anyone else supposed to remember?” You’re happy about these two, but you also hoped to speak to a few others. Reminisce about old times? Something like that.

Yuri explains, “Well, in the past we tried a few times, reincarnation is a thing actually. Most of you appear close to the same time. We had tried different ways of bringing through their memories. The problem was that when some remembered they mentally crashed. Now with counseling and medications being as advanced as they are we thought we would try again.”

“So then I volunteer to be a lab rat and something clicked…” Your voice drifts off as you recall the early dreams. .

Yuri continues, “When we read the reports of your dreams we were very excited. What we weren’t’ prepared for is how quickly it awoke the memories in you. We had no idea how you would respond.”

“You are a secretive creature, keeping mostly to yourself.” Byleth nods.

“We’ve been spying on you here and there.” Yuri grins. “You are so damn boring. Anyway, hiring you at the university made it easier to eavesdrop on your conversations.”

“What about the gas station incident.” You have a puzzled look on your face.

“That was all you.” Byleth shakes his head. “We had no idea that you could retain so much knowledge that you could actually cast spells. Crests have pretty much faded from existence. There are probably a few flickers here and there but nothing manifesting.”

You head back to the comfy couch, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “So what now?”

“Well you can go on with your best life. You can work with us. What do you want to do?” Byleth shrugs. “We want to give your soul some closure. Maybe to be able to move on? Not like some creepy ghost or anything.”

Yuri winks, “Hey what about your love life? Do you remember much about it?”

You scrunch your face remembering what a mess it was. “Yes, I do. Ugh. I fell for Claude but had no chance because of supersexy female Byleth. I chased after Felix who was a good friend, but he was in love with Sylvain for forever. Then omg, can’t believe I am saying this, Hubert, and well, he was all over Ferdinand.”

They both look at you with a slight frown.

“I don’t know what order Byleth went through the different houses. I never remembered from one experience to the next. Now that I remember them all, I can certainly see what I didn’t before. A whole lot of ‘love is blind’ going on. Wanting something so much you can’t see the signs blocking your way.”

“How about now?” Yuri has that sly look about him. What a gossip.

“Working two jobs trying to pay for college and not be buried in debt, I have not dated. Ever.” You shrug. “It isn’t fair to someone else, we would have almost no time together. I work nights 7 days a week then school and homework. There is no time to breathe or eat, much less look for love.”

“Well, Byleth is unavailable.” Yuri moves a bit closer to him to assert his ownership. “You know Claude is quite curious about you, ‘Janitor’.” He taunts.

You roll your eyes. “What part of my life don’t you spy on?”

The three of you talk about fond memories, precious victories, even recalling a few of the tragic events.

“So you’ve poked a hole in my brain and all of my memories are out. What would you like to see me do? Wow. I feel like I just dropped a card into the Advice Box.” You laugh.

Byleth, who loved to answer these, sits up. “You should finish your degree and get your Masters.”

“Masters?” You groan, “I am dying right now, you want more? Degree, Masters, required internships and I’m already behind not being able to take things on full boat. I’ll be graduating when I’m 40.”

“Well, there’s a scholarship you may be interested in.” Yuri has his sneaky sneak face on. “You qualify of course. Pays for your schooling, housing, and monthly stipend. Funded by the Eisner foundation. Very private lot they are. More of a don’t call us, we’ll call you kind of group.”

You fall back onto the couch in shock. “W-why are you doing this?” trying to choke back tears.

“The usual.” He drawls. “Finally being able to catch up with old friends. Thank them for everything they’ve done. We would not be here without you. Hoping maybe you want to hang out with us. Maybe awaken a few others?”

“This is all beyond belief.” You shake your head. “If you asked me six months ago that I would be here with you two, talking over past lives. Wow. Do Seteth and Flayn come and visit?”

“They’re around.” Yuri gestures just vaguely enough to let you know yes, but that is not readily available information at this time.

“You are not planning on forming a vigilante superhero group or something weird like that are you?” You frown.

Yuri pouts. “You don’t want to be Lightning Lady or the silver bolt?”

“No.” you answer resolutely. “Masks freak me out these days. You should’ve seen some of the stuff in the art show. Made the Death Knight look like a fairy princess.”

Byleth stands. “We deserve a great dinner, care to join us at Dedue’s?”

“He’s here? Cooking? You bet!” You realize this is the beginning of something amazing.

#fe3h #feth #fire emblem three houses #fe3 x reader #m!byleth #Yuri Leclerc #fe3h fanfic #fe3h fanfiction

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leafcabbage · 3 years

Text

yooo i should’ve done this earlier but im bringing back the explanation of the american college school system (to the best of my ability) from a comment response back in june when i had like 5 readers lol, so here you go!

So the US has required schooling until 12th grade broken into Elementary School (grades 1-5, ages 6-10), Middle School (grades 6-8, ages 11-13), and High School (grades 9-12, ages 14-18). After graduating high school, students can either go into a trade school (for things like electrical or air traffic controller jobs), go straight into working, go down an alternative path, or go to a college/university, which is of course where this story fits.

College in America is weird because while it has the same base in all the colleges, there are 5,300 colleges in the US so there's also a ton of differences between them, so for this fic I've done a lot of picking a choosing of parts from colleges I toured, or the one I attend. The University in this fic (which I'm shortening to SPU from here on out) runs on a quarter system, so there's Fall, Winter, Spring, and Summer quarter, each lasting 10 weeks, and each student takes 3-4 classes per quarter. Most students take Summer off, there's just the option of year-round schooling. The average student would spend 4 years getting an undergraduate degree (which is the base degree that a lot of people stay with, and others use to go on to get a Masters or Doctorate for more specialized job opportunities).

In Freshman Year/The first year, most students are getting required classes done. In Sophomore/Second year, more specialized classes are chosen, and a lot of students declare their Major (or field of study, so for example I just finished my Sophomore year and am in the process of declaring a major in English and Creative Writing, so I will be taking almost only English classes for the next two years). Junior (3rd year) and Senior (4th year) are spent taking classes in that major until all the required courses are taken and a student can graduate. More confusingly, every University has smaller "colleges" within them that house the majors. So SPU would also have The College of Business, the building for that would house the classes that are needed for that major, and there would be advisors/professors that specifically teach in that college for Business students to be in contact with. (The college of business also houses other majors rather than business, like various management degrees, economics degrees, etc) Any student can take any basic level course in any of these colleges, but there are higher level classes that can't be taken unless in that major.

Another thing is that there are public universities and private universities. Public Universities are government funded and much cheaper (though still stupid expensive), they're also larger and some people think the education there is worse, but I disagree (and that is not just because I go to a Public University). Public Universities are also much cheaper for students who live in the state the school is located. Private Universities are privately funded, and they're much more expensive to attend (funded through alumni "donations" and the cost of attending for the most part). They're smaller, though, and most of them advertise small class sizes and a more one-on-one experience for the students. Just as an example, Oregon State University (public) is $11,166 a year for in-state, $30,141 for out of state. In comparison, Willamette University, located in the same state, but a private college, is $53,624 a year. So SPU in this fic is a Private University, so students who aren't wealthy are there either on scholarship (money specifically for college made through things like outstanding grades or essays that win contests), financial aid (money provided by a school or government to help cover costs), or by taking out loans that they'll pay off later in life (or just have debt for a really long time). I could go off on a whole rant here about the issues of students not having the same opportunities due to family contribution/wealth bracket, but I digress. There's a large difference in student population size as well, reusing my example Oregon State University has 30,000 students and Willamette has 12,000. (Other schools are more dramatic in size disparity, University of Florida has about 52,000 students). Don't know where to fit this in, but there's on campus living (dorms) with one or two students per room (or larger in some cases, im not super well versed since i never lived on campus), off campus university living (small apartments owned by the university), and regular off campus living which is just houses/apartments.

Finally, Student Government! US Colleges have student government so students have a voice in what is happening at the school and a means to communicate with the administration and university president. At the end of the day, what the school administration says is the final decision, but it is often impacted by student voices. The system is a little different based on what college is being attended, but I based this mostly on my own. The Student Governance Board is, in this fic, the first and also the final group that decisions go through, they approve budget requests, have a lot of say over the finances for the Student Government, tend to be the ones who directly communicate with the university administration, and have the power to veto decisions made in the Senate. The Student Senate has a representative from each college within SPU, they bring a lot of student issues to discuss and find a path forward with (like if students with disabilities aren't being supported, the Senate might write a statement in support of those students and suggesting changes, and go on to vote on what they might do to help change things, and then get in contact with the administration about change.) All of the Student Government members are elected, but the positions are paid. The only job not elected in this fic is the Assistant job, that's just hired for.

Writing all this out just.... makes me realize how confusing it is. I know this stuff because I researched colleges for years to find one to attend, and I work in student government so I've spent the last year (and will spend the next 2 years) up close and personal with the inner workings. I still get confused by some of this stuff. I am happy to answer any clarifying questions if it helps this fic make sense (or if you are just astounded by the sheer idiocy of the American College System).

So tldr; SPU is a private university and therefore crushingly expensive, but it is also fairly small with a lot of availability for the professors to meet alone with struggling students. The Student Government has a power imbalance with the Board having final say in decisions and funding control in the Student Government itself, and the Senate doing a lot of the more personal to the students work.

#fic blogging #drdi #cabbage writing corner

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cozy-neko · 3 years

Text

The Cherry On Top • 01 • 02 | The Cherry On Top • 03

“Kozume, are you even listening to me?” Akaashi sighs and closes his laptop. He was only halfway through his scheduled agenda for today’s meeting, but there was no point in continuing if his client was just going to ignore him for the whole hour.

“I am, I am,” Kenma mumbled, eyes fixated on something that was hidden under the table.

“What did I just talk about for the last ten minutes then?” Akaashi challenged.

“We’re changing my video uploads from Tuesdays to Fridays, and Black Sheep wants to do a sponsorship with me in my next stream,” Kenma replies without skipping a beat. His feline eyes are still glued to his phone, unblinking, as his fingers tapped away at one of his games.

Akaashi sighed once more. “And you’re fine with the upcoming changes and sponsorship then?”

Kenma nodded. “Akaashi. I trust you to make the best decisions for me.” He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket and tilted his head to look his friend in the eye. “I didn’t hire you as my manager for no reason.”

“If I knew working with you was going to be this difficult, I would’ve stuck with my previous job.” Akaashi flashed the male a wry smile.

“Hey, if you want to hand in your resignation letter right now and go back to your previous life of disgusting convenience store food and cigarettes for lunch, by all means.” Kenma smirked and extended a hand out, palm up as if waiting for an actual resignation letter to manifest from Akaashi.

Akaashi cleared his throat and reopened his laptop. “Moving on...”

“TOORU!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs as soon as she spotted the fashion editor from across the courtyard. Lunchers nearby stared at the loud girl before turning their heads to look at the unfortunate boy on the receiving end of the shout.

Oikawa contemplated ignoring his friend and instead considered turning around to head back inside TK Mag’s office building. He would rather eat with his annoying suck-up intern than his embarrassing friend. Unfortunately for him, said friend yelled his name once more and beckoned for him to come over.

Oikawa’s eye twitched and he reluctantly trudged across the courtyard and towards Y/N.

“Don’t be so embarrassing, Y/N-chan,” Oikawa grumbled as he took a seat across from her.

“Oh please, as if that airplane tie you’re wearing isn’t embarrassing,” Y/N shot back, eyes flickering up once at the cartoon-printed tie before back down at her laptop screen.

“They’re UFOs, for your information,” Oikawa mumbled through gritted teeth, “and besides, Ayame-chan said it was cute, so your opinion is invalid and unnecessary.”

“Enough about your tie. I’m about to literally combust from nerves.”

“What is it this time?” Oikawa rolled his eyes and lazily sipped his latte.

“I’m about to schedule my first blog post for tomorrow.” At this, Oikawa’s eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat.

“Who’s the unlucky victim?” Oikawa scooted closer to Y/N, their elbows touching as he leaned in to read off her screen.

“You know, for someone who looks like she’s about to shit her pants from nerves, you wouldn’t be able to tell with Cherry’s online persona,” Oikawa hummed and nonchalantly commented.

Y/N smacked his shoulder once in response.

“That’s the whole point, Oinkawa. No one’s supposed to know that Cherry is me, and that I am Cherry.” Y/N sighed and brought the tip of her thumb to her mouth. She nibbled on her fingernail nervously as she clicked on the draft of her blog post. “Well? Can you tell who it is?”

“I would say Miya Atsumu, the MSBY setter, but I wouldn’t exactly call him beautiful, Y/N-chan.”

“It’s not Miya Atsumu and you take that back! He is beautiful, but that’s besides the point; it’s Kozume Kenma, the professional gaming streamer and content creator.”

“Well that’s subjective,” Oikawa sneered. Iwaizumi once had the opportunity to interview Miya Atsumu for an editorial, and Oikawa had tagged along much to Iwaizumi’s headache. Having played as a setter as well during his time in high school, Oikawa had some differences with Atsumu’s playing style, and the two did not get along too well that day.

“How’d you even get this dirt on Kozume Kenma anyways?” Oikawa made a face and smacked Y/N’s hand away from her mouth. “That’s disgusting, Y/N-chan, and you’re getting nail polish in your teeth.”

“I stalked his fan accounts on Twitter. It’s amazing what you can find with a little digging, to be honest.” Y/N scanned her draft. “And a little scary,” she added as an afterthought.

“Ugh, kami, I can’t do this, Tooru!” Y/N whined and shut her laptop, taking her head into her hands. “This is the most disgusting line of work I’ve ever imagined myself having to do.”

“You know no one is forcing you to take this promotion, right?” Oikawa leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“This is Y/N and TK Mag we’re talking about here.” Oikawa and Y/N turned around at the new voice. “If you were over $100k in student debt and a well-known and well-paying company offered you a promotion, wouldn’t you take it?” Iwaizumi and Hanamaki walked up to the duo and took a seat at their table.

“You’re literally talking about the girl who’s dream is to become a princess and find a rich prince charming to take care of her,” Hanamaki added.

“Hey!” Y/N interjected, but was ignored.

“But she also didn’t graduate as a journalist with an emphasis in fashion from UTokyo to become a gossip blogger,” Oikawa pointed out.

“Okay can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Y/N pouted. “And you all have valid points.”

She sighed. This was a tough decision. Y/N does have a lot of student debt to pay off, and the pay raise that came with the promotion was definitely enticing and worth drooling over. On the other hand, Oikawa was right in which Y/N didn’t graduate with over $100k in debt with a journalism degree to become a gossip blogger. But one thing that Y/N also had to think about was that this promotion would’ve been her opportunity to become a full-time employee at TK Mag, her dream company. And then there was Hanamaki, who was there just to out her (slightly) embarrassing and (very much so) unrealistic dream.

“Why’d you even take the promotion anyways? You could’ve just stayed an intern and wait for staff writer positions to open up.”

Y/N knocked twice before entering the Editor in Chief’s private office. “Good afternoon, Chief! You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes, Y/N, come in. Please, take a seat while I finish up this email.”

Y/N grinned and skipped over to the loveseat that occupied the middle of the office. She crossed her legs and smoothed her blouse. Y/N was buzzing, and it wasn’t just because of the three cups of coffee she had stomached throughout the day.

“Judging by how you can’t sit still, I’m assuming you know why I called you in here.”

“Oh, sorry. I’ve had one too many cups of coffee today,” Y/N responded sheepishly. “But I hope you’re gonna tell me what I think it is you’re gonna tell me.”

It was hard for Y/N to keep the smile on her face from growing as she watched her Chief pull out a folder and place it down on the coffee table in front of her. The smile on Y/N’s face grew bigger as the Chief pulled out a piece of paper and slid it towards her. It was exactly what Y/N was expecting: a contract for a full-time position at the company.

“Congratulations, Y/N. Your hard work has not gone unnoticed these past few months you’ve been at TK Mag as an intern, and we’d like to extend our offer to you as a full-time employee.”

“Yes, yes, yes! I accept!” Y/N squealed and eagerly looked through her tote bag for a pen. “I don’t even care what staff writer position it’s for -- although my first choice would be for the fashion department since I did go to school for fashion journalism -- but I’m so excited!!” Y/N was already picturing herself attending fashion shows with Oikawa.

“Y/N, wait. Before you sign, I just want you to know that the full-time position isn’t to become a staff writer for the fashion department.”

“Huh?” Y/N stopped riffling through her bag. “...What is it for then?”

“TK Mag is going to try something new. We’re going to branch out to a sister site and run a gossip blog called The Cherry on Top. I want you to take on the alias as Cherry and run the blog.”

“Gossip... blog...? The Cherry on Top? Me?” Y/N could hardly comprehend what the Chief was saying.

“Will you accept? I know it’s a brand new position and something we’ve never done before at TK Mag, but we have high hopes and I know you’ll do well as one of my best employees.”

“With all due respect, Chief, I’m a fashion writer. I write about fashion week and the latest trends in the fashion industry. I don’t write gossip nor do I want to slander anyone. It’s not my cup of tea.” Y/N narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the Chief wanted her to do such dirty work.

“I had a feeling this might be the case.” The Chief sighed, and all signs of pleasantries disappeared. “Listen, Y/N, if you don’t want this promotion, I’ll give it to the next intern in line. But just know that if you don’t take this position, you’re going to have to clear out your desk by end of day and find a new company to work for.”

Y/N was in disbelief. She couldn’t believe her career was getting threatened. Her grip on her pen tightened as she stared at the document in front of her. The words Full-time Employee Contract for: Cherry, The Cherry on Top seemed to glare at her.

“There will also be a hefty raise included in your promotion,” the Chief added after witnessing Y/N’s hesitation. “You did just graduate from UTokyo, did you not? Surely you don’t want to be riddled with student debt.”

Y/N was torn. What was she going to do? TK Mag was her dream company, and if she refused the promotion and got let go, she would drown in debt. Surely being a gossip blogger wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Y/N swallowed her pride and uncapped her pen. With a quick flourish, she signed her signature on the contract and forlornly shook hands with a now-smiling Chief.

I hope I didn’t make the wrong decision...

“You made the right decision, Y/N. Welcome to the team.”

Y/N gulped. She couldn’t tell her friends that her job security had been threatened if she didn’t take the promotion.

“Well maybe it was time for me to grow up. I don’t need a rich prince charming to take care of me. I’ll take care of myself with my new pay raise.” Y/N grimaced on the inside. She hoped that was convincing, but judging by the silent stares she received from her three male friends, even she knew they weren’t too believing of her.

“Anyways, Cherry promised her 500 followers the first post will be up tomorrow, and she isn’t one to break promises, so... let’s queue this baby up.” With a swift click of her trackpad, Y/N’s first gossip post as Cherry was scheduled.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and Hanamaki shared a look.

Kenma was unfazed. He really was. Even when his Twitter notifications blew up with mentions, he simply ignored them. It wasn’t like he paid much attention to them in the first place anyways. And when he was in the middle of streaming and his Twitch chat started spamming the link to the blog post, he simply told his mods to delete comments that had anything to do with it.

Kenma was unfazed. Simply because it just wasn’t true. And even though the readers didn’t know if it was true or not and the article was currently trending in the Esports vertical and being repurposed for other articles, Kenma knew it wasn’t true and therefore did not care.

Except Akaashi was getting on his nerves as his manager continued to try to bring it up in conversations.

“Kozume, you have to say something.”

“Why?” Kenma sighed. He really didn’t see the need to say anything. It wasn’t like this was the first time Kenma had been the subject of a rumor. It was all going to die down soon anyways.

“It’s been three days already and people are still commenting on it. Your fans are upset, and I think you owe it to them to explain your side.”

“It’s not a big deal, Akaashi. If fans are that upset about a rumor of me boosting League accounts as a side business, they probably should get a job and hop off Twitter once in a while,” Kenma mumbled and continued to click away on his game controller.

“Well it’s not just your fans that are upset, Kozume. Your sponsorship with Black Sheep is also on rocks right now because of the rumor.”

At that, Kenma’s fingers slowed, and he watched his character get headshot by the enemy on the TV.

“You’re telling me that they believe some stupid rumor that was probably written by a jealous 13-year-old?” Kenma scowled, and Akaashi finally felt his friend getting serious about the situation. It wasn’t often that Kenma showed his emotions other than his usual aloof self, but when his projects started to get affected, Kenma took things really serious.

“It’s not that they believe it, but they haven’t been as responsive to my emails as they usually are ever since the post was published. It seems they might be taking your silence as the truth.”

Kenma sighed and tossed his controller to the side. He wasn’t in the mood to game anymore. Instead, he stood up and trekked down the hallway towards his game room. Looks like he had a fire to diffuse if he wanted to keep his sponsorship alive.

end notes:

→ student debt and job security is no joke 😢

→ mattsun did not join y/n, oikawa, iwa-chan, and hanamaki during lunch because he was away on a photoshoot assignment

→ kenma did boost league accounts back when he was still in college and barely starting out as a streamer... except the accounts he boosted was kuroo’s and hinata’s because they wouldn’t stop begging him to until he did

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jungcity · 4 years

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥.

genre: romance, fantasy, erotica

au: fallen angel, reincarnation

pairing: jung jaehyun x female reader

note: This is a work of fiction. The portrayal of the celebrities included in this story does not reflect their true nature in real life. I am just using them as a way to bring life into the story and to give entertainment to readers. Concerning the plot which is about Lucifer, I do not— in any means— sympathize with the devil and I do not intend to offend any religion. Furthermore, I discourage you to continue reading if you feel uncomfortable with this type of stories. I’d appreciate it if you'll leave some feedbacks! Thank you so much!

“he was the worse of his kind—

dared the Almighty with

pride in his mind.

banished from heaven,

the infamous fallen.

the one you cannot tame;

lucifer, that is his name.”

Unable to process the words printed out in the sheet of paper that was in your hands, you stare dat your termination contract with dread slowly creeping up into your face. Maybe you want to scream or to cry– heck, you have no idea what to feel as yet another hindrance towards a stable life lay heavy in your palms. An exhausted exhale of breath escaped your lips as the realization hit you– you were indeed terminated by the management of the fast-food chain you were working on for the reason that they could not meet their quota anymore and they had to terminate some employees. Unfortunately, you are one of those workers.

You have witnessed as the same dread fell upon your co-workers while they skimmed the paper in their hands. The fast-food chain stood as your only means to support yourself and your sister, so you never once took it for granted and did your work diligently despite the low wages and the awful workplace it had offered. Now, you have to find another job or else you will surely die of hunger.

You do have a talent in arts, and you graduated with a fine arts degree. But life after college was beyond what you had expected when you were still studying. You had anticipated to have a stable job suited for your skills, but life did not go as you planned. Your mother fell sick and died a year after you graduated, leaving you and your sister all alone. From that day onwards, you became the modern Atlas who carried the world in your shoulders. Yet you couldn’t complain. And despite all of the hardships, you only felt the need to take care of your little sister even more.

You continued walking the side streets like a ragged doll being pulled sluggishly by whatever force there was, thinking of other ways to get by tomorrow. Being jobless wouldn’t be so hard if you didn’t have another mouth to feed. Your sister will be a freshman in college next year, and that’s the sole reason why you needed to work your butt off harder than before. And life isn’t really helping right now. So you grabbed your phone and rang your best friend’s number. She picked up after fifteen seconds.

“Hey, gorge—”

“I am jobless,” you greeted Soojin. There was a surprised ‘oh’ in the other line and you could imagine your best friend looking at you pitifully. It made you bite your lower lip to fight the urge to cry in front of the judging eyes of the city.

“Tell me, is there something I can do to help?”

“I don’t know what to do anymore. I am deep in fucking debt and Yuqi’s going to college soon. I couldn’t possibly pay for our rent with my current situation— oh. I am a mess!” You heaved a deep sigh, your chest constricting from all the emotions you were keeping locked up inside you. Different set of eyes were on you as you tried not to crumple in the side streets. There were adults giving you sympathetic looks and children almost laughing at you.

“Hey! Hey, Y/N! Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale!” You did as you were told. Gulping a large amount of air, you didn’t even bother how polluted it was now that you were in the heart of the town. You have to get a new job before you lose your mind.

“Okay, is everything calmer now?” Soojin asked.

“Yes. Yes,” you replied, still taking deep breaths.

“I could recommend a job, Y/N.”

Your ears perked up. “I’m listening.”

“But it wouldn’t be an easy one,” she sighed on the other line before continuing, “The job is right here in Jung’s Fiscals. Luckily for you, the former secretary of Mr. Jung decided to resign today; rumor has it that it’s because of the cold and ruthless demeanor of our CEO. I know you’re fit for the job because you’re one hell of a hard working bitch. However, I want you to give it a thought. Mr. Jung is not someone to mess with. Heck, he does not even—”

You replied before she even had the chance to finish her sentence, “I’ll take it. I’m really not in the position to say no to a job right now, am I? I badly need one so whatever the character of this Mr. Jung, I’d cooperate with him.”

You heard your best friend sigh in defeat. She knows you too well to try to stop you. So she simply directed you to prepare your resumé and other documents for the interview tomorrow.

“God! Thank you!” You kissed the mic of your phone as thanks to your best friend-slash-life savior.

You were too desperate to even think about her advice and the possibility of the CEO mistreating you. As long as there is money in your card to support your sister and food on your table, you are always ready to serve anyone— even if that person was forged straight from the womb of the devil.

All energetic and ready to take the challenge of the world again, you blew your friend one last kiss before ending the call and trudging towards the bus stop.

It was a night of simple ready-to-eat-ramen pack. Your sister had already known about your termination and currently feels bad that there is nothing she could do to help.

“It’s okay. Worry about school and nothing else, Yuqi,” you told her. The younger girl pouted her lips, reluctance clear on her face. “And I could not possibly let you work. We know enough not to overwork you.”

She has a weak stamina. Asthmatic since she was a kid, you never allowed her to do any part-time jobs for the fear that it would take a toll on her health. You couldn’t afford to lose the only relative you have, so every attempt of hers to help you boils down to nothing.

“I mean, who am I in this household? I don’t want to be a leech, sucking all your money and energy like that.” She scrunched up her nose.

“Yuqi, it’s my responsibility to take care of you. This is nothing, really.”

Even though you had almost lost your mind earlier thinking about the fact that you were indeed jobless, you tried to show your strong façade and smiled encouragingly to your sister. The least that you want right now is to worry her.

“Not to mention that you have to work in that wretched company– where the CEO is Jung Jaehyun. I’ve heard a lot of rumors about him, you know. They say he fucks—”

“Language, please,” you warned with a glare.

Yuqi rolled her eyes before continuing, “They say, he brings famous models into his penthouse every single night. And some say he does it even in his own office.” She talked while pointing her chopstick at you, munching her food deliciously like it was the best ramen she has ever tasted.

“Well, let’s be glad I am not a model then.” You shrugged. The both of you laughed.

She rambled about Jung Jaehyun the whole dinner with you, half-listening to her. Yuqi almost sounded like she was a fan and you seriously couldn’t grasp the need to be cautious towards Jung Jaehyun. You were hell-bent to impress him tomorrow that you refused to indulge yourself around the bad rumors circulating his name and well-being. All that matters to you is you are going to get that job, and you will do your best to stay in that office long enough to support your sister’s education.

This is the day where your fate is divided into two. You have a chance to make everything better for you and your sister, or you can prove that your life has been cursed and there is no more hope to rescue it from the depths of poverty.

The fate is in your hands and right now, your palms are sweating and your hands are trembling. Shaking your head and clearing your mind— with a determined heart— you trudge inside the thirty-story building of Jung’s Fiscals.

You were greeted by your best friend, Soojin. She was wearing a slightly loose pencil skirt paired with simple white polo sleeves. Her hair was styled into a neat bun, just like any other girl at the front desk. You have presumed that that would also be your hairstyle once you got the job.

“You got this,” Soojin mumbled as she led you towards the elevator. Unfortunately for you, she couldn’t accompany you all the way to Mr. Jung’s office for the reason that the building is buzzing with work and she couldn’t leave her position at the front desk for too long. You wave her a nervous goodbye before pushing the button on to the 28th floor.

There was really something about CEOs preferring to locate their offices on the top floor of their building. It was not like you mind, but you truly couldn’t believe that it really happens in real life. You once thought that they only appear in televisions.

Surrounded by the shiny metal covers of the elevator’s interior, you decided to check on your clothes and overall appearance. You have picked your best set of formal clothes for this day because you obviously wanted to impress the CEO and look presentable on your possible first day of work.

After a few minutes of standing alone inside the shiny elevator, it finally dinged and opened. You step outside, eyes roaming around the surroundings before taking a step forward. A nice and wide room greeted you as you walked through. The secretary’s table was made of polished wood, with the company’s logo engraved in gold. There were sets of black marble columns at the back and two comfortable armchairs in front of the secretary’s table to serve as a waiting area.

A woman, with the same bun as Soojin, stood up from her seat to greet you. Unlike your best friend, she was wearing a brown blazer that slightly hugged her waist and a fitted black dress underneath it. In your own opinion, she was too young to resign in this prestigious company. Which made your mind fall back into thinking that maybe the rumors were true– that the CEO, indeed, mistreats his employees.

“Good morning, Miss. Mr. Jung is ready to meet you.” She greeted with a slight bow. Her whole aura screamed professionalism. Something that you were not acquainted with— being a former waitress at a fast-food chain. All you had to do was take orders and smile and obey inquiries but you had never, ever, worked in a place where those aforementioned skills were almost nothing compared to the huge building that you were— hopefully— going to work in. Although, you suppose you have a bit of advantage when it comes to noting something and smiling. The only difference is that, rather than French fries and diet coke, you would have to take notes about meetings and business trips.

You breathed slowly, calming your nerves. The woman must have heard your heart thumping against your chest since she hesitated to open the door.

“Just be yourself, Miss. Do not worry too much. You’ll get through this.” She offered you a kind smile. You couldn’t help but think that she was accompanying you towards your own doom. You returned the smile even as you felt your lips wobble. A few inhales and exhales later, you told her you were ready. She slowly opened the door to Mr. Jung’s office and Jesus Christ— you thought you would collapse by the expansive space that greeted you in.

Typical CEO, he was obviously sitting on his swivel chair, the back of it facing you and the secretary. You have guessed he was looking at the spectacular view outside. The interior of his office wasn’t quite different from the secretary’s. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlooked the skyscrapers and buzzing life outside. Light brown wood with grey walls surrounded you, partnered with black leather furniture. Hints of gold in the CEO’s table were also visible and there were minimalistic abstract paintings with the same hue as everything in the room.

Jung Jaehyun. CEO. — was printed on the glass plaque on top of his table.

“Leave us.” He said without turning his chair. The voice was deep and raspy— clean and masculine— the kind of voice from someone who knows he was in authority and that he owns the whole place.

Shivering, you almost begged the woman not to leave you with the predator sitting not two meters away from you. The secretary gave you an encouraging nod before turning on her heels and walking away. At the sound of the door clicking close, the swivel chair whirled.

You expected to see a grey-haired, middle-aged man to greet you. As a large company like this one, the CEO wouldn’t be as young as the man in front of you now. You tried to focus your breathing because fuck— the man is beyond gorgeous. It has been a while since you had encountered a creature as beautiful as him.

Hair, raven black against the white swivel chair that stood out in the whole room like a throne only for his to take, his lips were too red as a freshly plucked cherry against his pale skin— so white you could almost see the blues and the violets of his veins. And those eyes— the perfect dark brown; screams calmness after the storm and the rage of the hurricane fused together.

“Are you quite done staring?”

His voice shot you back to reality. You prayed to the saints that you hadn’t been drooling as you took in his whole features. If that was the case?You were absolutely doomed. Your chances of ever being hired beginning to thin.

“I… my apologies, Sir.” You bowed your head, suddenly confused as to why your body reacted that way. This is not a medieval fantasy where you were inclined to bow before the king, but the man in front of you exudes the energy of the likeliness of a monarch and it felt right to bow in front of him.

He didn’t answer. You could only assume that he was looking through your documents by the sound of the papers shuffling.

“Fine arts degree? To a waitress?” His words ended with a ‘hm?’. He almost sounded disgusted by your resume. It made the veins on your temple ticked but you really couldn’t blame him. The job that you landed on after graduating wasn’t really what you expected after those too many sleepless nights struggling to finish all your plates.

“And with this basic resume…” Your head automatically recovered from the bow and your eyes stared at him. He didn’t call your resume basic, right? But he did. It was crystal clear in your ears, ringing in your mind. And all your hopes of getting the job were gone in an instant. “… why should I hire you?” he finished.

His eyes were emotionless but his voice was taunting. Despite the insult of calling your resume basic, you smiled at him. It was your time to prove yourself and there was no stopping you now.

You cleared your throat, “Because I am a hard-working woman ready to give you her utmost effort—”

“You’re hired.” He simply declared with a wave of his hand.

You blinked, doubtful of the words that you have heard. “Sir?”

“You’re hired. Go and talk to Maggie about everything that you need to know,” he coldly stated, not looking at you but into his computer.

You could really jump from happiness, right in front of him. And you didn’t even care that he interrupted the speech which you practiced all night with the hopes to impress him. What truly matters is you got a new job not twenty-four-hours after you were terminated from that wretched fast-food chain. However, you wouldn’t provoke him to fire you on your first day so you remained calm.

“Thank you, Sir!”

Clasping your hands together was the only vessel you have to let go of a fraction of the happiness that you have felt. You turned on your heels with a smile that could reach your ears. But before you could open the door, he spoke again.

“Try harder when it comes to your clothes, next time. They don’t match mine.”

It was the best pair of formal clothes in your wardrobe. You inhaled sharply and faced him with the same smile, already not so fond of your newly-acclaimed boss.

“Alright, Sir. I understand.”

Then you dashed outside, instantly regretting being his secretary even before your job to serve him had begun.

The secretary, Maggie, introduced you your new workplace. She must’ve seen how happy you were when you departed Mr. Jung’s office that she automatically guided you towards the secretary’s table with a smile.

Her corner was neat, the folders clearly stacked on one end and notebooks at the side. The computer was placed on the right corner alongside the telephone. It was easy to move around since everything is in its place.

Then she guided you towards the pantry. It was decorated with the same brown, grey, black hues with a hint of gold accents. Adjacent to it is the meeting area, composed of the same black leather furniture and a glass table partnered with a minimalistic chandelier. Everything around you looks so expensive that you felt out of place all of a sudden.

“Mr. Jung wants his coffee a little bit warm in the morning. There’s a coffee maker ready, you just have to watch a few coffee making videos and you’re gonna be alright.” You shared a chuckle. It would seem as if Jung Jaehyun is meticulous when it comes to his coffee. So you mentally reminded yourself to watch some coffee making videos tonight.

“Sometimes he likes it cold. Plus, he usually drinks iced-americano. Easy to make,” she said with a wink.

Is working for Jung Jaehyun also requires you to be a barista? Cool.

“For his breakfast, you have to ask him every morning if he’d like to eat. More of the times he does not. And I think one of his personal pet peeves is when someone wastes food. So be careful about that.”

You listed everything she has told you, emphasizing the words ‘ask him’ to remind yourself not to impulsively make him food for there was no guarantee that he was going to eat.

“On the days that he wants to have breakfast, he usually likes to eat scrambled eggs with slices of bacon and don’t forget about the apples. He loves apples,” she exaggerated, “You just have to cut them in equal pieces or else he won’t eat them.”

Bringing a ruler with you won’t do any harm, right? So you listed it together with the reminders that Maggie informed you of. She continued walking you through the works that she does: from the emails that you need to go through to make sure no insignificant message would irate Mr. Jung, to her techniques in taking notes and arranging schedules for the boss.

“And there’s a proper uniform made for you,” she said while eyeing you from head to toe. But not in an insulting manner like what Jung Jaehyun did. Her scrutinizing was more on the calculating side. It would appear as though she was mentally analyzing your body size.

“On Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays– you will have to wear this same outfit as I am wearing.” By that, she means the dress and the brown blazer.

“Tuesdays, and Thursdays, you have to wear slacks the same color as this blazer. It’s paired with white silky polo sleeves. Nothing uncomfortable, don’t worry,” she chuckles. But your tongue wanted to ask whether you were going to buy your own set of clothes. The uniform looked so neat and expensive that by the lookds of it, surely you do not have the luxury to buy one. As if reading through your knitted brows, Maggie told you that all uniforms are provided by the company. Thank God.

“On Saturdays, you can wear anything you like. Just be mindful of it. Mr. Jung does not like it when his secretary—”

“Wears cheap clothing? And does not match with his?” You finished the sentence for her. It was the sentiment of the CEO before you exited his office.

Maggie’s lips was formed in a thin line, telling you to go along with it. “It’s not exactly like that. But you have to at least try to catch up to his fashion sense.”

Well— Jesus Christ— the man exhales the air of Balmain and Versace and you do not have the richest to afford a Chanel outfit to pair with him even if you sell your soul to the devil.

“Is that… really necessary?” You asked her, clearly agitated. If that was what the CEO wants, you would gladly go back and work in that cursed fast-food chain and wear the same uniform six days a week than thinking about robbing a famous clothing brands’ store every fucking day to match his highness’ clothes.

“Yes. But don’t worry. The clothes I wear every Saturdays were all thrifted. You just have to really dig every clothes to find a decent one.” She winked at you. You smiled at her nervously. You wouldn’t trust yourself thrifting clothes, simply because you do not have the patience for it. But your little sister, Yuqi, does. So you would have to trust her taste and maybe she wouldn’t feel so helpless anymore once you give her the task.

“That’s pretty much all you have to know,” Maggie declares while clasping her hands together. You suddenly felt the need to ask her the reason why she was resigning. But it seemed too personal to inquire. You shrugged and let the question die in your mind.

“How long have you been working here?” You asked instead. She smiled at you, looking around the place like she was reliving some kind of memories.

“I interned in this place when I was still in college. Mr. Jung applauded my performance so I decided to work here when I graduated. It’s been three years, to be exact.”

Jung Jaehyun must’ve been owning this empire at such a young age, based on Maggie’s story. He was the CEO when she was still in college until now. You wonder how old he was when he took this company.

“Mr. Jung’s must’ve been really young when he took over this company,” you voiced. Maggie nodded and told you she was impressed by how young yet clever Jung Jaehyun is to be managing a top company such as Jung’s Fiscals.

After a few minutes of small talk and reminders, Maggie bid you goodbye. Her things were all gathered and she was ready to go even before she walked you through the rules and reminders of the company. However, before she left, you asked the one question that you have been itching to know the answer to the very moment you walked out of Mr. Jung’s office.

“Is he… is he really terrible? Like in the rumors?” You know it was not pleasant to ask such things regarding your boss. But you need at least some warnings before you dive in headfirst to the trouble.

Maggie chuckled and you didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. “He doesn’t mistreat his employees. It’s more like, he doesn’t really care enough. I don’t know. He’s excellent in his field but he’s aloof towards everyone. Never really socializing and talking outside of business.” Maggie smiled and you hate to be the one to noticed it, but it seems like she adores Mr. Jung. With the possibility of romantic feelings bubbling beneath her weak facade.

Before you knew it, your tongue is rolling and asking the question you whispered only to yourself. “Do you like him?”

At your question, all the professionalism deteriorated from Maggie’s presence. She looked like a giddy thirteen-year-old lovesick teenager when she answered, “Who wouldn’t like him? The man is like, rich-rich. And that aura? That body? I’d let him spit on me.”

You were slightly disgusted by the latter but you were not going to argue that Jung Jaehyun is indeed the kind of man who could easily wreck you. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. He has that power in him and you know it the second you laid your eyes on that beautifully cruel face. Those eyes— oh boy— eyes that could make you feel alive but drown and capture you within the depths of them— yet his looks; looks that could almost kill. Men like him know their place, and that is above everyone else— including you.

Your first week went smoothly. There were new emails sent to Jung Jaehyun’s inbox that you need to check. There was also a telephone call, once, from a girl named Chaelin who wishes to visit Jaehyun once his schedule wasn’t too jampacked to bother. You silently asked your boss whether he would allow it, checking his schedules first before asking. He told you to insert Chaelin’s visit on one of his them. That made you wonder if she was one of those rumored models caught leaving Jaehyun’s penthouse and office. But you shook your mind off the thought. Clearly, you have no business wondering about those kinds of things. He is your boss and you are his secretary. You would never meddle in his personal life.

Maggie was right, Jung Jaehyun was indeed aloof. He eats alone and employees never really stay in his office longer than ten minutes. Maximum. And they would always come out with their hand on their chest, heaving a deep sigh. He didn’t welcome small talk and he was all about business. Slowly, you have grounded and reminded yourself exactly where your place was inside the office; and that is inside his territory, but out of his life.

It was easy to master the perfect taste of his coffee. And yes, you would admit, you almost collapsed on your knees when he first tasted your office-made americano. You even stayed for two minutes after he took a sip, hoping for some good comments but he just raised a brow at you. That was your cue to exit. Just like what Maggie reminded you, Jung Jaehyun does not eat breakfast often as a normal person would. But today, he finally ordered one.

Chaelin, who called you, finally arrived fifteen-minutes ago. If Jaehyun looked like a king, Chaelin was his queen — or so you assume. She carried the dominant female aura in her; ash grey hair, red lips, and red bottoms, with a 90’s silk dress hugging her body paired with a Chanel purse. Everything about her screams perfection. You were glad that she smiled softly towards you after you guided her towards Mr. Jung’s office; making you more comfortable in her presence instantly. Maybe that was why you were preparing breakfast for the duo.

The whole office is lonesome. The surrounding eerily silent with literally only the three of you on the whole floor. All you could hear was the crisp sound of the slices of bacon as you fry them, and the thud of the knife against the chopping board as you prepare his apples— fresh and pristine on the plate.

Everything was ready in twenty-five minutes. You placed the food on a clean tray before walking towards Mr. Jung’s office. Balancing all of it with your hip, you pushed the door slightly. The main office stood empty before you, but you heard their murmurs silently echoing from the meeting area that was adjacent to Mr. Jung’s office.

Reluctant to barge in without asking for their permission, your steps slowed. But Mr. Jung ordered for a breakfast today, he must have been hungry. You did not want to make him wait, or his visitor— so you inhaled and exhaled, continuing your walk towards the meeting area.

“So basically, this visit is to tell me to clean up your own mess?”

You heard Mr. Jung asked, contempt clear in his voice. It definitely felt like the conversation is not for anyone to hear. You hesitated in your position.

“This is not my mess. It’s theirs. How many times—” Chaelin was obviously frustrated by the tone of her voice. You heard a playful chuckle from your boss, interrupting the lady’s discourse.

“And how many times do I have to tell you that I. Do. Not. Give. A. Flying. Fuck.”

“Come on! You’re the only creature here on Earth who could do what needs to be done.” Chaelin sounded tired, worn out from the male’s large ego.

You were about to turn on your heel and walk away, the conversation clearly was between both of them alone, and you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were just torn between serving their food or walking away. You started doing the latter until Mr. Jung’s voice boomed in the whole office that you literally felt the plates in the tray shook.

“Who’s there?!”

You froze on your spot— and your breathing too. It wasn’t just a question. It was a scream of command to reveal yourself. You didn’t even know how he had known someone staying outside the meeting area. Before you could run away from the scene, you heard footsteps coming your way. You turned around to face your boss, you regretted doing so. He was looking at you with his emotionless eyes. And you felt a trickle ran down your spine as he continued walking towards you— grabbing your arms like he wanted to crush your bones. You were too shocked to even feel the pain but it was there, slowly slicing through your skin, certain it was going to leave a bruise.

“What did you hear?” He asked, rage evident in his voice. Chaelin was looking at the both of you, not enjoying the scene but also anticipating for your answer.

You squeezed your eyes shut because you couldn’t stand looking at his eyes as they seemed to burn you to ashes. “N-nothing, Sir.” You trembled.

He pinned you down with that same, deadly stare. His body only a tray away from yours, you could smell his spicy perfume mixing with the smell of portions of bacon and eggs. And his face, too close, so close he almost seemed familiar. He stared at you, not saying anything with his mouth but shooting you death threats with his eyes. You couldn’t stand it. Your knees began to wobble but before you could lose your balance, Chaelin decided to intrude.

“Jaehyun, let go of the girl. She’s telling the truth.”

His hand automatically slid away from your arms. He drew a frustrated sigh, running his hand through his raven-black hair. You let out a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived as he spoke with his toneless voice again.

“Get the fuck out of this room. Now.” His back facing you while he gripped the edge of the table.

You gathered all your strength, placing the tray on the small table two steps away from you. You were dumbfounded and beyond scared, you didn’t even bother to arrange their plates, you dashed towards the door like a contender in a marathon.

The moment the oak door closed behind you only did you allow yourself to breathe. It came out shaky. But surprisingly, there were no tears rolling down your cheeks. You simply clutched your chest; the pain in your arm numb because of your fear.

It was only your first week. Yet all you wanted to do was resign and get the hell out of the building.

With a glass of liquor in one hand, Jaehyun stared at the vast expanse of the city lights below from his penthouse; thinking that every twinkling light is his to conquer. He was always been fond of high grounds; it reminded him of his place before he was cast out of heaven and became the most infamous fallen in the history of mankind.

The fall. History had withered and repeated itself for millions of years. Yet he still could not forget how it felt like to fall into nothingness, with the gates of heaven closing in before his very eyes.

Did it hurt? The poets tried to ask the unknown; they bled ink trying to fathom the feelings of Lucifer when the Almighty and every angel declared him a traitor. Yet no poem had the exact metaphors to decipher his doom.

Did it hurt? Jaehyun sometimes asks himself the same question. Did it hurt when his wings started to smolder with fire as he plunged into the abyss of nothingness and into the Earth? Did it hurt when every bone in his body twisted and shattered as he landed into hard ground of a place too grave to be called heaven? Did it hurt when he was all bruises and blood and ill-fated to burn into the pits of hell? Just like the poets, Jaehyun has not found the metaphor to describe the feeling; but unlike them, he knew too well how it felt like.

He had lost count of the millennia that had past. He had lost count of his own age if he ever had one. The world made its inevitable change. And it continues to change, leaving him behind. Because he was still him; all wings and sins. Forever damned, forever unforgiven.

He was there when religion had been born, and he watched as the pious made different names to describe him; Prince of hell, the devil, Satan, the Fallen Angel. He watched them cursed him and condemned those who believed in him. And back then he realized that people were quick to describe and hate something they do not understand.

Kings and queens died. Kingdoms rose and fell, and he watched them all with obloquy in his face. Because he couldn’t believe that despite the spitefulness of humans against each other, the Almighty still loved them above all else.

They say he was destined to burn in hell, but his true punishment lay more grievous than being scorched alive. He pulled a locket out of his pocket with his too pale hands. Opening the little old golden thing, it didn’t fail to make his breath run wild every time he looked at the picture inside. The girl is smiling, the one thing she does not practice usually.

How many years has it been? He forgot the faces of his friends and of his enemies. Yet the one thing he could not forget is her ocean eyes and how her lips tasted salvation in his.

One hundred years, my love, he whispered.

One hundred years of her gone, and one hundred years of him keeping her closest to his aching heart despite the death that separates them both. And he would do everything to live; to keep her as his secret, to keep her alive in him.

That was when his thoughts weaved its way to you. A girl who has the ability to ruin everything he holds dear in his damned eternity. You might’ve heard things earlier; he wasn’t sure. The way your eyes looked at him frantically and how your body almost convulsed in his touch, he couldn’t explain why but he never wants to see that same reaction painted on your face again.

Drinking the last contents of his glass and with a touch of warning in his voice, he whispered your name against the miles that are separating you both. With the hopes that it would caress and remind you of the storm coming.

A mere mortal like you is nothing compared to his ancient greatness. Yet the thought of a human knowing his secret nagged in his system even if he didn’t want to. He couldn’t let you out his sight. Not tomorrow, not ever.

masterlist.

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