#real art tomorrow/ in a few hours i promise help

[zaisamoo]

more soukoku. ok i swear my next post will be an actual and colored drawing that isnt soukoku

[sherlocks-blanket]

Drunk Confessions

A/N: Finally, after having not posted for such a long time... I can post a fic I had as a WIP since last year... I hope I get to write more again, but I can't promise anything. Anyway, I hope you guys like it.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Nothing, just some drunk sherlock?

After you received a message from Sherlock, that you should come as soon as possible to Baker street, minus the spelling errors; which you dismissed he messaged while being in trouble… You dropped anything you where doing and hurried outside to hail a cab; to take you to 221B.

The moment the cab halt, you paid the driver and rushed up the stairs to find Sherlock with John sitting towards each other with notes attached on their foreheads and from the liquor in their hand; you could probably tell, that they had too much for this evening, with how wasted they are…

As you gasped for air, you let yourself drop on the doorframe, drawing the attention from the two men. You noticed a smile spreading on Sherlock lips the second his eyes where on you, but it wasn’t a fake one; it radiates warmth like he was pleased to see you came, which was unlike for Sherlock to do. Not that he can’t do it, but when he does; it’s either false ones that you can tell apart from the real, since the real ones are rare and shows how comfortable he is with someone, that he shows it; unlike the fake ones, where he drops his smile immediately the moment the person turns they face away from him; which you noticed a few times…

A giggle from John broke the awkward silence in this room. You turned your gaze to the doctor and raised an eyebrow at him.

“I kneeeeeeeew it!” he exclaimed, pointing to Sherlock, then he took a sip from his drink.

You furrowed your brows in further confusion, but shaking your head; you got your phone out of your pocket and wrote Mary; telling her she should pick up her drunken fiancé… Just as you were done writing the text; a client walked into the flat and asked for Sherlock; but you kindly explained she should come tomorrow, since it gotten late. It made you wonder if clients show up at any hour of the day…

Sherlock, of course…He protested that the client shouldn’t leave even after the client had already left. After all, who knows? It could’ve been a missed opportunity for a case that could have gotten his interest; but you simply pushed him back in his armchair when he tried to stand up.

“You can work tomorrow…Now you better rest, so you’ll be sober for the next day…”

He stared with a sharp glare, like he wanted to prove with some deductions he’s capable of working, but he faltered instantly; which you took as a sign that he gave in. When you turned to help John downstairs; where Mary would pick him up; still you felt his eyes bore onto you.

As Mary left with John; she gave you an apologetic glance before they got into a cab; leaving you to deal with a drunken Sherlock.

When you stepped through the door, Sherlock sat still in his armchair, his posture relaxed; his eyes on something. You never saw him resting like that, but it most likely came from the alcohol…

His eyes wandered to you, noticing you were present again. There was this again…

This warm smile.

“Well…let’s get you sobered up…” you mumbled, leaning your hand on his shoulder to animate him to standing up, which he didn’t and instead, he took your hand in his own; staring at it like it was a piece of art.

“You have such soft hands...”,he murmured, keeping his eyes on your hand; rubbing his thumb along your palm.

You gently withdrawn your hand feeling the a heat rise on your cheeks; before you could say something again that he needs to rest, he slowly stood up wobbly on his own; leaning his hand your shoulder for support.

With you by his side, you brought him to his bedroom and only helped to remove his shoes and his suit jacket. It didn’t need to get more awkward than it already was for you.

Just as you turned the night light off and wanting to head to the living room; you felt your hand taken again and a warm feeling on it. You peeked over your shoulder; seeing Sherlock lean his cheek on it, with his eyes closed.

You tried to withdraw your hand, but at the same time, you didn’t mind it much. So, you stayed for a while and heard Sherlock snoring softly.

**********

The next morning you were preparing some tea and some water with some painkillers. You assumed he'll have a headache after yesterday…

Just as you wanted to get your stuff from the couch and leave for your own flat; you heard a door open followed with some footsteps.

“Morning.” You greeted him with a smile, which disappeared the moment you thought about yesterday again... It made you wonder if he remembered his drunken behavior or if he ‘deleted’ it from his ‘hard drive’.

Sherlock acknowledged you with a slight nod and went for the water and painkillers.

You watched him silently drink the water but felt uncomfortable for you staring at him. So you thought it was better to go. As you took a single step; Sherlock called your name, drawing your attention back to him.

“About yesterday-“

You interrupted him, holding your hands up in defense; ”No! It’s alright…I know you didn’t mean that…“

Sherlock stared at you, and you could tell he thought for his next words, as he slowly opened his mouth to only closed it again.

“I..I really like you, and I mean... It”

You raised your eyebrows in confusion from this explanation about yesterday until he added.

“ I mean…I like you more than a friend…”

You froze on the spot at his confession as weird as the situation was you wanted to show him you felt the same, so you got out of your stupor and hugged him. It definitely caught him by surprise.

“Do you…feel the same?” he asked cautiously.

You only nodded and said while chuckling; “Yes.”

Sherlock hummed in thought. “I might have to thank John for this…it was his idea to text you…”

You thought again before you slowly connected the dots about yesterday. Like when John said he knew it…Did he see that you liked Sherlock or Sherlock, you or even both? You shook the thoughts away since they didn’t matter anymore. The only thing what mattered…

…was now.

[hyacinthoideshispanica]

An idea for a Gwynriel college/fake-dating au

Azriel's mother is visiting him at college for the first time, and he wants her to think he's a responsible adult who knows how to cook real, healthy food. Not just ordering pizza and reheating takeout. So he goes to the library to check out some cookbooks, and Gwyn, who works there, helps him out.

Azriel, carrying a stack of at least 15 different cookbooks to the checkout station: I'll take all of these, please.

Gwyn: Ummm....wow. Alright then, if you don't mind me asking, why so many cookbooks? Are you majoring in culinary arts?

Azriel: Not even close, I'm just cooking dinner for my Mom tonight.

Gwyn: Are you making her a 15-course meal with one recipe from each book?

Azriel:... It's too much, huh?

Gwyn: Definitely. Maybe I can help you. What kinds of food does your mom like?

Azriel: She's not very picky, but we tended to eat more simple stuff when I was growing up.

Gwyn: Ok. Well, if you're going for simple, I think we can take out the fancy French cookbooks...

Eventually, they narrow it down to three, and as he's walking away, looking through the recipes, Azriel realizes he has almost none of the ingredients for any of them at home, and he has to go grocery shopping.

Gwyn materializes at his side and hands him a paper and pen.

Gwyn: My shift ends in twenty minutes. Why don't you write out everything you need for tonight, and I'll help you grab it at the store. That way, you'll have plenty of time to get home and cook.

25 minutes later, Azriel is in his car, following Gwyn's little teal blue car with a pegasus decal on the back to the grocery store in town. Azriel had been there before, during the first week of classes, but as time went on, he just found it easier to order takeout, grab stuff from the campus cafeteria, or stop by the small convenience store by his apartment for food instead of going 30 minutes into town.

He parks next to Gwyn, and she's already out of her car, leaning against the hood, waiting for him.

Gwyn: By the way, we never really introduced ourselves. I'm Gwyn.

Azriel introduces himself, and they go into the store and start hunting through the aisles.

Azriel notices Gwyn grab some tea and a few packs of cookies.

Azriel: Those aren't on the list.

Gwyn: Oh, these are for me. You're not the only one who needed to come here today. But you should probably grab some extra stuff, too. After all, don't you want your mom to think you regularly shop? You gotta make it look realistic.

Gwyn tosses a few large bags of chips and a case of beer into the cart to make her point, and Azriel follows through, adding some of his favorite protein shakes and a pack of pudding cups to the cart.

Gwyn: So, I've seen you around campus a few times, but ever really in the library. What's your major?

Azriel: (I can't think of anything), yours?

Gwyn: Norse Mythology. I'm fascinated by the Valkyries.

They talk a little more as they load their bags into their cars, and Azriel gets a text from his mom saying that her flight is actually landing sooner than expected, and she'll be there in a few hours. Azriel panics because he won't have time to finish cooking everything, and again, Gwyn offers to help so things go faster.

They get back to his apartment and start cooking. Azriel prepares a salad while Gwyn makes a quick batch of dinner rolls from scratch. They put the chicken, covered in lemon and herbs, in the oven to roast. And then make some brownies for dessert.

Azriel profusely thanks Gwyn for her help, saying he owes her big time and she shrugs it off, saying she'll gladly accept some leftover brownies as payment, and Azriel promises to bring her some tomorrow. Then, when he opens the door of his apartment to walk her out, they run directly into his mother.

Azriel's mother sees Gwyn and assumes she is her son's girlfriend and immediately invites her to stay and eat with them. Gwyn awkwardly accepts, and an even more awkward dinner ensues.

Azriel's mother: So, how did you meet?

Gwyn: Well, I'd seen him around campus a bit, but we didn't officially meet until he came into the library where I work.

Azriel: I needed some books but didn't really know what I was looking for. She was a big help.

Azriel can't help smiling at Gwyn appreciatively, and she blushes a little while smiling back. Azriel's mother sees and makes a comment about how Azriel never mentioned a girlfriend before, and Gwyn covers for him by explaining that they only made things official recently and she wasn't expecting to meet his mother so soon.

Azriel's mother ends up visiting for, like, a month and the entire time, Azriel and Gwyn fully commit to a fake-dating trope, and of course, real feelings develop.

Bonus idea: This happens freshman year, and the next year, when his mother gets ready to visit again, she says she can't wait to see Gwyn again.

After their month of fake dating last year, Azriel and Gwyn do still talk and hang out sometimes. They even have a class together this semester. So one day, he asks her if she's willing to pretend again. She agrees, she really liked his mom and she knows he'll pay her in brownies.

And so, at least once a year, they fully commit to pretending to be a couple, and during her visit during senior year, she pulls Azriel aside and asks when he's planning to propose.

It's at this point that Azriel realizes just how badly he's fallen for Gwyn over the years, but he thinks she sees him as just a friend (she doesn't). So, one day, he's talking to Gwyn and suggests they "break up," and to his surprise, Gwyn seems very upset by this. He tries to smooth things over by making a joke about how he'll still make her brownies, and that just makes things worse. Gwyn stalks off and ignores Azriel's attempts to talk to her. A few days go by, and Nesta and Emerie, Gwyn's best friends, show up at Azriel's doorstep and scold him for toying with Gwyn's heart for years because he was too much of a coward to tell his mother the truth.

What neither woman realizes is that Azriel's mother is in the next room and can hear every word. She comes out and asks Azriel what they're talking about, and after the girls leave, he sits down and tells his mom the truth. That Gwyn was never his girlfriend. He met her the same day she did, and he just wanted her to think that he was doing fine on his own, so he got Gwyn to pretend for him. But he actually has feelings for her now, but she doesn't feel the same.

Azriel's mom tells him, affectionately, that he's an idiot. Gwyn clearly has feelings for him and encourages him to go fix things with her.

As always, I don't have the talent to write an actual fic, so this prompt is up for grabs.

[hedgiwithapen]

Prompt: Cameron gets snatched by Helix after leaving Blue Valley. He is very, very aware that no one will be looking for him.

Some nights, curled up on a cot in his basement cell, Cameron dreamed of his father, coming to rescue him. Ice frosting over the metal door and shattering it, and his father holding him, promising that he was safe now, that everything would be alright. He woke from those dreams with tears frozen on his cheeks, hating  that he'd hoped, hating that it had been a dream and not real, hating that he'd wanted it to be real even for a moment.  His father was a murderer. He'd killed Joey Zarrick. He'd threatened to kill him. But anything would be better than being stuck here.  It hadn't been so bad, at first. He'd been so lost, so confused, and his powers had been out of control. Frost had followed his footsteps, and sometimes he could hardly breathe for the ice in his lungs.  The head nurse had been waiting when he woke up in a sparsely decorated room, assuring him that he was alright, that he was safe and no one hunting him would find him. 

He'd asked for space. Courtney, at least, he thought would have given it. But maybe  Artemis Crock, or Rick Tyler couldn't allow the child of their parents' killer to walk free. Maybe they'd convinced Pat Dugan he was a threat. And he was, wasn't he? After everything Courtney had told him, told him when she'd known the truth, maybe he really was a threat. 

Nurse Love seemed to think so. They'd moved him down to the basement, in a room with a locked door and a heating vent that never turned off entirely. 

"It's for your own good. For your safety, and the safety of the others who make this place their home," Nurse Love said when he asked why. " you don't want to put them in danger, do you?"

It would be selfish to say yes. But he missed his art studio, with the windows to the garden. He missed the sky. 

"When can I go home?" he asked, staring unhappily at his mug of hot chocolate. Nurse Love always brought it, first thing in the morning. At least, he assumed it was morning.  Often, it froze the moment it touched his lips, but today it had just cooled. "I'm getting better at controlling it. Really, I am." He held it out to her as proof.

"I can see that," she said, her voice wobbling like his grandmother's did. Like his grandmother's used to. "But how much of that is you and not this room?  We made it to help you, after all. The design... I suppose it could be transferred to an upstairs room, but it needs too much energy,  so it's really not practical anywhere but here. I'm sorry it's not more to your liking. Why don't I find you a nice rug?"

She left the rest of his breakfast tray, and returned hours later with a soft, warm rug for the floor beside his bed.  "That's nice, isn't it? Oh, and I brought you another book from the library." Cameron stared at the art history book longingly, but didn't dare touch it.  What if he lost control again, and ruined it? 

"You could say 'Thank you' you know," Nurse Love sniffed. “You rest, now. We’re going to need to run a few more tests tomorrow.” She left, the door bolting behind her, one more thing he didn’t dare touch.

He did not dream of his father that night. Instead he dreamed the other impossible wish.  Courtney, halo'd by her staff, standing at his door. 

"I knew you were in trouble. I came to bring you home."

He woke, knowing home was out of his grasp, and that no one but Nurse Love would be opening the door any time soon.

[jodilin65]

FRIDAY, JANUARY 29, 1993 I have some updating to do on that guy Scott I mentioned but I’ll get to it later.

The last night I worked I cut $94 and $112 the previous night. I sent Tammy 4 envelopes stuffed with cash. I sent $280. I’ve also sent letters, but I haven’t heard from my parents or Bob. I got postcard number 3 from Kim who’s been home a few days now. It’s a really cool card.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 27, 1993 Today as I was doing my laundry (yesterday) I saw an ad. The ad said, “We need to get out of our lease and will pay $250 cash.” I called and met this girl Kathy. No, she was no butch. She was feminine, kind of pretty and with a guy. They got caught with 2 cats so they’re moving. It was a small 1-bedroom which is bigger than I thought. We went to the office and spoke to Paula and Judy. Judy said cuz I just began my job they may need Mom and Dad to co-sign. Then I thought about it and decided to wait till my lease is up here and get something bigger and even better. Plus, I just only began to get my act together, even though I plan on keeping it that way. I can’t be bothered at this moment with moving, what with the dancing and other stuff going on, too. I need to help Tammy, too.

About two weeks ago I met this really cool guy at work. He’s pretty wealthy too and owns a few businesses. He gives me lots of tips and he’d rather talk with me than have me dance for him which is cool with me. He has a connection with Capitol Records in L.A. Some guy he knows there to which he sent a tape I made. Who knows about that, but right now I have the biggest, best and most promising news ever. I think I got my foot in the door for sure. This is not the younger and naïve Jodi saying this. This is the Jodi of today who did all her homework along with John. John and I both talked to this guy named Joe who says he managed Civil Defense and Society Slaves under the name Mercury. He’s bi and his band’s all gay guys who he’d send into Entertainer’s Inc. to back me musically on a free demo. He told me to call an Al F Chicago where their main studios are. He said they only have one of their studios here, but if Al couldn’t book me here in PHX, he’d fly me and John free to Chicago. I asked why he would do all this for me. He told John and me, “I have nothing to gain, but my name on her record as she has talent and I believe she can go a long way. It’ll boost the company up, too.”

So John did some homework and called this guy in Chicago. This guy’s for real! He’s 100% legit! So, I spoke with John and Joe. Joe also spoke to Al and Al’s gonna call me. Joe feels this can all be done in a week or two.

Desperado Linda called last night and two nights ago. She called while Kara was here. This woman scares the shit out of me. I’m following my gut. No way! She’s just like a man.

I am gonna go listen to music soon and maybe watch some shows I taped.

Later…

So, it’s been 5 years and 3 months since I began all my journals.

I slept way too late today even though I surely needed to. I got up at 3:00 so it’ll be hard to sleep before 7:00 and UPS is coming today. I’m sure they’ll be here earlier than usual. If I only sleep 5 hours, then OK, as I had plenty of sleep.

Tomorrow, I’m gonna tell Laurie that I can’t stop her or Andy from talking, but that I refuse to discuss him when we’re together. I’ll also make damn sure I never say anything I don’t want Andy to hear. And he would hear it.

I haven’t heard from my parents since I left the message. They’re either not home, busy, can’t get ahold of me or they dumped me. If they did dump me, that’s their problem. Not everyone is just like Dureen and Art O.

Later…

I can hear that stupid little shit next door. I’m sure he’s enjoying his night off. He sure had a hell of a nerve being all sweet and lovey-dovey to my face last Friday night, while only a few hours earlier he cut me down to Kara. Kara said that if he asks her to tag along on errands, she’s not gonna just say no. She’s gonna tell why. He needs to get off the fucking pot which makes him so paranoid and go from A to Z. He brought this all on himself and I certainly need time. He can leave a million pleading messages, but I need a few weeks at least.

Later…

I am now watching Jenny Jones, a talk show. It’s all about women who like younger men.

I just realized that I can’t send that traveler’s check back as ma paid cash for it. I am sure it’s non-refundable. I’ll cash it and send it to Tammy along with other money in a money order.

I just sent Nervous a letter and tomorrow Kim returns from Florida. She’ll have 3 shocking, surprising, yet great letters. All with fantastic news as well as funny stuff.

Aside from helping Tammy with financial matters and going shopping, I’ll find out exactly how much I must pay to have my blocks lifted since I haven’t been here a year. I’ll probably have to pay over $100. Maybe around $150, but that’s no problem. Damn! That feels so weird saying that and it probably will for a while. I’ll owe fuckface phone bill money, too.

I still have not heard from Bob, so I have no idea what he’s up to or where he is.

I think Rachel moved back to Oregon or Alaska. Oh well.

I’ll first see if Kara can tape Gloria from the radio special before I ask Laurie.

Later…

Unfortunately, I am not one bit tired. I surely won’t end up with much sleep, but I’m gonna bust my ass at work and work my ass off (excuse the pun). Why? More money, of course, unless it’s as dead as Sunday was, even though I doubt it’ll be. It’ll also knock me out sooner when I get home.

I’ll need Laurie to bring me to and from work as John’s off. I spoke to John earlier and told him about my arrangement with Laurie.

I know Laurie sincerely needs help but is Andy trying to get us to be friends so he can come between us? Probably. However, Laurie is not going to be my “friend.” I’m paying her to drive me to help me out while I help her out.

When Linda called earlier I went a little funny on her. Kara and I were laughing our asses off. Linda was too, but I still have a bad feeling about her. Whenever she calls I’ll just read this journal pretty damn out of order. She asked why I hung up on her Monday night. Of course, I didn’t hang up on her, I told her to call me back as I had other stuff going on. She then asked if the other stuff was more important than her. Yes, I told her. I think she was half serious and half playing with me, but either way that’s pretty pushy, desperate and persistent. She also told me she refuses to give up on me. Perhaps this can be a really fun game after all. This is what I was gonna do if I ever got calls from those gay bars.

This girl is either sweet, gentle and sincere or a rough crazy brute. I just don’t know if she’s desperate in the right way or in the wrong way. We all take risks and chances, but I’d rather not on this girl. I’ll just keep playing with her which sure is fun. She keeps calling me “girl” too when I have a name.

I think I’ll send her to Building 10 across from me where I can still see her. I don’t want to send her downstairs as I couldn’t watch her without her noticing me. At Building 10, I can watch her more discreetly without being detected. She’s less likely to notice me or hear me laugh my ass off.

I’ve met and heard of other gay and violent women, but I’ve never been wanted by a woman who literally scared the shit out of me. I’m terrified to death of this girl. She makes me think of a violent butch (even with the touch of femininity) who is in jail and beats, rapes, and dominates other women. Only 10% of me feels this girl is sounding and being pushy out of good intentions. I can picture her making love to a woman, being gentle at first, then so suddenly turning into a rough brute. Out of bed, I can see her ask a woman to cook dinner. The woman says yes. Then I can see her ask the woman to do the dishes. She says, “No, not now.” Linda then beats the shit out of her. It reminds me of the night I met her, and Rena said she looked hard-core. Gee, I wonder why?

I must go read what Tina’s old apartment number is so I can send her there. She says her car will be fixed tomorrow. I’ll bet she has a truck like Andy next door does. Women like her love trucks and jeeps.

Well, anyway, I’m off to my next (paper) journal. With work now, I did not expect to finish this journal till some time in February. I most certainly hope and pray to God that during my next journal I cut my demo. I feel that I truly will. I’ll have only one thing left to achieve since I don’t want a kid or a girlfriend. That is quitting smoking as I can’t last long with cutting down. I have to either smoke or quit. I can’t cut down and stay that way.

I’ll also ask John about cheap motels as Andy’s sister and nephew are coming at the end of February. It sucks to have to leave so he can have company, even though that’s his right. At least I can afford it.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 26, 1993 Linda called earlier and I strung her along as usual. She’s just too damn desperate-sounding. At the bar, she was as well. She claims she’s still playing the field which very well could be true as that’s what most people do. But when she says, “I love you” after she leaves a message and says she’s tried calling 20 times, that makes me wonder. She’s also not that attractive in my opinion. She’s just too persistent and she does seem like she’d like to do much more than “play the field” with me. She also seems like she could be too rough with me or even violent if she can’t get her way. Maybe I am judging her cruelly, harshly and unfairly. I know I hate being judged even though I’m plenty used to it. She really could be a sweet, gentle, loving girl. But I’m gonna follow my gut and not take a chance on her. I’ll tell her she’s too persistent. It’s too hard to get involved even for one night after all this time. Time is also something I don’t have too much of. I want my space when I’m off work. My job and music are my top priorities.

I met a deaf guy who’s friends with Dave (a bartender and the one who hired me) at work whose name is Willie. John knows him, too. We signed a lot and exchanged numbers. It sure was different dancing and signing at the same time.

Later…

John’s turned out to be a really cool, honest and mature guy. He’s 100% sure I’m gonna make it musically and is already to be my bodyguard. He already is and he surely will be if we go to Chicago. And I’ll feel totally safe, too.

So what’s all this about Chicago? Well, let me write a few other things in here first.

I’m not speaking to Andy right now cuz he’s being a selfish stubborn asshole over a videotape. When he went to Vegas I followed instructions properly to change the channel on the cable box and it appears that what he wanted taped never got taped. He took a fit over that, then quickly dropped it. He tried to get a copy (Fleetwood Mac) from Mary back in MA and channel 10. He thought I did this deliberately which is BS, but anyway, I gave him money to help him out and it was over. I thought.

A few nights later we went to the cemetery and other places I mentioned and he was fine. The next day on his way to work he said he still wasn’t over it and he didn’t want to fight so he’d be in a good mood at work. He also said it was something someone said which I knew instantly was bull cuz I haven’t spoken to anyone about him. Nothing personal, only trivial, but I know he tells people all kinds of shit about me. So I left a bullshit message saying I got a call with shit revealed to me that pissed me off and that I don’t want to talk to him for a while. I also told him I wouldn’t wake him up or go in his apartment God only knows he’d fucking flip if I didn’t tell him that.

It’s pot paranoia. He also takes his misery out on others. When I’m miserable I try to hang with those that’ll boost me up, not go look for people to kick down with me. Things are going too well now for me to bother with anyone with an attitude like that.

Later…

Laurie called twice earlier. I’m sure Andy was on the line, but if he was, fine. The first time she asked if they were hiring waitresses where I work. I believe they are, I told her, cuz Diana just quit.

The second call was to tell me something oh-so-familiar. She’s struggling financially, fighting with her mom and wants to drive me to and from work for $5. I said she could drive me in, but John gets me home. However, if he’s off when I’m on, I’ll let her know. I also said I’d give her some food stamps.

She can make $5 extra Sat. by taping Variety 104.7 from 7pm-9pm for me. There’s a special on Gloria.

I’ll tell Tony about Laurie driving me in. Also, I’ll let him know when and if I need him.

I still have so, so, so much to write about, but I’m zonked. That’s good, though.

Wow! I just heard on the radio it’s to be 75° for the next two days! Ha, ha, Tammy!!

I called UPS today to clear up my address with them and her package should definitely be here today.

Later…

I spoke to Tammy today and told her UPS screwed up her package. It never came today. I called them and the girl there told me it’ll come tomorrow. It fucking better.

I also told Tammy all my good news I’ll finally write about tonight.

Later…

I had to stop to call Kara before I forgot. She may be over if Ashley shuts up and goes to sleep.

Now I’m really pissed at Andy. I need a few weeks without him as that little fuck never fails to try to come in between me and my friends. Luckily Kara isn’t Brenda. The whole time they were out last Fri. doing errands he ran his mouth about me, cutting me down. Kara tried telling him over and over to shut up about shit about either just me, or me and him. It’s up to me to tell shit about me, and shit dealing with both of us is between both of us. Every time she’d tell him to shut up, he’d continue anyway. Why doesn’t the bastard just write a book about me? He lives for talking about me like I live to be a singer. I’ve been really helpful to him since I’ve begun making money and this is how I’m treated.

He’s happy I have Kara and he’s happy I have this job, but at the same time, he’s insanely and stupidly jealous. Especially now that he’s in a bind financially and basically only has acquaintances. He doesn’t see as much of Donna, Diane, Velma or Laurie. There’s a great difference between envy and jealousy.

Later…

Kara came over after I wrote my last sentence. We had a nice talk.

Before I forget, let me mention a few things about yesterday. This new maintenance guy came over to fix my sliding door, which is still screwed up. Man oh man did he get personal. I’m pretty sure he’s all talk, I know I could beat the shit out of him, but I don’t know about other women. Basically, he told me how good I look, but was friendly. Told me that anything I said he’d never repeat, and shit that wasn’t important.

I told Stacey about it and said she didn’t have to say anything to him unless his mouth turned to actions, but to just be aware. Especially for the sake of other women, cuz I can take care of him myself. I’m not one bit worried about having to punch his lights out if need be.

I also told Stacey I am now 99% sure Robert was the one who shot the firecrackers up here.

Not only is Stacey nicer, but so are Paula and Judy, even though those two were always nice. I chatted with Paula real briefly yesterday as she was closing the model below me. I was ordering Chinese food and Paula mentioned she heard the food at Chiam’s was good. It’s the only good Chinese place out here. I brought the number and address to her at the office and she was very grateful.

MONDAY, JANUARY 25, 1993 Since I started dancing, several girls have quit or been fired. Several new ones were just hired. Brandy and Joy were fired for hooking. Brittany’s no longer there, so I guess the costume she lent me is now mine to keep. Maya’s threatening to quit and Diana just quit. We just got 5 new girls. Diamond, Pearl, Alexis, Chelsea and Dani. There are probably more whose names I can’t remember.

Diamond did my hair the other night. Better than anyone else ever has. It held up so well and the stuff she sprayed in it never made me sneeze.

Alexis and Chelsea are sisters and it seems Alexis could be bi-curious.

Dani’s so nice and we chatted tonight as it was an extremely dead night. Scott and Joe saved me, but I’ll get to who they are later.

My stomach is growling so badly, so I’m gonna continue after I go make a TV dinner.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 24, 1993 So far I’ve cut about $1,000!!!!!!! Boy does this feel weird, yet great. I’ve set aside a little stash I’m saving to send Tammy.

No wonder her package hasn’t come yet. I got a postcard from UPS to call them to correct my address. The name’s right as well as the city, street, state and zip. But it says “room 2475.”

I also got mail from mom. She sent tons of cigarette coupons which I threw out. They’re nasty brands and now I can afford to buy Carlton’s. I just now realized that. These cigarettes go fast too, cuz they’re like air.

She also sent an American Express traveler’s check for $50. Now, why would she send that? Plus, it says Bank of Boston. That’s odd. Anyhow, I’m gonna send this check right on back. I called and got their machine. I didn’t even know they had one, but I told them the best times to call me. I also told them I’d send the check back and that I’d pay for all their calls to me.

I’m getting too tired to write much more, but I slept OK pretty much yesterday. I think at 10:30 I heard a bang, but I quickly fell back to sleep. I slept for about 6 hours.

Tonight I go in at 7:00, instead of 6:00. Not only is Tony on-call if Andy’s working but so is Mary. Mary will be busy on Wednesdays, though, which is OK. I just try to find out by 5:00, so I can call a cab if I need to. They can be busy, unpredictable and undependable.

As I was sitting out on the utility box waiting for a cab by Mary’s side, Judy walked by my side and we said hi. Then Judy came around to the sidewalk even with me to continue on to the office when Mary opened her kitchen window. We said hi and Judy looked back with such a funny and confused look on her face. She couldn’t figure out if I was talking to her or to myself. Then, Mary came out and chatted with me until the cab came.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1993 Andy and I went to some dark, secluded and quiet cemetery. He’s taken me there once before. He did an interview while I was with “Shauna.” Then he got spooked because right after he smokes pot, he gets paranoid.

We then went to Fry’s where I got two packs of cigarettes, two candy bars, gumballs and these awesome stickers. They’re nothing like other stickers. They’re so small and they’re sort of padded. I put them on the sides of journals 4, 33, 36 and 39. They seem quite durable, too. I don’t really like the stars I just got cuz the tips of them keep lifting up.

After I got out of Fry’s we parked behind it. One guy came by to throw shit in the dumpster, then two guys walked along the back, then cut the corner to the front. Andy smoked more pot and he got in the car when he saw the cops coming. He reeked of the shit! He said, “Oh no. You handle this. You’re great with cops.”

The cop drove up to the front of the car and shined the lights on us, then I stepped out. All he asked is if we saw someone jump over the cement wall where we were parked near. We saw no one hop the wall.

So, the cop took off and he breathed a big sigh of relief as he still had pot in his pocket. I told him from now on to do it in his own apartment, or without me, if he’s got to do that in public. If he got in trouble, I’m not gonna go down with him if he’s caught with pot on him. He’s lucky the cop didn’t search his car. He said I was absolutely right and he won’t do that again with me around.

After that, we took off to some really classy office building. He wanted to show me this beautiful little mini pond with little waterfalls.

Then we came home and since we can’t make pranks, he called Laurie. The one who lives in Kara’s complex. She was pissed cuz he woke her up.

I like writing while he’s chatting with someone. Someone who doesn’t know I’m on the line. So, I saw Rachel’s lights on as they’re usually on late. I had him call her and I put my mute on. He mainly talked about a cute, gay male friend of hers.

After the spider incident, I decided to remove some of my stuff from my patio. I don’t want to ever reach into that tall cardboard box to pull out something and see another surprise waiting there for me. All that’s left out there are my two chairs, the white wooden table Fay gave me, the plant Jeff gave me, my broom and dustpan and my raft. I took in my photo albums. I also emptied out the two album boxes. This was also a good opportunity to junk anything I didn’t need or want. I put my tools and important papers in drawers. I threw out the two boxes, tools and papers of no use and those two furry rugs. I still have no idea if I’ll ever see the rest of my pictures, but I doubt it. I thought I could trust my own mother not to rip me off. Tammy and Dad would never do that, but that is something Mom would very definitely do. Especially if she feels I need to “grow up” and get over my celebrity picture addiction.

Well, Andy picked up my meds for me and also two old CDs of Linda’s. Simple Dreams & Mad Love.

Stacey absolutely made my day today. Can you believe I actually like her now? I do believe she realized she did step way out of line. Also, after I let her know who she was messing with, she’s been such a sweetheart to me.

Anyway, I was on my way down to get my mail when I saw the bed frame and other shit. I said to myself, oh shit, I’m fucked now and all the more I’ll never sleep. I asked a guy, “You moving in?” He said no and then I realized he had on a Vista Ventana shirt like maintenance wears. So I got the mail, then on the way back, I recognized the furniture was just like what they have here in the models. Stacey was there and I asked her if it was now a model. She said yes, but she didn’t know for how long. Obviously, long enough, or else why would they go to all the trouble of putting in furniture, wall decorations and other decorations? Hopefully, the next person in is Bob or someone I know, or they wait till after I’m gone. They’ll be in there early tomorrow, though so I’m sure they’ll wake me up.

What’s up with Bob? He hasn’t called or written. Is he on his way here? Did he lose his phone? Is he in the hospital? Dead? I hope he’s OK.

I still have much more to write about, but now I need to go listen to my music.

Later…

I sure hope I can fall asleep within an hour or so. Especially if the bitch next door or anyone setting up the model downstairs is gonna wake me up. I’m sure something or someone will. At least it’s 50/50, rather than all the time, but it still kind of sucks and isn’t fair. I’d love to find a duplex with thick walls, a pool, laundry facilities and no screaming kids. I really need to sleep solidly from 5:00 or 6:00 to 1:30 when Kara’s due to knock on my door, but ever since I complained on the bitch next door, she slams her door and bangs around. Not all the time, but much more than ever before. What does the bitch expect? It’s her fault for bringing in 15 kids.

I called the office to ask Judy if she could send someone up to put my sliding glass door on the tracks. She said they may not get to me till Monday, but that she promises to have them wait till at least 2 PM. Well, in case she fails to remember that, I’ll put a note outside for them not to bug me till after 2:00. At this point, I don’t believe Stacey, Paula or Judy would do this, but I wonder if maintenance isn’t deliberately doing this. You know how guys are. I doubt it and I’ve never had any major hassles with them, but they know I sleep late. Several times, very early they talk loud outside the window and little shit like that. Mike knows I sleep late and he’s the one who came up to do the filters. If it happens and I see a pattern, I’ll get them up in the middle of the night.

Tony, the gay guy who lives below Andy may be on reserve as far as getting me to work. Other than John, these cab drivers are totally undependable. If I do call, I’ll never request a personal. Especially Lou. Once he almost got me there late and the second time he stood me up. He also stood John up, too. The operators and dispatchers are screwed up, too. If I need a cab I’ll just call any cab and wait out by the road so they don’t drive by and get lost. Tony said he’s usually home at 5:30, so if Andy can’t take me, he said he would at 5:45. I’ll pay him $5. Andy’s working tomorrow, so he can’t take me, so I’ll ask Tony at 5:00. If he says no, I’ll call a cab at 5:00 so I have plenty of time.

As I was sitting on the utility box last Thursday, I knew Paula was coming cuz I know her footsteps. I called out, “I knew it was you.” She asked if I was going to work. I told her how screwed up the cabs were and she agreed. She knows where Sha Na Na’s is and said at least it isn’t far. That’s true. It’s only 10 minutes away.

It was nice to see so many women in there the last night I worked. There were about 8 of them. I noticed this very pretty and feminine woman sitting at the bar. I also noticed she was eyeing me quite a bit. So I approached her and told her I was about to do something bold and brave that I’d never done before. I asked if she was bi or gay. She asked if I was hitting on her. I said if the feeling were mutual. She said she was but wasn’t about to discuss it with her brother sitting right there. She told me she was a dancer there 3 years ago and that her name was Denise. I gave her my number, but she won’t call. The pretty ones never do. She also had been drinking, so she could’ve forgotten who the hell I am.

Later on, after she left, 3 guys came in who I’d seen before. They’re friends with one of the waitresses. A girl was with them and right away I could tell she was gay. She’s so-so, but maybe she would look better out of a smoky dim bar. She was a little chunky with straight long black hair cut short in front and on the sides. This is a typical butch haircut, but at least the long part was way more than a few strands. She looks mean and hard-core, but she’s much friendlier when you talk to her. Her voice is also higher, sweeter and friendlier than you’d expect it’d sound. She has dark eyes and I figured she was either Indian or Mexican. Well, she’s Mexican and originally from New Mexico, speaks fluent Spanish, is 22 years old and goes to auto mechanic school. A job that seems very fitting for her. Completely suits her. She even shocked me by telling me she has her own place and a car.

At one point we went into the bathroom together where we talked. She had to go pee, but on my way out she kissed me. She also did that in the dancing area (quicker ones) and I gave her 3 table dances and she totally drooled all over me all night. All the other girls say they’ve also given women table dances.

After she left, Jim (the bouncer) commented on how she really likes me. He also said he had several gay friends, male and female. I told him what I go for and that he could get my number from the bar to give to anyone who may be interested. I gave Linda my number figuring that she’d call cuz there is no real lust or spark. However, she may be an acceptable settlement. It’s too soon to tell after only seeing her for an hour in a dim smoky bar. I just hope she’s not rough and doesn’t want anything serious. It’s been a year now, so it’s so hard starting up anything again after all that time.

Anyway, I’d describe her as a butch with a touch of femininity. Or a feminine butch.

Time for bed. God, I hope I don’t get woken up!

FRIDAY, JANUARY 22, 1993 Not much happened yesterday. I cut $90 at work last night and $105 tonight.

A horrifying nightmare awaited me when I got home tonight. I ran to shut my kitchen window when I jumped away realizing I almost touched a huge spider! I’ve never seen anything like it. Only in pictures and on TV. I Windexed it and thank fucking God it ran towards the inside of the window. I shut it between the glass and the screen. I was still pretty freaked out. I never had such bad willies. There was no way I could sleep knowing the thing was in there and there was no way in hell I was gonna open the window and deal with it myself. I got Mike up here and he sprayed the holy hell out of the window and my sliding door. It had gone back outside the sides of the screen.

I have no idea if it was poisonous. Was it a black widow? A type of tarantula? A brown recluse? It was easily 4-5 inches in diameter. I’m afraid to ever open the windows again. Especially that one. I’ll have massive creeps.

I wonder if Tammy’s package will come tomorrow.

I really need to sleep long enough hours, though. If Andy’s up and ready to leave at noon and I’m not, I hope he still gets my prescriptions and tries looking for some CDs of Linda’s. I gave him a list and $55.

Kara left a message saying she picked up journals at the mall. I gave her $25 as she’s always at the mall.

Last night I fell asleep at 4:30 and I knew they were coming to change the filters. The other day I called Judy and told her to have them come after noon since I sleep late. She said that’d be no problem, but sure enough, at 10:30, guess who showed up? Luckily I napped from 2:00-4:00 this afternoon. I wish to fall asleep soon and get up at 1:00.

I got a gorgeous necklace and anklet from these sisters who sell jewelry once a week where I work.

I’ll write much more tomorrow, but I’m out of it now.

Later…

Hunter is on now and I’ll write while it’s on. When it’s over Andy and I are gonna go to the mountain.

Well, last night was chapter one of the spider story. Tonight I hope and pray is the final chapter. I saw it again, moving really slowly at the base of the kitchen window, between the screen and glass. I called Kara and she so bravely walked up, opened the window, crushed it with a paper towel and flushed it down the toilet. Thank God for her as I couldn’t stand knowing the thing was in there. Especially if it were to nest, and Kara said it looked pregnant.

Kara picked up 3 new journals today that are very nice. Now I have a total of 40.

Last night one of the waitresses, Diana, had on a nice belt. I told her to let me know when she gets sick of it. She said for me to let her know when I get sick of my cigarette case. I just gave it to her as I have others.

So, we got to talking and it turns out she’s an artist and went to college for it. She seems like she may be very good as she offered to get together with me and help me. She doesn’t have a phone, but she can get to one, so I gave her my number. She doesn’t have a car, but she says she will next week. She wrote down her schedule for me, too.

I’ve got to take my meds, then put on something warmer to go out. I’ll write later or tomorrow.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 20, 1993 Today’s Lisa’s birthday. She is now 10. I sent her a card and $10. I cannot believe she has not written since last August, but it’s true.

Before I listen to music and try falling asleep, I’ll just do a quick update.

I never liked the doctor that Access assigned me to. I have to call them and see if I can see anyone else (a woman?). Antibiotics can cause yeast infections as they did with me. I got sick of being congested, and the itching, discharging and being bloated from the yeast infection, so at 4 AM yesterday I called John. I figured the ER would be dead at that hour and it pretty much was. I went in as an urgent case, but not an emergency. If it were an all-out deadly life-threatening attack, I’d have called an ambulance as I wouldn’t have had the 20 minutes for John to take me. St. Joe’s is 20 minutes away. I was afraid to put it off any longer knowing it could easily escalate to an emergency and a bad attack where I’d have to call the ambulance. I was fortunate enough to have a woman doctor that night. She was kind and gentle and I was given two breathing treatments as well as an antibiotic, two creams for downstairs and a refill on my Theodur.

John, who also has asthma was very understanding. He waited the two hours I was there, then drove me home. Tomorrow after work, John’s gonna stop with me so I can fill these prescriptions at a 24-hour drugstore.

I wrote two letters to Kim and I have one to mail out to Fran. I spoke briefly with Tammy and Lisa earlier. They’re doing OK. I’m gonna be helping Tammy financially.

Tomorrow I must polish my nails and perhaps Tammy’s package will arrive. I sure do hope so. I’m curious as to what she sent me.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 19, 1993 Now I am gonna finish my updating once and for all. I spoke to Tammy on the night of the 6th right before I went to go audition. She’s been very supportive and knows she can trust my judgment. She knows I would not get into a bad situation. One can do this job and still value and respect themselves. I believe sexuality’s a fact of life and I’d rather see a guy go here to get his jollies off, rather than go rape a woman or go to a hooker and continue spreading AIDS. Hookers I have no respect for. I feel sorry for them. Just one year ago or less I sure never thought I’d be doing this. Especially years ago when I did hate myself and was ashamed of my body. I’m never nervous or self-conscious, but I am aware that I still do have some never-ending flaws. Tammy also knows I can’t settle for anything and that I need to save up for a demo. In the meantime, this sure beats housekeeping, babysitting or someplace like McDonald’s.

Since I’ve begun work, I’ve made about $650. I’ve put out money to get started on G-strings, stockings and other outfits. Brandy’s gonna be selling me a dress she doesn’t want. There’s other shit to pay, too. A $10 bar tip, $3 tax, a buck to each of the 2-3 bouncers, food and cab fare.

I’d like to get new 5” heels which I hope to hell I can learn to walk in or get my 2” heels fixed. Maybe I’ll get a belly belt. A lady who sells and makes exotic costumes is to be bringing in a $10 black wrap that’s so cool. So far I’ve gotten two black G-strings. I also have a flowered 1-piece outfit that glows so well on stage cuz of the lighting. Then I have another blue 1-piece with silver studs on it. I also have a gorgeous skin-tight red dress a dancer sold me. It’s plain red with a tank top kind of top. It’s cut way low in back. I also have a maroon silk bra with black lace.

I borrowed a G-string and top. This was lent to me on my first night, but I have not seen this girl yet to return this to her. It’s nothing spectacular either.

We can take everything off, except the G-string. It’s illegal here to strip all the way. This is why my proper title isn’t a stripper. I can be called an exotic dancer, topless dancer, or a go-go-girl, but I prefer exotic dancer.

Later…

I just called the radio station to request For You by the Outfields. I hope they play it cuz I want to record it till I buy the single. There’s another one too, I’m listening for, but I don’t know its title or artist.

I told Tammy last August that I sensed that January would be their best month financially and I was right in two ways. One is that they got their $55,000 settlement from their car accident in 1989. They’re gonna add onto their house. Also, I’ll be helping them out when I can.

The package Tammy sent out was returned cuz the box fell apart. She re-sent it so I should get it any day now.

She asked if she could tell Mom and Dad what I’m doing. I said OK. After she told them she said they think it’s disgusting but they respect my opinion and want me to respect theirs. Fine.

I sent Tammy a letter and helped her with the “asshole” drawing (she tried to draw a picture of an ass, so I drew one for her).

I also told her about a hilarious little trick I played on these people in FL who sent a letter to a Dan H that ended up in my mailbox. They mentioned someone named Claudia, having to have hemorrhoid surgery, etc.

I wrote back (as Dan) and informed them that me and my boyfriend were fucking happily, Claudia can claw her pussy, sorry about your ass surgery, have Bill screw it, and all kinds of mumbo-jumbo.

I’ll have to call FL information to see if I can call them and ask if they’ve heard from Dan. Until I get my blocks lifted, I can call long-distance from Andy’s phone and easily pay him.

This feels so weird, yet great. I look at a $30 dress and out of habit, I think I can’t afford it. Then I realize I can! I can turn my heat up, leave lights on and buy all the food I want, and have food delivered. When my lease is up I want to check out a 2-bedroom. Buy more furniture for the extra room. Maybe get a bigger, more powerful microwave. Blow a few hundred in the mall here and there.

I gave $55 to Andy to pick up some old CDs of Linda’s, but he never got the chance. Maybe when he comes home we can do this together. I also want to go clothes shopping at the Merry-Go-Round.

Earlier I gave Kara $25 to get 3 journals as she’s going to the mall tomorrow really early before I wake up. She’s got a great memory, so she’ll never buy one I already have.

She so quickly and easily put in my new paper towel holder I got at Fry’s.

John and she may be dating and they each have daughters and other things in common. She and Ashley came over here and I paged him and he came over. He brought us to Fry’s and was gonna wait in his cab, but after 10 minutes, he came in and joined us. So far, he’s really cool and we had a cool and funny time. Kara and I were cracking up as we were spraying different room deodorizers all over. Due to my allergies, I must get a mild scent and I was spraying them in different directions so I wouldn’t mix them. I commented on how one was really nice and she asked where and was sniffing all over just as this woman came through the aisle. She gave us a very strange look.

I bought her a beer glass, then I realized I could afford to buy a broom and not have to borrow Andy’s anymore. I also got a huge laundry basket as I’m sick of the laundry bag. I got a dustpan that snaps right onto the broom handle. I also got hot oil treatments for my hair, sinus meds, envelopes with roses on them and Band-Aids for any blisters I get from dancing. And food, of course.

I also got these silver, gold, blue, green and red foil star stickers to decorate journals and letters with.

The radio played the song I requested, and I recorded it. They must have caller ID which shows people’s names and numbers cuz the DJ said, “Jodi in Phoenix, thanks for tuning in with us.”

So, after I almost rammed John with the broom handle in the balls accidentally, he got to see the place, then he took Kara home. I gave him $5 even though he never ran his meter.

In the store, we were checking out CDs and tapes. John asked if we’d believe Rod Stewart was his cousin. Well, I don’t see why he’d lie about that, and the eyes were very similar.

Andy, Kara and I went to K-Mart on the 5th. Andy got a $14 Rayon shirt. I got 2 pairs of bright shiny gold and black underwear with thin straps on the sides. Plus, a flowered matching set of cotton panties with a half-shirt. Then I got 8 different colored pens which I’ve been writing with. Blue, green, maroon, purple, pink, orange, aqua and red. Plus I got a pad of unlined paper with colors of deep purple, red, yellow and turquoise.

Right after I was hired at Sha Na Na’s, I ran into Tara in the laundry room. She was so psyched for me. I was also laughing at the fact that she had the same pair of gold and black panties I just bought.

I called Tonya to thank her so much for the idea of dancing. I never would’ve thought of it and now I know why we were meant to meet.

MONDAY, JANUARY 18, 1993 Kara is here right now. I still have lots of updating to do (naturally). We are now listening to a recent tape of Nervous, Fran and I.

I just showed Kara this amazing, shocking and ironic fortune I got out of a fortune cookie. I ordered Chinese food a few nights ago and one of the fortune cookies said: You will never need to worry about a steady income. What a trip, huh?

Kara has spoken with Nervous and Fran. Nervous sent back my pictures. Nervous and I have had some good talks, but Fran’s been trying hopelessly to call me. Of course, every time he calls, I’m not home or asleep. I haven’t heard from Bob since the very beginning of January. I wonder where he is. Did he lose his phone? Is he on his way here?

Earlier, Andy left for Vegas. He’ll be back Wednesday night. Originally, his sister and nephew were coming out from the 23rd to the 26th, but now they’ll be here at the end of Feb. I was gonna stay in a cheap motel so Andy could sleep in my bed and I wouldn’t have to get up when his nephew decides to go berserk. I’ll look into one for Feb.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 17, 1993 Just got off work an hour ago and I’m beat. My feet are always sore by 11:00.

At first, I panicked, wondering if I’d get in on time. Lou got lost, but he finally got here and got me there just in time.

I made between $90-$100. I can’t tell exactly cuz I mixed other money with tonight’s money.

Last night I gave Andy $55 to get some CDs of Linda’s. Soon I’m gonna order this instrumental CD through the mail.

I finally got that Bedazzeler kit in the mail and I had a blast with it for 4 hours. I did my suede fringed coat, my black leather shoes, shirts, skirts and shorts.

Mom sent 2 packages. She sent a denim skirt and jacket. I really like the jacket. She also sent a flannel shirt I don’t care for. She sent another troll doll key chain, a ceramic elephant, another toy piano, and a puzzle. I gave the puzzle and piano to Ashley. She sent 2 bags of lemon-honey cough drops (yuck). I gave one to Kara and one to Andy. I also gave Andy these 2’ long green plastic palm trees. You blow them up like a raft and they have suction cups on them so you can stick them in your window. I gave them to Andy cuz they kept falling down.

Mom also sent hangers and 3 pairs of shoes. One was white sneakers with little diamonds. They were too small, and they looked too much like a nurse’s shoes. The second pair was kind of geeky, yet kind of OK. They were denim. The third pair I gave to Velma to give away to some girl. I don’t do moccasins and that’s what they were.

I still have so much catching up to do with my journal writing (among other shit), but forget it. I’m beat. I must continue tomorrow.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 15, 1993 The longer I put off everything, the harder it’ll be to catch up, so I’d better get on with it. Andy, Kara and I went to Sha Na Na’s which is only 10 minutes away on the night of the 6th of January Kara and I both filled out applications. She wasn’t granted an audition, but I was lucky and got one. They have 3 round stages and I did a song on 2 of them (2 songs) and miraculously I wasn’t one bit nervous. I got $18 just to do 2 songs. Some tips were even from the other dancers!

Before going on stage, Dave (a close friend of the owner who hired me), took me back into the dressing room. The dancers were so supportive and helpful and still are. They broke me in on some of the rules. You can move your hand by your privates but not touch them. You can’t do anything that simulates a sexual act. The law is you must put latex on your nipples. It itches at first, but it peels off easily.

So far, all the dancers, bartenders, bouncers and the DJ are cool. I basically keep to myself somewhat, but most of these girls are bi. I was shocked at how many are bi and some know I’m gay and my future goal is to save up enough money to cut a demo. This is all they know, but they don’t know my background. Dancers are very liberal and open-minded. I figured there’d be bisexual women there. None just gay as Dave would never hire an ugly butch.

It doesn’t have this competitive feeling there. It does feel like a tight group and everyone helps each other.

Of course, the guys can tip as much as they want, but they can’t give you change. They don’t have to give us anything for a stage dance, but it’s $5 for a table dance. A table dance is one-to-one wherever the guy’s sitting. On stage, you’re dancing for everyone. You put your money in your G-string or stockings.

My permanent schedule is Saturday, Sunday, Wednesday, and Thursday from 6 PM-1 AM. We are to be there at 6:00 as the day shift finishes up, then we begin at 6:30. I’ve worked 5 days so far. My first 3 days I got $65. On the fourth day, I got $126 and the last $84!

My first 3 days, Kara came up and rode back with me in a cab. Once I felt secure, I was on my own. I’ve even got two regular drivers. I feel very safe during and after work. The bouncers will throw out anyone who tries to touch us.

Later…

One of my regular drivers on the way home is John. He once worked there as a bouncer and he may be going back. Or be a cop, corrections officer or personal bodyguard. He’s flat-rated me $5 and given me his cab & ID number. Also, he gave me the cab number & ID number of the guy who he leases the cab from named Lou who drives in the daytime. Andy will usually drive me in. If not, I can try Rick (Kara’s dad) or call Lou. I’ve never met Lou, but John told him I may or may not need him tomorrow. I never need to call John when I’m done. He’s there automatically at 1:00 and he watches me till I get in here.

At the end of the night, my feet hurt, but I’m getting used to it. After my first night, my legs were killing me, but now they’re fine.

They now have a shoe repair service at the office and I’ll either have my black 2” heels fixed there or buy new 5” heels. The bottom of one of my heels broke off. It only costs $5, but it can’t be done until February 4th.

I’ve told Stacey, Paula and Judy about my new job and they were all so psyched for me. Even Stacey. I am totally psyched! It feels great to finally have a job I love and to be making great money. My future goal is to save up enough money to cut a demo as I said. The only alternative to sleeping my way there is to buy my way in.

The DJ’s name is Andy and he looks like a dark-haired, longer-haired, thicker-haired version of Jai. He also wears the same John Lennon glasses. He’s a bass player and he looks like one, too.

The bartenders on my shift are Larry and Greg.

There are 3 bouncers, but I can only remember Dave’s name. Usually 2 work, but on weekends all 3 work.

Some of the dancers’ names on my shift are Stormy, Brandy, Shelby, Ruby, Christine, Joy, Maya, Jenna, Corey, Keri, Rena, Crystal, and that’s all I can remember right now even though there are more.

There were these two girls Sarah and Jodi that got fired. Jodi was bi and hot. There’s Nadia too, and she’s hot.

Some girls use their real names and some have stage names. Mine’s Mystery.

Maya, another dancer is bi, and with makeup on and nice clothes, she’s OK. She said she has a boyfriend, but they like to stray. I told her I like that idea so no one puts strings on me. She took my number but told me she was not looking to stray right now. This is typical, but then I realized this is for the better cuz we work together.

The night I began working, Kara said she felt lust in two weeks, but I don’t. My top priority is the job now.

I may have forgotten to mention this, but I wrote personal ads to two bars, figuring I’d send them to the apartment below me which is still vacant. I sent it under the name Ashley so that if anyone called asking for that name, I’d know it was from the bar. Then, this feeling came on that it’d get lost in the mail or whatever, but mainly that I’d get no calls. I’ve gotten no calls, but with this job, I barely have time to have any good laughs. I do have enough free time, though, still.

After dancing all night, it’s easier to fall asleep. This job does knock you on your ass when your shift is over.

First shift goes from noon - 6:30 PM.

Andy will be calling around midnight to come over and play cards.

I was just watching Charlie’s Angels. I’ve dreamed of them bringing that show back and they did on a cable channel. So, Andy, who has cable, tapes it the 5 days a week it’s on.

There are a few women who sell exotic costumes down at the club like, lingerie, stockings, garters and G-strings. They bring their stuff into the dressing room. They’ve got awesome stuff at awesome prices. At a place like Frederick’s of Hollywood, this stuff would cost double, if not triple.

I’ll write more later cuz I think Andy’s about to call.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 7, 1993 I cannot believe all that’s happened to me. I have so much to tell. I am like oh my God, oh my God! I am still in such shock, but it feels so good. Yesterday evening I auditioned at Sha Na Na’s and got hired as an exotic dancer! I’m working Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. I believe these will be my regular working days.

I have so much to write about that and many other things, but soon I must get ready for work.

Got a package from my parents with hangers, a denim skirt, a denim jacket, a flannel shirt, and a troll key chain.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 1, 1993 Well, another year has gone by and now begun. Another year I have improved, and my life has improved in so many different ways, but at the same time, I’m still nowhere and nobody.

So I’ve written during, 1987, 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, 1992 and 1993. Seven different years, even though I’ve only written for 5 years and 2 months and 5 days. On Jan. 8th, it’ll be 2000 days.

Been out on my own for 7 years and 1 month on January 3rd.

Well, I have to get Lisa a B-Day card. She’ll be 10 on the 20th. I’ll send her $10, too.

I’m sure that in 1993, I won’t have sex. Well, maybe, and I mean just maybe, I’ll have sex, but never will I ever have lust. Never will experience lust like with Ann Marie, let alone the ultimate lust.

I called Susie who told me to call her at Dennis’s at a certain time. I did, but she says she’ll contact me when she’s sorted through everything. She asked me if I want the matching chair that Andy didn’t take. I have no room for it so I called and asked Alana if she wanted it. She said yes and Kara came and got it. I gave her money for cigarettes for both of us.

My checks must’ve come in later yesterday. Kara’s going to be getting hers soon.

We crimped each other’s hair.

Sometimes I wonder if I should beg and plead for God to send me some lust, but I know it’ll do no good as we made a deal with Ann Marie. And I got two nights with her, not only one. It’s also so much easier for me not to bother. After being alone so damn long, it’s way too hard and awkward changing. Maybe in another 5-10 years, I could get another Ann Marie, but that’d mean I’d have to go to the bars, put personal ads in and get my head played with till I got lucky in 5-10 years. It’s no longer worth all that. I believe I’m meant to be celibate for a long time, then maybe have “sex.” I know God’s keeping the deal, cuz if lust was in the cards he’d send it to me somehow knowing I’ll never step foot in a bar again. There’s a reason why I’m feminine and am attracted to feminine women and that’s cuz I’m meant to be celibate and independent. Someday down the road, though, I’d like to (within reason) return to settling. I want to learn how to do that like most people can cuz that’s life and reality.

Later…

Earlier I typed up a letter to Kim. I haven’t heard from her in a while, so I hope she writes soon. Next, I’ll write letters to Bob, my parents, my nieces and Tammy. I wonder if my parents and Tammy tried calling yesterday, but hung up before the machine came on.

I hope Dennis writes to me, but I doubt it. He said he doesn’t like to write. He took off yesterday for Williams, but he’s not too sure yet what he’s gonna do. He may go live with an aunt in Washington D.C. Maybe work helping to rebuild after Hurricane Andrew in Florida. Or work with some guy he knows on a ranch in Venezuela. I gave him an address label and told him to get in touch with me when he knows what he’s gonna do.

Andy and Kara left me messages wishing me a happy new year. Kara said to call her in the morning.

Since we could never program channel 3 into my VCR, I taped Hard Rock Cafe in New York. It was nothing spectacular, but I really wanted to tape Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. They showed a little bit of Times Square and it was snowing pretty hard. Through the fireworks, I could see the snow. I also could tell it was bitter freezing cold cuz I could see people’s breath in the air very well.

I guess I really haven’t made any new year’s resolutions any more than I made any birthday wishes. My last remaining wishes just cannot come true. I just wish I wanted some other career as badly as I wanted to be a singer. I also wish I could quit smoking and be madly attracted to butches. All this sure would make my life near perfect. I guess God’s got to leave each of us with a few things we can never have or ever do.

I sang softly earlier and later on I’ll belt it out. Then Andi can listen to me for a change.

I put up two Gloria posters, but soon I’ll be trashing them along with 95% of my collection. My mom has already trashed about 60% of my collection. Once I get my other guitar and see that my pictures aren’t in the case, I’ll be sure to trash all but a few I’ve got here. I just don’t want half of my collection. I want all of it or none of it.

Today I may also color my posters and edit tapes.

[myherowritings]

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

© myherowritings — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, copying, or translating of any kind is not allowed. do not read my writing as asmr. do not plagiarize.

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words. 

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.” 

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?” 

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.” 

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?” 

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.” 

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.” 

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good. 

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.” 

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?” 

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.” 

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price. 

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art. 

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100. 

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!” 

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything. 

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?” 

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons. 

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to. 

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want. 

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.” 

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down. 

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?” 

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.” 

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!” 

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.” 

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded. 

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto. 

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?” 

You stared at him, unsure what to say. 

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response. 

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him. 

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.” 

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.” 

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently. 

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.” 

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.” 

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!” 

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…” 

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.” 

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.” 

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.” 

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image. 

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone. 

“You too.” 

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?” 

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice. 

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.” 

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance. 

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone. 

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case. 

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o 

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n 

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

[aenaxes]

dream perfect

[howzer x afab!reader] you can't sleep. and if you can't sleep, neither can howzer.

warnings: nsfw, cunnilingus, fingering

w/c: 1.9k

a/n: lol this was supposed to be a warm up exercise for the request prompts in the queue but i got carried away :/ anyways i think i need to write a pt.2 hehe

You like to think you’ve been running the motions of a pretty convincing stillness. Waiting a few minutes in between each turn from your back to your side and back again, you squirm under the anchoring weight of Howzer’s arm draped over your hip.

It’s going to be another long night.

And yet, for all your strategic shifting and careful restlessness, a few minutes shy of the hour, Howzer’s breathing stutters, and he stirs around you.

“Mn, cyare?” he mumbles, tongue heavy with sleep. “Y’still awake?”

Guilt, queasy and cold, creeps up your throat. The perpetual vigilance of active duty left behind, leave days replace that sharp attention with something heavy and warm that settles around Howzer’s shoulders and keeps him asleep through even the most resonant of storms. That your slight movements have apparently awoken him where thunder would not warms the apples of your cheeks in something equal parts concerning and embarrassing.

“It’s fine,” you respond weakly. “Can’t sleep is all.”

“Can’t sleep?” Howzer repeats past a groan as he shifts onto his side to face you. In the low neon lights of the Coruscant night, you can make out the ease of his features, his frown more of a boyish pout that carries with it a gentle insistence, concern. His fingers squeeze over the soft slope of your waist, and he yawns. “That’s no good.”

“It’s alright,” you say, and you punctuate your low murmur with a quick peck over the corner of his mouth. “You should go back to sleep.”

“Not without you,” he huffs in response. He takes the moment to shuffle closer, closing what little space lies between you to press close against your chest and bring his arms around your shoulders. You feel the tip of his nose press just above your hairline, and when he speaks again, his voice rumbles low and warm over your head. “What can I do, mesh’la? Tell me how I can help.”

“I’ve tried just about everything; I’m not sure there’s anything else left to do except to wait it out,” you sigh into his collar. With an insistent wiggle of your shoulders, you pull away just enough to meet his puppy-eyed consternation, soft with sleep and softer still as you bring your fingertips to the sharp lines of his jaw and offer him a lopsided smile.

For a moment, Howzer seems to take your defeat at face value, his expression deflating. Then, he makes a low noise that crinkles over the bridge of his nose and settles on the smile teased over his lips.

“I have an idea.”

Even with sleeplessness taunting you through the gaps in the blinds, you can’t help but laugh, leaning forward to gently nudge your forehead up against Howzer’s cheek. You know that look by heart, that coy glimmer finding home in his dark eyes as he pretends to fight his growing grin.

“Howzer, really, I’m fine,” you say, reaching up and stroking over his dark curls. “Go back to sleep. Besides, I’m off tomorrow.”

“We’re both off, cyare,” Howzer chuckles.

From under the covers, you feel him slide his hand from where it rests between your shoulders, battle-weary callouses no less warm as they drag over your form. He pauses where the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your shorts part, rubbing gentle motions into the exposed skin, comforting, grounding, seeking invitation.

You shiver under his touch. Anticipatory delight shocks up your spine.

“Let me help,” he implores.

“Okay.”

The last breath barely has enough time to pass through your lips before Howzer’s rising to his knees and pushing the pillowy duvet somewhere off to the side of the bed. There’s the careful composure of propping your head up against a second pillow and lifting your hips to tug your shorts down past your ankles. But rife through his gentle deliberation—tension, need, finds home in his posture as he squares his shoulders, plants his palms on your knees, and pushes your thighs open.

Your breath hitches as cool air rushes between your thighs. First instinct has always demanded a shy squeak, your hands itching to cover yourself as you lie spread open before him in the low light.

But you know better.

When Howzer’s shoulders drop with a quivering sigh, when his eyes flutter shut and open again with that precious disbelief that this was real, that this—that you were his, bashful chastity withers in the face of desire.

“So pretty,” Howzer breathes low, almost as if to himself, and swallows hard enough that you hear from the crown of the bed. A moment longer, he stares transfixed, then looks up to you with nothing short of a plea glittering in his eyes. “Please. Let me help.”

“Want you,” you whimper. “Howzer, I—”

Your voice cracks, reduced to a choked cry that swallows the rest of your words when, as soon as your assent reaches his ears, Howzer dips low, pressing a brief kiss to your clit before he drags the flat of his tongue from the fullest swell of your cunt and back up to press another kiss at the crown of your thighs.

“Good?” Howzer asks, his breaths puffing warm over the slick of his spit smeared over your throbbing cunt. No matter how many times you do this, you can’t seem to shake that delicious tremble as you feel the air between his lips and your cunt practically vibrate under his voice.

“Y-Yeah,” you mumble.

He responds by wrapping his lips over your clit, coaxing another stuttering moan from your tongue. But it’s not enough, with him it never is, and your hips buck up as he brings the calloused pad of his forefinger just under his chin, sliding it through your cunt. It only makes the growing core of want burn hotter when you feel his rumbling laughter shock through your skin.

Your eyes fly open at the first gentle push of his thick finger into your cunt, sinking into you with almost embarrassing ease. When his palm pushes up against your skin, he crooks his finger up, grinding up against the soft bundle of nerves that has you sobbing his name. Howzer only takes your soft noises as encouragement. He seals his lips over your skin and laps at your clit with a renewed vigor.

It doesn’t take long for him to pull his soaked finger from your cunt and push back in with a second. He finds a rhythm as soon as he fucks as deep as he can go, sucking over your clit while he curls the rough pads of his fingertips over the spot that makes your vision white out again and again.

Howzer sinks his fingers knuckle-deep, but instead of pulling back, the satisfying burn of stretch sears through your core as Howzer parts you open and lifts off of your clit with an almost comically wet sound. You know exactly what he’s going to do, but it makes it no less thrilling when his nose brushes over your clit, and he fucks the firm taper of his tongue between his fingers.

You arch off the bed with a wanton cry, barely coherent enough to understand the crooning words of praise Howzer slips in between fucking his tongue into your cunt and taking gasping breaths of air. You cry out again, and he moans into your cunt with you.

You feel blindly for him, and Howzer knows, he knows. He grabs your wrist and fumbles as he pulls his tongue from your cunt and continues to pump his fingers into you. Finally, the burning coil of desire cresting higher, higher in your gut, he finds purchase and slides his fingers between yours. You squeeze once, he squeezes back, and you moan as his tongue laps over your clit again.

He opts for a maddeningly fast pace, alternating between pressing his tongue deep as it can go into your cunt and rolling it over your clit. All the while, he keeps an unrelenting rhythm with his fingers, pulling you apart artful stroke by artful stroke as he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand.

He drinks you in like a man parched, head bobbing with each heaving swallow. His arm is your only anchor as you squirm under its weight and desperately grind back against his tongue. It’s toeing the line of overstimulation fucked dumb. And it’s all you could ever want as his tongue presses deep, as deep as it’s gone all night, and pushes you over the edge.

You come over his tongue with a shuddering cry, neighbors be damned, and squeeze your hand down hard over his. He squeezes back, groaning into your cunt, telling, promising, he’s here, he’s here, for you, for you as pleasure closes around you and swallows you whole.

At last, after a brief eternity of the kind of bliss that drives bone deep, Howzer pulls away, pressing one last kiss to your clit before pulling back and breathing in long and deep between your quivering legs.

He presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips warm, wet as they mouth silent appreciation into your skin. (They are words you do not think you will ever truly know, the ancient poetry of the warriors who came before him, but they reach you deep to your core.) When his lips still, and his eyes flutter open, Howzer lifts his chin just enough to meet your gaze.

“Think you can sleep now?”

As much as you want to laugh (because what kind of question was that with your heart beating loud enough for him to hear?), you’re too winded to do anything else but shake your head.

“Good,” Howzer laughs, running his tongue over the slick smeared over his fingers. The fluorescent brilliance of the Coruscant nightlife filters through your window, glimmering obscene over the mess of your arousal and his spit as he parts his lips and sucks them clean.

Your mouth waters.

Sugar sweet desire breaks over your tongue, though you might more aptly call it greed—in want of tasting yourself on him; in want of feeling his fingers dig into your skin when he pulls you close and licks over your teeth; in want of bending you, breaking you, then pulling you back together again, gilded kintsugi lacquered strong by a soldier’s hands.

Howzer pulls his fingers from his mouth with a loud pop and flicks his eyes to yours as you peer up at him through lidded eyes. Half-closed they may be, but they are far from heavy with the sleepy taunts of before.

You both know sleep is the last thing on either of your minds.

Rising up to his knees, he twists out of his shirt and flings it off somewhere into the far reaches of the room. One moment he’s standing tall at the base of the bed, the next, he’s leaning close and sliding one palm from where your thighs part up to where he kisses over your neck.

You whimper softly as you feel his fingers curl over your pulse, helpless in the best of ways as Howzer pulls back to sit back and admire your expression. In return, he offers you the smile you’ve come to love most, barely there on his lips, brimming in his eyes, adoration divine.

Then, soon in its place, always: hunger.

“I’m not done with you just yet.”

[ultralovedeluxe]

Hey I love your work! Would you mind doing Rohan with prompts 41 and 43 whenever you can? And maybe nsfw if your comfortable? 👉🏼👈🏼

Have a good day/evening!

Oml I love YOU so much! I'm a big fan of your work so I was nervous when writing this (it's very rushed oml), I hope you enjoy though!

Yandere! Rohan Kishibe with prompts #41 and #43

'I'm all you have left now'

'They didn't know you belonged to me so I had to get rid of them!'

Warnings: yandere behaviors, cheating accusations, manipulation, slut-shaming, inappropriate use of stands, non/dub con, blow-jobs, nsfw

Dating the famous mangaka Kishibe Rohan would be an honor to most people. He's a man of power and fame, who wouldn't want to be with him? The moms who hang out at the park always tell you that you should feel like the luckiest person in the world. They'd tell you that a million girls would kill to be in your shoes.

Although you love Rohan with all your heart (and you should feel deserving of his love), you sometimes start to wonder if dating the great Kishibe Rohan is worth it.

You met Rohan at an art exhibit in France. You had been a model for several pieces in that said exhibit, so obviously you had to come along for the event. Meeting Rohan was a love at first sight. He had asked if you would want to model for him sometime, and you had agreed. Soon after one visit and project, came after another, and then another, until you were working mainly with the mangaka. You can't say you didn't like it though, you enjoyed being in Rohan's presence. He was chivalrous when he wanted to be, and you found his sarcastic nature be quite humorous in fact. You spent so much time with Rohan in fact, you would have considered him a friend. Your relationship with the mangaka was no longer just work related, the both of you had become good friends.

However, the real problem in your friendship with Rohan began to show when your parents were involved. Your parents tolerated Rohan (or at least you thought they did), but they were getting annoyed with the fact the mangaka kept hogging your time. You should be modeling with professional photographers, or modeling for famous designers. But instead you're being used as reference from some manga artist in Japan.

You understood your parent's point of view in the subject, but you enjoyed working with Rohan more than you did any other project you had worked on. You continued to visit Rohan, despite your parent's protests (and Rohan couldn't have been happier).

The more visits that happened, the closer you got to the mangaka. It wasn't long before Rohan had asked you on a date. Eventually multiple dates leaded to the both of you starting a relationship. You knew your parents would hate Rohan even more now, but he didn't seem to mind. He'd always tell you that he didn't care what your parents thought about him, he was content with having you as a partner. Even if your parents did find out about your secret relationship, you highly doubt they would react dramatically. Sure, they'd really, really dislike it, but they wouldn't disown you for it. After all you were a grown adult, you should be able to make your own decisions right?

At least that's what you thought. One day, Rohan made an unexpected visit on your front door step. You didn't expect for him to be there, nor did you know how he got your address (considering the fact you lived in a completely different continent), but you didn't think much of it since you thought this could be your chance to properly introduce Rohan to your parents.

The introduction went by smoothly, Rohan was getting along with your parents, and your parents seemed to accept that Rohan was your partner. However, it did seem a bit suspicious that your parent's dislike of Rohan turned into an approval almost in a span of a few minutes. They had even agreed to let you move out with Rohan. While you could admit that you and Rohan had been planning to live in Morioh-Cho together, you didn't think it'd happen instantly. And that your parents would agree nonetheless. Regardless, you and Rohan accepted your parent's blessing's and left France.

You vividly remembered on your plane flight to Morioh-Cho, Rohan had whispered in your ear while stroking your hair softly, "You must be lucky to have me right [first]? I'm all you have left now.."

-

Life in Morioh-Cho was sweet to say the least. It was a drastic change from living in a fashion capital of the world, to a small quiet place where there was much to do. Nevertheless, you truly enjoyed your new life, it was better than going to photoshoots every week. Speaking of which, you never do photoshoots anymore. Rohan convinced you to quit your job as a model (since he is wealthy enough to provide for the both of you anyway), and you had agreed. Though, every time you mentioned getting a job to Rohan, he'd simply call you an idiot for wanting to work. He'd ask you if he needed step up his game for you, and you'd only close your mouth in the conversation.

Your relationship with Rohan was a drastic change too. From what was sweet, humble dates every weekend, went to being locked in a home for what was everyday. Rohan would spend hours in his art studio, drawing multiple pages for his manga. He'd tell you to not go out while he was working. But even then, that's most of the time.

You'd be lying if you didn't find this type of behavior weird.

-

"I'm leaving to go visit Italy for a couple of days [first]. Do you remember the rules?"

You nodded and kissed Rohan's cheek before handing him his suitcase. "Don't go outside unless we run out of groceries, don't let people inside-" Rohan cut you off "Especially those idiots Josuke and Okuyasu" he said scoffing at his distaste for the boys. You only sighed in response, "Especially Josuke and Okuyasu. Hope you have a good trip love" you smiled holding his hands close to your chest. Rohan kissed your lips softly and mumbled a quick 'goodbye' before leaving your shared home. You sighed and walked into the kitchen, before sitting down on a chair. You respected his rules, and you didn't want to lie to him, but you were bored out of your mind. You wanted to go out and have fun. Not to mention, although you know that Rohan could buy you whatever you wanted; but you wanted to have some money of your own. You can't rely on Rohan forever. You had decided that tomorrow you'd start looking for a job (any job, part-time even, you just wanted some type of job to keep you entertained for a while). Rohan would get mad sure, but you promised you'd discuss when he'd come back. You were sure he'd support you

You were sure of it.

-

Looking for a job was harder than you thought. It seemed that nobody wanted to hire somebody who only had 'model' on their resume. Sometimes you'd wish you had taken on other jobs other than modeling, maybe then people would hire you. Regardless, you kept looking, desperate to find a job somewhere.

In the end, you ended up finding an Italian restaurant after hours of searching. You stepped in and was greeted a tall, blonde Italian man. "Hello good afternoon my name is Tonio, welcome to my restuarant" he greeted you while smiling at you sweetly. You smiled awkwardly and muttered a quick 'thank you', "Um Tonio san, I'm not here to eat..but I'd like to ask you if you are hiring. I can't cook, but I can be a waitress!-" you exclaimed, leaving Tonio in a small shock. He looked at you up and down before smiling at you once again, "Well I don't usually hire people since I'm doing good on my own, but I guess a little help wouldn't hurt.." he told you. You smiled back and hugged him, "Oh thank you so much! You don't know how much I struggled finding a job today-" you let him go, "Uhm, sorry.." you mumbled. He chuckled and led you to a table.

The two of you talked a bit for a while, you told hima bout your modeling career and your relationships, while he told you about his journey to Japan and Italian cuisine. You both shared laughs and stories together, you had a good time. Your time with Tonio became even better when he officially had hired you as a waitress! You were happy, and you couldn't wait to tell Rohan when he got home!

"Well I'll see you next week Tonio!" you shouted as you left the door, carrying the bouquet of daisies Tonio had gifted you. Tonio smiled, "I'll see you then bambina!".

-

You arrive a little later than planned (guess you spent too much time talking to Tonio), but you finally made it home safe and sound. You might as well start cleaning, since you weren't going to sleep any time soon. As you opened the door, you were met face to face with Rohan. You dropped your daises on the floor, and began to think of all the apologies and excuses you could think of. But it was no use, excuses would only make Rohan's anger boil even more.

Why was he even here in the first place? Wasn't he supposed to be in Italy by now?!

"Rohan I-"

"Save it, I don't want to hear a word from you" Rohan growled angrily before walking towards you. He had pulled out a pen and you felt as if you passed out.

Rohan had used Heaven's Door to read the pages of your life. He looked for the information of today, and when he did, he was fuming. He read his newly learned information out loud, gripping onto your hair in the process, "This man named Tonio is so handsome, and he cooks too.. I feel like this skirt is a bit risqué, but oh well.." with that last sentence Rohan had the last straw. He removed his stand's effect on you, but not before writing a few things.

Once the effects of Heaven's Door were gone, you began to feel a heat between your legs. Noticing you were on your knees, you crawled your way to Rohan, "Rohann, feel so hot need you.." you mewled out. Rohan was furious with your previous behavior, but maybe this would help you learn a few things. "So you were tempted to cheat on me right? I bet you would’ve enjoyed if that Tonio flipped your skirt right?" he said slapping your face in the process. You whimpered, "No no no no, that's not true..please need you. Need you so bad" you were starting to tear up just by him insinuating you were going to cheat on him. Rohan looked down at you, gods you looked so pathetic, just like he wanted you to look like.

"Such a fucking slut" he said unbuckling his pants, eager to have your warm and needy mouth all around his cock. Once he finished doing that he looked at you dead in the eye, "Suck. Suck like the whore you are. Aren't you ashamed [first]? I bet you also sucked Tonio’s cock in that job interview right?” He said watching you as you sloppily sucked his cock. You probably aren’t even thinking right now, your just hungry for his cock right? Such a little slut. “And to think your parents didn’t like me. They just didn’t know you belonged to me. But that’s fine I had to get rid of them regardless..” he chuckled before he bucked his hips into your mouth repeatedly.

Rohan grabs you by the hair and begins to push your head down his member, sinking your mouth down to his pubes; much to your displeasure. At the moment however he didn’t care what you felt, sluts like you don’t mind right? He continued to do so for a few more seconds before he came in your mouth, groaning loudly. He came inside your mouth, and there was so much of it you couldn’t help but to cough some out.

You laid your head on his lap and breathed out softly, before Rohan lifted your chin up and grinned,

“Who said we were done?”

-

Dating the great Kishibe Rohan would be an honor to most people. Who wouldn’t want to be by his side. Unfortunately for you, dating Kishibe Rohan was not a glitter and sparkles.

Being Kishibe Rohan’s personal cum dump isn’t much better either.

[startanewdream]

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

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

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

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

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

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

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

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

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

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

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

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

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

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

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

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

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

[serenadeonacanoe]

Honestly, I'd piss him off on purpose. (Namjoon x OFC)

Pairing: Namjoon x Original Female Character

Genre/Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, too tired to beta

Tags: Artist!Namjoon, Yoongi and Tae are the best flatmates, Enemies to Lovers I guess... more like brats to making out in the storage unit, OFC is an idiot.

Summary:

"Wow. Is that that grumpy artist behind you? Jesus. He really looks like a bit of a dick. And you are right. He really is hot..." Oh no. Speakerphone. Namjoon was standing behind me and was staring at me. Then at my phone. He let out a little laugh, then raised his hand to wave at Tae and Yoongi outside who were now also staring at him as if frozen, before turning around in unison. As if that would help. As if he couldn't see them. Or better even... couldn't hear them.

[...]

Mister Darcy has nothing on Kim Namjoon - that new and upcoming artist you probably already heard of (You haven't? How dare you? At least have the decency to pretend you have!). He is cold, serious, and rather good at making other people believe he is a prick. Especially Elizabeth Bennet - uh... Charlotte - is about to lose it because of him. Maybe in a good way. Man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

CHAPTER 1

Even the sound of my own nails rhythmically tapping on the top of the counter was annoying me. To be fair, it didn't need much today to blow my fuze that had never been particularly long in the first place. But after a week consisting of being belittled by old white men and endless hours of unpaid overtime I about had it. Welcome to the art world. You know well before you enter that the hours are horrible and the job market is more than frustrating, but you love art and you have good organisational skills, you are resilient, charming when it counts and tend to romanticize things even when you know you shouldn't. It's too late to turn around now.

"That is why I don't use an agenda or notebook. If something is important enough for me to attend I simply won't forget. I know you youngsters are all about the bullet journaling and expressing yourself by mapping out your life but it really is just another way to procrastinate instead of getting to actual work." For a second I considered throwing my damn notebook in the buyer's face, but that probably wouldn't have helped my CV and the new job I would have to look for starting tomorrow. At least I should have screamed at him a little. Mainly, that I didn't care, that I was on my period and my shitty shower in the shitty flat i shared had broken and no dry shampoo in the world had fixed my hair this morning and that god damn it, how the hell was I supposed to remember every phone number, every call my boss had to take, every art handling transport I had organized if I couldn't write it down somewhere. Instead, I smiled. Died a little on the inside and complimented him on the gift of his exceptional memory and asked whether he would like another cup of coffee.

"What a dick." Samantha murmured, more to herself than me, after the guy had finally left, which made me snort under my breath. She usually didn't say much but when she did it was usually pure gold. In the end, it didn't matter that he was. Didn't matter that everyone at the gallery thought the art he had bought from us over the last couple of months had neither been smart nor impressive purchases. Mainly expensive. And flashy.

"Doesn't matter now." I said in a sigh after a quick glance at the clock. It was Friday night and we were about to close. Since it was my birthday on Monday I had taken two days off, about the longest break I had had this year and I was looking forward to being the lazy slob for a few days I was maybe always meant to be. In silence we answered a few last emails, tidied up the desks and counters so that potential buyers that would come in over the weekend wouldn't have to suspect anyone was actually working here. - A white desk. A huge Imac on it. That was all they needed to see, folders and pens and apparently especially agendas to be hidden away in drawers.

At five to eight I threw on my coat and Samantha just gave me a tired smile. Probably happy for me, just exhausted. "Have fun then? Don't get too wasted?" "Oh..." I said with a huge smug grin on my lips. "You have no idea... gonna take a bottle of Moët with me from the bar and drink it in my bathtub after eating a huge pepperoni pizza by myself and dancing to only the finest of 90s Euro Trash." I couldn't help it, apparently, I felt it necessary to give Sam a little demonstration, waving my arms up and down while swaying my hips in a way that I'd probably would not have if it hadn't been for a bit with an audience of a single person. Or maybe two?

A quiet scoff behind me and I quickly turned around, slowly lowering my arms, Sam biting her lower lip at the sight of me standing there like an idiot in front of HIM of all people.

Men didn't have to be old to annoy me. Or white. Yes, those were the ones that pissed me off most usually, but no one had managed to do so as much as Kim Namjoon recently. And now he was standing there, looking me up and down and stopping at my hair. The crazy too-much-dry-shampoo-because-the-shower-broke-hair. "Nice." He just commented and then looked over at Sam. "I'd like to take a last look before Sunday's opening if that is okay?" I stood there, my shoulders dropping, completely ignored.

"Uhm, actually, my babysitter has to leave in about an hour and I will have to be home before that." Samantha replied and I was impressed by how calm she stayed. "Of course." Namjoon said and gave her a slight smile. "Anyone else still around? Chris maybe?" Of course Chris hadn't been in today. It was Friday and unless important guests had announced themselves the owner of the gallery wasn't around on Fridays... "I am afraid not. But maybe Charlotte has a few minutes?" Well. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I felt a little betrayed. "Wouldn't want to keep anyone from their important Moët-Pizza-Dance Party plans." Namjoon replied before I could say a word. His voice once more dropping to a hushed, deep disapproval and his hands buried in the pockets of his rather expensive looking coat. Silence for a few moments and then he just walked off towards the room his exhibition had been set up all week. Showing without a further word that I would have to stay anyways if he wanted it that way.

"Well thank you for pushing me under the bus like that. Really appreciate it." "I am so sorry. But I was serious, I can't lose this babysitter. She got Jamie to eat vegetables. VEGETABLES!" Samantha suddenly seemed in a rush, grabbing her jacket and purse and showering me in promises she would make it up to me. Even though we both knew that wouldn't happen and wasn't necessary. Suddenly having to stay longer was normal. I just hated that it had to be today. And because of him.

I heard the door close behind Sam and I stood there for a second before putting my bag down again. Usually, I would have followed the artist, asking if I could somehow help, but nahhh... my ego was bruised up enough now, especially remembering the little dance. I closed my eyes. Fucking hated the guy. Always had. Well, not quite. I had thought he was cool for about five minutes when he had come in the first time. We had heard about him for quite a few months before, I think I had even seen pictures of him at some point, but those were nothing compared to him in real life. He came in all cheekbones and sharp chin and an all grey outfit, quick pace, observant gaze. Incredibly hot. He had also completely ignored me.

That's how it had started - a bruised ego. He couldn't know that it was my weak spot. Having studied art and its management and now feeling like a better secretary at times, when my colleagues and I were doing all the behind the scenes work while Chris worked very little hours and ended up with all the money and recognition. I was aware this wasn't the only field of work where this was the case, but it still frustrated me... I had imagined my life in the last years of my 20s to be a bit more glamorous than living in a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city... spending my Friday night waiting for some rude artist dude to leave so I could lock up.

But what I perhaps hated most about him... was that I admired him. - Purely for his art. Really. Even the fact that he kept acting as if I wasn't around every time he came in didn't mean I couldn't admit that. At least to myself. The stories behind his huge colleagues were clever and thought through, but even without context, the pure aesthetics were mesmerizing. It was the kind of art that touched something deep inside of you and standing in front of it I always had a hundred questions. Whenever he brought in a new piece I was the first one to sneak a peek in the back rooms before it was hung.

"I don't get why you have such a problem with him. He is just... quiet. I think he might even be shy... stop being so sensitive and just ask him out already." I had almost strangled Sam for that comment a couple of weeks back. Stop being so sensitive. What did that even mean? Comments like that made me want to cry and scream at the same time, which probably would have been perceived as even more sensitive, but when had insensitivity become something to strive for? I had only kept quiet because I liked Sam and I knew what she had tried to say. At least I thought so. That I might have given less of a shit if I hadn't been rather attracted to Namjoon. Even though I had never mentioned it, she just knew. She knew if I didn't care about something I didn't waste my time on it. But if something made me angry or upset there was usually more to it. I hated that she could read me that easily. But he was still a dick and I still wanted to go home.

He took his sweet time. After an hour I walked up to him, a little speech prepared in my head about how he could come back first thing tomorrow. But when he turned around he just raised a hand between us to keep me from interrupting and turned away again. I hadn't seen that he was on the phone. "No, it's nothing, just one of the gallery employees." I heard him say and okay... if I wasn't about to explode before I was now. I stood there for a minute, fuming, and then simply walked back to the office area, my hand shaking when I started turning off the gallery lights one by one. It wasn't as satisfying as I had hoped but still felt good. Two minutes later the only lights still on were the one above my head and the one in front of the door. I would at least give him a clear direction where to head, he seemed to need it.

When Namjoon appeared out of one of the dark corners he looked even more annoyed than usual. Looking my direction through squinting eyes and his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. "Seriously?" he yelled my way and almost walked into one of the little flyer shelves. Wasn't the first time I had seen that happen to him though so maybe that had nothing to do with the light.

I felt oddly triumphant. By the time I had put on my coat and turned off the remaining lights, ready to finally lock up, Namjoon had almost found his way, standing in the open door, still on his phone. A little groan from my side when he didn't even notice that I was standing behind me went by unnoticed. Or simply ignored. But instead of the appropriate clearing of the throat or the maybe less polite squeezing past him, I just put my hands on his back and gently pushed him forward a bit, until his feet hit the pavement and he turned around. Dropping his hand with the phone in it, for a second he looked like he wanted to push back. Or trample me.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem, Charlotte?" His voice was hoarse. His eyes dark. God, he was hot. I hated him so much. "You." I simply replied and stared at him for a second, then turned around and locked the two locks on the door before stepping over to the alarm system. I couldn't help feeling smug because apparently, he knew my name. I imagined him staring at the back of my head because he was flustered, but couldn't be sure. All I knew was that when I turned around again a minute later he was still standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his lips pressed together forming a straight line and watching me.

"Do you always act like that at work around people who could get you into trouble?" He was right, he could get me into trouble. But I was too fired up now, my heart racing. "Is that a threat?" "An observation." "Only around the ones I don't like." "Cool." "Great." "Enjoy the dance party. Sounds shit."

And with those words he had turned around, coat flying open in the wind, unfortunately making him look really cool as he walked away and I ABSOLUTELY HATED HIM. I kept my mouth shut and just walked off in the other direction, realizing minutes later that my car was parked the other way, but I kept walking for a while before I finally turned around. It took a while to calm down and only cuddling up to my cat on the couch to trash tv finally did the job. But by then I had realized something I wasn't sure I liked too much. Yeah, I thought he was a prick. And yeah I should have just played it cool. Would have been much smarted in many regards. But I also had somewhat enjoyed myself in the most fucked up way.

Seeing that stern look, that intense posture as he was towering over me... man, I'd literally piss him off on purpose.

More chapters on AO3

[darkacademicfrom2021]

The Dark Team (part 6)

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Join the taglist in here (Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87)

“What did you fuck up?”, you heard Loki’s sharp whisper through the earbud, while you frantically searched through papers and papers and some more papers.

“I didn’t fuck up. I have the guy. I have information”, cleared Bucky. “Hey, DON’T MOVE”, he shouted at the kidnapped, cocking his gun. He cleared his throat before talking again. “Good and bad news”.

“Must be Christmas”, you said.

“No, Christmas is when you only have good news”, said Bucky.

“Not in my family. Generally, there was only bad news and food. Food was the good news”.

“I love how professional and focused on the mission you two are. Stark would be so proud”.

“Wait, I’m invested now. Tell me more about your family, y/n”.

“For the Norns, I don’t have much time. The information, Barnes”. You could hear Loki's footsteps resonate. According to plan, he should've been walking through a hall full of burocrats, so he was right; he did not have much time.

“Okay, so, I know who has the stick”.

“Good”.

“He’s dead”.

“Not so good”.

“Not really, no”.

“What do we do now?”.

An alarm on the building had set off and every door locked down, with a man on a speaker announcing the disappearance of an important object followed by an awfully accurate description of the three of you.

“We run, that’s what we do now”.

You didn’t have to say more. Bucky threw himself off the window before it finished closing. You looked around desperately, trying to find a way to free yourself from that office. Two security guards entered the room screaming for you to get on the floor, and instead you made an unstable wall with the desk and chairs, avoiding getting shot and giving you enough time to figure out some sort of weapon to take them down.

The watch was already used, the knives were useless if they had guns, you didn’t have a gun yourself (silly you), and the parachute was apparently not working anymore, so you couldn’t jump off the window like your teammates. Damn.

“By any chance”, you whispered through your microphone “could you tele…”, but Loki gave you no time to finish the sentence and teleported himself to the office, still in the shape of a security guard.

“My dearest friend”, he said to one of the shooters, opening his arms welcomingly, “how’s the family?”.

“What the fuck, Robert?” asked angrily one of the real guards. “How did you…”.

Loki kicked off his gun and touched his head with a halo of green lights, making him fall unconscious to the floor. He looked up and down at the second security guard and formed half a smile.

“And what about your wife? Is she well?”.

“You ain’t Robert, ain’t ya?”.

“Mmh, nah”.

You grabbed the second security guard from behind and made him trip, immobilizing his arms and legs, and held his own gun to his head. Loki watched you amused, and then transformed back into himself.

“Oh, there you are”, you greeted him. “Did Buck say anything about the walking dead?”.

“The… what?”.

“The man with the stick. If he’s dead, who activated the alarm? Someone has to have it”.

“He didn’t say anything else. Can’t you track it down?”.

“If I could, why would we have done all of this for?”.

“Point made”.

“I need to get back to our room, take some things off the checklist before going all in for a new plan”.

“Alri…”, he started saying, but his gaze fell back on the immobilized guard you were holding down. “What are you planning on doing with him? He saw our faces”.

“If you let me live I won’t talk about this at all”, he pleaded, face squished against the floor. “I have kids, please”.

“He’s lying, he has no kids”, he said with a neutral face, and you looked at him trying to tell him to communicate telepathically. Surprisingly, he understood. “What?”.

“I’m not killing him, what do we do?”.

“Just kill him, what’s all the fuss about?”. You looked at him horrorized and he rolled his eyes “alright, just threaten him enough”.

You let him go, still pointing the gun at him, and gestured to the door so he could leave. When he reached for the door knob, you shot twice at the wall, mere inches from his head, and he froze in place.

“Talk and I’ll find you”, you threatened.

“I won't say a word, I promise”.

You looked at Loki and he nodded, letting you know the man was telling the truth. You kept your eyes fixed on him while he ran away, terrified. Must be new, you thought. Loki grabbed your waist.

“What the Hell are you doing?”, you pushed him away.

“Teleporting us, as you asked”.

“You have to grab me to do that?”.

“I don’t have to. It’s so you get stability”.

“Oh. Give me a big bear hug, then. No, better, let’s cuddle” you spat with sarcasm. He sighed annoyed, massaging his temples.

“Fine. I’m not even touching you”.

As he teleported both of you, you felt your whole body tear its own cells apart and dissolve, and then regenerate them. Your head spinned like it never has, and something hit your head; but you weren’t sure if it was the floor, a wall or the roof, for your sense directions were nowhere to be found. You took a few seconds to compose yourself before opening your eyes once everything stopped moving. When you finally managed to realize where your head even was, your eyes met with Loki’s, who was holding back a smirk with his arms crossed.

“Reconsidering that cuddle next time, are you?”.

“That was… hilarious. Such a shame I missed the previous part to give me context, though”, said Bucky from the counter of the hotel room, munching on some chips. “Look, the tiny fridge had these. You were right, they’re actually great”.

“Yeah. Grab whatever, they’re on Stark’s”, you said, still with your head a bit fuzzed. Loki offered his hand to help you get up but you did it yourself. He sighed.

“How do you fit your clothes with that huge ego of yours?”.

“I don’t, I walk around naked”, you answered, opening the nearest laptop and starting to work on the checklist.

That night was like the last one. Dark, silent and with your head full on the work. Bucky was barely snoring, and Loki was sitting on his bed reading a book. Every once in a while you glanced up your work to look at how painfully beautiful he was. You hated every thought about it, of course, but you couldn’t deny his sight grew on you a bit. He was an asshole, of course. A parasite on your head. An inconvenience. A distraction, sometimes. But the warm light of the bed lamp and the shadows it formed on half of his face enhanced his features, almost like a sculpture, a piece of art.

While you thought of that you checked on his expressions, making sure he wasn’t listening to your highly embarrassing thoughts.

After a few hours, Bucky had already woken up and you were still spread on the floor, surrounded by the files and laptops from before. The light conversation had caught half the attention of the God, who was still reading peacefully. He seemed so calm you wondered what kept him up anyways.

“You think he still has it on him?”, asked Bucky, changing his shirt.

“I think it’s a possibility. I’m tracking his body down. Should be in the morgue by now, maybe they haven’t taken off his clothes yet. But if not, the security cameras would have recorded who took it from the body”.

“Groovy”.

"Oh my God, James".

"What?".

"What does groovy even mean?".

"You know... it's like saying cool beans".

"Coo... alright".

After a while, you collected all the data you needed for tomorrow. You were so exhausted your eyes were getting dry and blurry. Loki was still reading in that same place, not even fazed by the amount of hours that had happened. You got up to clean the dishes from the last meal, and he lifted his gaze up from the book.

“Wait”, he stopped you. With a wrist movement, the dishes got as clean as they could get and arranged on the shelf. You chuckled.

“I wish I had that ability”.

“Are you going to sleep now?”.

“A few hours”.

“Sleep here”, he said from his bed. You looked at Bucky’s; he fell asleep back again.

“You haven’t slept yet. I don’t want to occupy your bed”.

“I won’t, don’t worry”, you nodded, kind of worried he might pass out of tiredness in the middle of the mission. Why the hell was he not sleeping? “If it doesn’t bother you, I’d rather finish this book on here too”.

“I think there’s enough space”.

He moved and gave you space for half of the tiny bed, and you laid by his side with your arms crossed and a leg on top of the other. He went back to his book, and even though he was sitting and your sight couldn’t reach the pages, you were sure it was in Old Norse.

“What are you reading?”.

He didn’t answer right away. Doubtfully as in to share it with you or not, he then proceeded.

“Hamlet. It’s a translation in Old Norse from an author I adore. I’d say it’s an even better version than Shakespeare’s”.

You felt yourself about to smile. You tried not to, but you probably did. That was your favourite piece of literature of all times. You wondered how could that have gotten to Asgardian hands, and why would he (certainly a Midgardian hater) want to read Earth’s literature. You were so curious in that version. Was it really that good, that would be better than Shakespeare himself? Sadly, you didn’t even know how to say hello in that language.

“Do you like it so far?”.

“I’m re-reading it. Brings good memories”, he said with a subtle smile he had hoped you wouldn’t notice. But you did. Something in your chest warmed up a bit and you shook it off. No, no. Not feelings. Don’t confuse your physical attraction, don’t feed your touch starved soul. No. You had to repeat to yourself a couple of times. You were just very, very tired.

“Brings good memories to me too. I love this book”. You figured it was alright to open up a little. The situation was relaxed enough. He wasn’t snarky or avoidant. He looked… melancholic. Sad, even. Like a facet of himself he didn’t allow everyone to see.

You connected with that. Maybe you could even relate to him in some way. For years, you had a feeling of something not adding up quite right. A longing for something you couldn’t exactly pin up. Melancholy for a blank space.

But there you were, barely knew him for three days yet felt close enough. Not too much. Just a feeling. Just the traces of something that maybe happened in another life. But in this one, you would get the mission done and leave. So don’t get attached, you ordered yourself.

“It’s a really good version”.

“Wish I could read it but I don’t know Old Norse”, you said slower than you intended. Loki chuckled at your tiredness. Maybe you could push your curiosity a little further. What was the damage? That he could just say ‘piss off’ or something like that? “What good memories does it bring to you?”.

He sighed and muttered almost to himself “I used to read it to my beloved”.

You almost gasped, surprised he actually answered you. You didn’t ask for more. It was already a lot he had just trusted you with. He told you he had a beloved. You didn’t even know he had a lover, but of course he had. He was nearly a thousand years old; why wouldn’t he? Did he lose that lover, in past tense?

Curiosity grew bigger on you, but fear pushed you aback. But the questions floated around in your head as a lullaby. Your head started to weigh a little more on the pillow and everything happened slightly slower. Loki closed the book and left it resting on his lap. He whispered “I feel you have questions”, and you denied it with your head. Your eyelids fell heavier than before.

“I’m mmnmnnhnm”, you managed to sort of say before getting knocked down by sleep. You heard his laughter, but nothing more after that.

[ibijau]

Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand. 

Funny things indeed.

-

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen. 

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions. 

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon. 

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before. 

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang. 

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice. 

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working. 

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I? 

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue. 

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him? 

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again. 

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure. 

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him. 

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long. 

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her. 

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

-

Meng Yao is very sure indeed. 

So Lan Xichen comes. 

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day. 

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?" 

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax. 

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were. 

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good. 

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more. 

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi. 

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily." 

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances. 

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

[liquidheartbeat]

She Didn’t Choose This Life: Flashback

Barry’s fork and knife clink loudly against his plate, as he scoots his chair backward, hands perched on his inflated abdomen. “God, I am stuffed,” he says, already regretting finishing off four T-bone steaks and all the rich, decadent sides that rounded off the meal. 

From across the table, the eyes of the woman responsible for his predicament widen, as she cuts into her barely-touched steak. “Oh, really?” Iris asks, chuckling.

“What?” Barry asks, tilting his body forward. 

“Well, we’ve been dating for almost a year and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you full. Like actually satiated.”

Barry chuckles as he nods, slight unease shooting through him. It’s a simple explanation, really, but he can’t tell her that being The Flash has increased his caloric requirements, because he hasn’t figured out how to tell her that he is the Flash.

And it’s not because he doesn’t want to, it’s because, everytime he scrounges up the courage, he finds out another unsavory secret about her lifestyle. 

When they first met, she’d introduced herself as an art buyer, but conveniently left out the part about also international money laundering. That discovery had come months later, in the dead of night, when she’d slipped out of the bedroom for a phone call with one of her partners but wasn't nearly as quiet as she’d thought.

Of course, that led him down a rabbit hole where he also found out about the tax fraud and other financial crimes that would put her away for life if she was ever caught. Crimes that, if committed by anyone else, he’d gladly help prosecute as a member of the police department. But she’s not anyone else, she’s Iris, the first woman he’s ever fallen completely, wholeheartedly in love with. 

And yes, her misdeeds probably should make him love her less, but his heart doesn’t abide by common sense. Even from across the table, as she hides a lifetime of secrets under her smile, he knows the same lips that lie to him about her whereabouts and the source of her wealth tell sweet truths to him in the middle of the night. About how much she loves him and needs him. 

The same hands that gleefully count dirty money, help massage away aches she doesn’t know the truth origins of at night. The same hands that consort with criminals bring his body to romantic peaks, over and over again. 

And the same eyes that stare into him before he leaves her apartment each morning, connect with his soul, and let him know her love is real. 

As real as his is. 

“Barr,” she says sweetly, as she dabs butter from the corner of her mouth. “Did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” He asks, snapped back to the present. 

“I said...I’m glad you enjoyed dinner, because it’ll probably be a few more months before I sweat out my hair to cook again,” she says as she stands to gather her half-empty plate and glass. 

Barry laughs, gathering his hands on the table as she walks over to the counter. “It’s a shame a cook as good as you hates it so much.”

Iris returns to the table, walking over to where he’s sat. “I don’t hate it, it’s just time consuming, and my jobs…”She pauses, playing off her flub with a smile, “I mean job ...is very demanding. Doesn’t leave much time to cook.”

Barry frowns, nodding slowly. Another lie, and an unnecessary one at that. But she doesn’t notice his disappointment as she gathers his empty plate and saucers. “If I wasn’t with you,” she continues as she walks his dishes to the sink,” I probably wouldn’t cook at all.”

His smile returns slowly -- a truth, however small, makes him feel special. “Oh, really?” 

“Pretty sure. But my man likes to eat,” she says with a smile as she turns towards him, “So I have to oblige him from time to time.”

“So you cook...just for me?”

“Duh.” As she nears him, she pushes her slightly frizzy hair behind her ears,.

“Well, what else are you willing to do just for me?” He asks, eyes sparkling with mischievous intent as she stands over him.

Iris rolls her eyes fondly. He’s so stinking cute, extra cute when he’s confident, but she doesn’t have time. Not tonight. 

After their dinner, she has another engagement with a potential business partner that could potentially double her income for the year. Of course, she can’t tell Barry that. He’s a sweet, by the book CSI, who definitely won’t take kindly to her extracurricular activities.  

Shaking her head fondly, she steps backward, but he catches her by the skin of her flowy cotton top and pulls her into his lap. “Barry,” she protests, but only for a moment because his hand shoots to the base of her head and guides her open mouth down towards him. 

For a skinny guy, he’s way stronger than his physical makeup should allow for. He effortlessly twists her legs around his waist, and pushes their bodies together. But she doesn’t question it. She embraces it, moaning harshly as he kneads her ass in his hands. 

They haven’t had sex in a few days, and not just because of her schedule. He works long -- sometimes odd -- hours. But she assumes it’s par for the course, for a CSI. And she’s this close to putting on a show for her kitchen appliances, especially as he slinks his fingers towards the seat of her cotton shorts, dipping one near her slit. But that little touch of pleasure snaps her back to reality. Dinner and a little makeout sesh is the only thing she can offer him tonight. 

“Barr,” she breathes, as she catches his hand. But he’s defiant as he curls his finger against her.“I can’t,” she whimpers. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I gotta...prepare for work tomorrow.”

He lets out a loud sigh, face wrinkling in dissatisfaction. It’s a look she's becoming increasingly familiar with, appearing any time she mentions work. 

It should strike her as odd, but doesn’t. “Oh, babe,” she says with a pout, as she runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t be mad, please.”

He sighs again. “I’m not mad. I’m…” Disappointed. Wish you would tell me the truth , “ he thinks, but he actually says: “Upset. You've been ‘working’ so much lately. And Friday nights are supposed to be our uninterrupted time.”

Iris pouts, hating when she disappoints him. Hating that she has to keep such a huge part of herself from him. Of all the men she’s ever dated, no one has ever made her feel as loved, as safe, as desirable as Barry Allen. 

And yet, she feels she doesn’t fully deserve the love he gives so easily. Love -- true love -- isn’t shrouded in secrecy and shadow lives. But what will he think of her if he finds out who she really is? 

Just cancelling an overnight date has him looking like she punctured his lungs, and she can barely stand it. Biting her lip, to quell the trembling, she brings her other hand up, and rests them on his shoulders. 

He’s so tight and fraught with tension, and her touch seems to intensify it. God, he’s really mad at her. She tilts her head, managing a soft smile as her hands move in tandem across his shoulder blade, increasing the pressure as she moves. His eyes flutter closed, defiantly, her hands attempting to squeeze the displeasure from his body. And then she leans down, pressing a soft kiss just underneath his earlobe. “I promise, I will make this up to you,” she says, softly, “Okay?”

She lifts her head up to meet his face, still rife with displeasure.

“When?”

“Tomorrow-- promise.” In actuality, she has another client meeting tomorrow, but it doesn’t have as much riding on it. And she can’t possibly stand to see Barry look at her like this twice in one week. So she’ll have to reschedule.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Iris smiles, and thumbs his chin, happy for the compromise. “Thank you, baby, for being so understanding. I’ll make it worth your while.”

"Any time with you is worth my while,” he says earnestly, his words nearly drawing tears to the surface of her eyes. 

But she sniffs, hoping to keep them at bay. She can’t close this deal if she’s an emotional mess. And then she smiles, offering him one last kiss for the night. 

Though the need in his return drags one kiss into four, five, and six kisses. At least until she manages to snap her neck backward and pry herself from his lap. 

As she stands, she fixes her clothes, which almost ended up in a pile on the floor. Her eyes catch the time on the clock and she realizes she has less than 25 minutes to get ready before her business meeting. 

“So,” she says, casually, “Do you want me to walk you down to the lobby?”

“No, that’s alright,” Barry says as he stands. “Unless you want me to beg you to change your mind in front of your neighbors.”

Iris laughs softly. “No, definitely not.”

Barry stills, taking in the sight of her. She projects an effortless beauty, even with no makeup, slightly frizzed hair and pajama shorts. He takes a step forward and leans down to kiss her on the cheek, knowing that if he aims for her lips, he might not be able to stop himself. 

And while he’s not happy she’s working on a Friday night, at least she’s cleared Saturday for them. She leans up into his kiss, softly palming his shoulders with her hands. When they part, she holds his gaze. 

Two beautiful, chestnut brown eyes looking up at him sweetly. “I love you,” she says softly. 

His response is effortless. “I love you too -- now, tomorrow. Forever and ever. 

She squeezes her hands together excitedly, and does a little sidestep. It’s an obvious attempt to make fun of his saccharine tone, but he doesn’t mind -- in fact, he welcomes it, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Anyway,” he says through a growing smile, “I’m going to head out, and let you handle your business.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Just please... be careful. I don’t know what I’ll do if  something happens to you.”

His words are weighted with hard truths she doesn’t yet know he knows, yet his tone still uneases her. “What could possibly happen?” She asks, feigning obliviousness. “I have like the safest job in the world.”

He sighs, loud and hard, but goes forward with her charade anyway. “By the time you return from the museum, it’ll probably be really late. Dangerous. You have to be careful.”

“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. Of course, he thinks she’s going to the museum. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

“You are going to the museum, right?”

She pauses, just long enough for him to prepare for the lie to come.

“Uhh...yeah.”

His brows furrow as he crosses his arms across his chest. “Are you sure?”

She forces out a laugh, hoping to quell his rising concern. Because if she doesn’t get him out of here now, her entire evening will fold. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” She smiles fluttering her eyelashes “Come on, honey. I gotta get ready.”

He takes a moment to contemplate whether or not to call out her obvious lie, but ultimately decides against it. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

She smiles wider. “Bright and early,” she says, as she glances at the clock, growing wearier of his presence. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans, out of options. “Bright and early…”  

************************

  Five minutes later, Barry swivels absentmindedly in his office chair, chewing on the dead skin of his thumb. Caitlin, who’s been watching his skittish display, glances over to Cisco, who pretends he doesn't notice her pleading gaze. Eventually, he sighs and begrudgingly casts down the chain of sour straws he’s snacking on, and scoots forward. 

“Dude. Just go talk to your girlfriend," he replies, voice filled with disdain. 

Barry shoots him a warning glance, in no mood to deal with his best friend's judgement over his choice of partner.  “Don’t.”

“Fine.” Cisco throws his hands up. “Then do...that...all night. But I’m going home.”

Barry sighs. When it comes to his relationship, talking to Cisco is like talking to a brick wall. He turns to Caitlin, hoping his other best friend can offer some advice.” Caitlin stews in silence a moment, carefully gathering her words. The things Barry uncovered about Iris are damning, and a stark contrast to the straight-laced businesswoman persona she presents outwardly. But she’s also seen the way Iris looks at him, those rare moments they all hang out, like he hung the moon just for her with his bare hands. 

Yet, still, she has to ask:  “Do you think she could be seeing someone else?” Her words are careful, knowing how touchy of a subject this is.

Barry huffs. Almost offensively. “No.” At least he hopes. “But she’s definitely still lying about her plans for tonight. Probably another dirty deal she doesn’t want me finding out about.”

Unable to resist, Cisco presses a hand into his chest. “Iris West? A LIAR?” He gasps.  “You don’t say.”

Barry shoots up from his chair, a second away from lunging at Cisco but Caitlin blocks him with her body. “Cisco. Please,” she scolds him backwards, gently pushing Barry in the chest.

That seems to calm him, as he flops back into his seat with a sigh. But Cisco pushes forward.

“Cool it, Cait. Alright. I’m not the one who’s leading on our best friend -- she is.”

“She’s not leading me on!” Barry yells, scooting to the edge of the chair. “She’s just…”

“...Not just an art dealer,  apparently, not in good standing with the IRS -- or at least she won’t be--and in no danger of becoming a Girl Scout troop leader. Or a nun either,” Cisco retorts.

Barry shrugs, unphased by his recounting of events. “So she’s not perfect. But I have my own secrets. “

“Yeah. You’re the Flash, but, she's a criminal, who lies to you constantly. About what she does, where she goes. How many times, since you found out, have you had to save her from the trouble she’s gotten into?”

Barry sighs; he’s almost lost count of the number of times Flash has scooped Iris from the pits of danger, during a business deal gone bad. Shadowy figures, unrelated to her business dealings, looming in dark alleys after she’s left some abandoned building, scorned men whose pockets she’d bled dry, but who couldn't pursue legal action due to their own dirty dealings, who took things into their own hand. 

One by one, he’d laid out anyone who crossed her path and had the audacity to even breathe at her wrong, which all amounted to silent acknowledgement between her and Flash. Because she damn sure hadn’t told him -- Barry Allen -- about these chance meetings. 

Another reason he had to be cautious around her. She held her cards too close to her chest. 

Cisco takes in a sharp breath. “I just want better for you man. You deserve someone who doesn’t lie to you.”

Barry holds Cisco’s gaze. “She might be a liar, but when she tells me she loves me, it’s not a lie. And because of that, I can’t just throw away our relationship -- we can get past this. I know it.”

Cisco rolls his eyes and twirls his hair round and round his finger. “Whatever.”

Caitlin, who’s grown tired of Cisco’s negativity, faces him. “If you’re not going to offer Barry any understanding, you should probably excuse yourself.”

“Fine,” he says as he shoots up, “’I‘ll go.” But when Barry finds out something else about Iris that he can't handle, I can’t be the person he vents to anymore. ” He pauses and turns towards his friend, who’s struggling to bite his tongue. “It hurts to see you like this, man.”

With that, Cisco makes his exit, leaving just Barry and Caitlin in the room. Awkward silence fills the space he leaves, as those little stubborn nuggets of rationale, in between Cisco’s snark, tries to penetrate his brain. 

Slowly he looks up at Caitlin, a fervent lea in his eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

“I think you and Iris need to have a talk. A long talk, about what you know about her. How dangerous this game she’s playing is. But most importantly, what you need from her, going forward if you’re going to work, romantically. Which I imagine is total transparency.”

Barry nods slowly, taking in her advice. These are things he already knows he’ll eventually have to do, but he still still isn’t ready, He doesn’t know how Iris will take him knowing the truth about her, and he’s not ready to deal with any potential fallout.  “You're right,” he says, the only answer he can scrounge up. “I wish you weren't, but you are.”

Caitlin tilts her head sympathetically, unspoken words fighting to be free. 

“What?” “

  “You….also... need to tell her you’re the Flash. I know, you have reservations. But if you’re willing to stay with her, through all she’s doing, she deserves to know who you are as well.”

Barry sighs, letting his head fall into his hands. There’s a universe of lies between them, and he worries their relationship is too new to handle such added weight. But he can’t continue to live like this, and can’t let her continue to live like this. They’re either going to be together, without secrets, or...He pauses, unable to let the rest of the sentence form in his head, then shoots up. “Okay. I’m going,”  he says, finally. “I’m going to go talk to her.”

“Goo-,” Caitlin starts, but he’s gone in a flash of lightning, before she can finish her statement.

  ************************

Iris steps out of her bathroom, with barely a minute to spare before Randolf Helming, the owner of the Helming Hotel chain arrives. He’s looking to cut his tax bill in half, by funneling some of his cash into a few high end art pieces, and he thinks Iris can assist him. What he doesn’t know is that the pieces she’s going to sell him are forgeries that only 1/10 art experts can spot. So she’ll pocket his commission for her time and also the value of the real paintings she’ll sell again to an unsuspecting schulub, later in the year.

Probably to some secluded older gentlemen, who buys art for social prestige, thousands of miles away in Prague or Berlin.

A hefty journey to travel, but a necessary trip if she’s going to do better at covering her tracks. Over the past few months, some of her old dealings have started to catch up to her, and she’s had more than her fair share of brush ups. 

Oddly, though also fortunately, enough, she was saved each time by Central City’s guardian angel: The Flash. Though, at this point, it almost felt like he was her own personal angel, always seeming to be in the right place when she was in the wrong place.

She’d think it strange if not for the multitudes of people he saves everyday. 

As she makes her way into the living room, she takes one last look at her appearance in the big mirror hanging over her fireplace. Her previously frizzed hair has been tamed into a low pony-tail, and her face has been painted with a light dusting of makeup. But it’s her attire, a chic red, high-waisted skirt and black fitted blazer blazer that's sure to wow any potential business partner. 

A knock at the door pulls Iris away from her thoughts. She pulls at her skirt, not wanting to give Randolf the wrong idea -- she might be dressed to the nines, but this is not a romantic engagement; she has to work to do-- then waltzes over to the door. 

“Mr. Helming “ Iris says warmly, as she opens the door. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

The silver haired man, who hovers around around 5’10 and is dressed in a light gray suit, lets his eyes travel unabashedly down Iris’s body before he greets her. “It is my pleasure, Ms. West.”

He takes a huge step into the apartment, nearly brushing his body against hers. Uncomfortable with the closeness, Iris steps backward, letting out a nervous chuckle. She doesn’t usually entertain her clients -- legitimate or otherwise -- in her home, but she figures that someone as high profile as Mr. Helming has too much to lose to act out of turn.

Still, the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention as her attempt to create distance does nothing to soften his gaze. “Well,” she says, running her hand over her hair, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

“Oh, yes,” he mimics, seemingly remembering the reason for his visit. “Business. Lets.”

Iris smiles politely and steps aside to give him ample room to enter further. He strides past her, and heads for the couch, taking in the sight of her place as he walks. “Wow. The art world has treated you quite, well, huh?”

Returning from closing the door, Iris walks over, proudly. “Yeah, I guess you can say that."

At the couch, Randolph takes a seat in the middle of her cream colored sofa, and spreads both arms across the back. Iris, who was gearing up to take a seat next to him, pivots and takes a seat in the black recliner sitting adjacent to the couch. 

He frowns and scoots his body towards the end nearest to the chair, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.  

“So. I hear you’re trying to lessen your tax burden,” Iris says, diving straight into business."

“Yeah.” He crosses one leg over the other. “My hotels are doing well. But as it goes, I owe the government 10s of millions this year in taxes and so I need a tax write off. And a big one.”

Iris smiles. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. I just so happen to have a direct connection to the Murdock Estate, who handles affairs for the late oil painter, M.N. Murdoch. They’re looking to unload a couple of pieces for the right buyer.”

“And when you say right…”

“Well, aside from the assets to afford the seven figure price tag, they’re deadset on selling it to an astute businessman -- someone who understands the value of fine art.” But who can’t tell a forgery from a real pieces.

He nods, pleased with her response. “Well, let’s see these paintings.”

Iris pulls her phone from her pocket, and opens up the PGN files of the paintings, still on display at the Central City Art Museum and hands it over to Mr. Helming. He takes the phone, finger sliding haphazardly across the screen, sending him back to her home screen. 

“Oops,” he chuckles.  I clicked off of the screen. Can you fix it?”

“Of course.” Iris reaches for the phone. As he releases it, his fingers graze over hers, sending a wicked chill through her. 

His skin is somehow cool, yet sweaty at the same time. Iris draws her fingers in awkwardly as she retrieves the phone and reset the screen. From the corner of her eyes, she sees him wipe his palms on his pants leg. Her return is smoother; managing to hand over the phone without making skin to skin contact. 

Randolf takes a moment to look over the pieces, genuine contemplation painting his face. His concentration on the task at hand eases her growing anxiety a tad, though the silence that settles over the room still tickles her nerves.

She glances over to the table, where the unfinished bottle of wine she and Barry had for dinner sits, and her mouth nearly waters for a glass. But she doesn’t drink while doing business -- at least not this kind.

When she looks back over to Randolf, he’s done with her phone and also eyeing the wine. “I could go for a glass, myself,” he says over a prickly laugh. 

Iris opens her mouth to respond, then realizing no words are coming out, pushes out a choked response. “Right.  Of course. Is Merlot okay?”

He nods. “That’s just fine. Though, if you have something a little stronger, I wouldn't object.”

"No,” she says quickly. “Just the Merlot -- I’m not much of a drinker.” She stands and smoothes down her skirt, and walks across her living room, towards the kitchen. 

Iris had already cleaned up from dinner, so she goes to the cabinet to retrieve two wine glasses. Even though she doesn't drink on the job, she has to at least pretend to indulge him if she wants to close the deal. 

Glasses in hand, she turns for the island and lets out a loud shriek when she notices Randolf is standing just feet away, at the other side. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you walk over,” she quickly offers towards his slightly offended expression. 

“Oh.” He relaxes some. “I am quite light on my feet -- blame my wife.”

Iris quirks a curious brow. “Your wife?”

“Ballroom dancing,” he says, settling his weight over the island. “She makes us go once a week. On my one off day too.” 

She smiles politely. “That is very sweet. I’m sure you two have a lot of fun.” Feeling more comfortable at the mention of his wife, Iris walks past him towards the table where the wine is sitting. 

His shoes scuff her floor as he turns, a sound that easily penetrates her eardrums. Iris turns just in time to see his outstretched arm, reaching for her. She  pulls away right before he lands and steps backward. He presses forward, trapping her between him and the table. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, now on high alert. 

He sighs harshly, his body drooping from the aggravation as his face contorts into a frown. “Oh come on; surely, you know how this works, Iris.”

“How what works?”

“I could get art from any buyers in the city. Men much more accomplished than you. If I came to you, it’s because of an added incentive.”

“Which is?” 

“ You.” He tries to press his body into hers, but Iris pushes him in the chest. He stumbles, but only barely, as Iris rushes to the other side of the table, grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine as a weapon.  “Get out. NOW,” she commands voice loud and firm. 

Much firmer than her nerves on the inside. There’s no way she can overpower him, physically. And this high up, no one will hear her screams from her penthouse. 

“Or what?” He asks, casually rounding the table, completely unphased. 

“Or I will bash your fucking skull in.”

She raises the bottle higher, hoping to appear more threatening. He chuckles, nearly spits at her attempt. “Oh, you’re not going to hit me. Not if you want to keep doing business in this town. Remember, I have a lot of rich friends. One word from me, and you’re toast.”

“Excuse me?” She asks, overcome with offense at his audacity. 

 “You heard me!” Randolf yells as thrusts himself towards her, and tackles her to the ground.  

The bottle of wine falls from her hand, shattering into a million pieces on the floor around them. He tries to kiss her and Iris squirms underneath him, fighting to free from his grip, shards of glass digging into her exposed flesh. She yells, the stinging pain piercing all her nerves.

 “Shut up!” He yells, wedging his leg between hers as he plants a firm hand round her neck. 

Iris freezes, pinned in place, chest heaving up and down as his tar-black eyes singe a hole through her.

“There.” His smile is dark and haunting. “This isn’t so bad is it?” 

Unwilling to let the last sight of her be a disheveled, powerless woman, Iris spits clean on his face. His hand shoots to the spot in disbelief, face as red as the blood trickling from the wounds on her leg, “Oh, you’ve done it now!” He yells, drawing his hand backward.  Iris presses her eyes shut, preparing for the blow. But where she should feel stinging pain, possibly a broken nose, she only feels a gust of wind and the relief of Randolf’s body no longer being on top of hers. 

The crash that follows is deafening as the force propels Randolf into her walls. And that’s when she sees a red blur, wrapped up in blazing lightning, delivering the final blow that knocks Randolf clean out. 

His limp body falls to the floor, his skull cracking against the luxury vinyl tile that covers her kitchen floors. The masked hero, who she now registers as The Flash, comes into focus. She watches him watch look over Randolf's unmoving body, making no effort to check on him.

Iris uses her depleted strength to stumble upward, grunting as fresh shards of glass pierce her hands. She lets out a guttural cry, nearly tumbling over from the pain. 

From the shock. From the devastation. 

He runs over and catches her, letting her body crash into his soft, open arms. She can’t even scrounge up the energy to wonder how or why The Flash has yet again saved her from herself. She’s completely overwhelmed at the fact that this night couldn't have ended so much worse.

And then come the tears, a ravenous stream down her face. Iris presses her hand into face, to block the sight of her 

“Oh, God. Are you bleeding?” Asks the masked man in panicked frenzy, though his voice unmasks him immediately.

Slowly, Iris raises her head, every odd encounter with the Flash she’s had over the past few months settling into place like a finally-finished puzzle. All the she time she almost met her demise, but didn't. 

He looks at her, fear coursing, over the lingering anger in his eyes, but that voice is unmistakable. It’s the same voice that awkwardly asked her out nearly a year ago, and grew giddy when she agreed. The same voice that’s crooned sweet “I love you’s” in her ear since that first night he nervously admitted it, over frozen yogurt.

“B-” Her throat is dry and ragged. “Barry?” She pushes out. 

With a sigh, he tears his cowl off, revealing fully the face of the man she loves more than she knew was possible. His cheeks are bloodshot red, his eyes puffy, and glossy, a clear sign his own tears will soon spill forth. 

“Oh, Iris,” he groans, sweeping her up into his arms. 

Now knowing this masked hero is the man she loves, has been the man she loves, she melts further into his chest, every bit of hesitation to maintain an air of control falling away. She cries, shamelessly, unabashedly, into his chest as he rocks her. 

She has a thousand questions, and knows he does too, but she can’t scrounge up a single one, only caring that he’s here now. That he’s saved her. Again. 

As Iris goes silent, Barry’s mind races a thousand miles a minute. He’d taken Caitlin’s advice and headed here to talk to her about her lies, never imagining the scene he’d walk in on. He can’t think straight, can’t even worry about his former objective, he’s only grateful that he got here in time before…

“Fuck!” Yells. Iris jumps against his chest, but he’s unperturbed. “You could’ve. He could’ve…” He continues, trying to push past the ugliness these sentences conjures in his brain, but the defeated shame on her face stops him. 

He kisses her cheek, and stands, lifting her in his arms, bridal style, though the apartment is devoid of the the joy of a burgeoning marriage. The air is heavy, as heavy as both their hearts, as her body in his arms. Yet he soldiers on, through the resistance. When he arrives at her bedroom, he kicks the door open with one foot and carries her over to the bed, covered in the black, floral comforter he’d bought her as a gift early in their relationship. 

Before he knew of the lies and deceit.

As her raw skin makes contact with the bed, she hisses in discomfort. “I’m sorry!” he’s quick to say, swiping a comforting hand over her head. 

“It’s okay, Barr,” she croaks Her voice is thin, barely meeting the air. She's afraid to bring up the obvious, knowing now that the sweet, gentle man she’s been getting to know over the last year is The Flash. A masked hero, a force of nature, keeping the city from descending into anarchy. But she has to express her gratitude somehow. “Thank you.”

He swipes a gentle hand down the side of her face, lingering on her beauty, then leans down, planting a soft kiss on the side of her face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, as her straightens his posture. “Now, I’ll be back.” He turns away from her and heads to the bedroom door. 

Iris sits up on the bed. “Where are you going?” 

“To see if that asshole is still breathing. Hopefully, he’s not. But if he is, I have to drop him off at Iron Heights.”

His response is dry, matter-of-fact, and it sends a tingle down her spine. “But. You can’t. He’ll talk.”

“It’s okay.” Barry continues to walk away from her. “He didn’t see my face.”

“But. Still. I don’t think jail is the right path for him.”

She isn’t saying what she wants, and he knows it. But he’s too amped up to care. “So I’m supposed to let the man who almost raped my girlfriend go free?! Is that what you want?”

“No. I…”she sighs, long and hard. “I just…”

He turns, the painful implication settling inside of him. Even after all of this, she’s worried about her dirty business deals. “What? You’re worried that the police will find out what you’ve really been doing all this time? How can you afford to live like this?” He motions around the apartment. 

Iris gulps, the judgement in his tone hurting more than the gashes on her legs. 

“Well, newsflash: the police -- me, I -- know, and have known for months. And what you’re doing, honestly? You deserve to be in jail.”

“Well why didn’t you say anything?” She croaks. “Why haven’t you turned me in?”

He chuckles, offensively. “Because...I love you more than your mistakes. And I was trying to give you time to either stop this or be honest with me.” He shrugs, painfully. “Guess it’s too late for that.”

“Barr, I’m sorry. I--.” She sighs, letting her head fall forward in shame. “ I’m sorry.”

Barry sighs. “Yeah. Me too.” He casts one final look of disappointment over her, one that softens ever so slightly when she raises her head and he meets her sad, concerned eyes. “Look, we can talk about all of this later. All that matters right now is that you're safe."

Iris nods meekly.

"I’ll be back in a sec to help clean you up,” he says, before flashing away, leaving her alone in the room....

[wastelandcth]

Pierre - cth

part of love songs for calum, a series

summary: so i found me a lover who can play the bass

author’s notes: i obviously had to choose this song for this series, how could i not? 

warnings: mentions of drinking. 

masterlist || request

You liked to think of yourself as adventurous. The days spent in the desert terrains and lost in the cities brought back memories of love and happiness. You liked to think that you were adventurous and that you never thought twice about something because if you didn't try, you wouldn't know. Many nights out consisted of drinking and dancing the night away, only to wake up next to a stranger whose name you'd forget by the time you got back to your hotel that afternoon. 

That was until you met Calum. 

It had started out like a typical hookup, one too many drinks shared between the both of you as you listened to him talking with the rest of the people he'd come to the bar with. You were just overjoyed to have found more people who spoke the same language as you did, the more alcohol in your system the less you remembered French. So as the night when on and the drinks kept flowing, you found yourself stuck to Calum's side while you tried to listen to him over the loud music. 

"Do you want to head out?"

Usually, whenever someone would ask you, you would be more than happy to follow the person who'd been buying you drinks all night home. But with Calum, it had been different. You'd almost convinced yourself to say no to him before his hand found yours and gave it a reassuring squeeze, the soft smile on his face waiting for an answer. 

"We can try and find something good to eat. Not sure what could be open right now," he said over the loud music, his warm breath on your ear sending shivers down your spine. 

"Yeah, okay." you smiled and with that, you found yourself walking out of the club hand in hand, a bubbly feeling forming in your stomach. 

Most nights out on your adventures were spent getting tangled up in a bed, with soft moans and sloppy kisses. Most nights were spent with a stranger who you knew you'd never see again and leaving before the sun even peaked through the horizon. They were rushed movements and clothes falling onto the floor, both you and the person you were with racing to reach whatever high you needed from one another. Most nights like this didn't involve someone like Calum. 

He'd been quiet for most of the night, watching you from afar as you made conversation with a few of the people in his friend group. It wasn't until he'd had a few drinks in him that you heard him speak up and ask you if you wanted another drink yourself. From then on you two had chatted the night away, talking about why you were both in France and what the next couple of days held for you. You'd blushed as you saw watched the way his smile grew when you told him all about your flight to the city and how customs had been eventful. And when he told you about the show they'd played a few hours ago, you saw how passionate he was for the career he had. 

Even after you'd both left the club and made your way to the streets of Paris, things were different. There was no rush to get back to a hotel room, no rush to find each other in the darkness. It was the opposite, it was lingering touches and soft voices spoken into the lit-up city streets. It was laughing at silly jokes and trying to impress him with the minimal knowledge of the French language to order fries from a stand. Even as the sky lightened up and the sun threatened to peek up from the horizon, you and Calum found yourself in no rush to head back. It wasn't until your feet were both too tired to keep walking through the cobblestone streets that you found yourselves in a car to an address you'd forced yourself to memorize since you'd landed in Paris. 

Sunlight was bleeding in from behind the curtains of your room by the time you and Calum had stumbled in. You'd both shed your clothes in slow steps, a shoe by the door, a jacket near the bathroom, and even as you managed to lay under the covers with the soft fabric of his shirt covering you things felt different. You didn't feel the nerves you usually felt when someone came to your hotel room, the pressure to find pleasure in a stranger. Calum seemed to sense whatever it was that you were feeling, his tired smile and eyes finding yours as he laid back on the bed, a gentle kiss finding its way onto your forehead.

"Get some sleep."

Paris had been magical. It had been a short trip, something you'd regretted even now as you watched the cloud pass under you. It had been a city full of history and art you'd never imagined yourself seeing in real life. It was late-night walks in the park watching the twinkling lights of a tower so well known. But it was also the city where you'd met Calum. Where the bass player had snuck his way into your thoughts and where his warm hand had warmed yours in the chilly afternoons. 

Paris had been filled with days spent seeing the wonders it had to offer with him, both of your eyes shining as you took in the sights and smells of amazing food and wonderful scenery. It was evenings spent eating fancy cheese and laughing over flubbed French words. Paris was nights spent awake in each other's arms, whispering about moments in life when you'd both realized how amazing it was to be there next to one another. It was early mornings where you'd both be lost in one another, sharing soft kisses under soft covers that hid you both away from the world. Paris was the place where you found Calum and where you had left him with your heart and a promise of seeing him soon. 

"I'm glad I found you, you know that? Glad I took those two shots before I walked over to talk to you. I might've chickened out if I hadn't taken those." he'd whispered on your last night, his chest rising and falling as the curls you'd been tugging on a few minutes before stuck to his forehead. 

"Mmm, me too. Glad you came over to talk to me. Wanted to hear your accent." you whispered and smiled, pressing a soft kiss on to the warmth of his skin. 

Home felt different. It felt like there was a piece of you missing as you returned to your daily routine. The sunny days didn't seem so bright and the iced coffees weren't as sweet. The only constant in your routine had been the text messages, and even then, they weren't always on time. Sometimes they'd pop up on your phone late at night as you got ready for bed, a silly picture from the bunk. Other times, they'd pop up in the early hours of the morning while you were asleep and you wouldn't answer until much later, whenever Calum had drifted off to his own dreams. 

Sometimes at night, you could still feel his arms around you, could feel the way he'd pulled you closer in the middle of the night and mumbled something you couldn't quite catch. It helped on the nights when you'd watched him drift off on a video call while you were typing away at your computer while trying to work. It was nice to feel like the piece of you that you'd left in Paris was still somehow close enough that you could feel him, still hear the words he'd whispered into the air as you'd both laid there the night before you left. 

"What happens tomorrow?" he asked quietly, his eyes meeting yours, "What happens when you board that plane?" 

You'd been thinking about it too. What would happen when the keys to your room were no longer in your bag and the air of Paris no longer in your lungs? What would happen to you and Calum when the city of love was far from you and he was back on a tour bus? 

"I don't know." you mumbled, "I don't think I could ever forget about this, about you." 

"Neither could I." 

And when he came back to you a few weeks later, you knew it had nothing to do with Paris, but the boy who could play the bass with the quiet eyes and soft lips who'd made your trip magical. 

taglist: @hoodhoran​​ @finelliine​​ @moonlightcriess​​ @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver​ @calpops​ @karajaynetoday​ @notlukehemmo​ @calumrose​ @devilatmydoor​ @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop​  @stollls @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​ @myloverboyash​

[goddamnitdazai]

Little Promises {S&S} | Chuuya

Part of the Salt & Sugar Series | N.SFW | 5K words [9:30] Chuu <3: I’m going to be a little late baby. Order that bottle of wine for us? Rarely did a date start off without one of those texts from Chuuya. He made reservations in the ‘earlier’ (according to mafia time) hours of the night to avoid a situation like this. In what he called the ‘perfect sweet spot’ between him getting off normal work hours and before having to deal with anything that would come up later in the evening as most of the real mafia business did. Lately, more attacks have been occurring directly against the Port Mafia rather than an assault against Yokohama. Nothing that the Black Lizard couldn't handle but Chuuya wasn’t one to sit out of a good fight. He’d gone with Hirotsu to go handle..something, someone most likely, but assured you he’d be finished in time for dinner.

Five or ten minutes wasn’t a big deal. Annoying, yes. But you knew what you signed up for. Being with Chuuya made the irritation worthwhile. Just his smile was enough to erode any negative feelings weighing on you from the day. Sighing quietly you order a bottle of his favorite wine and watch the stars twinkle through the glass. The restaurant itself was gorgeous. Brand new on the eightieth floor with a deck spread out around the entire outside. Chuuya was able to get a table in a heartbeat. The best one in the restaurant. Secluded right next to an expansive window showcasing Yokohama’s glittering amber skyline. Your reflection stares back at you in the window, restless fingers tapping on the newly filled glass of wine. Waiting. [9:45] Chuu <3: On my way back to the office, Boss needs something. Wait for me at the bar? We can sit outside instead. For a man who couldn’t hold that much liquor the wine Chuuya liked was strong. Your head was already buzzing even with the bits of spicy edamame you’d popped in your mouth as a distraction. Your posture deflates further when you read the text flashing on your screen. Deep scarlet liquid sloshes in the glass before passing through your lips to etch a burning pathway down your throat. The dress Chuuya had bought you fit perfectly against your curves. Silk. Red--his color.  A sign you were his. The diamond choker he bought for your birthday suddenly feels too tight around your neck. You hated eating alone. [10:15] Chuu <3: Shit, I’m sorry baby Boss needs me to go take care of something. I’m really sorry, I’ll try to make it quick. Half the bottle churns with a sickly heat in the base of your belly. His chair was still empty. You whip your phone from it’s idled place on the table and tap out a response. [10:17] Chuuya? It’s been over an hour. Where are you? [10:45] You’re not coming are you? [10:50] I charged a bottle of wine to your card. I’m going home. Your shoes land somewhere in your apartment with a loud thump. Keys are next missing the wooden end table meant for them and your purse. Fuck, you were slightly more drunk than you realized. Overpowering vehemention towards the man supposed to be treating you to a nice dinner was the only reason you hadn’t stumbled out of the cab. If you had any type of superhuman strength your heels would have stomped four inch holes into the pavement. Your hand clumsily fumbles for the light switch as you make your way into your apartment muttering curses on Chuuya’s name the entire walk from your door to the kitchen. Compared to Chuuya’s two story penthouse your place was small but cozy. More decorated and homey-- Chuuya liked that about it, he said. Most of his walls were barren except a few pieces of expensive art he purchased on a whim. Chuuya preferred sleeping here over going home when he was out working late and you were already beneath the covers. Coming home to his lover was a treat sweeter than wine according to him. Your shoulders slump. It had been a few weeks since Chuuya had taken you on an actual date. Executives didn’t exactly have frequent pockets of unoccupied time. Leisure was more of a luxury to Chuuya than the most expensive wine in his collection. But, at least in the past few months, he’d been trying to spend more time with you the way a normal couple would. However his promises were falling shorter than you anticipated and at a much higher frequency than expected. There was nothing normal about your situation.. but god damn having a nice dinner with your boyfriend maybe once a month didn’t sound unreasonable. You drag your hand down your face and trudge to the fridge flinging the door open unceremoniously. There wasn’t much in here other than the few healthy snacks Chuuya left.  Your diet mainly consisted of take out or to-go meals from the convenient store down the street. Chuuya hated it and usually preferred places that offered healthy meals, but the man rarely got home before ten at night and was exhausted the moment he crossed the threshold. Hence the dinner date. Your frown deepens. At some point you’d grabbed a water bottle but you weren’t even in the mood to open it. The fridge shuts with a harsh echoing click as you spin on your heel and head towards your bedroom. Between steps your bra ends up on the standing lamp and the matching panties get lost in the shadows. It took an hour to pick out that lingerie. Chuuya tore everything in his haste unless it was something he wanted to see you in more than once--he would have loved that little set. “Fucking asshole.” You snap to the empty bedroom, falling face first into the mess of pillows and blankets. It smelled like him. Unintentionally you inhale deeply cherishing the familiar scent of his shampoo and cologne mingling together. His lingering warmth contrasted the cold emptiness of the bedroom for a few moments bringing a comforting elation, and then the realization that you were in fact without him knocked you right back down. Chuuya was a workaholic. You knew that from the beginning. Working parallel with him exposed his dedication within the first week. A tiny bit of you (that was beginning to grow larger) had begun to truly resent Chuuya’s workaholic tendencies. The Port Mafia was important to him, you got that, but..weren’t you important too? You flip on your side to stop your head from spinning in rapid circles. The wine wasn’t sitting well on an empty stomach but at this point you were too tired and upset to get up and eat. Nothing sounded good anyway. Chuuya’s shirt you often slept in felt like a weight in your hand. “Fucker.” You hiss, throwing it onto the small chair in the corner of your bedroom. Fine. If you weren’t important enough to have fucking dinner with then you wouldn’t bother texting him again. This was pathetic. You try to focus on the wobbling lights of the city through your bedroom window. Gold and neon flecks blur like water droplets against a deep navy sky. A heavy melancholic silence fills up the apartment. Between the wine sloshing in your stomach and the pounding of your head sleep would most likely evade you tonight. Welled up vexation had suddenly melted to pure sorrow, choking you quietly as you lay curled up in the blankets. Finally, little sobs part your lips bringing a few tears in tow. This was stupid, it was just dinner. Chuuya didn’t do it on purpose but why the hell did it feel like a knife twisting in your heart? “Fucker..” you repeat, squeezing your eyes shut forcefully. You’d deal with it tomorrow. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ At some point you’d passed out holding Chuuya’s pillow tightly in your arms. Unfortunately the thing to awaken you wasn’t the gentle kiss of sunrise or your lover’s tight embrace. The wine you’d downed had resurrected with a vengeance that had you sprinting to the bathroom. From the darkness still drenching the apartment morning hadn’t come quite yet. Your stomach heaves all the contents in a burning violent wrench that barely makes it into the toilet bowl. There’d be bruises from how hard your knees hit the tile but at least it caught all the mess. “Sh-shit..ow.” You mutter, spitting the rest out before wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper. “______?” Chuuya’s voice resonates from the living room. “_____? I’m really sorry. Baby...I’ll make it up to you..” Chuuya speaks softly, almost deflated. His voice hits you like a ton of bricks. A miniscule burst of energy helps you stand with aid from the sink at your side. The sudden rush of blood sends your head sloshing in a circle again nearly pushing you back down to the floor. With a deep inhale you force yourself to stand straight again and splash water on your face before looking up at the mirror. Make-up, it had smeared all down your cheeks and beneath your eyes from crying and rubbing against the pillow. You groan at your appearance and grab the mouth wash. Chuuya’s ears perk. “Baby? You okay?” His footsteps are light and quick until they reach the bathroom. “Baby! Are you alright!?” He’s at your side in an instant wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you to face him. “Don’t---” You press your hand to your forehead, “dizzy. Wine.” You mumble leaning back against the sink. Chuuya’s expression changes from worry to soft concern melded with guilt. His hands steady you with a gentle grip, coaxing you forward with unnecessary slowness (though it was appreciated by your stomach and head). All the crying had caused your eyes to swell enough that the details of the apartment, especially in the dark, were hard to see. If Chuuya hadn’t been guiding you back to your bedroom there’s a good chance you would have ended up face first on the floor. “____…” the guilt in his voice just made you feel worse. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, gentle ungloved fingers reaching for a tissue from the box on your night stand. Your vision was, at the least, bleary but the striking sunset tendrils framing his face stood out beautifully against the low light coming from the bathroom. “Hold on..” Chuuya murmurs, rising to his feet in quick steps. You sit in silence sniffling a bit and trying to keep the bile in your throat. Your eyes flutter shut to keep the light out. The blankets beneath you had bunched uncomfortably at the edge of the bed leaving you lopsided from sitting in the center of the mattress. Any attempt to shift could send whatever was left in your stomach flying, so you wait. Something creaks. Floorboards, then the mattress. Chuuya’s touches are two steps above gentle. Whatever it is, it’s cold. Something soft and cold in his hand over your eyes. It takes a few seconds for it to register. He’s cleaning the smudged make up off your face. Acts like this were the reason it was so hard to stay mad at the man. His gestures were sweet and honest. Showing you love in the only ways he really knew how to. Physical touch, gifts and sweet words after being gone for too long or bailing last minute. Your throat clenches as your fingers grip the loose sheets by your thighs. “Baby, I’m sorry.” Chuuya says it again. Your teeth cinch the inside of your lip. “You promised.” Chuuya’s shoulders sag but his hands keep working the smudged mascara off your face. His other hand nimbly massages the back of your neck finding the pressure point to relieve your headache. “I know.” What else could he say? “I don’t have a different excuse. Boss needed me. It was important. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. We can have dinner tomorrow or another night. I swear.” Chuuya tries to coax your eyes open with a soft rub of his thumb on your cheekbone. He knew all your spots and that’s what made it hurt the most. “But you promised.” You repeat, almost childlike in the inflection of your voice, but your eyes open. Immediately you’re mesmerized by the expression change on his features. Chuuya, when overcome with too much, tended to drop his head in defeat allowing his bangs to hide him from the shame he felt. Your fingers on his chin keep him from succeeding. “It’s…” you swallow the dry lump in your throat, “I need to be as important too. I’m not asking you to drop whatever Boss has you do when I want attention and I know you’re going to have to leave sometimes when shit comes up unexpectedly... but fuck...you need to give me something.  Anything.” You set your hand timidly on his. “Unless the fucking world is collapsing...I need a promise I know you’re going to keep, Chuuya.” His eyes widen a bit, soft blue glimmering and reflecting bits of your distorted face in their tides. Chuuya stays silent for a moment but moves closer on the bed shifting you carefully until you’re on his lap, legs draped over either side of his thighs. His arms come around your waist (where they belong) to pull your torso flush with his. The hum of his ability tickles your skin as he leans himself back until his head hits the pillow. “Give me a little time to come up with something?” He finally breaks the silence. Hope diminishes and the swelling in your chest grows into a thick knot. “Okay.” You reply against his neck. There wasn’t a chance in hell Chuuya didn’t catch the desolation in your tone, but he says nothing. His fingers begin to detangle your messy hair in feather-soft strokes. Chuuya tended to melt into you without trying. Curl up around you keeping you comfortable enough to fall asleep in any environment. This position draws your face to the crook of his neck magnetically. A place molded to fit your head perfectly. Often, it was the only place that properly hid you from your thoughts and exhaustion when the world became too much at once. You inhale; his skin pebbles. He always smelled like sea salt and vanilla. He swears he puts cologne on but after working so much his natural scent clings to his skin and it’s much more intoxicating. His left hand slithers up and down your back drawing nonsensical patterns in your skin. Down your shoulder to the valley both blades create, following your spine lazily, methodically.  His dexterous fingers spread open to reach the skin that encases your rib cage touching light enough it’s almost a tease. Chuuya’s gestures come from the depths of his emotions that so often tumble beneath the surface. Trained in the art of persuasion and deception he’s better at hiding what he’s thinking than he lets on. It’s all a matter of if he cares enough to do so or not. You tangle your legs together with his, thankful you’d forgone wearing anything to bed. Summer heat tended to creep into your bedroom despite the air conditioning, and the man beside you could melt chocolate with his touch. With Chuuya's skin constantly overheating (Arahabaki in the shadows) it was surprising his layers didn’t bother him. On cold winter mornings it was magnificent against your chilled face. In the summer he’d laze about in only his underwear with the air conditioning blowing, keeping you just cold enough to need the warmth from his skin. (He claims it’s not on purpose but you like to think it is).  Heat had begun to spread the moment he pressed you up against him and held you like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. Right now the little crook beneath his ear that curved down his neck forming a broad muscular shoulder happened to be the perfect temperature to soothe your headache. Chuuya cuddles you closer when he notices the tension dissipating. His head turns slightly to rest against your forehead, the soft ghost of his breath trails over the shell of your ear each time he exhales.  Whatever alcohol remained in your system had slowly begun to recede with Chuuya’s presence. Falling asleep rather than passing out cold seemed to aid in the depletion of your headache, and truthfully, being with him cured every part of you. Scientifically correct or not--it always worked even when you were pissed at him. Chuuya’s chest softly begins to vibrate as your eyes flutter shut. A gentle tempo that remains tranquil but familiar.. Chuuya’s humming finally settles the ball of nerves tied up in your stomach. The last remaining irritation of the night quietly begins to melt away at the edges leaving your heart frayed and tender. Pure exhaustion was overpowering your will to stay awake and wait for Chuuya’s answer. Against your own command your eyelids droop and soak your environment in black. ++++++++++++++ Fuck that wine. From the moment you peeled your eyes open it felt like someone nestled their way into your skull to continuously pound it with a ball peen hammer. Your legs twist in the sheets as you try to get comfortable again and turn away from the sunlight sneaking through the window. Your arm smacks against the mattress, it felt strikingly cold. “Chuuya?”. The only response you receive is a small rustling from outside the bedroom door. A soft hum. Music? Something. You flop onto your back and force your eyes open. Thankfully the dizziness subsided permanently, unfortunately it’s counterpart (a killer migraine) still throbbed to the point that you were halfway convinced your eyeballs were physically pounding. “Chuu?” You call again, twisting on the bed until your bare feet hit the hardwood.  Chuuya’s shirt fits comfortably over your head. Instinctively you inhale sharply holding the collar close to your nose before it settles and the smell of eggs draws you out of the bedroom. Normally you’d walk out completely naked but you felt beyond shitty. Lazily you tug up a pair of sweatpants and meander out into the kitchen in search of your boyfriend. Chuuya turns over a shoulder and gives you a soft smile. His back muscles were getting bigger, or perhaps the way he was holding the pan made them bulge. Regardless he looked damn good cooking you breakfast in a tight shirt bathed in morning light. “Good morning baby. Hungry?” Your stomach growls loud enough to echo down the street. Chuuya laughs and sets two plates down at your small table. Omurice, toast, and a few strips of bacon he’d picked up from some fancy market in Tokyo the last time he went. “Good. You need the protein after throwing everything up last night.” Chuuya pads over to you arms immediately wrapping around your waist snuggling you close against his bare chest. “I’m sorry baby.” He says for at least the fifth time. Two soft kisses to your forehead, one on your nose and a final on your lips. You slump against him letting your arms remain limp at your sides. “I figured out what I can do for you though. What you deserve.” “Oh?” Your arms find themselves around his waist, fingers spreading out to feel the rigid muscles in his lower back flex beneath your touch. Chuuya nods forehead now resting against yours. Sunlight funnels through the window scattering amber over the floor. Cresting Chuuya’s right side and across to the middle of his throat bathing him in light. The man truly emulated warmth and fuck he was more gorgeous than the sunrise itself. “Breakfast together. Every morning. Some days I’ll cook for you. Some days we’ll go out before work, and some days…” Chuuya begins to trail soft kisses down the side of your throat. Catching your breath suddenly becomes much harder with his mouth tasting your skin, “we’ll have breakfast in bed. I’ll eat you...and then we can eat together.” He chuckles darkly, waiting for the words to unfold in your head. “How can I turn that offer down?” Your fingers glide up the back of his neck carding through his hair. Chuuya sighs into your touch but continues the lazy, deliberately gentle line of kisses over the curve of your shoulder then backwards until he reaches your collarbone. “My place---” you gasp sharply, Chuuya loved to bite that spot on your neck, “or yours?”. Chuuya hums in thought hands now trailing down your curves around to the swell of your ass. “Whoever gets off work last goes to the other’s place. So, probably here a lot.” Chuuya squeezes, low growls emitting from his throat when you jolt into him. “Means you gotta actually buy food for me to cook.” You rise up on your toes moving closer and away from his grip on your ass. You couldn’t give in easy just yet, where was the fun in that? “Mmmm..but what if I like starting off the day with your cock?” You muse, teasingly dragging the sharp edges of your nails down his shoulder blades. Even through his shirt Chuuya’s shoulders were overly sensitive. Another set of animalistic growls erupts from him. He squeezes harder and nips at the center of your throat. “Guess I’ll have to give you what you want then, won’t I?” He smirks crookedly. You yelp when his hands dip between your thighs splitting them open to lift you up and onto the counter. “But first,” he murmurs, thumbs digging circles against your inner thighs, “I get my breakfast.” Chuuya leans into you, hips slotted between your trembling thighs so he can kiss you until you’re dizzy. Your hands wind up back in his hair holding him close. You inhale him greedily, savoring the taste of him in your mouth. Your sweatpants join Chuuya’s shirt on the floor in a puddle of fabric. The heat from his body sweeps you up into the clouds. You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the speed in which Chuuya had you spread open on the kitchen counter or a combination of them both but your head was already fogged. Chuuya’s breath along your thigh keeps you lucid enough to feel every movement he makes. The tickle of his hair on your leg, the gentle prodding of his thumb spreading open your wet lip and the oh so lewd sweep of his tongue up your pussy. “Fuck!” You gasp, hair tugging roughly at the bundle of red hair between your fingers. Chuuya’s chuckle vibrates up your core. His tongue expertly flattens against your pussy, long strokes beginning at your entrance ensuring to taste every inch of your folds all the way up to your clit. The edge of his tongue flicks over the swelling bud once or twice before descending through your lips again. Chuuya moans into you, muttering praises of your taste between licks and prods of his tongue deep inside you. “Ch-Chuu!” The knot in your stomach was near ready to snap. “Do it baby. Right on my fucking tongue.” Chuuya commands, looking up at you from between your legs momentarily before returning to his work. Chuuya’s two fingers hold your pussy open for his tongue to explore. Dipping in and out, traveling up to tease and suck on your clit until stars burst behind your eyes and you’re moaning incoherently. Chuuya doesn’t waste a drop. “So good..” his praises are saturated with lust, “fuck you taste so good.” Arousal smears across his cheeks and lips as he cleans the mess between your legs. Gentle licks and motions, just enough to begin overstimulation to carry over into what would come next. You curl over him trying not to fall off the counter. Chuuya gets to his feet, hands remaining on your shoulders to give you leverage as he discards his sweatpants revealing his fat hard cock red and dripping pre-cum. You lick your lips and reach for him, pumping it a few times in an off-beat rhythm. “Already fucked out baby?” He taunts playfully, lips still glistening with your cum. You pout at him and jerk him forward by the hair. Chuuya laughs, using the motion to line his cock up with your weeping entrance. “Yeah? You want it that bad?” Your hips jerk forward when the head rubs up against your clit. “Chuuya!” You huff, switching tactics. His eyes widen to saucers moan loud and deep enough it rattles in your chest. Your fingers tweak and tug at his pebbled nipples egging him on to submit. Or piss him off. Regardless, the outcome would be the same. “Do you want it that bad? Just one touch..” you mimic his teasing tone. Chuuya’s eyes narrow, chest still puffed out towards your hands. “I always want you.” He replies, punctuating the last word with a jerk of his hips. Your head lolls back in surprise, the burn of his cock stretching you out to the hilt makes your toes curl. “Ohfuck!” You choke on air; Chuuya is quick to grip your hips and bite down on your throat. His pace is relentless. Needy. Sticky, hot and slick. You keep one arm wrapped around his neck the other slanted back on the counter for balance. Chuuya buries his face in the crook of your neck as he fucks your hard and deep. Your knees end up by his ribs allowing you to cross your ankles behind him. The angle change makes Chuuya moan deep against your skin. Somehow, his speed picks up sending you bouncing up and down on his cock. Every stroke inside you hits that sweet bundle of nerves that keeps you moaning his praises. “Fuck--” he grits his teeth and slides one hand down to hold you up by your ass lifting you off the counter. He grunts again, moving in just a few steps into the center of the kitchen. Chuuya drops to his knees with the aid of his ability and places you on your back, hips following the natural path of gravity to push his cock deeper inside you. “Fuck..there..” he murmurs, shifting his hands to your thighs pressing them back until your knees reach your shoulders. “Just like that baby..fuck you’re so god damn beautiful..” His eyes glisten, gemstone blue clouded in the haze of arousal and pleasure. This position was so lewd and fuck it turned you on knowing Chuuya was watching you like this. Vulnerable and split open by his throbbing cock. Chuuya tilts his chin down mesmerized by the view of his cock pistoning in and out of your wet pussy. Cum and slick squirting against him with every harsh thrust forward. Your back arcs off the floor; the head of his cock relentlessly slams into your g spot until you’re cumming again. “G-goodgirl!” Chuuya sputters out, pounding into you three more times before he’s spilling inside of you gasping your name in a sultry, silky voice only you get to hear. Chuuya rolls his hips a few more times in rhythmless sputters before collapsing (gently) on top of you. Sweat matting his bangs left and right, skin a rosy pink and body taut. You wrap a shaky arm around his back, eyes fluttering closed. “Mm..you doin’ okay?” He asks, pushing himself up with one elbow to look at you. “Yeah…fuck..” you couldn’t even think straight let alone articulate just how good you were feeling now. Chuuya smiles--the rest of the world doesn’t compare to the brightness of it, you think. “You’re forgiven.” You finally say, long exhale following. Chuuya beams and kisses your nose. “I am sorry baby. And I promise we’re going to eat breakfast together every morning.” Chuuya rolls to his side bringing you with him. Your leg ends up thrown over his hip and his arm pulls you flush to his chest. “I love you ______. I love you so fuckin’ much.” Chuuya drops kisses along your cheek as he speaks. “I love you too, Chuu.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

Play date with the Lans and Nies! Except it's Nie Mingjue training with little Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen painting with Nie Huaisang! Baby brothers getting crushes!!!! Adorable all around!!!!!

Lan Xichen had been told several times not to expect that things would be the same as they’d been the last time he’d visited Qinghe and the Unclean Realm.

It was unusual that he’d visited before at all, in fact; usually, the heirs to the Great Sects were raised very firmly in their own traditions before allowed to venture out to meet any others – often only in their teenage years, when they were wise enough to learn from others without losing the core of their ancestor’s teaching. But his uncle had been friends with old sect leader Nie, personal friends in addition to being allies, and so he’d had the chance to visit once before, a few years back.

He’d enjoyed that visit. 

He’d been very young, younger than Lan Wangji was now – sometimes he felt he was still younger than Lan Wangji, who was not quite nine years old but very solemn about it – but Nie Mingjue was very nice to him, showing him around and playing games with him very earnestly as if he hadn’t had any friends at all.

It didn’t feel at all like the older boy had been humoring him. They’d even gotten in trouble with their parents together, having tried to switch their baby brothers around so that old Nie would stop complaining about his child’s low vitality and Lan Xichen’s Uncle could have some peace and quiet from Lan Wangji’s very effective lungs at last.

Things would be different now, of course.

Lan Xichen was nearly thirteen years old, on the verge of adulthood (in the technical sense, anyway), but Nie Mingjue…

Nie Mingjue was already Sect Leader.

(It puzzled Lan Xichen a little, how someone he remembered as being only a few years older than him could have so quickly shot into the ranks of real adulthood – were there really six years between them? It didn’t seem possible, but then again, he had spent his childhood visit looking up at Nie Mingjue from a great distance...)

It was Nie Mingjue, not old Nie, who greeted them at the door, and who sat with Uncle in the study to drink tea and talk politics. And when he was done with that, he had to go and deal with sect business, first a table full of papers that Lan Xichen would never be allowed to look at and then a hall full of people asking questions and after that he had to lead saber training for the Nie sect disciples.

It wasn’t until right before bedtime in Gusu that Lan Xichen was able to find time to talk to his friend.

“You look tired,” he said, and Nie Mingjue smiled a little, nodding in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his eyes. “Can you spend some time with Huaisang tomorrow? I haven’t had as much time for him as I’d like, these past few days, and he’s only just barely started being able to handle being away from me for a few hours without going into a panic.”

“Certainly,” Lan Xichen said, and a beautiful idea appeared in his brain. “And I’ll send Wangji to you, of course.”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him.

“We did always say they’d make a good trade,” Lan Xichen said, and smiled when Nie Mingjue laughed.

-

The next morning, Lan Xichen told Lan Wangji that his duty for the day was to go and help Sect Leader Nie with whatever he needed, which Lan Wangji accepted with a deep, solemn nod that suggested he was preparing to go to war.

“It won’t be that bad,” Lan Xichen coaxed. “It’s only Mingjue-xiong. Don’t you remember when he came to visit Gusu a few years back? You sparred with him a few times, and later –”

Lan Wangji’s ears abruptly turned bright red and he shook his head furiously to forestall any further commentary. Lan Xichen pressed his lips together to keep from laughing; Lan Wangji had had the most adorable crush on Nie Mingjue in those days.

“You know,” Lan Xichen said innocently, “given that it’s morning, I think you’ll probably find Mingjue-xiong at the training grounds…”

Lan Wangji was gone faster than the wind.

Still chuckling, Lan Xichen went to go find his own charge. Nie Huaisang had been sick with allergies during part of their visit to Gusu, staying inside so he wouldn’t make them worse, so Lan Xichen hadn’t had much of an impression of him – he remembered a little dumpling, a round face with a vivacious smile and an awful lot of giggling, a sunny contrast to Lan Wangji’s natural seriousness.

The shy, skinny child that flinched away from him and hid his face away behind a fan wasn’t anything like the child he’d remembered.

Nie Mingjue had said something about Nie Huaisang having developed a tendency to have brief attacks of heightened panic, Lan Xichen remembered, which were worsened if he couldn’t lay eyes on his elder brother for any extended period of time. He must be afraid of losing his brother the way he’d lost his father, which Lan Xichen could understand – the painful memory of being told his mother wasn’t there anymore still stung bitterly anytime he let himself think too much about it, and it’d been years, not months.

(Nie Mingjue’s visit had been the only thing that had managed to lift Lan Wangji’s gloom after the death of their mother, and Lan Xichen would be forever indebted to him for that. Even if he’d never tell him the exact reason – Lan Wangji would immediately expire out of sheer embarrassment if he ever did.)

“I’m going to be spending time with you today,” Lan Xichen announced, and Nie Huaisang looked more resigned than anything else, turning his head gloomily to look at where his saber was sitting in its proper place. “How do you feel about painting?”

Nie Huaisang paused and very slowly turned his head back to look at Lan Xichen suspiciously. “…real painting?”

“With ink and colors and everything,” Lan Xichen promised. He knew that Qinghe Nie tended to believe that physical exercise was a good antidote to grief, but he’d personally found that art worked better for him as an escape – maybe the same would be true for Nie Huaisang. “We can go paint some landscapes. Or maybe we can see if we can find any birds?”

There were a lot of birds in Qinghe, and all different types, too. It was as if every time Lan Xichen turned his head, there was a new explosion of feathers in some new configuration.

“I like birds,” Nie Huaisang murmured, his voice very soft.

“We’ll keep an eye out for any we see, then,” Lan Xichen said enthusiastically. “If we can catch one, I’ll convinced your brother to let you keep it.”

Nie Huaisang’s face brightened, and Lan Xichen was sure it wouldn’t be hard to convince Nie Mingjue to let his brother keep a few animals, not if he could see that smile. “Really? I can keep one at home?”

“Really.”

“It’s safe now?” Nie Huaisang asked, hopping off the bed to go put his hand in Lan Xichen’s.

Lan Xichen thought that was an odd question, but nodded again. “We’ll buy a nice bronze cage in the market,” he said, thinking that Nie Huaisang might be worried about cats or something – another notable feature of Qinghe. Stray cats everywhere. “That’ll keep it safe.”

“Steel is better,” Nie Huaisang said as Lan Xichen led him out. “Bronze will bend if a fist hits it hard enough; it won’t protect whatever’s inside.”

“Steel it is, then,” Lan Xichen said. He’d only thought that bronze would match the décor of Nie Huaisang’s bedroom; steel would clash and ruin the feng shui. “Maybe plated in bronze?”

“That works!”

-

“I’m a Sect Leader now,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Wangji, who was standing at attention better than some of the adult Nie sect disciples. “What I need right now are good lieutenants. Are you capable?”

Lan Wangji nodded firmly.

“It won’t be that interesting,” Nie Mingjue warned him. “If you think you’ll get bored and want to wander off –”

“I won’t,” Lan Wangji said, and there was a note of determination and pride in his voice that made Nie Mingjue want to pick him up with one arm and give him a hug the way he’d done in the past.

He didn’t, of course. For one thing, it’d be beneath his dignity as a Sect Leader to so causally embrace a child from another sect – or anyone, for that matter; for another, Lan Wangji had always had a great deal of pride for a child, and Nie Mingjue had long ago figured out that the best way to deal with pride was to offer respect where it was due.

“Very well then,” Nie Mingjue said. “I will count on you.”

Lan Wangji lifted his head and clenched his fists, his eyes shining, and his expression only became more and more happy (in that barely-noticeable way he had) when he realized Nie Mingjue was giving him tasks that actually needed doing, rather than merely filling the time to entertain him.

Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have done the latter regardless – he’d always disdained the idea of condescending to a child like that – but as a matter of fact he did need the help: someone to write things down as he made decisions, to survey things and report back to him what he saw, to arrange that he would have fresh ink before he noticed he was out, to put signatures on things that needed to be signed once Nie Mingjue had approved the idea, to inconspicuously serve tea during important political discussions while keeping enough of an ear out to be able to remind Nie Mingjue of everything that had been discussed later…

His advisers were right; he really did need a deputy. Possibly several of them, if he couldn’t find one competent enough to serve alone.

“Wangji,” he said towards the end of the day, and Lan Wangji looked up at him from where he was faithfully copying out one of the letters that needed to go out before the end of the day. He was barely tall enough to sit properly at the table, but his calligraphy was perfect. “You helped me a great deal today. Well done.”

Lan Wangji nodded and looked back down to finish off the letter, only the redness of his ears revealing his embarrassment.

They went down to the entrance to meet Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang, who were returning from their outing for the day – Nie Huaisang was clutching a giant bird cage covered in a cloth, with a smile that almost looked like the one from last year, from before, and Lan Xichen had paint splattered on his face and white clothing.

“Do I want to know?” he asked Lan Xichen dryly as he gestured for the two children to greet each other, but Lan Xichen only laughed.

“I promised him he could keep whatever we found,” he said with a smile. “Also, Huaisang has some paintings he wants to show you. If you like them, you might consider hanging one up in your office.”

He will hang them all up no matter how ugly they are, Nie Mingjue decides immediately. He doesn’t say that out loud, merely nods and says, “We’ll see, then.”

“How was Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked. “He didn’t bother you, did he?”

“Don’t be absurd, Wangji’s a good boy,” Nie Mingjue said. “And an excellent deputy. If he wasn’t your brother, I’d try to steal him away from you.”

“He might like that,” Lan Xichen said, looking at Lan Wangji fondly. “Maybe when he’s a little older, I can send him here for a season, to improve his cultivation –”

Lan Wangji didn’t do anything as crass as nod furiously, but his expression showed distinct signs of interest; he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to Nie Huaisang, who was rambling into his ear.

“And perhaps I’ll send Huaisang to the Cloud Recesses for your uncle’s teaching,” Nie Mingjue replied, mildly hopeful – it was out of the question right now, with Nie Huaisang only sleeping through the night half the days in the week and never when he was on his own, but it would be nice, in the future. He thought that his younger brother would enjoy the serenity of Gusu.

“– and then we caught a bird, look!” Nie Huaisang concluded, pulling the cover off the birdcage.

Nie Mingjue glanced over, then did a double-take and stared.

“Xichen,” he said, with admirable restraint. “Did you actually promise that my brother would be allowed to keep a vicious flesh-eating hawk?”

“There’s no way a hawk is that small,” Lan Xichen said. After a second of observing Nie Mingjue’s face, he added, a little weakly, “…right?”