#WHAT YOU MEANT TO FUCKING ASK IS ‘Is my project too ambitious for the time we have to do it?’

[chewwytwee]

MISSED THE BUS BY LIKE 2 SECONDS CUZ OF ANOTHER FUCKING MOUTH BREATHING IDIOT WHO CANT ASK QUESTIONS PROPERLY AFTER CLASS. DROOLING ALL OVER YOURSELF WHILE THE PROF REPEATS WHAT THEY SAID 10000 TIMES BECAUSE YOURE SHOWING 0 SIGN YOU EVEN PROCESSED WHAT THE PROF SAID MUCH LESS BEING ABLE TO SAY ‘okay that answers it! Thanks!’ AND LEAVING. FUCKING AUTOMATON HUMANS WHO CANT MAKE A SINGLE DECISION WITHOUT SOMEONE ELSE TELLING THEM WHAT TO DO. FUCKING CHRIST DOES THE PROF NEED TO SAY ‘youre dismissed’ BEFORE YOU LEAVE AND STOP WASTING EVERYONES GODDAMN TIME WITH YOUR BLANK SLACK JAWED STARE

#.txt #‘What do you think of my project idea?’ LIKE ITS NOT A FUCKINF CNBC INTERVIEW #THATS SUCH A NON QUESTION IT MEANS NOTHING #WHAT YOU MEANT TO FUCKING ASK IS ‘Is my project too ambitious for the time we have to do it?’ #BUT YOURE TOO FUCKING STUPID TO FORM COHERENT AND SPECIFIC SENTENCES #now I have to sit for half a fucking hour doing nothing because I missed my bud #but hey at least this moron got it drilled into their skull that they can do whatever they want for the project #that’s definitely something we didn’t know before we got to class!! #I’m so sick of people with low self confidence being so terrified of doing literally anything that they instead become a huge obstacle #like indecision is not a desirable trait you fucking cement brained imp #‘I’m unsure of everything I do so I make it everyone else’s job to give me confidence and validate what I’m doing’ #like fuck off

[1016anon]

Title: Outside of a Dream Author: 55anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Brigerton/Kate Sharma, Thomas Dorset/Kate Sharma Summary: Now I can let go of the tiny dream I carried with me all these years, through all the fights and all the tears.

Title from Push Stars song, fic inspired by and written to the same song. I am on a Push Stars kick.

"Anthony, don't you dare walk out that door."

"We are through Kate!"

"We can work through this, we can go to counseling--"

"There is nothing left to salvage," he snarled. "I am not fucking going to counseling"

"Love isn't easy, Anthony! Not all of us will have a fairy tale story like your parents--"

"Don't you dare bring my parents into this--"

"I love you."

"I don't."

Silence descended. He hadn't meant to say that.

"You don't love me anymore?" she whispered.

"I don't love you anymore," he ran his hand through his hair. "I thought I would love you for the rest of my life, but I don't, Kate."

He hadn't meant to say that; he would never fall out of love with her.

But this was too painful-- they never saw each other because of their jobs, when they saw each other, they were too exhausted, too stressed, too frustrated because they kept missing each other, they kept pouring time into their jobs and their families but not each other. Her father's cancer diagnosis and all the appointments, the treatments. Francesca's traumatic brain injury and all the therapy.

Both their mothers' unending question about grandchildren, pushing at them both.

The only thing they did was have sex or argue.

Missed dates, missed calls, missed texts. Missed birthdays, anniversaries, brunches, holidays.

Anthony's rampant jealousy because she was working closely with a male coworker on a project; Kate's habit of closing herself off to keep up appearances. His missteps and inadvertent disrespect of her culture; her insecurity around his family and friends. Her accusation that he didn't show up for her family events while he insisted she go to every ridiculous society event. His anger at her impatience with his schoolmates and their wives.

Family was important to them both. Their careers were important to them both. They were competitive, ambitious, loved each other like a raging fire and it seemed they had finally burned each other to ash.

"God, Kate. I was going to ask you to marry me. I have the bloody ring in my office."

She looked at him with those eyes which always saw right through him. He fell in love with her because she saw him.

"You don't even want to try."

"What's the point, Kate? All we do is fuck or fight, and I can't do this anymore."

"I can't do this anymore either, but I thought you'd be willing to fight for us, instead of giving up."

"I have been trying. That's all I've been doing, is trying, and it's never enough for you. For anyone-- you, my mother, my father, my siblings, my friends. My office."

"We've both been trying, Anthony. We just need a little help."

"Because you've been so good at keeping your appointments."

"You are just as bad--"

"You said you would be there for Hyacinth's birthday!"

"You said you would be there for Edwina's award ceremony!"

"It's not the same, your sister is an adult and Hyacinth is--"

"Here we go again, your family is always more important than mine, your siblings deserve more time than mine, your holidays and ski trips and flights to the Virgin Islands--"

"Thank you for proving my point, Miss Sharma."

Her eyes hardened.

"Fine."

"What?"

"I said fine. You can go. We're done."

"So you admit I'm right," he said meanly.

"No. But you don't want to be here and," she inhaled shakily, before regaining her composure, "you don't love me anymore. You're not willing to go to counseling--"

"Because it's pointless--"

"Because you don't even want to try, so go."

He took the key to their apartment off his ring and threw it on the coffee table.

"Keep the flat."

"I'm not packing your things for you."

"I barely have anything here. When was the last time we slept in the same fucking bed, Kate."

He headed to the door.

"Anthony."

He turned.

"What."

"No second chance."

"At least we finally see eye to eye on something," he sneered.

Just to make a point, because he was furious, because he didn't understand how they got here, because he recognized the signs of a panic attack, he refused to do something as undignified as slam the door.

When Anthony got into his car, he drove to Aubrey Hall.

No one was there, it was near midnight. He meant to get out of the car and walk to his favorite spot in the woods, realized he needed a flashlight if he wanted to navigate the darkness. Anthony popped open his glovebox and the goddamn ring was there.

He broke down sobbing.

--

The news spread among the Bridgertons and Sharmas. The families had never gotten very close, but they considered each other friendly acquaintances. Kate and Anthony had been dating for two years and everyone had known they had discussed marriage. It seemed like a done deal.

They always looked so in love.

But that was the way it was in their families, wasn't it? No one looked closely enough to notice the cracks until it was too late.

Before any reconciliation could be attempted, Kate took up an opportunity to transfer to her company's office in Mumbai; it came with a significant promotion, bumping her up several steps on the corporate ladder.

The offer had been what precipitated the fight until everything and anything came out like a torrent, a firestorm, them screaming at each other and ending with Anthony walking out the door.

Kate was nothing, if not thorough. She told him no second chance; he had been blocked on all her social media, her phone. His siblings told him that she told them firmly-- if they tried to reconcile her and Anthony, she would go no contact. Colin was foolish enough to try, because he always tested boundaries. Shortly thereafter, he found himself blocked also.

Which was fucking inconvenient because it turned out that Anthony had left some precious, irreplaceable things at their apartment. Unable to get in touch with her and unwilling to spoil his siblings' friendships, he ended up having to contact the leasing office to ask for another key.

When he went to retrieve them, all of Kate's things were gone. She took some mementos and sentimental items, things which contained good memories for them both. Anthony could see Kate evaluating which ones she wanted, leaving behind what she knew he would want to keep.

He thought he'd done his share of weeping in front of Benedict and Simon, but it seemed the human body has a vast capacity for sadness. Anthony lay down on their bed, inhaled the imprint of her scent, and broke down sobbing once more, with fervor.

--

Therapy did wonders. Cutting back hours at the office did wonders. Dating a few other men, women, non-binary individuals, did wonders. Drawing a few boundaries between himself and his family, getting some new friends-- essentially remodeling his life to make it something he wanted to live, instead of relying on Kate as his one harbor of happiness-- it all did wonders.

However, his partners all knew:

"You're in love with someone else. It's unfair to ask me to compete against that standard, Anthony."

"Don't you think you should move on?"

"She's the love of your life, Anthony. I've had a lot of fun and you're a good guy, but I think we should see other people."

"Ah, yes. The famous Kate Sharma. My friends warned me about her."

"Oh love, you were an excellent fuck, but you have baggage I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole."

"You will never look at me the same way you looked at her!"

"I can't do this anymore. I can't stay in a relationship where I'm in love with someone who will never love me as much as I love them."

"It's been a few years, Anthony. Either let her go and get on with your life, or go back to her and grovel."

--

"No second chance."

"At least we finally see eye to eye on something."

--

There were limits on the friendships one could keep through social media.

Anthony and Kate had both, since the beginning of their careers, kept carefully curated profiles, as was mandated by their jobs. Their siblings and parents knew better than to tag them in photos or include them in posts.

He had been devastated to discover that Kate had, after she transferred to Mumbai, scrubbed her accounts even further. There was no way for him to stalk her; conversely, there was no way for her to stalk him. Neither thought made him happy.

The friendships Kate had with his siblings petered out. She was polite, but distant. The time difference didn't help, nor did the fact that she never instigated any contact, only responded. The only person Anthony knew who was still in regular contact with her was Simon, but that was because Kate and Simon had a strange understanding with one another. They could go for months without any contact, then meet for coffee as though no time had passed.

She and Simon had also become friends on a different level; in fact, it seemed many of the married-ins of the Bridgerton family had their own kind of communication (save Penelope, who had grown up with Eloise). They were strangely protective of their own kind.

Benedict and Daphne knew that Sophie and Simon were in semi-regular contact with Kate, but their spouses refused to share anything other than "she's fine" or "she really likes her job" or "she got a new place in Mumbai," never mind Anthony didn't know where her old place in Mumbai had been.

Anthony should have suspected something when Sophie and Simon suddenly became extremely cagey about Kate.

He should have known.

--

It took a lot of wrangling, bribery, spying, and hacking, but through the combined efforts of Hyacinth and Benedict, Anthony managed to get Kate's address in Mumbai.

He was aware he should not do this and it was a gross invasion of privacy and just wrong for several reasons, but his next business trip happened to be in New Delhi (which he knew was not as close to Mumbai as he'd originally assumed; he and Kate had fought about this because he hadn't known fucking basic geography of India and he really had been an ass, hadn't he?). It wasn't a big deal to take a bit of a detour to visit Mumbai. Look up her neighborhood.

Really, he found out in the worst way possible.

--

A man approached him, asking, "Pardon me, are you Anthony Bridgerton?"

Anthony blinked and flipped through his memory to try and place a name to the face and a place to the name--

"I suppose you don't recognize me-- Tom Dorset. We were in the same--"

"Dorset," he grinned and shook Dorset's hand. "It's been ages since I saw you last, how have you been?"

"I'm doing well. Just coming back from working two weeks with MSF."

"Last I heard you were in New Zealand."

"That was a few years back," Tom smiled. "Though the wanderlust never goes away-- it's a beautiful country. Have you ever visited?"

"No, I've only been on business trips to Australia."

"You should see it sometime."

"So you're flying to London?"

"No, I live in Mumbai now-- my wife," he said bashfully. "She's expecting in three months."

"Really? Congratulations! That's excellent news."

"Actually I think you know Kate, she said you dated for two years a while back."

Anthony's world stopped.

"Kate?" he asked, not knowing how he kept his voice even. "Kate Sharma?"

"Yeah. We met a year ago, got married in February."

"You proposed to her after dating six months?"

"I know, everyone's joked that I rushed to the altar. But we fell in love and knew we wanted to start a family together."

"That's-- that's wonderful to hear."

The problem was that Dorset was a fundamentally decent man without a duplicitous bone in his body, so when he smiled brightly and said:

"I suppose I should thank you for letting her go, otherwise I'd never have met her"

Anthony knew Dorset meant it sincerely in good humor, not as a dig or a taunt. Anthony knew Dorset wasn't saying it to break Anthony's heart; and knowing Kate-- because he still knew her, down to the marrow of his bones-- she wouldn't have spoken of their relationship except in the most general terms. And Dorset was not the sort to push.

"So, um, how did you meet?"

"A fundraiser for MSF, actually. We got to talking about her mother's osteoporosis and everything kind of followed naturally from there."

"That's great."

"It looks like we're on the same flight-- you should come to dinner. I'm sure Kate would like to catch up with an old friend."

An old friend. A friend.

And because Anthony was a masochist, he said:

"I'd be happy to."

--

He and Dorset exchanged numbers-- the man had a photo of Kate as his phone background, of course. Anthony had hastily changed his phone background whilst on the plane; he was mildly surprised that Dorset was flying first class also, then remembered that he came from money also.

When they landed, he could hear Dorset on the phone with Kate. From the conversation, he gathered that she was waiting for him at the arrivals gate. And funniest thing, he'd run into an old friend of hers, Anthony Bridgerton. From Dorset's expression, there was nothing amiss in Kate's reaction.

Anthony somehow managed to keep an amiable, meaningless conversation going with the man as they made their way through the airport.

Where had he and Kate married? Near her father's home, actually. The family flew out for the wedding.

How was the honeymoon? Wonderful. They went backpacking in Nepal.

How was he enjoying married life? It was everything he'd hoped for and more, now with a little one on the way. Was he thinking of settling down?

Oh, he'd dated here and there. Did he like living in Mumbai? He enjoyed it very much, but there was a chance they would be moving to America, Kate was up for promotion. They were in the midst of making a pros and cons list. Did he have any thoughts?

I should never have let her go. I should have tried. And now he was about to see Kate, happily married and glowing with pregnancy. Anthony didn't think he was going to survive the meeting.

Ah, well, he wouldn't presume to know and--

Kate was there.

Smiling, happily married, glowing to pregnancy.

She hugged and kissed Dorset, then hugged Anthony in that way old friends who hadn't seen each other for years hugged.

He couldn't help but inhale deeply and god. She smelled the same.

Anthony felt her stiffen slightly, then pull back quickly.

The happy couple insisted on driving him to his hotel, all while keeping up the usual happily married couple banter, and they made plans to have dinner together tomorrow.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his smile and cheerful demeanor. It helped that Dorset was so infuriatingly decent and so fucking in love with Kate, treating her the way Anthony should have treated her those years ago. It didn't help that Kate was so fucking happy and had clearly gotten over Anthony, closed the door firmly when she'd told him no second chance and he'd agreed, leaving without a backwards glance.

They dropped him off at his hotel. Anthony smiled and waved. His smile felt genuine and genuinely frozen.

He had no idea how he got to his room.

Because the next thing he remembered was sitting on the floor, back to the bed, staring out the window, tears silently running down his face.

--

Dinner was good.

Life goes on.

Anthony married and divorced three times, had two children with his first wife.

Kate and Dorset stayed in touch, mainly because Dorset stayed in touch and Anthony could not let Kate go.

She told him once-- she still loved him. She would never stop loving him because he was part of her; Kate would sooner not know herself than forget how to love Anthony.

But she loved Tom, and she was in love with Tom-- the life they'd built together, and the children they had. It was good that she and Anthony could be friends, but that's all they would be.

There was no emotional affair. There was no physical affair. Really, they only met in person if Anthony had to travel for business to the US, or if Dorset and Kate visited the family in the UK; which is to say very rarely.

Neither he nor Kate believed in past lives or reincarnation, but that one time she told him she loved him because he was part of her, and he told her he never stopped loving her and letting her go was his biggest regret-- that one occasion, he smiled that young, boyish smile she'd always said was so charming.

A smile which felt foreign to his face because it'd been so long since he'd last worn the expression. It was not that he never smiled, or that none of his smiles were genuine. Only that this particular smile was something she drew out of him specifically, like his body thrummed at a different frequency when he was in her presence.

But he promised, that if there were future lives or past lives or nonlinear lives in other galaxies, he wouldn't make the same mistake again. She'd raised her eyebrow at him, because she knew him and knew his weaknesses, so didn't call him on the fatal flaw of his character-- that he was willing to fight for everyone except himself. Hopefully he'd learned how to in this life, she'd said.

And hopefully she'd learned also. To maybe fight a little harder, instead of running away.

If there were other lives to be lived where the two of them met, she told him she would try, if he would try.

Is that a promise, Kathani Sharma?

Yes, she'd said. Yes it is a promise.

Wait for me, please, he'd asked.

If he could catch her, she would.

--

On and on and on and on My smallest hope is never gone My optimism always is well fed And If I die before I wake I pray for all the goodness sake That you are happy where you make your bed

#bridgerton #kathony #fanfiction #korset

[impatientlygiven]

General life updates:

I finally have a job in my actual career, UX design, and I am loving it. I’ve only ever done it freelance before now. Now I work for a company, and I have a team, and my team are good people.

Of course, being an immigrant and not speaking Finnish (that well, anyway, they threw an intensive Finnish lessons for foreigners course at me in March and it ended in November and now I can speak, read, and write at a B1 level but when someone *talks* to me I have 0 idea what’s going on) means taking whatever the fuck I can get. Trainee position.

At first I was like, okay fine. It’ll help me get my bearings in a company. Pay isn’t good but it’s temporary. At the very least I’ll have this on my CV to convince other companies to hire me.

But then, my contract was supposed to end at the end of the year and I was pushing them for a permanent position. I’m here, I work full time (the trainee contracts are meant for students), you are not giving me UX Trainee work you are giving me full UX Designer work, the permanent position is the least you can do.

However. They say no. There are too many (6) UX Designers on the team. We can’t justify hiring you permanently for the amount of work we have.

That amount of work, btw, is 30 projects stretching over the next 5 years, minimum. I’m the lead designer on the most important one. This is roughly 16 flavors of bullshit.

“We promise we will try to get you the permanent contract when this trainee contract ends in July.”

Try.

But. I’m an immigrant. Took me 10 months and plenty of tears to find my way to this job and a 4 month internship + my level of Finnish still isn’t going to turn anyone’s head here, so I will take the medicine and stay with the company. But I am vocally irritated about it. I talk with my colleague and the person who hired me in the first place who was my line manager for all of 6 weeks before being offered a higher paid position on the other side of the company.

They tell me the designers are all underpaid here. I get more vocal. I talk with my new manager who verifies how underpaid they are and that she hasn’t received an actual raise for years. I’m like why are you putting up with this??? “The team is so good.”

That’s the thing, the team is actually, genuinely, 10000% amazing. I don’t know how this company managed to find a team like this, but it is worth staying for. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to pitch a fit about it though, for me and the design team as a whole who are being weirdly passive about the whole thing. My new manager understands and said my salary requests were more than fair, but this is how the company is. Good to know, I will file that away.

Then, very quickly, three things:

My ex-manager says, “you’re very ambitious, you know.” Internally I’m very “haha what are these lies,” because, you know, I’m extremely non-competitive and hate feeling like I have to best someone else. So I’m like mm no, and he’s like “yes you are. I could easily see you leading a team in 3 years.”

(You know I just started at this company in a trainee position in September, right? You were the one who hired me??)

Then. I talked with a non-designer colleague on another project about how raises and corporate ladder scaling typically works in Finland. He gave me some good info and said “this company really doesn’t value UX Design and it’s projects really need it. I’m going to campaign for better UX in all our projects, it’s too important to keep letting it slide.” I was like yeah! UX ally! But the very next day, which is also the day after the ambition conversation with my ex-manager, we’re having lunch and he says “have you ever considered product ownership?”

Not until about 24 hours ago but yes actually why do you ask?

“I think you should ask [my project’s lead] to put you on his product development team in this role. I will back you up. I am also writing an email to our overall team lead telling him that he needs to take UX more seriously.”

I’m reeling at this point.

And then.

Not 30 seconds later.

My project’s lead plops his lunch tray down on our table and sits with us and I’m immediately like “oh hello J we were just talking about you and how you should put me on your product development team.”

He’s surprised but hears my colleague and I out on the topic and completely agrees about the need for better UX design, which is a thing I have talked with him about before and made a plan for in our project. He doesn’t commit to anything, ofc, but

I have so many allies at this company, all of a sudden? People are seeing me for what I can do. I’ve been here for three months, officially in the industry for THREE months, and now they are telling me to lead. Reeling. I’m still tied to this trainee contract but it seems like this place may actually possibly give me something truly golden for my CV if I can pursue it. I’ve never been a climber, before, but I’ve never cared about the work I do in this way before, either. I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing and fucking it up/stepping on someone’s toes, but also my confidence has taken a huge boost and I’m being a bold ass bitch about things. A nice bitch. But a very bold one.

[mirrorforevers]

here, there, and everywhere • graham coxon/reader

this fic is based on two prompts y'all sent me:

and

this fic really tested all of my blur knowledge holy Fuck. blur as talking heads au i guess. how cool would it be if they

1. had a girl bassist instead of the cheese tory dude

2. werent as unhappy as they were in the mid 90s (just a bit)

3. were just a little 🤏🏻 bit more female friendly lets just pretend this is a universe where the blurjob passes didnt exist heh

it took me everything i had to make this sound as realistic as it could be. u know these girls who think they could fix patrick bateman or don draper? perhaps y’all could fix blur

consider this a gift n not only me writing for your prompt, @nottuned! thank u so much for all your support n encouragement n for always bein so sweet 🥺 i hope u enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

let’s see how many references to unfortunate britpop moments y’all can find in this

also i hope i captured the silliness of the gossip and drama in that era well. if you enjoyed it, please leave an ask telling me more! ur feedback is rly important to me 😔✊🏻

tw (?) reader has shitty parents

word count: 7.938 (this one's quite long!)

smut. set in the 90s. au.

You were unlocking your door when you heard your house phone ring. The shrill sound echoed through the empty corridors as you hurriedly unwrapped your scarf, tossing your keys and backpack on nearby furniture as you ran to answer the call.

“Hello?” You answer, panting.

“Y/N?”

“Dave?” You smile, that call was a very welcome surprise. Your friend owed you an answer.

-

A few weeks ago, Dave Rowntree, your music classmate who became a close friend, told you that he had teamed up with two other proficient musicians to form a band. Dave was ecstatic, and every day he had new stories about his new friends to tell you between breakfasts and lunches that you shared between the countless hours of rehearsals. Even though you weren't part of the group, you already felt that you knew Damon and Graham like the back of your hand. Yin and Yang. One was expansive, ambitious, vain, impulsive. The other, shy, introspective, anxious and careful.

Damon Albarn wanted to be an actor, Graham Coxon had a firm foot in the visual arts. One was a fan of grand classical compositions, the other was a Beatles fan. They had been friends since they were children, in a seemingly unbreakable bond. Damon dropped out of his theater class not only because out of a sudden he had found a bigger calling in music instead of acting, but also because he couldn't stand being away from his best friend for so long. You found yourself often imagining their faces and voices while trying to make all of the wild and endearingly funny stories Dave told you more tangible in your head.

It was not long before Dave started dropping little hints that they needed someone else for their project. “It’s not that Graham isn’t good at bass,” he’d say, “but we could do better.” It wasn't at the top of your plans to be part of a band right now, especially as you were preparing intensely to join the Royal Academy of Music, and he knew it. When you mentioned the conversations you had with Dave about the boys on your family dinner, in quiet wonder and timid want of being part of something really exciting, your parents wrinkled their noses. Focus on the greater things, they’d say. Don’t let these boys distract you from your goal.

Our goal, they meant to say. Since you were born, you never knew if the things you wanted were really your will or theirs.

But anyway.

That dynamic went on for a while, until the day Dave invited you to audition for them while you shared a Diet Coke in the tube home.

“Will it take too much of my time?” You asked, coyly.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you in that quickly.” He chuckles, amused by your confidence. You playfully elbow him in return. He knew how good you were at what you did, though, and there’s lightness in his tone when he continues, “But no, unless you let it. You’ll probably have to stand up to Damon every once in a while.” He sips the drink, handing it over to you.

“What about Graham? How much is he determined to make it big?”

“Damon’s the one who wants it the most. Graham’s studying Fine Arts at Goldsmiths, so. There’s still cautiousness in him.”

“Huh. Okay then.” You reply, thoughts running wild. “Do we have a time and date?”

“Is tomorrow ok to you?”

“Sure. After our class?”

“Perfect.” The train reaches his station. He ruffles your hair: “See you tomorrow then.”

“See you.”

You don’t tell anything about it to your parents, you just warn them that you’ll arrive a bit later than usual. Dave’s intel was crucial to your choice of songs: knowing Graham was the beatlemaniac and also the rational brake to Damon’s tireless ambition, you knew who to please and have as an ally, so you build an innovative and fresh mashup of Paul McCartney’s greatest basslines to play for them. Of course it could backfire, but you didn’t care. You had a hell of a good ear anyway and if Damon wanted you to play anything out of the blue, you would improvise beautifully over it.

The day comes. You didn’t know why you were that nervous for an amateur audition. You weren’t even sure if it was the right path to follow, given that, depending on how focused Damon really was and how contagious his aspiration was, being part of a band could really take you out of your predestinated course. The reason why you were so nervous, now thinking a little more about it, may be because deep inside, you want your path to be a little less predictable. You didn’t want to fill your heart with hopes that you might make it big and travel all over the world because you didn’t even know them. But… what if it clicks? You knew some people in the scene whose work was getting seriously recognized out there.

Meeting them for the first time was an enigmatic experience. Damon was incredibly brash and cocky - not the first theater kid you’ve met in your life. Graham was way more approachable, though also a bit conceited when pushed just right. You wondered if you’d fit in that boys’ club, and decided you wouldn’t be an easy target for discredit or any kind of shit they might give you. “Took me a while to fully get their trust. You’ll do just fine”, Dave said, out of their earshot.

That gave you more fuel to play amazingly well. Damon definitely wasn’t one to be impressed quickly, but he was, when you finished your set. So was Graham - Graham was starry eyed with your performance, actually. Albarn showed you a song and asked you if you could improvise to it, just as you imagined. Of course you could, on the first play. You even suggested some adjustments to its structure. Your feedback was welcomed and noted.

-

Even though everything went surprisingly well, you still weren't sure if you would be a member of “Seymour”, as they called themselves. (You knew it wasn’t the best name, but you didn’t have a better suggestion at the time so you’ve kept your opinion to yourself.) Graham became eerily quiet out of a sudden and wouldn’t cross eyes with you the entire time you were there. Damon, well, was Damon. Perhaps he thought you were too ordinary and mainstream for deciding to play Beatles when he’s trying to be the new avant-garde Jesus.

But Dave's news was different than you expected. “They really, really enjoyed your audition. As I thought they would.” You can hear the smile in his voice. "When can you rehearse with us?"

-

Months after, on your first gig as a fully formed and integrated band, Damon was hit in the face by a guy twice his size, Graham vomited onstage and you and Dave had to take care of both. A beautiful way to close the already exquisite day you had, after you fought with your parents, got kicked out of your childhood home and gave up on entering the Royal Academy of Music two days after you received your acceptance letter featuring rave reviews of your entrance exam.

Dealing with these boys - no, grown-ass men - was hard, but not completely unpleasant. If it were totally unpleasant, you wouldn’t give up on your entire life to embark on such an adventure.

You - plural you - were so gifted and Damon’s compositions were so good. You could see that artsy pretentious mess of an act going somewhere. Of course, you were a bit lost in your life, but so were they, as you ran from city to city meeting new people and trying new things in your journey to fame.

Loneliness, once a close friend, became a distant acquaintance. One you didn’t know anymore.

You confess you were getting worried, though, with how much money you had left on your savings and how much you were spending lately now that your parents weren’t an active part of your life. Wanting to eat something you cannot dream of buying without that money being really useful in a much more critical situation, not having nearly enough money to replace something important that broke or got torn off was frustrating. Some basic things became luxuries out of a sudden.

One day in particular, you very briefly mentioned that you were dying to eat a slice of chocolate cake, but your voice was so small and everyone was so immersed in their duties you thought no one gave two shits to what you said. Two days later, Graham arrived late at rehearsal with a small chocolate cake in his hands, handing it over to you like it was a completely ordinary act. Nothing in the way he acted told you he expected a reward, it was so natural and… gentle. You knew no one in your band could buy a chocolate cake without it being apocalyptic to their personal finances during that time.

That day, you were assured by fate that feeling lost together was better than feeling guided alone.

-

The band finally got on track - strictly musically speaking. Personally speaking, many contemporaries who followed you at parties and other events described you as an ever-growing odd, annoying and intermittently disarming bunch - and Blur and its members became household names, at least in the UK. It became harder and harder everyday to impose yourself as an entire industry and its target public aimed to tear you down. Men couldn’t understand.

(Graham Coxon was the one who tried the hardest to.)

It was four in the morning. You’ve got used to following your bandmates to hospitals, running away from trouble or knowing when to relish in it. But it was the first time you offered yourself to clean up dried blood from one’s face, given how much you hated seeing the fluid and even fainted when younger whenever exposed to it.

You, so delicately, wipe the saline solution-soaked cotton across Graham’s face, who flinches at the cold sensation on his still sensitive skin. He stares at you with the eyes of a child, and you couldn’t help but give him a slight, warm smile in return, which he retributes. Your face conveyed gratitude and affection towards the one you were taking care of. Your hands still struggled to stay completely still after the surge of adrenaline your body received a few hours ago.

Being the only girl in a massive band, and one the music magazines and mainstream media loved sexualizing, meant having paparazzis in your window in odd hours (not that that’s acceptable in any hour, but you had to lower your standards even more these days), meant having different photographers trying to pressure you to get into all kinds of uncomfortable angles with skimpy-ass dresses and just count on the intervention of your fellow bandmates so they would stop, also having invasive male fans who would try to harass you in any way they could.

Of course the day where one of your bandmates would get into a fist fight with one of these men inserted into these categories would come. And even though they were all protective of you, each in their own peculiar, increasingly contradictory way, Graham’s dedication to it was sometimes commendable.

You were making your way through a small corridor of people on your way to the stage when a random guy cupped one of your breasts. It’s not like the venue was incredibly tight, it could not have been on accident and it made your blood boil. You turned around to scream at him, and Graham, who was just behind you, threw a punch directly towards the man’s face, without thinking twice.

And oh boy, took a lot of people and a sweet amount of time to separate the two after that.

After all was said and done, Graham had a few scratches, a black eye and a cut brow. He kept dodging your many “sorrys”, “you didn’t have to do this” and other expressions of guilt. “You have nothing to be sorry about, he deserved it”, he kept assuring you, like a mantra, just giving in to your pleas when you supplicated to take care of his wounds during intermission and after the show.

“I get why you did what you did, Gra. I hate that you took such a risk because of me, but I understand.” you say, voice cracking from not using it for a while after spending some good minutes in complete silence taking care of him. “However,” you soak another cotton ball in the saline solution a roadie got you, punctuating the word with a squeeze to the cotton to remove excess liquid. “I was worried sick about you. What if he… had a knife or something? You could’ve got seriously injured. Or killed.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly able to have a good fight,” after wincing from the contact of the cold wet cotton with his dried blood, he purses his lips in a forced, shy smile, trying to light up the mood. He notices your hands are still shaking from the adrenaline, and takes one of them in his bigger ones, trying to calm you down. The fact that he did this for you, coupled with the fear and how tired you felt of having to go through that kind of situation once again, made you cry-laugh from how overwhelmed you felt.

His expression changes to one of pure compassion in an instant. “Hey, don’t--oh my,” he gets up from his chair to embrace you as you pour your frustrations through fat tears running down his shoulder.

“It’s so exhausting,” you mumble, through sobs. “Now I’m putting you in danger too. I feel like I did and I’m still doing everything wrong. I should be the one giving you a shoulder to cry on.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong! Anything at all, I promise you,” he says, tenderly, running his hands through your hair, still holding you tight. “It was his fault! I decided it was the right thing to do. You’re worth the risk. What people have been putting you through is unacceptable.”

“I’m not worth the risk!” You break apart from his arms, trying to get your point across. “What would I do without you if someone killed you? You need to be more careful!”

The silence hangs heavy between you two thanks to the weight of your words.

“You should’ve asked me before you lunged at him, at least. I don’t know.” You wipe your many tears as you move towards the nearest bottle of water to try to calm yourself down. “It’ll never end. I’m so afraid that these situations will get even worse. That,” you motion at his wounds and dirty clothes, “is a bloody tragedy. It’s a tragedy things escalated to this point. You can’t do that forever.”

“This is just a consequence. And something I would do for you in a heartbeat whenever necessary.”

“Graham, I don’t want you to get hurt because--”

“They hurt you. I won’t let you go through that alone. Besides,” he comes closer to you again. “As I already told you, I can take care of myself, most of the time.” He takes your face in his hands, his fingers so delicately running across your cheeks to dry your tears. You knew that gesture wasn’t his way of asking you for anything you weren’t ready to give him yet. He just wanted you to feel safe. “And I want to take care of you.”

“I’m the one cleaning your wounds.”

“A great partnership, I think.” Coxon chuckles softly, and finally gets a smile out of you. As he always does. “And they make me look cool, don’t you think?”

“Shut up.” You giggle, still feeling too emotional to return to the stage. You sigh: “Thank you for being there for me. You know I’m still not very used to it. Just please be safe.”

The roadie returns, a little flustered by interrupting your little moment together. “5 minutes and you’re back, guys.”

“Okay!” You both turn to answer her.

“I’ll be. No need to thank me for anything, Y/N.” He answers, giving your forehead a little kiss. “Let’s go.”

“Give me two minutes. I’ll be right behind you.”

-

“What’s it like, being the only woman in the band?”

Four eyerolls at once don’t seem to faze the interviewer. She waits for your response.

Apparently the thousand invasive questions regarding Damon’s love life and the same bullshit treatment of women as either rare specimen or sex dolls is what pleases the audience of music TV shows these days.

“What do you think?” is what you say.

“Must be a thrill to have these beautiful boys around you all the time. And we’ve heard you never even took advantage of it!”

You don’t like where this is heading. “Is that… a bad thing? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Perhaps some of our lady viewers might think it is. No judgement though!” She raises her hands. “You do you, it’s just that it’s quite unexpected to see prudes in non-Christian bands. I mean… from what we’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry? What are you trying to say? What did you hear?”

Her tongue clicks while she stares at you with defiance and mischief on her eyes, as she goes a little further and raises her voice so it can overlay yours. “Oh love. You do know what I’m talking about. There’s no need to be ashamed of being a virgin.”

Your cheek burns intensely and the only thing you wished for was for the ground to swallow you whole. Dave and Graham are especially uncomfortable. Damon’s a bit amused. The three knew almost everything there was to know about you. The one topic that surprisingly they didn’t know about is that you’re still a virgin.

They know you’ve been single for a long time. They know that’s part of what draws so much attention and twisted lore regarding you and your past, but that’s not something they felt they needed to know about you at all, and you truly never felt the need to comment about that with any of them, and they haven’t asked. Not even Mr. “the way to be successful in this game is to make all the boys wanna be you and all the girls wanna sleep with you. In your case that’d work in reverse” Damon Albarn.

“Is that even something that should be discussed in an interview about our music? Is that what your boss told you to ask her about?” Dave answers, his tone venomous.

“Musicians are way more than just music. You’re entertainment in every sense of the word.”

“Who told you that about me?” You asked, not sure if you want to know the answer.

“A lovely elderly lady who lives in Elgin Crescent. She knows you so well.”

That’s your mum. That’s how far low your relationship has degraded. You’re not surprised. That doesn’t feel less like a punch on your gut, but you don’t feel like tumbling again. Not today.

“I know who you’re talking about. Tell her I asked her to go fuck herself and burn in hell. In that order.”

“But that’s your--”

“Yes, she is my mum!” If people are going to expose you anyway, then why don’t you do it on your terms? “We’re truly entertainment in every sense of the word, aren’t we. Not everyone’s mum’s a cunt. Some of us aren’t that lucky.”

“You want to be the next Gallagher sister with the spicy remarks?”

“Not sure. But I do want to be the last person you ever get to interview.”

-

The management of the band wasn’t at all surprised your interview became UK’s topic of the week. People were heavily divided between family is family and we shouldn’t hate our relatives and blood isn’t everything, family can be shitty too. Your bandmates were proud of you. The management was angry but tried to understand, and didn’t press you for further explanations. They suggested a two-week break from everything so Blur could rest their image and start a fresh cycle after that, and you gracefully accepted it.

The whole thing seemed so ridiculous the more you thought about it. Did your mum tell the reporter about that gratuitously? What was their conversation like? How did that even happen?

You became the butt of jokes in some places. You saw other famous people doing challenges between them, countdowns, all sorts of crude remarks. What a pathetic, sad chapter of your career.

You dial Graham, and you feel like your heart was about to burst out of your chest.

“Hey, Gra. It’s me.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He sounds pleasantly surprised. “How's it going?”

“Better, I guess. I have to take my mind off all that chaos though. Are you available right now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been owing me a movie night for quite a while now and I miss spending time with you. Wanna come over?”

“Aww. Sure, I--um. Do you want me to bring anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I got everything we need here--ah… I think I don’t have any more beers.”

“I’ll buy some then. See ya in a few minutes.”

Actually, you couldn’t take all that chaos off your mind because that was the only thing in it. You’re feeling so nervous.

The main reasons sex wasn’t a priority for you until now were:

You didn’t have any real opportunities of losing your virginity in your teens. You were impossibly introspective until, like, 3, 4 years ago, and the way your family worked hasn’t really allowed you to get really close to people. Be it boyfriends, girlfriends or just friends. Anything that threatened to take time off the various tasks and classes your parents assigned to you just couldn’t be part of your life. To be honest, you still struggled a bit to form meaningful connections with people thanks to how you grew up.

The moment you stopped being shy, you noticed it was a real man’s world out there, especially in music, classical or not. You didn’t want anyone to think you fucked your way up to the top, you didn’t want any messy affairs. Also, you had yourself, and you didn’t get all of the hype regarding the concept of screwing someone. But apparently there’s a lot you’ve been missing, given the importance people seem to give to it. After that incident, even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t give in to any kind of misogynistic pressure, that was one that really got under your skin.

You never really found someone who you felt 100% safe with in that sense until the one who’s about to arrive at your house appeared in your life. Bloody hell, and you don’t even have anything romantic going on. By the time you were a Blur member, you’ve fooled around a bit, but not all the way. You knew how to kiss, knew how to touch yourself and even brought manual satisfaction to some random fool you thought you were into one time. But perhaps this is the time to go all the way. Why not? Everyone knew how close you two were. He made you feel special. He was so kind. And gorgeous. And--

You hear a knock on your door. It’s him. Beers in hand, hair somewhat in place, twitchy as ever.

He comes inside and you feel like your legs will give up anytime. It was not the first time he visited you. It was one of many, actually, and he noticed you were acting… different.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asks after a brief dialogue between you two, after plating some snacks for both of you.

“Graham...” You sigh, being really careful with your words. “What is your perception of me?”

“My perception of you?” He smiles. “I… think you’re great. You’re fun to be around. You’re one of the best musicians I know, if not the best. Why are you asking me that?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing. Also, I asked the wrong question. What was your first perception of me?”

“Uh… the day of your audition?”

“Exactly. You barely talked to me that day.”

His eyes lower to his own feet. “I was really timid, actually. I wasn’t used to being near any girl, especially one who… w-would spend so much time around me if everything went well.”

You giggle. “I thought you hated me.”

“Never!” his smile turns into a full blown laughter. You melt at his confession. “Also because it seemed like you were trying to read my mind or something.”

“Of course! Because I thought you hated me!” Now that was a laughter you two shared. You do a voice: “‘Why is that pesky girl trying to get in my band?’”

“My goodness, no! I don’t even sound like that - you know what, I changed my mind. You suck. Because, besides the fact you don’t even know what I sound like, you still haven’t told me why you are asking me that in the first place.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he slightly cornered you physically in one of the kitchen corridors. Graham could be really persuasive when he wanted to.

“Okay. Right. Um. I’ve been thinking about some stuff.”

“What, exactly?”

“Everything that happened this month. The great virginity debacle,” you roll your eyes, and he scoffs.

“You don’t own anyone any information about what you do or don't do with your life. Everyone’s being so invasive. That was incredibly childish of the reporter to do, and we talked about that hundreds of times.”

“Yeah, but… you know what, forget it.”

“Tell me, Y/N. I just said that because I want you to know you were not in the wrong.”

“I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s silly for me to… keep closing myself for affection. Any kind of affection.”

“What are you talking about?” His brows furrowed in curiosity.

“I’m not sure if it’s the pressure that finally got under my skin, but… I’m willing to learn what all the fuss is about. Maybe it’s silly that I’m still a virgin.”

He bites his lips, still processing what you just said, expression unreadable. Perhaps you’ve treaded a ground you shouldn’t. You step back both literally and figuratively. “I’m sorry I even brought that up--”

“No, no, don’t be.” He assures you. “I’m just… surprised, that’s all. I swear.”

“And...” You know what. You already went too far, so why not go all the way. You’ve already gone way past the point of no return. “I was wondering if… you would… popmycherry?”

His eyes widen, yours still closed. When you finally open them, he’s closer to you again.

If his head was a machine, you’re sure it would be releasing lots of steam and shaking due to overprocessing. You felt like you just ruined everything.

“Y/N, you don’t need to do it if you don’t really want to.”

“But I want it! At first I thought I didn’t, but then I thought...”

“I don’t want to be part of that if you’re just doing it to fulfill weird expectations.”

“But it’s not that. Not just... that. I asked about your perception of me because I really like you, Gra. I think we should be more than friends and I wanted to know what you think about me. And I want to know what the fuss is about, yes, but I’m not telling you that just so I can lose my virginity to prove some point. I’m telling you that because I like you, I want to kiss you, and I think it would be a great idea if you showed me what it’s like. Y-you know, sex.”

“I-I can’t believe it. Did you even have any movie in mind?” His smile’s back, but you’re still not confident about what his answer will be.

“I didn’t. I’m sorry. You don’t have to--”

He sighs. “I was in love with you the moment I first saw you, actually.” He says it like he’s releasing a huge load out of his back, his arms crossed. Now your eyes widen, and you hold your breath without even noticing. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I know how you feel, or, felt about relationships, so… there wasn’t any reason for me to tell you that. And what I said about being timid was just half of the truth.”

“Huh?”

“I also was really intimidated by how pretty you looked. You can’t imagine how.”

“No way.”

“It’s true. I felt like I wasn’t even worthy of looking at you, really.”

“You’re joking. That’s mean, Gra.”

“I’m not. I’m really not.” He doesn’t look like he is joking. He looks relieved. “I’m really not. That’s why I’m so surprised by your request.”

“I’m nothing special.”

“You are everything to me. But I can’t accept your offer, not now.”

“Are you… seeing someone? Am I too late?”

“No. Definitely not. I just want you to be sure you’re not doing it because people are saying you should.”

“Graham, I’m a grown woman.”

“I know.”

Graham carefully presses his slightly chapped lips to yours, kissing you for a few precious, heart stopping seconds before pulling away; his voice is impossibly silky when he suggests, “Let’s watch a movie. How about The Godfather? I heard it’s airing tonight. Then, if in two weeks you don’t change your mind, tell me and I’ll be glad to help you with what you want. Do we have a deal?”

“That’s so unfair. I want you so bad.” You whisper.

“Tell me if you still do in two weeks.”

You sigh, defeated. “...Deal.”

-

You definitely notice the subtle shift in Graham’s personality and actions after that fateful night. If you were already close, both figuratively and literally, it now seemed like he would use any excuse to always touch you, be near you, sometimes tease you. The shift was subtle, though, don’t forget it’s still Graham Coxon we’re talking about - the constant “is it okay if”s or “is it alright if I”s were still there, as careful as ever. You don’t even talk about your deal that entire time, or even kiss again - sometimes you wondered if it was even real or just a fabrication of your mind.

The way he now caressed your hand discreetly when you listened to Damon’s ramblings, the way his hands now went directly to your waist when your games became too handsy, the way he seemed to be madly in love with everything you were and still are from the start - made you realize you were ready for this man to be a consistent part of your life.

The dust of the controversy was settled, and your own intentions were 100% clear to you now. The societal pressure has waned. The need for Graham to be your first persisted. After exactly 2 weeks have passed, you call him again, yearning to share the answer with him.

One beep.

Two beeps.

Three beeps.

Four beeps. “Hello?”

You release a sigh hidden deep inside of your lungs. “Graham, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh. It’s been two weeks.” You could hear the contemplative tone of his voice.

“...Yeah. That’s precisely the reason I’m calling you.”

“Do you still want to…?”

“...Desperately.”

“Ok.” He chuckles, flustered as hell on the other side of the phone, probably one of the prettiest sounds you’ve ever heard. “Right. Ok. Your place or mine?”

“I think there’ll be an element of mystery if I go to your place this time.” You lose some of the constraints this silly shyness has been tying you on. “Do you have everything we might need there?”

“We don’t need a dungeon, you know.”

“The basics.” You make your smile heard.

“I do have… I do have the basics.”

“See you in a few minutes then.”

“Will you want to… ease into it? Or just go straight to it?”

“God, don’t make it awkward!” Your cheeks burn, your smile turning into contagious laughter. “Maybe… I don’t know. Ease into it, I guess? A movie night… but with s-something else?”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

-

You don’t choose any particularly fancy or sexy clothes, instead settling for a slightly oversized yellow striped shirt he gave you as a birthday present some months ago and some skirt that fit you well. He wasn’t one to lavish his loved ones with gifts all the time, but few things were as precious as the look on his face whenever he saw you wearing something he gave you or, hell, even eating something he paid for you. You’re thrilled to see it again when he opens the door for you, it easing some of your deepest doubts.

2001: A Space Odyssey is already playing on the TV when you arrive. Despite it being one of your favorite movies of all time, and his, you’re not mad it was already halfway through when you arrived. It wasn’t your main priority to rewatch it for the 17th time tonight.

He offers you some wine, which you accept to ease the nerves. You sit on his couch, and he shares the cozy space with you, now mindlessly throwing one of his arms around your shoulders. You cuddle up to him, and everything seems peaceful in the world for a while.

The tip of his fingers softly caress your lifted knee, absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but notice how well his body fits with yours, how your skin was apparently made for him to touch, and the anxiety rumbles in your stomach like a storm in a wild wavy sea. After some minutes, you raise your head, his big brown eyes meeting yours as if asking you a silent question. You leaned up a bit more to press your lips to his, in a silent answer. The sweetness in him makes this moment as precious as every other moment you ever shared with him. His hands enter your hair, making you shiver a bit from the unfamiliarity and the electricity of it all - but it doesn’t sway you from deepening the kiss, wanting more of his taste, more of this, more of him.

“Do you wanna take this to the bed?” He whispers, after noticing your moans were becoming more frequent and needy. You nod, and you are taken by surprise when he carries you bridal style to it, hiding your excited giggles in his broad shoulders.

Graham wasn’t exactly the most organized man in the world - so the fact that his bedroom was now impossibly tidy was something that positively caught your attention. He put some planning into this. He lays you down and you part your legs, beckoning him to meet you between them. He does, and you go back to the breathtaking makeout session. You notice he’s holding himself back a bit, taking his time, his warm tongue moving smoothly, not hurriedly, against yours. His self control falters a bit though, given how he can’t stop grinding against you. You follow the rhythm of his hips a bit timidly and not nearly as in sync as you’d really like, though the pressure his covered cock is creating against your core can already be felt and some particular thrusts are able to fill at least partially the aching, wet need growing within you.

“How do you feel about oral?” He asks, breath warm near your ear, his voice raspy and spent by his desire for you.

“Um… It would be my first time receiving or doing it.”

“Would you like me to go down on you?”

“Wow. I never thought I would hear you saying something like that.” You smile, still assimilating the situation you’re in, trying not to show how badly his voice is affecting you. “Sure.”

“I never thought I would get to propose this to you. Aren’t we full of surprises lately.” He smiles back, warmly. He notices your hands trembling a bit from how anxious you are while you’re taking off your underwear with his help, and as he lowers himself to where you need him most, he takes your hands in his as an act of reassurance. “Tell me what you like. Tell me if what I’m doing works for you. I want this to be a great experience.”

“You want me to get addicted to you, that’s what you want,” He chuckles, lovingly kissing your thigh as a reply. “Okay, Gra. Guess I’ll find out along the way.”

You quickly take a peak below you to see the lower half of his face disappear in the middle of your thighs. The sight alone sets your fire ablaze, as he hooks his arms around your thighs and lifts you closer to his mouth, his lips ghosting over the curls between your legs tantalizingly and his breath catching when your hips jerk forward.

As he begins his ministrations, you immediately notice it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. That feeling was completely alien to you. It was even wetter than you expected, and weird, but powerfully pleasant. Before this exact moment, you had a firm belief that hardly anyone else would make you feel the same way, or better, than you do yourself, but apparently you were very wrong. Thankfully you were wrong. “My god,” you gasp as the flat of his tongue drags over your folds, too much and not enough, and you jerk at the contact. “This is great. So weird, but-- great.”

He moans at your response, his movements carefully enthusiastic. He works his tongue between your folds and traces up to curl the tip of it around your clit, and it’s quite endearing and madly arousing to see how he eats out you like you’re the sweetest and tastier dessert he has ever tasted. You involuntarily buck against him with a desperate sound the moment he moves his tongue and lips in a particularly wicked way, something that definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but you still feel the need to highlight in case it didn’t - “That. Keep doing that, please,”

And he does. The building of this climax is also different than the ones you already had by your own hands, and is more coy. As he sees the drops of sweat sliding along your soft skin and the expressions on your face as you get lost in this new but enchanting sensations, his hesitation and self-control fades away; there’s nothing uncertain in the way he buries his face in your cunt now, nothing restrained in the groan he lets out as he devours you and drinks you down as if you’re the first stream of water he has seen in days.

His tongue glides deeper in your folds again and again, swirling up through the wetness you’re coated with to tease at your clit while he grunts and strains closer, squeezing your thighs with both hands tight. The wave of heat inside of you is cresting so fast, you don't even know how to tell him, how to signal that you’re nearly done for and, in the end, it happens too fast to even try. He sucks at your clit, circling it with his tongue, once, twice, and then you’re crying out, shaking underneath him, trying to keep your thighs from clenching too hard around his head as he laps you through it with with urgent whimpers and moans, as if he cannot have enough of you.

You’re still trembling when he rises, the look on his face revealing to you how proud he feels by making you feel this way. It looks so good on him.

You fail miserably at the simple task of connecting words together after that, choosing instead to collect your remaining strength, prop yourself up and beckon him again to keep kissing him and learn, through his talented tongue, how you taste. He kisses the thin fabric of the shirt at your chest that covers you from view, your throat, your jaw, and before he reaches your impatient lips, he notes, sinfully, “Seems like you enjoyed yourself, love.”

“That was… unbelievable. Stars, I want to make you feel good too. Please show me how.”

“Keep kissing me,” he begs, voice still strained from how aroused he is. “I want to be inside you so bad. Let’s get you prepared.” You’re still so sensitive, you tread on overstimulation when his fingers lightly touch your clit, making you break the kiss in a hiss. He traces a line on your folds, inspecting the impact his mouth had on you. “So wet for me.”

“Bit slower, Gra,” He complies to your breathy plea, his fingers now more tame as he slowly spreads your wetness throughout your pussy. He stretches towards the nightstand to grab a bottle of lube, interrupting his contact to spread some on his fingers before unhurriedly slipping his middle finger inside of you. The coldness of the gel makes you shiver in surprise, the easiness brought by it very welcomed. Again - the sensation is odd. Completely unfamiliar. The feeling of having something inside of you for the first time, going further than you ever dared to try, probing, exploring; the coldness of the lube clashing against your burning hot cunt. But it also felt nice. The focused look on his face was adorable, he looked like he was a scientist in the middle of very complex research.

Despite the panting, the messy hair and the fire in his eyes.

Your body already has a lot of new sensations to process simultaneously, so when he asks you to take off your bra and shirt so his tongue can work on your nipples - which you gladly accept, you feel like you’re on sensual overload. His tongue, again, so talented, takes your mind off the slight burning you feel when he introduces his ring finger to your soaked, throbbing core, his focused, carefully overpowering and constant stimulation driving you insane.

“Does it feel good?” He asks, voice muffled by your breast. You nod, carried by the wave of pleasure sweeping you.

“Yes. God, yes.” You pant, tangling your fingers tightly on his thick hair as an encouragement, a desperate sound escaping from your lips the moment he reaches a certain point within you you didn’t even know existed, hot mouth continuing to lick and suck your nipple. Even though you were spent by your last orgasm, he was indeed getting you addicted to those new feelings, and even though this was heavenly, truly heavenly, you needed more. “Gra, I’m ready, I think.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

Releasing your nipple from his lips with a sounding pop, he eagerly frees himself from his trousers - hard as a brick - and puts protection and lubrication on, swiftly positioning himself between your thighs while stroking himself to the sight in front of him. You motion to take off your skirt, and he holds your hand, not letting you. “Don’t. It’ll be really hot to fuck you in this.” He confesses, giving your forehead a kiss in a very different context than before. He aligns his forehead with yours, each of your lips just barely touching while you breathe each other’s air. He looks deep into your eyes, slowly running the tip of his cock between the slick folds of your pussy, coating himself in the remnants of your pleasure. “Do you trust me?”

You trust me to know your limits? Not to go any further if you don’t really want me to?

“Absolutely.”

The only response you get from him is a shuddering, helpless moan into your mouth and you hold him tighter to you, grinding your still sensitive cunt up against his cock while he pulls hard at the soft fur next to your head. You feel your soaking pussy lips part around the solid curve of his length and gradually coat the underside of him in slick with every gentle circle and roll your hips make, as he finally pulls away from your mouth to drop his forehead to your neck. He then, very slowly, penetrates you, stopping when he hears the noises you make indicating you’re struggling to adjust to his presence. Out of everything you’ve felt in the last minutes, this was by far the most painful sensation. “This-- is new,” you note, your face completely incapable of hiding the discomfort. He also notices that.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not supposed to be about endurance, you know.” He says, a bit breathless and worried, caressing your hair. “Tell me when it’s okay to move. Or if you feel too much pain.”

After some long seconds and some deep breaths, you say: “Okay. Go on.”

“As you wish.”

He moves inside you at a very slow pace, the lubrication clearly making it easier for you to handle it. It still hurts, significantly, but the sensation of being filled is also surprisingly arousing.

His hand moves to your sensitive clit again in small, measured circles, your little moans being a mixture of the pain of penetration and the sheer ecstasy of seeing him falling apart because of you. The way his chest heaves while the drops of sweat start pearling his fair skin, the furrowed brows and broken groans, the thickness of him as he rests heavy up against your entrance, the way his voice presses deliciously tight in his throat as he gasps out into the quiet room - everything’s making your chest burst in love and satisfaction. You tighten your grip around him and roll your hips up into his cock, letting it break you open nice and slow; it stretches you wide with a deliciously sharp fullness and pleasure rips through you, and Graham becomes even more vocal as he picks up a steady and gradually faster pace. He turned all of your keys, it’s about time you turn some of his.

“Graham, deeper,” you whimper, continuing to tighten your legs and hoist yourself up, lifting your hips to take his cock deeper inside you. His name rips itself from your throat while Coxon clenches his jaw and starts to lose himself in the pleasure, holding you down into the bed while he allows your desperation to guide him to the perfect angle and speed to sate you. He found denying you to be impossible.

He snarls and curses as he holds you down and rails you, determined to make you sing again before he finishes, and to his delight, your heightened sensitivity gives him what he wants. And this time, he couldn't hold on.

Graham kisses you one last time as he groans and gives in, head dropping to your neck again. You didn’t reach a second climax, but stars, what an experience you just had.

When he comes back to himself enough to realise he still had you practically folded in half, he carefully pulls his softening cock free, taking the condom off and taking the strands of hair out of your face as you struggle to catch your breath. You suggest a shared bath, a suggestion he gladly accepts.

Too tired and too sore for pillow talk, comfortable silence falls as your hand finds his, and you lay, listening to each other’s breathing slowly settle.

I could get used to his little snore on my chest, is the last thought that twinkles on your mind before you fall asleep snuggled with him.

#graham coxon #alex james #damon albarn #dave rowntree #blur #britpop #smut #imagine #reader insert #graham coxon x reader #graham x reader #y/n #fluff #au #fanfiction #blur band

[fangirlwriting-stories]

A Kind Of Understanding

Summary: Remus' decision to babysit a kid for a couple nights to earn some extra cash ends up getting him in over his head when the kid tells him something the parents didn't mention.

In all fairness, Roman had told him he was probably getting in over his head.  Remus was the idiot who didn’t believe him.

He just needed money.  If he was actually going to be able to afford all the spray paints he wanted for his new art project by the roller rink, he was going to need a lot more money than he had.  Curse him and his ambitious ideas.

Remus considered himself lucky when he quickly found a family willing to pay 60 bucks a night to watch their eight year old kid.  Roman took one look at the offer and said he was definitely going to be dealing with a brat.

“Why else would they pay so much?” he asked, giving the flyer a suspicious look.

“So?  I need, like, two hundred bucks to get the kind and amount of spray paint I need.  I’d only have to watch the bratty kid for four nights and I’d be good.  I can set her up in front of a movie she really likes, make her some mac and cheese for dinner, and it’ll be all good.”

“I think you’re underestimating kids, Re.  You have met Patton and Logan, right?”

Patton and Logan were Virgil’s little brothers, and Remus honestly wasn’t sure why he was bringing them up, because they were both absolute sweethearts.  Sure, Logan could sometimes get a chip on his shoulder about being too old for a babysitter, and Patton could be a bit of a crybaby sometimes, but otherwise Remus never minded when Virgil brought his friends along for a hangout.  Especially when Patton teased Roman about liking Virgil, and Remus got to watch him go bright red with embarrassment.

Well okay, granted, Logan had been much more insufferable when he was Patton’s age.  But Patton was still a sweetheart.

“I’m telling you, I’ve got this,” he said, waving Roman’s concerns off.  “It’s just one little girl, anyway.  How hard could it be?”

This was the attitude Remus took with him when going to the Ekans house the following night.  The parents sent him the address, and the mom was waiting outside.

“Hi, Mrs. Ekans,” Remus said, putting on his ‘I am talking to an adult that I respect’ voice.  “I’m Remus.”

“Yes, hello dear,” she said.  “I was so happy to get your call.  It can be rather hard to find a babysitter to deal with Janice, what with how she can get with all her silly fantasies.”

Remus tipped his head in confusion.  “Silly fantasies?”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.  You don’t need to indulge her, dear, we’ve told her many times that no one who watches her will be doing so.  But anyway, here’s ten dollars for a tip, we ordered a pizza, the delivery man should be here any minute, so you won’t have to worry about dinner.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, taking the money and putting it in his pocket to grab when the delivery person showed up.

The door opened behind the two of them and a man came out, adjusting a tie.  Behind him, a girl in a sparkly pink dress stood in the doorway, who could only be Janice.

“Oh, good,” the man said when he noticed Remus.  “Janice, your babysitter’s here, be good for him, okay?”  He turned to Remus.  “Bedtime is at 8, pizza’s on the way, otherwise you should be good to go.”

“Thanks,” Remus said again, heading past him and into the house.  They both waved at Janice as they left, who notably did not wave back.

As soon as the car drove off, Remus shut the door and turned to face Janice.  “Well, sweetheart—” he started.

“First of all,” Janice snapped, sounding so furious that it took Remus aback.  He had barely even said anything yet.  “I have rules.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.  “Isn’t that kind of my job?”

“No!” Janice screamed, stamping her foot.  “You are here for me, that means I’m the boss!  First of all, don’t ever call me sweetheart.  And I am going into my room to change into my real clothes, and you aren’t going to stop me!”

Remus’ brow furrowed.  “What’s wrong with the clothes you have on now?” he asked.

“Dresses are for girls,” Janice snapped, voice filled with way more vitriol than Remus expected.  “I’m a boy.  And you are not going to take away the only chance I get to wear my real clothes!”  And, like that decided that, he turned and stormed away towards the back of the house and where his room no doubt was.

Remus looked after the kid, blinking for a second as he tried to process everything that had just happened.  So that’s what Mrs. Ekans meant by silly fantasies.

Well, fuck, he was way out of his depth with shit like this.

The kid came out of the hallway a couple minutes later wearing a t-shirt and shorts.  And while the t-shirt was still bright pink, he at least looked a little more comfortable than he had in a dress.

“Okay, J— kid,” Remus said.  “So let me see if I’ve got this right.  You say you’re a boy?”

“Yes,” the kid snapped.  “And you don’t get to say otherwise, you got it?”

“Hey, understood,” Remus said, holding his hands up.  “Can I just ask a question?”

The kid narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.  “What?”

“Do you want me to still use the name your parents gave me, or do you want me to call you something else?”

The kid seemed to grow even more suspicious at that question.  “Mom didn’t tell you not to indulge my silly fantasies?”

“Doesn’t seem to me like there’s anything silly about it,” Remus said with a shrug.  “I was just wondering if you had a different name picked out.”

The kid’s eyes widened slightly, though not enough to stop looking suspicious.  “You can do that?”

“Of course you can,” Remus said, taking a couple steps forward and kneeling down in front of the kid.  “I have a friend named Virgil who changed his name.  He used to be called Jacob, but he hated that name.  He thought it was boring.”

“He was right,” the kid said instantly.  Remus laughed.

The kid seemed to think for a minute.  “I don’t know,” he said finally.  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do you want me to use the name your parents gave me, then?”

“No,” the kid snapped instantly, looking angry again.

“Okay.  Got it.  For now, I’ll just call you kid.  How’s that?”

The kid seemed to consider that for a minute, then nodded.  “Okay.”

Remus smiled.  “Okay.  So your parents said that a pizza delivery person should be here soon.  Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?”

“No,” the kid snapped.  “Movies are stupid.”

Remus blinked.  “Okay.  What do you want to do while we eat?”

“I want to sit in silence and do nothing!” the kid snapped.

Remus blinked again.  “Uh, I’m not so sure that would be very fun.”

“You’re not fun anyway!” the kid screamed.

Remus was honestly a little offended.  How dare this child say he wasn’t fun?  He could be super fun!  Before he could reply to correct this wildly false statement, the doorbell rang.

Remus stood up and headed over to the door, and opened it to see, as expected, the pizza delivery person.

“Thanks,” Remus said, taking the pizza and pulling out the ten dollar bill Mrs. Ekans had left him.  He handed it to the delivery person, who thanked him and headed back towards the car parked out front.  Remus shut the door and carried the pizza over to the table, and the kid came over after him and grabbed one of the plates that had been left out on the counter.

“Give me two pieces,” he said, holding the plate out to Remus.

“Let’s start with one,” Remus said, taking the plate.

“No!” the kid snapped.  “I want two!”

“Kid, I’m gonna start you with one,” Remus said, taking a piece of pizza and putting it on the plate.

“No!” the kid snapped again.  “I want two pieces!  I’m hungry, are you trying to tell me I shouldn’t eat until I’m full?  That can have harmful consequences!”

Remus took a deep breath.  “I am going to start you with one.  If you want another piece after you finish that one, I will happily give you one.”

“I want two right now!” the kid screamed, stamping his foot.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut.  “Nope,” he said, handing the kid the plate.

The kid narrowed his eyes, and Remus had a second to wonder if eight year olds still threw temper tantrums, when instead the kid shot Remus a glare that could kill and stomped into the other room and sat down on the couch.

Remus took a piece of pizza and put it on the plate.  This was about as bad as it was going to get, right?

…

“Kid, you need to go to bed,” Remus said, leaning against the door frame, looking at the kid who was sitting resolutely and reading through a book.

“Why should I?  Bedtime is a social construct.”

“Oh my god,” Remus groaned, looking up at the ceiling.  This had been a recurring theme for most of the night.  The kid’s father was apparently a philosophy nerd, and the kid listened in on a lot of his conversations about the subject with his wife, and had turned that into a belief that all of society was a construct and he could do whatever he wanted.  He was brilliant for an eight year old.  And it was as annoying as all fuck.

“Look,” Remus said.  “If you go to bed now, next time I come, I’ll bring you a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?” the kid asked, narrowing his eyes.  “How could any surprise you give me be worth it?”

“Well, if you don’t go to bed now, you’ll never know,” Remus pointed out.

The kid seemed to know exactly what Remus was doing with that, but he also finally put the book aside and laid his head down on his pillow.  Remus flicked off the lights and shut the door, and finally let out a breath.

He made his way back out to the living room, put the remaining pizza in the fridge, and then collapsed on the couch.

“Children are exhausting,” he said to no one.

By the time the kid’s parents got back Remus was ready to go home and sleep for a week and a half.  But that was a feeling that faded as soon as Mr. Ekans walked through the door and opened his mouth.

“How was she?” he asked, putting the car keys on a hook by the wall.  “She didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?”

Remus had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth.  “Fine,” he said, keeping his voice as pleasant as he could.  “The flyer said I should come back Saturday next, right?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Ekans said, pulling out her wallet and thumbing out the sixty dollars in cash.  She handed it over, and Remus took it.  “I’m glad things went well.  Janice has been known to drive away a few sitters in the past.”

I can’t imagine why.

Remus got out of the house as quickly as he could.  He had some thinking to do, and he wasn’t going to do it in front of a couple of transphobic pieces of shit.

…

By the time Saturday arrived Remus had a battle plan.  Roman had been amused when Remus had described the first night as “frustrating,” but had been surprised when Remus had been determined to go back.  Remus left out most of the details that weren’t his to share, though he imagined Roman must have figured something was up when he spent most of the week researching boy names and hairstyles.

When he got to the Ekans house next time, the kid looked surprised to see him, and Remus couldn’t say he blamed him.  He tried to smile and nod whenever possible, as hopefully it would get the kid’s parents out the door faster.  The second they left Remus took off the backpack he’d brought and moved over to sit on the couch.  “Hey, kid, c’mere.”

“No.  Why?”

“I’ve got something for ya.  I promised you a surprise if you went to bed, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I turned the lamp on again as soon as you left the room.”

Remus sighed.  “Of course you did.  Come here anyway.”

The kid looked curious, and given that it was one of the few times he hadn’t been glaring at him, Remus would take it as a good sign.

“So I did some research these past couple days,” Remus said, starting with the notebook.  “And I found some names you might like.”

“Wait, what?” the kid sat on the couch and took the notebook from him.  “What do you mean you looked at names for me?”

“Well, you said you didn’t know what you wanted your name to be.  I don’t really want to call you ‘kid’ forever.  If you don’t like any of these we can keep looking, though.”

The kid turned and stared at him.  “But I was mean to you.”

“You’re the kid I’m babysitting,” Remus said, smirking at him.  “I think I can take it.  Besides, what does that have to do with your name?”

“Why are you being nice to me if I was mean to you?”

“Being nice and basic human decency are two different things.  You can be the snottiest kid in the world, that doesn’t mean I’m going to start treating you like a girl.”

The kid’s eyes widened.  “Really?”

“Really.  You say you’re a boy, I believe you, and I’ll treat you as such, okay?”

To Remus’ surprise, the kid’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Oh shit, don’t cry.  Hang on—”

The kid threw himself at Remus’ and buried his head in his side.  Remus awkwardly patted him on the back and waited until the kid stopped crying, after which he pulled back and wiped at his eyes, still sniffling.  “Mommy always says I shouldn’t make people indulge me,” he whispered.

“I’m not indulging anything,” Remus said.  “This is what you said you want, and it should be respected.  If you change your mind later, that’s fine too.  But even if you do, I’m not going to treat you in any way that makes you miserable in the meantime.”

The kid sniffed again and wiped at his eyes.  He looked like he didn’t know what to say, which was fair.

After a moment, he picked up the notebook and started looking at the names, sometimes pointing at one he didn’t know and asking Remus to read it.  He stopped at one on page three.

“You just wrote Janice,” he said.  “I thought you said I didn’t have to use that name.”

“J-a-n-u-s is a masculine spelling,” Remus said.  “I just figured if you liked the way your name sounded but didn’t like that it was associated with being a girl, that was an option.”

The kid looked at it for a while longer.  “You could use this one around my parents,” he said.

“Technically, yes,” Remus said.

The kid turned and looked at him.  “Where does Janus come from?”

“It’s the name of a Roman god,” Remus said.  “He’s the god of doors, gates, and beginnings.  He has two faces.”

The kid started to grin.  “I could be named after a god?”

“If that’s what you want.”

He started nodding.  “I like that.  I like that a lot.  And it could be like lying to my parents.  They’re forcing me to lie to everyone else, but this way I get to lie to them.”

Remus started to smile too.  “Yeah?  You think that’s the one?”

“Definitely.  And besides, if I don’t like later it I can change it again, right?”

“Of course you can.”

Janus beamed at him.  “Yeah.  That’s the one.”

“Awesome,” Remus said, leaning over and ruffling his hair.  “Now, onto the second manner of business.”

“There’s more?”

“Yep.” Remus reached into his bag and pulled out a hairbrush and ponytail holders.  “So I’m not going to cut your hair without your parent’s permission or I’d get fired.  But I have a couple ways I can deal with your hair as it is right now if you want to.”

Janus nodded quickly, and turned around so Remus could get to his hair more easily,  “So we could put it up in a bun so it’s out of your face, or I could move the curls further behind your head so it looks more like a style than just you having longer curly hair.”

“What would a style look like?” Janus asked.

“Alright, give me a sec,” Remus said.  He grabbed the bobby pins he’d borrowed from his mother and used them to tuck Janus’ curls further behind his head.  He turned Janus around after a moment and brushed some of the curls across his forehead so they looked more like bangs.

“Alright,” he said, sitting back.  “Here, check that out.”  He pulled out the mirror he brought with him, and handed it to Janus.

His eyes widened as he looked in it.  “Woah.  You did this with my hair?”

“Mm-hmm,” Remus said.  “You like it?”

Janus grinned at him again and nodded.  Then his gaze turned curious.  “Why are you doing all this?”

“I already told you—”

“No, I mean… Mommy says boys and girls can’t change who they are.  She says I’m a girl no matter what I do.”

“Bah,” Remus said, waving the concept away.  “Gender is a social construct.”

Janus snorted.

“You laugh, but it’s true.  Have you ever heard the term ‘transgender’ before?”

Janus shook his head.

“It’s a term people can use to describe themselves when their gender doesn’t match the one they were born as.  Plenty of people describe themselves that way.  I’m friends with a couple on the internet.”

Janus looked fascinated, and almost painfully hopeful.  “Not just me?”

“Definitely not just you.”

Janus sat back, seeming to take a minute to process that.  “Can you show me?” he asked, looking back up at Remus.

And so they spent most of the day on Remus’ phone looking at transgender people and stories and definitions.  Remus made sure to steer clear of any discourse or transphobia.  Janus had enough to deal with already without having to learn about that on a broad scale yet.

By the time Janus’ parents texted Remus saying they were on their way back, they’d been there for hours.

“Okay,” Remus said, setting the phone aside.  “I should probably take your hair down now.”

Janus sighed, even though he seemed to have expected that.  “Okay,” he mumbled.

“We can put it back up next time I come, okay?” Remus said.

Janus nodded.  “Yeah, we fucking better.”

Remus coughed in surprise.  “Wha— where did you learn that word?”

Janus grinned at him.  “You’ll never fucking know.”

Remus laughed despite himself.  Okay, so maybe this kid wasn’t so terrible.

…

Things went smoother for the last two times Remus had signed up to babysit him.  Janus had so obviously needed some kind of positive role model, because the second Remus reassured him that he believed him and would treat him as a boy, Janus got loads easier to handle.  At the end of the third time Remus babysat for him, Janus looking at him very seriously and told him that he was clearly one of those rare smart adults.

“Well, technically I’m a teenager,” Remus admitted.

Janus nodded.  “Oh.  That explains it.”

Remus blinked at him.  Well, this kid was definitely going to turn into even more of a nightmare as he got older.

Roman seemed more than a little surprised that Remus hit it off with the kid so well, and when Remus eventually mentioned it to Virgil, he got the same result.  But Remus would just shrug and say something generic along the lines of “We just clicked, I guess.”

He found himself actually looking forward to the last time he was supposed to babysit, which unfortunately came with a realization that this would be the last time he babysat for Janus.  The time passed much too quickly, and Remus, at the end of the night, was not looking forward to leaving.

So for once, an interaction from Janus’ parents brought a positive consequence.

“You just make Janice so happy,” Mrs. Ekans said.  “And that’s not really something that happens with her very often.”

I can’t imagine why.

“I know this wasn’t supposed to be a long term thing, but if you would be willing to become her regular babysitter, we’ll pay you eighty a night instead of sixty.”

Well, Remus probably would have agreed even without the pay raise, especially after he noticed Janus watching hopefully from the hallway, but the extra twenty a night didn’t hurt either.  In the end, after what was basically the opposite of a long and hard decision, Remus agreed, and was now going to spend his Saturdays (and many week nights) watching a kid that he was quickly growing to care for.

Janus plopped himself down on the couch next to Remus a second after he showed up next time, with his lip wobbling and sniffling in a way that immediately made Remus nervous.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Do you only like me because my parents pay you?” Janus asked.

“What?  Of course not, I love hanging out with you,” Remus said, relieved he was actually telling the truth.

Janus brightened immediately.  “Cool!  So if we’re actually friends does that mean you can take me out for ice cream?”

Remus blinked at him for a couple seconds, trying to figure out how in the hell he just got played by an eight year old.  Regardless, they ended up at an ice cream parlor that day.

There came times Virgil had to watch his little brothers too, and Virgil must have told them about Janus, because one day Virgil texted him asking if they could maybe set up a playdate with the little girl he babysat.  Remus winced, but said he’d bring it up next time he was there.

“Their names are Patton and Logan,” he said to Janus, who was looking up at him over the the drawing he was making.  He’d become insistent on drawing better than Remus ever since he’d shown him one of his pieces.  “They’re Virgil’s little brothers.  They want to meet you.”

Janus bit his lip.  “Do I have to pretend to be a girl around them?”

“Kid, that is entirely up to you,” Remus said.  “I haven’t told them yet because you haven’t given me permission.  I can tell you they won’t mind, if you’re worried about that.”

Janus gave that a moment of thought.  “Okay.  You can tell them I’m a boy.  If you’re really sure they won’t mind.”

“I’m sure.”

Janus nodded.  “Okay.  Can they not come here though?”

“I don’t think we picked a place to go yet.  But we could go to a park, or possibly Virgil's house.  We’d have to run it by everyone’s parents.”

“Ugh.  Well that’s not gonna work out then,” Janus said, turning back to his drawing.  “My parents never want me to do anything that makes me happy.”

Remus felt his heart crack at that.  He didn’t know how to explain to the kid the difference between his parents being transphobic and his parents never wanting him to be happy.  He supposed the end result was the same either way.  But Remus couldn’t imagine them having an issue with Janus meeting some other kids.  He was apparently pretty lonely.

“Give it a chance,” he said eventually.  “They could surprise you.”

Janus gave him a look of such doubt that Remus considered, not for the first time, murdering Janus’ parents and hiding their transphobic asses out in the shed.

Luckily, Remus was at least right in Janus’ parents wanting him to meet new kids.  And he was of course also right about none of his friends having a problem with Janus being trans, although they seemed sad for the kid when they learned what his parents were like.  Good.  Remus would have lost respect for them if they didn’t.

They ended up meeting over at Virgil’s house, which was good, because Remus had a sneaking suspicion Janus’ parents would not have approved of Patton, and his love for all things pink and/or sparkly.  They walked through the front door and saw Virgil and Roman sitting on the couch chatting as Logan was doing a puzzle nearby.  Patton was sitting next to him, coloring in a coloring book and wearing a bright pink sparkly dress similar to the one Remus had met Janus in.  Janus’ eyes got really big when he saw Patton, and he hid behind Remus’ leg.

“I thought you said Patton was a boy,” he whispered.

“He is,” Remus replied.  “Patton likes wearing pink sparkly dresses, but that doesn’t make him any less of a boy.”

Virgil glanced up and waved.  “Hey, Remus.  Guys, Remus and Janus are here.”

Patton and Logan both glanced up, and then Patton hopped up and ran across the room.  “Hi!” he said, sticking out his hand.  “I’m Patton!  Virgil says you’re eight just like me!”

Janus slowly stepped out from behind Remus’ leg and shook Patton’s hand.  “Hi,” he said.  “I’m Janus.  J-a-n-u-s.  It’s the boy spelling.  Because I’m a boy.”

Patton grinned at him.  “Yeah, Remus told us!  I think that’s really cool!  Do you want to come color with me?”

It was clear Janus didn’t know quite what to do with that, but he nodded anyway, and Patton took his hand and dragged him over to where he’d been coloring.  Remus noted Logan saying hi as he did so, and including a note about how he was ten and too old for a babysitter.  Remus walked over to sit on the couch next to Virgil and Roman.

“That went about like I’d expected,” he said, nodding at Patton.

Virgil snorted.  “Yeah, pretty much,” he agreed, leaning back and ending up partly against Roman.  Remus would have to tease him about how bright red his face got later.

Overall, the afternoon was a success.  Janus and Patton got along very well, and they made a deal that next time, Janus would bring a sparkly dress and trade it for some of Patton’s more boyish clothes.  Janus talked the whole drive home about how much he liked Patton.

“Even though he could be a little less bouncy,” Janus said.  “He’s kind of a lot.”

“I get that,” Remus said.  “Patton is a really excitable kid.  He’ll mellow out the longer you know him.”

Janus nodded.  “Good,” he said, and Remus laughed.

Just like Remus had expected, Janus’ parents were glad to see him happy from hanging out with other kids.  Which unfortunately also meant they likely had no idea what had actually been happening at the playdate.  It was definitely worth it, though.  Janus gave Remus a hug, a beaming smile, and said he would see him on Saturday, before running off to his room still smiling.

Remus texted Virgil that they would have to do so again sometime soon.

…

Remus arrived on time Saturday, but Mr. and Mrs. Ekans were already rushing out the door, barely having time to hand Remus money for dinner, and saying something about getting something to cheer Janus up before they ran out their car and drove off.

Remus blinked as he watched them drive off, before processing the fact that they’d said something about cheering Janus up.  He headed inside, looking around and hoping to find him.

“Janus?” he called, but no one responded.  He started looking around the living room and found no one, there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen, not even the cabinets, and Remus checked in all their usual hide and seek places, but didn’t find anything.

“Janus?” he called, sticking his head into his room.  There still wasn’t anyone obviously in there, but just as Remus was about to leave he heard sniffing that sounded like it was coming from under the bed.

He shut the door quietly behind him and pulled up the blankets, and there was Janus, curled into a ball.

“Kiddo?” he asked quietly.

“Adults are stupid,” Janus said.  “They don’t understand anything.”

“As a seventeen year old I wholeheartedly agree,” Remus said, trying to get a chuckle or a smile, but not succeeding.  “Are we talking about something specific?”

“They just don’t understand,” Janus said, tucking his head into his knees.  “No matter how many times I explain it to them they don’t get it.  I don’t want to be a girl, Remus.  I mean, am I just explaining it wrong?  If I explain it enough times they have to understand, right?”  He sniffed.  “I just have to explain it a few more times, right?”

“Oh, kiddo,” Remus murmured, reaching a hand under the bed.  Janus grabbed it and let Remus help him out before burying his head in his chest.

“I thought they were supposed to love me,” Janus whispered.  “Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do?”

“They do love you,” Remus tried to reassure, because he’d seen some proof of that.  He’d seen the way they smiled when they saw Janus happy.  They’d thanked him so many times, saying they were unsure of how he did it.

“No.  They love J-a-n-i-c-e.  They love the little girl they think they have.  But that’s not who I am.”  Janus looked up at him, tears pouring down his face.  “Remus, why do they hate who I am?”

Remus didn’t have any good reply to that.  He just gently pulled Janus back to his chest and rubbed his back.  He wasn’t surprised when that just made Janus cry harder, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Janus pulled back and looked up at him after a second.  “Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you still like me if I was a girl?”

Remus had no idea what that question entailed.  He nodded.

“And you like me even though I’m not?”

“Of course I do.”

“What if—” Janus sniffed.  “What if I end up liking boys too or something?  That would be even harder to explain.”

“I like boys,” Remus said instantly.

Janus sniffed again.  “You do?”

Remus nodded.  “Kid, you know what my mom said when I asked her about this stuff?”

“What?”

“She said love should never be conditional.”

“What does conditional mean?”

“It means, Janus,” Remus said, shifting so Janus could sit more comfortably on his lap.  “That you could be trans, cis, gay, straight, a weird half snake man who wears a really stupid hat—”

Janus finally laughed a little at that.

“And if you ask me that question, the answer will always be ‘I love you,’ over and over.”

Janus blinked a couple times.  “You mean you like me?”

“Nope.  I mean I love you, kid.  No matter what.”

Janus’ eyes got big, and tears welled up in them again.  “Over and over?”

“Over and over,” Remus agreed.

Janus sniffed again, and leaned his head into Remus’ chest again.  Remus wrapped his arms around him.  “I am so sorry your parents can’t see what an amazing kid you are just as you are,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Janus said.  “They just don’t understand.  They’re stupid adults.  Adults don’t understand anything.”

Remus held Janus tighter.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  “Adults don’t understand anything.”

…

Over the next couple months, Janus and Patton ended up trading half their wardrobe.  Janus often had a monster truck or dinosaur shirt on within ten minutes of Remus coming over, though he would admit to Remus that those weren’t really his favorite.  He said he liked the one with the cartoon snake on it.  Remus spent the day going over shirts with more realistic snakes on them that Janus liked.  In the end they purchased a couple that Remus said he would keep at his house for days that Janus came over there.

They also spent quite a few days at the park with Patton and Logan, sometimes with Virgil, sometimes with Virgil’s mom or dad.  They felt bad about Janus’ situation too, and Remus could tell they wished they could be doing more.  But Janus wasn’t being abused or neglected, and transphobic parents weren’t a legal reason that someone could be removed from a home.  Remus was really doing about all he could for him.  At least it seemed to be making Janus happier than he was.  Sometimes, Janus told Remus everything he would do once he was too old for his parents to stop him.  Fifteen, he said.  When he was fifteen he would get a haircut.  And Remus would come, right?

Remus would consider for a moment that he’d probably be in college at that point, but he couldn’t imagine leaving this kid to deal with his parents alone, no matter how old they both got, so the conversation always ended with Remus promising that he’d be there when Janus got his first real haircut at fifteen.

There were, of course, things to teach Janus about how to rebel against all of society, though the kid already had an excellent head start with all the philosophy he knew.  Remus took him spray painting one time, and Janus sprayed all of curse words he knew on the wall.  Remus couldn’t be prouder.  They’d shoplifted together a couple times too.  Remus made sure Janus understood that you couldn’t shoplift from a small business that would actually get hurt by it.  Only big chains like Walmart.  And no stealing in a way that would hurt the employees.  Janus seemed to accept all of this easily.  “It’s about eating the rich,” he said, nodding firmly.  “Not hurting people who are already struggling.”

“You’ve got it,” Remus said with a proud smile.

But one of his favorite parts of being with Janus, after he spent one time at the park with Roman and Virgil, was how easily the kid picked up on how in love the two were.

“We have to do something about it,” Janus insisted.  “They’re wasting time!  They don’t have mean parents to worry about, why are they wasting time being scared?”

“I ask them that question all the damn time,” Remus said with a smirk.

“Okay,” Janus said, biting his lip as he started thinking.  “We’re gonna come up with a plan.”

“Oh, are we?  What are we doing?”

“I don’t know yet.  Come help me.”

They spent the rest of that afternoon coming up with their plan, and planned to enact it that Saturday.  They ended up at the ice cream parlor along with Patton and Logan, who were also in on the plan.  Janus was there with Roman and Remus, and Patton and Logan were there with Virgil.  The two in question were not aware that the other group was there.  So, after a couple minutes, Janus loudly remarked to Roman that Patton was there, and could they go say hi.

“You know,” Janus said before Roman could reply.  “I’m going to marry Patton one day.”

Roman smiled, his heart no doubt melting in the same way that Remus’ had when Janus had first told him this.  “Are you?” Roman asked, taking a bite of his ice cream.

Janus nodded.  “And he can wear a wedding dress, because he likes wearing dresses, and I can wear the tuxedo because I don’t like dresses, and you and Virgil can be the best men because it would be cool to have another married couple as the best men.”

Roman started coughing, and Remus patted him casually on the back as he struggled to stop turning bright red.  “What— Virgil and I aren’t married!” Roman exclaimed.

Janus gasped.  “What?  Why not?  When are you going to propose?”

“I— Janus, we’re not dating,” Roman said, turning more into a tomato by the second.

“What?” Janus said, sounding for all the life of him like he was heartbroken.  “You have to ask him out then!”

“Janus—”

“Roman, it could mess up Patton and I’s whole wedding!  You’re gonna mess up our wedding?”  His lip wobbled in a way Remus could tell was fake three months ago, but Roman was clearly not there yet.

“I— look, kiddo, I do like Virgil, but—”

“Then go on!  Time’s ticking, you have to get married before Patton and I do!” Janus called, jumping up and pulling Roman up out of his chair.  “Go on, go on, go on!”

Roman was left with not much of a choice at that point, and he headed over towards the booth across the parlor, where an equally red-faced Virgil had appeared to have been having a similar conversation.  Remus and Janus both followed him over.  There was no way they were missing this.

Virgil stood up quickly when Roman got there, and they both started stammering something that was barely coherent, but in the end, Roman managed to get out something about dinner on Friday, and Virgil managed to nod.

All of the kids, and Remus cause what the hell, started to cheer.

“Look at that, we finally got your heads out of your asses!” Remus called, slapping Roman on the back, who smacked him on the arm right back.

“You all planned this, didn’t you?” Virgil asked, looking too embarrassed to be angry, though Remus had no doubt that would come later.

“Maybe,” Remus said, sliding into the booth after Janus, who was now sitting next to Patton.

“We correctly deduced you would never do anything yourselves,” Logan said with a smile from Patton's other side.

“Janus and I are still getting married one day though,” Patton said, completely seriously.

“Yes,” Janus said, nodding along.  “And you two will be our best men.”

“Okay, slow down,” Roman said.  “That’s taking things a little fast.”

“I think they figured they’d make up for all the time you two wasted,” Remus said with a grin.

“I’m going to kill you later,” Roman said.

“No, please, think of my children,” Remus said.

“What children?”

“Me!” Janus exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.  Remus laughed and pulled him to his side, giving him a noogie.

As the conversation started to head back into a normal direction, Janus nudged Remus in the side.  Remus glanced over.

“Sorry I made the children joke,” Janus said quietly.

“Oh, don’t be sorry.  It’s true is what it is,” Remus said, ruffling his hair again.  “I have adopted you.  You can never get rid of me.”

Janus started smiling.  “Promise?”

“Promise,” Remus said.  “You know why?”

“‘Cause you love me over and over?”

“Because I love you over and over,” Remus said, giving Janus a quick side hug.  “You nailed it, my little man.”

“Little man,” Janus said quietly, though he was still smiling really big, and Remus smiled back.  “Little man.  Yeah.”

#sanders sides #remus sanders #janus sanders #trans janus #transphobia #misgendering #tw misgendering #deadnaming #tw deadnaming #babysitting

[jisungsplatforms]

[Chapter I: Let’s Party!]

Pairing: Producer/Music Major! Han Jisung x Photographer! fem! reader

Genre: NSFW! Smut; non idol au, college au, strangers to lovers

Warnings: strong language, use of alcoholic beverages, drunken antics, ?? jackson wang is throwing a party?? (jk he’s not aljsks. changbin is tho), nothing filthy in this chapter, unfortunately :/ just plot build up

Chapter word count: 2.6k words

Taglist: @hyunjeongins @seungstarss @es-kay-zee @hyunjinsplaything @formidxble @freckledquokka (want to be added? send an ask or a dm! <3)

Haven University; school of the elite. From the academically inclined to the artistically blessed, only those who were gifted with such talents are accepted to augment their potential. The perfect school for the sensational.

...And like every other school with young hormonal adults, also the perfect school for a good fuck.

“Another outstanding submission, Y/n! Keep up the great work!”

You smiled at your photography teacher, Mr. Kim, bowing humbly as you thanked him. You were proud. Praise after praise for your picture taking skills only heightened your motivation to be the best even more. Photography has always been your passion. Ever since you were given your very first camera at the age of 5 years old- which, in retrospect, was actually a toy camera, you already knew that it is something you would want to pursue.

In the middle of your teacher’s praises with another student, the bell rang. “Looks like we ran out of time, folks. Great job again, Seungmin. Everyone, class dismissed,” he said, jokingly using shooing gestures. “Now hurry up and get out of my face, you delinquents. Lunch time awaits. Go replenish your life force.”

You began gathering your belongings, slinging your precious DSLR camera around your neck. “Outstanding submission, young photographer.” You heard someone say. You turned around to see Seungmin grinning at you.

You snort out a laugh. “Thanks. Great job to you too, Seungmo.” Seungmin was about to respond when your instructor’s voice interrupted.

“Oh. Except Y/n. Please stay a little bit after class, for me, dear.” You and Seungmin shared a glance, nodding for him to go ahead without you. He pats your shoulder, bidding you goodbye. You continued packing your things into your bag. As the rest of the students left the room, you walked towards Mr. Kim’s desk, waiting for his word. “Hello, Y/n.”

“Hello, sir. You wanted to talk to me?”

“Ah yes. I wanted to ask you this,” your instructor paused, sitting on his desk. “How much do you love photography?”

You paused, wanting to convey the exact feelings you wanted to express. “Photography is an escape for me,” you answered. “It’s another form of art that helps people convey the emotions and stories people want to tell. Some people express their emotions through music and lyrics, others through paintings, and others through dance. For me, personally, I’m not all that good in any of those aspects, sir. That is why I work so hard when it comes to this class, and in photography in general.” You unconsciously caressed the camera slung around your neck. “And to me, the stories behind a photo is a lot more intimate in a way that I just can’t explain.”

“Because...this is the only way for you to express yourself? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” You nodded. Mr. Kim hummed in thought. “I see.” He stood up and walked to you, placing his warm hands on your shoulder. “I admire you, kid.”

“You...admire me?” You were confused. The teacher admires his student? Isn’t it usually the other way around?

“Oh yeah. Is that hard to believe?”

“Uhm...Kinda, yeah.”

Mr. Kim laughed mirthfully, amused by your bewilderment and doubt. “Well, believe it. You have spunk. Soul. Your work impart emotions I have never seen from my other students before. You’re passionate about what you do, and I like that. You take digital arts very seriously.”

You laughed awkwardly, the amount of praise your instructor was giving you made you happy. “I do, sir. Kinda a shame not a lot of people even consider it an art.”

“Indeed,” he replied, sitting down on his desk. “Which is why I wanted to give you an impromptu assignment. I want to assign you a story telling type of assignment; to write a story using your photography skills, if that makes sense.”

“Hm, yes? I think I get a jist of what you're trying to tell me.”

“Excellent. I just want to use this to monitor your skills, Y/n. You’re a very talented person, the most talented I’ve ever had even. I just want to see how much of that potential you really have so I can help you blossom it into something greater.”

“Oh,” you draw out, somewhat understanding why he picked you. “I see, sir. I’m honored that you’ve picked me.”

“You should,” he joked. “Now, I want you to photograph the following- write or type this down before you forget.” You hastily whipped out your phone from your pocket. “Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. I want you to capture the perfect scenes. Give me something that gives you joy. Something that makes you emotional, good or bad or even both, if you can. Something you fear, and finally, something that you love unconditionally. These are all supposed to be different photos, by the way. Got that?”

You finished typing a few seconds later. “And...got it.”

“Awesome!” he smiled. “Just know that I’ll be giving you only 3 months to complete the assignment. I hope that this isn’t too much to ask of you, but I’m sure someone as ambitious as you doesn’t mind, right?”

“Nope, sir! Everything will be a-okay!”

“I’m glad! Now move along and get to the canteen already. I’m sure you’re just as hungry as I am.”

You giggled, making your way to the door. “Thank you sir! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Oh, finally! There you are! We were starving waiting for you!” You rolled your eyes at Minho, who immediately decided to pick on you the second you entered his field of sight.

“Shut up, you could’ve eaten without me you know?”

“Nah, cause what kind of friends would we be if you ate without you?”

“You just want to steal some of my food, don’t you?”

Minho scoffed and went quiet, prompting Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin to laugh. “Caught you red-handed, Hyung,” Hyunjin teased, which backfired immediately causing him to chant an apology after Minho gave him a look.

“So why did you take so long, Y/n?” Jeongin asked.

“Oh, Mr. Kim wanted to give me an extra assignment.”

“Extra assignment?” Seungmin questioned. “What for?”

You shrugged, sitting down. “Uh, to test me? I’m not sure but I honestly think that there’s something more behind it. Not in like a bad way, just to clarify. I mean, he did acknowledge that I’m the best in his class after all.”

Seungmin snorted. “I just know you meant that unironically.” You jokingly blew a raspberry at him.

“Of course Y/n is the best!” Hyunjin stuck his chin up. “Let’s be honest, anyone could be the best if they use me as their model!”

“Hey, Hyunjin? You wanna eat this straw?” Minho threatened, making Hyunjin shut up.

“No...?”

“Good. Get off your high horse, prince charming.”

The three of you laughed. “Poor Hyunjin,” Jeongin sympathized sardonically.

“Hyunjin please stick to dancing and uh- not dying,” you said. “I still need you alive for some more upcoming projects.”

“For me too,” said Seungmin. “I might start using you as my model as well.”

Hyunjin fake cried, “Y’all just like me for my looks!”

“I mean, there’s no denying you are incredibly handsome but we like your personality too, Hyunie, don’t worry,” you cheered him up, then turned to Jeongin. “What about you, Yeni? How’re you holding up now that Lix is gone?”

Jeongin gasped. “I miss him! I’m so lonely now, especially when I have theatre! I feel so awkward now that girls swarm up to me instead- and you know I’m a shy boy!”

“Hey! At least you’re more popular now!” Minho laughed.

“Well, now we have no choice but to remember Felix in our hearts,” Seungmin replied.

“I’m not fucking dead. I just switched majors!” the four of you turned to see Felix pouting at you all.

“Well, you’re dead to me!” Jeongin wailed. “Going from a theatre major to a dance major. How could you?!”

Felix chuckled, sitting down between Seungmin and Jeongin. “I’m sorry! You know I’ll still see you though, buddy!”

“Why don’t you just switch to a regular vocal major next semester, Yeni?” you asked.

“Nah. I originally did want to go for just regular vocal studies but, you know, even if I did accidently sign up for the class, I ended up finding something else I wanna do. Plus, theatre is surprisingly fun! You know, find something new that’ll change your life every day.”

“Yup! Especially since they often collab with the dance majors so we get to see each other a lot!” Hyunjin beamed while Minho nodded in acknowledgment.

“Oh, speaking of dancing,” Minho chimed in. “You guys wanna go to a party I was invited to?”

“No,” Seungmin immediately responded.

“No, not you, I knew you would say no. I meant the others.”

Hyunjin nodded, “I was invited to the same party you’re talking about, so yeah.”

“Can’t,” Felix replied. “I’m still getting used to my new major and I still have a few assignments to catch up on.”

Jeongin hummed in agreement. “Same here. We have a play coming up soon and I’m a lead this time, so I gotta stay home to rehearse as much as I can.”

Minho made a stank face, “Aww. Lame.” He turned to you. “What about you, Y/n? You down?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

“Really?” All 5 boys looked at you incredulously.

“Yeah. I might find some inspiration while I’m there. Besides you know I’ll just be leeching off of Hyunie and Min the whole time.”

Minho and Hyunjin high-fived, cheering a quiet ‘yes!’ Hyunjin giggled. “This is great cause we might need a designated back up driver in case I get drunk and Minho-hyung abandons me!”

“Now that you’ve said that, I might seriously consider that,” Minho grinned. “We’ll pick you up at 8 sharp! Y/n!”

‘8:53pm’ You wanted to go home already.

The boys, true to their word, picked you up at 8:00pm. With little to no traffic- and the fact that Hyunjin actually got ready early so that they wouldn’t be an hour late- the three of you made it to the party around 8:20pm. Even then there were already a lot of people there.

“What the fuck. This house is huge!” you gawked. “Can you even consider this a house still?!”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I’d say this more of a mansion at this point.” All you do mutter a constant chant of ‘what the fuck. what the fuck’ over and over again. “Who’s house is this again, Minho?”

“Changbin’s, remember? Jisung said they’re celebrating in his house,” Minho replied.

“Well this Changbin dude is LOADED,” you mused. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the elegance of the house, which most likely costs more than your entire tuition. “I’d hate to be the one who has to clean up the place.” The boys lead you to the kitchen, helping you avoid the crowd cause, in your words, ‘ew yucky people’. There, they brought you to two men wearing all black, who were hanging out on the island counter. Their names were Changbin- the handsome rich boy who owns the house, the lucky bastard- and Chan- another handsome rich boy with the cutest laugh and dimples, both really sweet and hilarious men, whom you very much enjoyed talking to...

That was the last memory you had before it went downhill.

It took 33 minutes and 4 soju bottles later for Hyunjin to get drunk. Chan and Changbin were back at the booth, manning the song list for the night while Minho was somewhere with some guy in a red beanie doing absolutely nothing, so here you were: stuck babysitting your best friend. “Y/n! Y/n!”

You sighed hearing Hyunjin drunkenly call you. Again. “Yes, Hyunie?”

“I looove you~!” he sang while giving you finger hearts, rocking on the balls of his feet. You sighed again, rubbing your temple.

“Yeah yeah. I know. Love you too.”

“Y/n!” Your left eye twitched. You whipped out your phone from your bra to text Minho.

Me: You bitch.

Help me

Minho ho ho 😼: Hi

No

You glowered. You quickly glanced up to check Hyunjin, who was now sitting on the carpeted floor in front of you, counting his luscious black hair.

Me: He’s-he’s counting his hair… Please get him. It’s like watching a bird repeatedly hitting glass

Minho ho ho 😼: At least he’s not making any trouble now, is he?

He fucking jinxed it. Hyunjin stood up with a shocked look on his face. “What’s wrong, Hyunjin?”

“It’s my favorite song!” he cheered, starting to dance along. You have to admit, even when he’s drunk, he’s still an exceptional dancer. Texting Minho a quick ‘fuck you’. You put your phone back between your breasts to go back to monitoring him, preparing yourself in case you needed to tackle Hyunjin down.

“Heyyy, Y/n!” Minho suddenly draped his arm around your shoulder. Taking your eyes off of Hyunjin, you glared at your lazy, backstabbing friend, shoving his arm off of you.

“Asshole, you’re ten minutes late.”

“Oh I'm not here for Hyunjin. I need your phone.” You look at him audaciously.

“What the- why?”

“My-uh-phone died?” he said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes briefly flickered towards Minho’s friend, who, in return, looked down bashfully, red faced. Hm. Weird. You rolled your eyes, nonchalantly reaching into your shirt to get your phone. Minho didn’t even hide his grimace. He cringed, “It’s warm...and wet?”

“Shut up. I’m sweating, okay? And I don’t have any pockets on me.”

Minho nodded, going back to his little friend. Before you could scold him, you heard Hyunjin screaming. You turned around to find him running to the front door. Oh shit. You started pushing people to run after him

You groaned in disgust, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of here. You pushed your way out of the crowd, cringing at the feeling of touching numerous dirty, unknown people. Where in the world is the fucking exit? In the midst of the sweaty, drunken bodies, your eyes met. It was like time had stopped; no one within the vicinity seemed to not have mattered anymore. With just a smirk and a flirty wink from the chubby-cheeked boy in the red beanie, you knew…

...you just had to fuck him

Hold on, Y/n. Your friend might get fucking ran over! You snapped out of it. With a flustered face, you continued shoving your way through, wrangling Minho on the way. “Come on, fucker. You’re helping me. Let’s go,” you sneered while Minho complained.

After 30 minutes of chasing and wrestling, the drunken beast was tamed. The night ended with Minho driving you all home instead while you and Hyunjin cuddled in the backseat against your will. Minho took great pleasure in knowing that he wasn’t Hyunjin’s cuddle buddy, laughing every time you tried unlatching yourself from him, which made the long haired boy cry. Your sadistic friend dropped you home first, apologizing for not being much of a help tonight. “To make it up to you, I have something for you,” he suspiciously said, wiggling his eyebrows, before giving your phone back and driving off.

You relaxed on your bed, happy that you were rid of those dirty, smelly clothes. You grabbed your phone to text Minho. Assuming that the messages app was left on your conversation with him, you started texting, not paying any mind to the fact that the chat was blank.

Me: Thanks for taking me I guess. I didn’t get anything other than unwanted kisses from Hyunjin ew but it’s aight.

Speaking of aight…Do you think you can give me your friend’s number? 👁👁 The one with the red beanie.

Cause sir, not to be nsfw or anything but he is one fine ass man that I’d like to fuck

Almost immediately, the three bubbles appeared. You were surprised that Minho would reply that fast, thinking we was still on the road with Hyunjin. The reply you got, however, made your heart drop.

Min’s hoe: uh...hi? 👋🏻

this is minho’s “fine ass friend with the red beanie” 👁👁

Shitshitshitshit SHIT

[NEXT CHAPTER]

A/n: Sorry no smut in this chapter just plot build up :(( (which i’m a sucker for) and a lot of dialogue. But Trust me. Everything written in this chapter will fall into place with the future chapters. And who know, next chapter might be 🥵

#stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids series #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #skz smut #han jisung smut #han jisung series #han jisung scenarios #han jisung imagines #han jisung x reader #Late Night Indulges

[sockablock]

I’ve had a small idea for a little while now, so I’m testing the waters with a first chapter! It’s a bit long, so excuse me there, but hopefully y’all enjoy reading! :3

—

It began with a letter that arrived one morning as Essek sat alone in the kitchen.

The courier himself had seemed just as surprised to be delivering a message to the reclusive Shadowhand, but a cursory glance at the carefully-folded envelope and a less-cursory casting of Detect Magic had signaled no foul play. So Essek took the letter, settled back beside the dining table, and floated over a glass of chilled juice for the reading.

His eyes flicked over the return address, and though it did seem familiar, it did not immediately spark recognition. His first real impression of the message was simply that of crisp, neatly-printed handwriting and the faintest whiff of…hmm. Lavender.

The letter began with a standard greeting.

To Shadowhand Essek Thelyss—

I hope you have been keeping well since we spoke. It has been some time, and I admit it is strange for me also as I realize this is likely the first letter I have sent you since our meeting.

He sipped the juice.

You are a busy man, and I would not intrude on your time if my request is unwelcome or unfeasible. But you see, in the time since we have ended the war and sealed away the Chained Oblivion—

Essek nearly spat out his drink.

He managed, in the proceeding moments, to weakly swallow, and shakily set his glass back onto the table. He cleared his throat once or twice. He gently coughed.

He picked up the envelope he had discarded earlier and quickly, the pieces fit together.

The Firmaments. Eastern district. The neighborhood where once, Den Thelyss had provided a house for a ragtag group of outsiders…

He snatched the letter back into the air.

—and semi-accidentally, though certainly also purposefully toppled the Cerberus Assembly.

Essek had to pause and re-read that sentence. It still didn’t sink in until nearly a minute later. He rubbed his temples, and resumed.

As such, it has befallen on I, and by extension the rest of the Mighty Nein to rebuild some of the arcane infrastructure of the Empire. To be more specific, in our meeting with King Dwendal’s court, a lord accused us of trying to cripple the nation by eliminating a powerful institution of magic and Beauregard volunteered that I would be the best candidate to replace it. One comment led to another, and perhaps it was our past efforts in politicking, or our recent defeat of the Maw of Eternal Darkness—

Essek wondered if he had any alcohol.

—but the court ultimately, shockingly, decided that I should be put in charge of creating and overseeing a new arcane academy for the Dwendalian Empire. And so, at the time in which I am writing you this letter, I have been appointed the Headmaster of a new Soltryce Academy, though I certainly will not be keeping that name.

It is with this in mind that I am writing to you now, my friend. For you see, despite the apparent confidence of my friends and my “superiors,” I do not believe I am capable of running a school on my own. Certainly not implementing the necessary infrastructure to have a school of any repute by the next century as well. And though I have my friends, and some resources, and an idea of where to start, the destruction of the Assembly and the Cobalt Soul’s anti-corruption efforts have left our nation in a sorry state regarding reputable mages. So, my dear friend, as we have worked together in the past, I have quite a large favor to ask.

And as Essek’s eyes continued scanning further down the page, the sinking sensation gripping his stomach was not helped by the decanter of plum wine that floated over to his table.

—

Meanwhile, beneath a shining sun on what seemed like the opposite side of the world, Caleb Widogast, the appointed head of a yet-to-be-named-academy was being berated by one of his closest friends.

Beau at least had possessed the decency to shut the tent flap so the army of woodworkers outside would not hear this.

“—suspicious! Caleb, there’s no way it’ll work. And not just because he’s the Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, also because…because…well…everything!”

“I think if he carried an umbrella during the day—”

“Not what I’m talking about,” Beau said. “I’m talking about literally every other problem that asking Essek to teach will cause, good gods.”

Caleb leaned back on the small wooden crate that was currently serving as his favorite chair. The slightly-larger crate he was using for a desk said “Honigblumen Brewery” on it.

“Well, nobody will be teaching for quite some time yet,” he said, “so we will have plenty of chances to work out the kinks.”

Beau shook her head at him, then took a seat. “I’m so far down disbelief city that I’m not even going to talk about the fact that you just said kinks.”

“I meant—”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I know what you meant, and here’s what I mean. Caleb, as much as I know you like Essek, there’s no way any of this is gonna work. First of all, he’s already got a job as the Shadowhand, and I doubt he’d wanna give up a cushy position like that to come work for a nothing-at-all school in the middle of the Empire.”

“Ja, I know, I know, I’ve thought about that—”

“And did you think about the part where he’s the fucking Shadowhand and you’ve asked him to come to the middle of the Dwendalian Empire to teach a goddamn gen-ed course?!”

Caleb was quiet for a moment. And then he said:

“Actually, I was thinking of asking him to take the more advanced levels—”

Beau reached across the ale crate to flick Caleb in the head. “And you don’t see a problem with that, at all? Caleb, for the gods’ sake, use your stupidly big head to consider the fuckin’ political ramifications of that. If the Empire catches wind of this, they’re gonna hate it, war over or not over. And I don’t even mean that in a ‘there’s gonna be shitty racism’ way, which is something else you’ll probably have to deal with later, I meant that in a ‘think about his last job description way.” And speaking of that, I mean, on Essek’s side, really, are you really expecting him to really settle down and help teach after he’s spent a lifetime—a human lifetime—being a military spymaster? Not to mention the fact that he’s a power-hungry war criminal who betrayed his own nation to get ‘arcane secrets’ or whatever. Seriously, dude, there’s no scenario where this goes well for you or him.”

At Caleb’s expression, Beau’s tone eased just slightly and she added, as a peace offering, “Really, dude.”

Caleb sighed. He scratched at his head.

“I…look. I…I think you’re right, but…there are also good possibilities of having him around. He is knowledgeable, he is skilled, I know his magic firsthand, and he has always been trustworthy—”

“Ha!”

“—for us, Beauregard. I think he is one of our best potential candidates, especially as he is only one of three so far. Just…trust me on this one, alright?”

She studied his face intently. The sheerness of the tent walls let in quite a bit of light, giving both of their eyes a faint, sunny sparkle.

With these two, though, it was more of a manic glint.

“What’s this really about?”

“Was?”

Beau leaned closer. “I said, what’s this really about? I don’t think that’s your only motivation. And if I’m gonna trust you, you’ve gotta be straight with me. I know you’re not an idiot, so I believe you when you say you’ve thought about the risks. What’s made them all worth it? What do you really think, and don’t give me that crap about him being a good teacher. You’ve got good teachers. Two advanced ones anyway, and you said yourself yesterday that the rest can be trained. So what’s up? What’s your real game here?”

Caleb floundered only slightly under the intensity of her stare.

“How long have we known each other now? No, fuck that, I pulled you out of the mouth of a forsaken god. Tell me, dickwad. Come on, it’s me.”

And after a moment, Caleb pinched his nose.

“It’s…it’s… it’s partially selfish. And…”

This, Beau understood. She nodded. “And…?”

“And…well, I…was thinking last night, after dinner, about who I want on this project. Aside from you all. And I realized…thinking about everything we have been through, that…for the most part, especially after our…revelations at sea, Essek is one of the people I want around. Largely because, well…”

He gave another sigh.

“Because I want to see what has become of our Xhorhastian friend. More importantly, I want to see if he has…or…could, ah, change.”

“Change,” she said flatly.

“Ja. I…I think I need to seem him change.”

“Because?”

“Because...” Caleb exhaled. “After everything we have been through, what we have seen, after fighting against the Assembly and watching so many mages crumble, I find myself searching for…assurance. Assurance that not every wizard is bad. Assurance that we even deserve this second change. And…if at all possible, what I most would like is to know that anyone, even the most driven and ambitious, the most ruthless, cutthroat, power—as you said, power-hungry—wizard can be shown that there is another way. That…ultimately, all of us can be redeemed.”

He looked back up, and raised an eyebrow. “I want to make this school a force for change. And I want to make it a place where we change, too. I said once before, and I still believe it is so, that Essek and I have a lot of things in common. It is time to see how much we can be changed.”

Beau did not answer for a drawn-out moment, but neither did she look away.

“I think you’re pretty changed, Caleb. That should be a point in your corner already.”

“That’s true,” and this time his smile was a little brighter, “but that is largely due to our group. I think Essek has gotten some of the Mighty Nein treatment, but probably not enough.”

“So…so is he your pet project now, or something?”

“Ach, no, nothing so…no. It is more of a…the thing is, Beauregard, I do consider him a friend. And we got so caught up with the Angel in Irons cult and then the Assembly that, well…it is just, before all that happened, I did like spending time with him.”

“Me too,” she waved a hand, “he had good wine, and when we got him in the hot-tub, he wasn’t that bad. Still don’t know if he’s worth all this. He’s a war criminal—yeah, I know what you and Jester think, but that’s what I think, and Veth agrees. Seriously, you never know, he could be too far gone, and I don’t want him near this school and project if it’ll put you in danger or risk anything.”

“We are no strangers to danger,” Caleb murmured. “And I…would like to think that with enough effort, nobody could be so far gone.”

Beau sighed. She leaned across the crate again, but this time it was to put an arm on Caleb’s shoulder.

“You’re really fucking stubborn, you know that?”

“Ja, so I have been told.”

“Essek has betrayed people before. His people, before.”

“Yes, but…” Caleb shrugged. “He also will probably be betraying his own nation to join this school.”

“Oh, good,” Beau grunted. “So at least he’s had some practice.”

—

By the time Essek had managed to re-arrange his thoughts into something even mildly resembling order, the letter in his hands was so thoroughly crumpled that all its corners were bent.

He attempted to smooth them back out. When this failed to be satisfactory, he put it back on the kitchen table.

A…teaching position at Caleb’s school. Well not Caleb’s school, but a new Empire Academy that Caleb would oversee. And they needed instructors, as well as mages to help build it, and he thought Essek would be a good fit…

Idly, he wondered if Caleb wanted a teleportation network, as many of the finest institutions had. He wondered if this was something he would have to organize.

Apparently, the Mighty Nein had defeated the Chained Oblivion in some obscure corner of the world, without most of civilization even noticing. But Essek remembered the readings that morning, remembered the clamor and panic in the Cathedral, remembered the theurgists in the Conservatory practically tearing themselves apart to understand what was happening. If their claims were true, and this wasn’t an elaborate prank on the Mighty Nein’s end, a large part of Essek vowed he would draw chalk circles for them forever, if they asked.

But a small part of Essek had the needling thought: why didn’t they tell me it was happening? I could have helped them.

He glanced back at the note.

Well, they were asking for help now, weren’t they? And if nothing else had changed, it was the simple fact that Essek would still do his best to help his friends.

There were just some minor complications to be dealt with.

Namely, what to tell the Bright Queen. And his—

He made a face.

—and his mother.

—

A few days later, Essek stood in front of his bathroom mirror.

It was a beautiful piece, made from polished volcanic glass and set into an ornately-twisted frame of dark metal. It was the perfect gift for someone who regularly floated around Rosohna being called the Shadowhand, but as far as mirrors actually went it left some details lacking.

Still, it served Essek well enough, and he’d never really gotten around to replacing it.

He stared into his dim reflection and slid a hand over his chin.

—

Elsewhere, another wizard stared too, but not into any reflective surface.

Veth’s eyes hadn’t refracted light like that for nearly two years, now. But Caleb could still feel the weight of her gaze boring into his skull as she searched for answers.

Eventually, she sat back.

“Alright. How?”

“Yes, I know it’s—was?”

“How?” she repeated, and steepled her fingers. “How are we gonna do it? He’ll need a disguise, right?”

There was a long pause as Caleb processed this. He managed, “You are…not mad?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m happy, but I trust you, Caleb. You have a reason?”

“Er…yes. I quite do.”

“So…alright, then.” There was a pause, then she added, “I am kind of annoyed you already sent the letter without asking, though.”

“Sorry.”

“I feel like I should ground you.”

“That, er…you can, if that makes you feel better.”

Veth genuinely seemed to consider this. Behind them, through the thin tent-walls of the office, they could hear a delighted child running circles around adults. They were, respectively, Luc Brenatto, having the time of his life shooting the Mighty Nein with wooden darts.

They were rounded off, of course. Yeza had seen to that with great care.

“No,” Veth sighed eventually. “No, that probably sets a bad example. I don’t think a professor can ground the Headmaster.”

“Head Professor, do not forget. I trust you the most out of everyone on this project. Not just because you are my friend, but you are qualified. And you really understand our mission.”

His tone of voice suggested that this was a conversation they had had many times. The way Veth’s face colored just slightly suggested she was still having trouble with the ‘qualified’ part.

Nevertheless, years of trained suspicion broke through the treacle-sweet flattery.

“But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you were planning to ask Essek to come earlier,” she pointed out. “What did you think I was going to do?”

Caleb winced. “No, Veth, I…scheisse. That was…I was being impulsive that night. I…the idea occurred to me and I did not even hesitate to contact him. I…in retrospect, I should have.”

At least, to his relief, Veth nodded in response. “I get that,” she shrugged. “And like I said before, I am on board. You’re lucky I like you so much, Caleb. I don’t…care for Essek, but if this is what you want, I’ll…deal with having him around.”

“I am sorry again,” he said. “And, er…if it helps, you will also be his boss.”

Veth hadn’t been a goblin for years, but her eyes gleamed.

“Please be nice to him,” Caleb added.

“Nice?” Veth scoffed. “He’s not exactly nice.”

“He was nice to us—”

“Not Yeza.”

At the tortured grimace that passed across Caleb’s face, Veth sighed.

“Look, don’t worry, seriously. I was mostly kidding—I’m kidding! I just…you know that I have complicated feelings about Essek. In a…in a sort of way, I understand what he did. And I know where he’s coming from, I do. Lots of us are...well, we were pretty sketchy too. He really reminds me of the things we’ve done. But…he hasn’t shown nearly as much remorse as I’d like. And some of the things he’s done are—” She risked a glance up into Caleb’s impassive expression, “—I don’t like that he still doesn’t seem to care. But…he is a wizard, and I guess he’s our friend. So…if you can keep him from doing anything, I don’t know, very sketchy, then I’m on board. I trust you.”

Caleb’s expression went soft. He nodded.

“Thank you, Veth. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And I do hope that…well, I hope we can stop him from ‘sketchy’ things. In fact, ah…a small part of me is hoping that eventually, he will want to stop doing sketchy things all by himself.”

“Really?” Veth sounded more than skeptical. “How?”

Caleb shrugged. “The same way you and I did, no?”

—

Now Essek stood before the iron wrought gates that led into the expansive manor grounds of his family home. He could see, high above and a bit back, the five towers that made up the domain of the Umavi of Den Thelyss, long empty after all her children had moved on.

And, Essek recalled with a grimace, after his father had most probably, definitely, died.

It was a lonely castle. A feeling he could commiserate with, even in his smaller manor.

He straightened his collar. He knocked twice.

—

“By getting rich as adventurers.”

“By getting friends.”

—

“It is a surprise to see you here,” said Umavi Deirta Thelyss, Denmother of Den Thelyss and also Essek’s actual mother. “You rarely visit outside formal events and holidays.”

She did not add that Essek had totally missed the last two get-togethers, and thus must have been in a charitable mood. The rare—albeit leftover—tea blend that Essek had brought might have tipped the scale.

“I know, Mother.”

“I worry about you, of course.”

“I know, Mother.”

“And I’m certainly proud of what you’ve accomplished thus far.” At this, she took a sip of the Blooming Grove’s best. “I trust you are finding ways to keep yourself busy even during these times of peace?”

“Of course, Mother. Er…actually, it is partially that subject which I wish to address with you.”

His mother lowered her cup.

“Ah. So this is not purely a social call.”

“Er…no.”

She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, but Essek could have sworn she’d just smiled. Or, he backpedaled, at least tactfully smirked.

“Is this about access to the Beacons again, dear? As I always say, I can try to put in a word, but we have never been the den as involved in religious matters.” She paused, and tilted her head at him. “Is this about Consecution?”

“Er…no.”

“Oh. Well, then? Speak your mind.”

Under the table, Essek twisted at the hem of his sleeve.

“I, ah…well, that is…I’ve received a letter, Mother. An offer of…professorship. From…an Academy.”

This seemed to genuinely surprise the Umavi.

“Professorship? But…why?”

“Someone out there believes in my arcane prowess, apparently.” With the first sentence out of the way, Essek managed to sip his tea. Only a true observer would have noticed it falter slightly in its trajectory.

“Well,” said his Mother, trying to meet his gaze, “what a strange request to make of one already so gainfully employed. As the Bright Queen’s master of…let us call them the more obscure matters of state.”

When Essek did not match her eyes, she continued, “What sort of Academy is this, dear? Surely none in the Marble Tomes would write you in this way, and I find difficulty imagining you taking up permanent residence in Asarius. Which must mean…”

Essek sighed. His mother certainly was a true observer.

“Yes, Mother. It is outside the Dynasty.”

“Worse than that, I am sure.”

“Er…”

There was a sweeping of long robes as his mother leaned. She wasn’t wearing her headdress, but could loom without height, her sheer imposing presence doing the work just fine.

“Essek?”

He sighed again.

“Inside the Empire, Mother.” And because they had gotten this far, and he didn’t have much else to lose, he added, “Run by Widogast. Caleb Widogast, if you remember him, as well as a number of his friends, I gather. It is the…replacement institution currently being built to fill the void—”

“That the Assembly left, yes, I assumed.” She settled back, and a shifting of fabric indicated that she had crossed her arms. “And our dearly departed hero Widogast wants you to teach there?”

“And to assist him in establishing some of its curriculum and facilities, yes.” He tactfully ignored the ‘dearly departed’ bit.

“That would certainly be an odd career move for you, Essek. And surely, foreigner or no, he has spent enough time in our country to be aware of the implications of what he is asking.”

“Surely, Mother.”

“And as we all know, he has had training in Dunamancy these last years. I do hope his teacher had impressed upon him how vitally important it is to keep such training and knowledge a secret.”

For the first time since reading the letter, Essek paused.

In all his…well, excitement was not a word ever ascribed to the Shadowhand, but certainly in his anticipation to consider his offer, it had never actually crossed his mind that he might be asked to teach Dunamancy.

A small but very significant part of him riled.

Across the table, his mother drank some more tea. She was watching her son, who to his credit, had mastered the art of freezing his micro-expressions so swiftly that they could not be read. But without his mantle on, sitting in his mother’s tearoom, his hands were fidgeting up a storm across the table.

He probably hadn’t even noticed. She took another sip.

In a matter of seconds, Essek was back. He shook his head, and reached for a dry cookie.

“I think he is aware of the gravity of the situation. And I trust him to have already, ah…weighed the pros and cons.”

“And have you?” asked Deirta Thelyss, knowing the answer.

Essek bit down.

“I believe I have.”

—

“So…that’s it? We just wait for an answer, now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

“Well, I certainly hope so.”

“How’s he supposed to tell you?” This one was Jester, leaning across a stack of milk crates. “He doesn’t have Sending, I’m pretty sure.”

There was a pause in the air as the Mighty Nein watched Caleb consider, and realize this.

“Oh,” he said eventually. “I, er…I had assumed he did.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Beau said. “How did you think he was going to answer back? You didn’t think Xhorhas had a postal service to Felderwin, did you?”

“I, ah, admit that—”

“Maybe you should check our mailbox in Rosohna,” said Fjord kindly. “He probably just sent it to the Xhorhouse, or something.”

Caleb faltered, and scratched the back of his head. “…scheisse. You don’t think he has been waiting all this time to answer already, has he? I had not even considered—”

“I would not worry about that.”

All of them turned as a voice outside the door drifted in through the thin walls of the tent.

Then the voice added:

“How do I…oh, there is a latch—”

But he did not manage to finish the assessment before Jester ran over, threw the flap open, and tackled Essek bodily in a hug.

—

“In that case, there is only one last thing to say.” The Umavi of Den Thelyss sat back in her seat. A thin trail of steam curled up from her cup.

“I forbid you from going.”

“Thank—you what?”

She steepled her fingers. “I say ‘no,’ Essek. I will not let you chase this Empire wizard across the continent to teach at his school.”

“I…but…that is not…Mother, why?”

The swiftness of his outburst answered the question for both of them.

She studied his gaze.

“Essek, you have a purpose here. You have a bright future, and a reputation, and glowing prospects and I will not let you squander that to go off spilling our nation’s secrets.”

Essek managed to bite his tongue just in time. His mother would not have liked his instinctual answer.

Instead, he choked out the words, “I’ll quit, then. I’ll defect. I want to do this. More than I have ever wanted anything else in my life.”

Later, he would wonder why he said that. Even later, later, he would wonder if that were true.

The oldest and nearly-youngest souls of Den Thelyss stared at each other across the tea table. Their drinks cooled, and somewhere high above, the sun began to rise over the city of Rosohna.

But down here, beneath the blanket of perpetual stars, the only light was from the low, flickering lamps along the wall.

“I would do anything,” one said.

“…is that so?” said the other.

—

He was released after the impact knocked his parasol aside and his skin very quickly, visibly, began to redden. They immediately ushered him into the tent, shouting and laughing and clapping him on the back all the way, though he noticed that despite the friendly reception from Jester, Caduceus, Fjord, and even Yasha, Veth seemed somewhat frozen in her smile, and Beau even less warm.

That was…probably to be expected, actually. He wondered if this might present an issue and was about to open his mouth, say something, until he noticed a figure striding across the tent floor, side-stepping a stack of crates, and taking him by the hand.

Essek met his eyes. It had been some time, since he saw those eyes. Then he blinked.

“By the light, Caleb, you have grown a beard.”

There was a pause, and then Caleb laughed, and that was new too. Essek always forgot how quickly humans could change.

“I had meant to shave it before you arrived,” Caleb admitted. “It is, ah, a product of sleepless nights overseeing the construction of a new school.”

“It’s terrible,” Jester said. “It makes you look old.”

“I can fix this now if needed,” said a voice, followed by the sound of an unsheathing sword.

“Er…maybe…later, bitte?”

And Essek couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “I nearly forgot how boisterous all of you are, all the time. I have…” He turned, faced the Mighty Nein. “My life has not been nearly as interesting without you in it.”

“Well then, welcome back,” Caduceus gave a smile.

And even Veth, despite their…history, stepped forward.

“I said it once before, didn’t I? Welcome to the Mighty Nein, Essek.”

She even stuck out a hand for him to shake.

—

“I want you to report back everything to me. And when the time comes, when your Headmaster is summoned to the castle, I want you to go with him.”

“But…Mother, why?”

Her voice was nothing but gentle as she addressed her son.

“It is well-known that King Bertrand Dwendal has no heirs. And rules over quite a…combative court, with an iron fist.”

She leaned in even closer.

“What would happen to the Empire, do you think, if he was removed from that picture?”

—

And somewhere else, on what felt like the opposite side of the world, Caleb put an arm around Essek’s shoulder, and grinned.

“It is good to see you again, my friend.”

Essek’s lip twitched into what could approximately be called a smile.

“Good to see you as well,” he said.

#to be continued...? #critical role #critfic #shadowgast #critrole #cr2 #the mighty nein #fanfiction #fanfic #jay writes #long post #LONG ASS POST #SUCH A LONG POST IM SO SORRY #for later #i dont have a tag for this yet so let's call it #time to build a magic school #text #fic

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - Prologue (Vergil x Nero's Mother)

Summary: Turmoil has engulfed the small Island of Fortuna, shaken now more than ever by a never-ending civil war opposing the religious Order of the Sword to a group of rebels named the Guard of Sparda. As he tries to unveil his father's secret past and achieve some hidden dark purpose, Vergil crosses path with Elissa, a young lady whose thirst for vengeance and blood is as red as the dress she's wearing. He doesn't want to care and he especially doesn't want to get involved but you don't choose your fate in Fortuna. That's the story Nero is about to discover.

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda's past

Author’s note: This is one hell of an ambitious project I put myself into, but I hope you will follow me in this journey which is basically another fan fiction about Vergil and Nero's mother. Probably not the best (I've read some prreeety good ones) but one that should be (hopefully) different from what was previously posted.I worked a lot on this story, made a lot of research and used many artistic references that I catalogued at the end of each chapter for the curious ones among you. Since English is not my mother tongue, feel free to let me know if there's any grammar mistake or if some sentences don't make any sense. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

In twenty-five years, Aifric’s Alehouse hadn’t changed even just a tiny bit. Same hefty old furniture. Same mucky walls and filthy floor covered in layers of dry alcohol that stick your shoes to the wooden slats each time you take a step. Same lamentable drunkards in search of more alcohol to drown their sorrows in, their arms around women that would pretend to adore them for a night in exchange for a bit of money. And, now that Vergil dared breathe a little, same foul stench of humidity, staleness and sweat, typical of this kind of underground bars from the no-go areas of the Castle Town of Fortuna. And the music … Don’t let him think about the music.          Never thought he would come back here one day.                   His firm gloved hand grabbed the backrest of a wobbly stool that scratched the old wooden floor with an unpleasant creak as he pulled it to sit on it, revealing his presence to the brown-skinned man sipping his beer in silence next to him, his defeated pockmarked face hidden under a thick dirty white cloak that hadn’t been washed in probably years and that had lost almost all its glorious golden embroideries.     Vergil eyed at him for a second, the same way the Moor had eyed at him when, more than two decades ago, he had sit on this very same stool, his then young frame hidden under a cloak similar to his and yet less odorous, a young wanderer looking for stories and answers. Strange how things seems to move in circle.          “You’re too late. You know that?” The man’s voice was thickly and hoarse, due to the long years of alcohol abuse and contempt towards the world, towards that silver-haired ghost back from a distant past but especially towards himself. “Twenty-five fucking years too late to be more precise.” He got no answer to that reproach, not a word, just a nod and a pregnant silence that made him scoff. But his laugh, once so hearty and alive, held today nothing but melancholy and despise. “But at least she was right. You did come back.”           Vergil peeped at the man again from the corner of his icy blue eyes, longer this time, but still with that eternal impassibility he was known for, hiding his slight surprise and his judgemental thoughts he knew deep down he shouldn’t have. But the barfly next to him was nothing like the man he had met years ago. This man was just the broken shadow of the one everyone in Fortuna once called Adel the Honourable¹ , Captain of the Guard of Sparda.           “What the fuck are you doing here … Vergil?” He spat on his name, literally, not caring about what the solemn Son of Sparda would think of him, would do to him. He spat to show him his disgust, his hatred, even though he knew that a bit of saliva wasn’t enough to show the extent of his feelings. “Where is she?” Vergil asked with a calm voice that made Adel grimace (that voice was as nasally and annoying as he remembered) and finally glare at him, allowing Vergil to see how the years and the pain had marked and scared his once-handsome face. “You got some nerve to ask that now.”           “ I need to see her.”Adel firmly hit the counter with his empty glass before turning around to stare at Vergil, giving him a long disdainful look he thought he could only give himself. “Sure, I’ll bring you to her. But you might want to give me that damn sword of yours so that I shove it deep in your stone-cold heart first.” Vergil smirked. This was way too reminiscent of old foolish squabbles he once found very amusing … though quite pathetic and most of the time one-sided.       “Why don’t you use that crossbow² of yours instead?” The taunt wasn’t meant to defy him if one could read through Vergil’s phlegmatic voice. But the Moor³ interpreted it that way and yet refused to react to it, knowing how vain it would be.   “I don’t have it anymore.” Adel opened his cloak to reveal a leather sling with no weapon attached to it. “I don’t have anything anymore. And we know full well that it wouldn’t have done shit to you.”        “Trust me, Adel. I know what it’s like to lose everything.” Was it an attempt at sounding

sympathetic? Probably. After all, Vergil still felt somewhat confused by the occasional waves of humanity surging up from inside of him.        “Do you?” He laughed with bitterness, not believing him for one second. “Bullshit! And you know why? Cause you never had anything!”  If Vergil took this as a personal attack he didn’t let his body show it, but he nevertheless let out one simple sentence, a boast he knew would displease the brown-skinned man, a display of his pride and superiority he always thought he had over that mere human. “I had her.”        Quite expectedly, Adel jumped from his stool and before falling back against the bar, tried to grab Vergil by his blue collar. But it looked too pathetic and clumsy to be considered menacing or dangerous. “Fucking stop talking about her!” He pointed his finger at him in defiance while tears formed in his dull black eyes that had long lost their charming spark. “She fucking loved you! She loved you so damn much and you never cared, not a damn second. So don’t come to me with all your ceremony and shit, pretending you care now?” He sobbed loudly and wiped his eyes with his fists, a gesture that only made Vergil frown. How low had that man sunk! And how wrong he was.       “Nero needs to know.” The silver-haired man finally said, not very willing to continue this conversation due to a growing lack of patience. “He needs to know about his mother.”There was a new brief silence that could only be filled with glasses clinking, noisy hubbub and prostitutes giggles. Both men gauged each other, wondering who should talk first and what to say after the name of the boy the woman they both loved had given birth to was brought into the discussion. “So you finally know.” The Moor finally said as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “How does it feel?” Vergil didn’t want to talk about his feelings, especially not with a man he hadn’t seen in years and that would be too eager to judge him. His feelings were his to ponder and only his.             “My feelings are none of your concern.” The brevity of Vergil’s sentences was annoying to Adel who had almost forgotten how it was to have a conversation with the stoic Son of Sparda. And when some people would call it introversion he would call it self-importance, despicable self-importance. “Do you ever think of her?”           New intended silence. But yes, there were times when Vergil did think of her because that’s what happens when someone as special as her shares even just a tiny bit of his life. He thought of her when he was at his best and when he was at his lowest. And he had been thinking of her even more lately, each time he would look at Nero or think of him, each time he would remember his journey in Fortuna. She was a part of his past he would never be able to cast away. But again, none of Adel’s business. “Look, you don’t need to talk to me about her. Just tell Nero. I bet you know how to find him.”Glad to finally leave, Vergil stood up and dusted his long dark coat he felt had been soiled by such a dirty place. But right after he turned around to walk away, his old acquaintance spoke again with disarming heartfelt honesty. “It feels like hell to me.” Vergil stopped and slightly looked back at him from the corner of his eyes, at his defeated look staring deep in his empty glass again. “Like fucking hell actually. Seeing that kid of yours growing up to be just like her but at the same time just like you right under my nose. That smug smirk he got from you on the lips he inherited from her. Everything about that child makes me want to vomit or plug my eyes out because that makes me realise all I lost, all I could have had if you had never stepped a foot in Fortuna. You took her away from me, away from everyone, and when you finally got out from my life, you dared leave behind you a living reminder of your victory over me to torture me for the rest of my miserable days.” Vergil stood still, withstanding the man’s rancour without batting an eyelash.    “The fact you considered her love a victory maybe is the reason why you

never had her.” Vergil replied and before pushing the double-leaf door of the bar, waited for an instant as if he was expecting something to come in, but Adel was stubborn and not keen on accepting defeat. “You took her away from your son!” He shouted and smiled when Vergil froze again on his way out.       “ If that’s true, go tell him that then.”

***

Nico was pissed. Nero could tell it by the way she was furiously trying to fix the neon blue sign of their van. But what could he do about it? It wasn’t his fault if a starving empusa had decided to snack on the E while Nico was parked waiting for her friend to come back from his demon ass kicking routine. “D vil May Cry” Nero read out loud with a pout. “I don’t know, Nico. Works for me.” And yet, he had a feeling being angry because of a damn light was just a pretext to let out some pent up frustration due to god knew what. “Really? Is that how you gonna treat your family heritage now?” The black-haired woman harrumphed, threatening to hit her friend with a monkey wrench. “Is that how you gonna treat my precious Minotaurus after all he did for ya? After he followed you right into that hellish ficus?”          “Qliphoth.” He corrected with a smile.          “Yeah whatever.” Nero had a brief laugh but eventually shrugged, not seeing the problem as he read the neon sign on the van again. “The E doesn’t light up anymore. So what? We still know it’s Devil May Cry.”           “When your deadbeat dad tore your arm out from its socket, didn’t I give ya a new one?”   Nero grumbled, not finding the comparison funny or admissible. “That’s not the same! You can’t compare my arm to a damn neon letter. I needed my arm!”            “And Devil May Cry needs its E! So stop complainin’ and pass me the stillson.” She ordered as she kept on adjusting the colourful wires hidden in the dented bodywork of the van. Nero sighed but handed her the tool anyway. “I thought you were tired of being my pet mechanic.”          “ I am but like I said, I can’t let you treat my baby like that.”     And then, he dared say it. “Seriously. I thought you would be busy reading those new files you found in your father’s old stuff? You didn’t say anything about what they were.” And, as Nico dropped the wrench on the hood, he immediately knew he maybe shouldn’t have asked that.           “Cause they were not interesting. Just pieces of diaries he wrote when he was young, explainin’ how he started working for the Order and why he didn’t want me or my mother in his life anymore.” Nero frowned, not believing Nico for an instant. Her sentence didn’t make any sense to him cause he was sure any child who had grown up without a parent would be even just a tiny bit interested in knowing who they were or what they did. He knew he was.             God! What he would give to know even a just of small piece of information about his mother, about who she was, how she looked like. But unfortunately for him, the only person who had all the answers to his questions was never prompt to give them, acting more like a vault than a chatterbox. “And that doesn’t interest you? Raaah come on, Nico!” He clicked his tongue.            “I’m interested in his work. Nothing else. I couldn’t care less about his adventure with that other chick which is FYI apparently one of the reason why that asshole left my mother and me.”            “ You father left your mother for someone else?” Nico glared at Nero, catching a judgment in his voice that never was there.      “ Well I least I know why my father left my mother… No, actually, I know my mum, period.” Nero hadn’t heard that kind of words in years but the burn was as painful as he remembered. How many times he had heard the kids in Fortuna disrespecting him, disrespecting his mother, claiming she was a prostitute⁴ from the ill repute places of Fortuna. How many horrors he had to listen to. And how many punches he had received, and given, because of them. “Damn! I’m sorry, Nero. I didn’t mean.” Nico declared, horrified by her unusual behaviour and by the sudden sadness Nero tried to conceal in his blue eyes.  “Forget it. I’m used to it.” He gestured her to let go and went rummaging in the toolbox for no particular reason but to occupy his mind with something else. But Nico wasn’t willing to end their conversation like that, the feeling of guilt eating at her. “I’m sure your mother was someone fantastic, Nero.” She had a soft comforting smile.

“I mean, she had to be, you know … to stand your father.”            Nero chuckled but there was still that hint of misery, that very particular misery he only felt when thinking of his mother. A mix of bitterness, void and love. “Maybe she never really had to stand him. Maybe she was … a prostitute like everybody said.” Nico frowned; refusing to believe Nero would go for such bullshit. Didn’t he know how close-minded and rumour-hungry the people in Fortuna were?    “Nah, I don’t think so.” She declared as she funnily wrinkled her nose. “No money in the world would be enough to accept to spend a night with your dad. Your mother had to veeeery nice and patient and ooooh so in love with him.” Nero spared a glance at Nico, deeply moved by her attempt at comforting him and hoping she was right. “Damn, I beg that poor woman was a saint, ‘cause Vergil might look yummy to most people’s standards but he ain’t fun.” Her lips pinched together, she had a sort of deep serious frown that wrinkled her entire forehead, a somewhat amusing grimace Nero was sure was meant to emulate his father characteristic impenetrability. She kinda nailed it but …         “ Did you just say my father looks yummy?” Nero asked, quite disgusted. A crush on Lady, that he could get, but on his father … It made him shiver and want to throw up. “Huh, to most people standards!” She repeating, clapping her hands between each syllables. “I’m not most people.” Nero’s eyes widened when he heard familiar slow and steady footsteps coming from behind the door of the garage. “I mean, do you really think I could feel even just a tiny bit attracted to ‘Power! I need more power!’?” She imitated with a cavernous voice and Nero tried not to laugh. But it wasn’t Nico’s new impersonation of Vergil that was making him want to do so. It was actually his father standing on top of the stairs, stoic and still like a marble statue staring impassibly at Nico making a fool of him. Maybe he should warn her of his presence. Yes, maybe he should.            He timidly pointed at his father standing right behind her; still unsure he wanted this scene to stop. But he couldn’t wait to see Nico’s face when she would notice Vergil. And oh god, how priceless it was.    Nico was an intrepid, loud and lovely person but when her dark eyes took a small glance of Vergil, she froze and cleared her throat, definitely uncomfortable and … yeah a tiny bit scared. “But it has its charm. You’ve got some charm. That’s undeniable.” She rectified, looking at Vergil who eventually nodded, a faint smile on his face that meant more ‘yeah right’ than ‘how funny’ in Vergil language. He didn’t find this funny at all.            “Good evening to you too, Nicoletta. Nero.” He nodded once again, casting his aura of solemnity all over the garage. “Nico. Just Nico … nevermind.” Nico mumbled in a whisper that Vergil heard but chose to ignore. Nicknames were not his thing… They had never been his thing.He went down the stairs, his hand resting on the hilt of his precious Yamato as always and looked at the van with a new frown. “You two are busy working on some repairs, perhaps.” He asked in an effort to be as familial as possible, something that wasn’t his forte at all. It made the two friends exchange a curious glance. “ Yes … I mean, no, we were done.” Nero replied, wondering what his father was doing here. After all, unexpected visits were not in Vergil’s habits.         “ No, we were not. Gotta fix that E, remember?” Nico tapped at the letter with insistence.             “ That again?” The young man sighed. “Is Dante here?” That could explain Vergil’s presence in Fortuna. But as 90% of the time – or more – the Son of Sparda evicted an answer, changing the subject – or ignoring it – with a destabilizing yet infuriating indifference.           “ Miss Goldstein is right, a E is important.” He spoke, his icy blue eyes looking towards a distant past, towards memories he held in his heart he was rediscovering more and more with each day spent with his family, with his son.         “ Thank you! See, I told you!” Nico

shouted, proud to be right.  “ What are you doing here?” Nero finally questioned, impatient to finally know the truth behind his father’s presence. “I was in Fortuna visiting an old acquaintance.” Vergil weighed his words with smoothness as he paced in the garage looking at his surroundings without no real interest in them.         “ You … got acquaintances?” The slight frown of disbelief on Nero’s face made him suddenly look so much like his father but Vergil didn’t notice, too busy staring at the extinguished E that looked so dull surrounded by such neon blue lights when it should have shone as brightly as them if not more. “Hopefully, he should visit you soon.”         “ Wait! What? Why?” Nero always saw his father as an impenetrable mystery, even when he was just V, but right now he couldn’t tolerate him being so evasive.      “To give you the answers you want.” And he couldn’t not tolerate him being a stolid piece of shit either. “About my mother?” Or a mute one. But with Vergil, silence often meant a lot. “Hey! You can’t just leave me like that!” Nero caught his father’s right arm with a violent strength, a vision that stirred a new one, an old one, one Vergil regretted. “Plus, why would you send a stranger in my house to talk to me about my mother? Why don’t you do it yourself?” God! If she knew what he had done to their son. What would she say? What would she do? “Silence. I thought so. You don’t even have the courage to tell me her name so why should I expect more from you.”    In his lifetime, only a few persons had been able to defeat Vergil, one of them being his son. So, after looking down at his boots for a second, he walked away, not keen on riling up Nero even more, not today.“Elissa.⁵” The name, left unpronounced for so many years, burnt Vergil's tongue when each blazing letter, probably angry to have been reduced to dormant embers for so long, managed to escape the barrier of his tight lips. But Vergil welcomed this fiery pain without blinking and even dared say it again, embracing the ignition once more with a soft melancholic smile. He was part demon. Fire couldn't hurt him. So why being afraid of it? “Your mother’s name was Elissa.” Plus there was no danger in saying her name, just liberation. It was a beautiful name, after all. And for a second, he felt like his young self again. “Now fix it, would you?” That E meant a lot to Vergil.

REFERENCES: ¹ Adel The Honourable: Adel is a Persian name derived from the Arabic عَدَلَ meaning "to act justly". I added the title "the Honourable" to reinforce the idea his character was made to be fair, honest and just. Adel also belongs to the House of Montefeltro, a name you will discover later. ² crossbow: I intended to give Adel a simple bow as it is the weapon of righteousness (ndlr: Robin Hood) but then I chose to give him a crossbow because I thought the addition of the word "cross" was giving a religious connotation that suited his character. The fact that he lost the weapon is of course meaningful. ³ The Moor: reference to Shakespeare's Othello. ⁴ claiming she was a prostitute: This idea of Nero's mother being a prostitute was directly taken from Devil May Cry: Deadly Fortune. In the novel, we learn that Nero was often bullied by the other kids claiming his mother was a whore. ⁵ Elissa: Elissa is the other name that was given to Dido, first queen of Carthage and lover of the demi-god Aeneas, in Virgil's Aeneid. Her name is composed of the Punic reflex of "El-" meaning "god", and "‐issa" that means "fire", hence why her name burns Vergil's lips when he says it. Her name carrying the word "fire" also echoes the red colour of her dress and her hair as well as her affiliation to the House of Minos you will read about later. In a nutshell, this girl is on fire! ;-)

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil #nero's mother #vergil x nero's mother #vergil fanfiction

[jaskiersvalley]

Jaskier: Necromancer of Emotions

Witchers didn’t have emotions. That was just a common fact. They came, they killed and demanded payment. Rumour had it, they even fucked perfunctorily, devoid of any emotions and going through the motions just the same as any other bodily function.

Enter Jaskier.

His welcome to Kaer Morhen wasn’t exactly a warm one. A few grunts, a nod from Eskel but there wasn’t the excited gathering around a new person. Not everyone was born an extrovert, it was okay. After all, Jaskier could adopt them all then and wouldn’t have to fight someone else for his wolves.

The days that followed were silent save for the clashing of blades and the grunts of exertion as the witchers trained. There was definitely sounds of frustration there and the odd chuff of what Jaskier could almost call laughter. But for the most part, it was more stoic in Kaer Morhen than the nunnery Jaskier had once infiltrated. He wondered whether he could get the same ending - squawking and shrieking when the nuns realised he was in disguise. The image of four witchers flapping their hands and squealing was something that had Jaskier snicker to himself. It seemed Operation Giggles was a go.

Perhaps Operation Giggles was an ambitious project and should have been called Operation Smile or Operation Emotion. Actually, that was much better, the rhyme made Jaskier grin to himself.

He started off small. If it was his turn in the kitchen, he tried to make sure he always had things on the side so when a hungry wolf just so happened to amble past, there was something tasty for them to snag. All absolutely coincidental. Obviously.

The songs Jaskier played were more difficult to gauge. Anything rowdy and crude seemed to have Lambert’s attention even if he only glared while softer ballads often caused Eskel to stare off into the fire with a sad look. Which wasn’t quite the emotions Jaskier was angling for. However, the positive ones seemed more elusive. Almost like they were buried so deep in witcher psyche, they might as well be dead. Which got Jaskier thinking. If the only feelings his wolves knew were annoyance, anger and disappointment, maybe it was the way to deeper buried emotions. So Jaskier got to work.

Composing a song that started off as something attention catching to the point of annoying was quite easy. A merry ditty that could be whistled. The depth of the craft came from leading it into something more melancholy, anger melting into despair, hopelessness and desolation. To pull it from there into something hopeful and up into a cheery jingle again was pure genius, even if Jaskier said so himself. It took him a good week of solid work before he could debut it. At first, it went ignored but the circular nature of his song meant that he could just keep cycling through it without break. He got to watch the witchers get annoyed by it as expected. They followed it down the path into something sedate and contemplative. It almost hurt Jaskier to watch them get lost in the song like that but to offer them a metaphorical hand and boost them up was worth it. One by one, the witchers seemed to climb out of the pit of emotions into something more uplifting.

It wasn’t an obvious, sudden change but Jaskier persisted. Each time he sang the song, each cycle, it seemed to ease something in the witchers. There were small changes to start with. A small flicker of a smile over food. A press of shoulders together where they sat, nudging in playful reassurance but so small it was almost invisible.

The scream of “Lambert, you prick!” one morning was startling, even more so the fact that it was followed up by a harsh bark of a laugh that was cut off as quick as it started. It was the beginning though. Only a week later, Lambert was buttering bread for breakfast when, without looking up, he asked. “does anyone know how to make a whore moan?”

Geralt’s gruff “don’t pay her” earned another gruff snort and Eskel smiled into his drink.

“That works, that works,” Lambert nodded sagely. “I was going to say you wipe your dick on the curtain.”

“That is poor etiquette, son,” Vesemir scolded but Jaskier was certain he could see a thawing around the corners of his firmly set lips.

In a way, Geralt was the easiest to mine for emotions. Jaskier already knew he could get him loose limbed and content so happy was only a couple of steps up from that. The trick was to have him let go. In Kaer Morhen, without the pressure of surviving the Path and surrounded by family, it was probably the easiest opportunity Jaskier would ever have. They were still flushed, catching their breaths and messy when Jaskier pressed closer.

“Are you happy, my darling?” he asked, innocence dripping from his tongue. The grunt he got in return was not the most encouraging but it was better than he’d dared hope for. “What would make your little heart burst with joy?”

It was an evil ploy, getting Geralt to talk at his weakest but Jaskier never claimed to be a good man.

“If the others were happy too. They used to smile and laugh.”

In words, it was so simple. Yet in practice it was so much more complex. All Jaskier could do was promise to help. It seemed though, that the groundwork he’d laid had been worth it because Lambert seemed to be coming on leaps and bounds. He was still caustic and crude but his humour was less of an armour and more because he genuinely enjoyed a bad joke. Sure, his sense of humour could do with a little (a lot) of refining but Jaskier didn’t mind. Even Vesemir seemed to soften and thaw out like a glacier.

The biggest challenge was Eskel. Each time Jaskier felt that he was getting somewhere, it seemed to slip back into oblivion. The hint of a smile on Eskel was immediately hidden, his face dipped and turned away. A hiccough of a laugh was silenced and swallowed down harshly. Nothing Jaskier did seemed to break the control Eskel clung to. It was something he bemoaned to Geralt on a regular basis, only to be grunted and hummed at in return.

There was no way Jaskier could have predicted that he would find assistance on is crusade. Breakfast was finishing up, Vesemir chewing on the end of a sausage thoughtfully when he was given a questioning glance by Lambert and Geralt. At his nod, the two of them stood up and stood at each side of Eskel, staring impassively down at him.

Worried, Eskel looked up. “What?”

“You have a weakness,” Geralt intoned seriously.

“You’re ticklish,” Lambert added and stepped closer, one hand easily jabbing into Eskel’s side.

The change was instantaneous. The usually stoic, solid presence that Eskel projected was shattered as he squirmed away from the tickling fingers. Unfortunately for him, on his other side Geralt stood in wait and got his other side. With a squeal, Eskel slithered under the table and made a break for it. He burst from under it next to Jaskier and dashed from the room. Lambert and Geralt let out a loud whoop and stepped over the table in pursuit.

“Well. That happened.” Jaskier said and looked over to Vesemir who sent him a small, warm smile.

“Thanks to you.” A shrieking laughter and a yowl of “meep” from Eskel went up as he was probably caught. It sounded like a donkey with hiccoughs but it was unmistakably laughter. “It has been decades since laughter was heard in these old halls. I thought the sound had died with their hopes.”

Somewhere in the castle there was a yell of “for fuck’s sake Lambert!” and a fresh volley of laughter. No doubt the game had changed and Lambert was the target after whatever he had done. Or at least it was probably the case until a loud and long “no” from Geralt echoed through the halls. A minute later he was tearing through the dining hall, the other two hot on he heels, laughing. For reasons unknown, Lambert was in a frilly bonnet while Eskel sported a curtain like a cape.

“Children,” Vesemir sighed, sounding all too happy. “They never did grow up, did they?”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #vesemir #witcher wolf pack #tldr: jaskier helps the witchers feel happy again

[sinkix]

- What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Karasuno edition -

Obviously these aren’t meant to be taken too seriously lol. I’ll probably make this into a series at some point where I include the other teams idk this took me way too long to do JWIDJQENWKJQFN WE’LL SEE. ENJOY! <3

2D men are infinitely superior I said what I said.

Hinata: 

A sucker for motivational speeches or quotes and they always get you hyped up.

Very ambitious and positive despite frequently getting lost in life

Not as innocent as you seem but still a cinnamon roll lololol

You probably eat fruit as a regular snack n ppl judge you for it

Highkey a dumbass but in a very endearing way so people can’t help but like you

Summer is probs ur fave season

Definitely own several plushies and definitely get defensive about it

The friend people go to when they need cheering up.

You either go to bed at 8pm or 3am no in between.

Your texting style consists of several messages as opposed to one paragraph/sentence with the use of MANY emojis.

You 100% fuck with pineapple on pizza. 

Got your head stuck in a cat flap that one time.

Have a hella low alcohol tolerance or don’t drink at all.

Hella clueless when it comes to people flirting with you, they have to hold a neon sign in front of you for you to get the message

“Oh you were flirting with me?” “I was every day for 5 months but thanks for finally noticing”

Definition of a tab hoarder, your pc/laptop frequently crashes because it can’t handle that many but you refuse to get rid of any.

Always get toothpaste stains on your shirt no matter how careful you are.

“Wait we had homework???”

Nishinoya:

You often get random bursts of energy outta nowhere or at 2am and have no clue how to handle it 

You can’t help but head bang and scream the lyrics to your fav songs.

Probably have a hella diverse music taste.

Likely an active/outdoorsy person who either does sports or wants to.

Vvv loyal, type of friend you can call in the middle of the night and you’ll be there.

Chaotic good or Chaotic neutral.

You’re either one of the most responsible people in the room or one of the most fuckin chaotic and irresponsible lmao no in between it just depends on your mood.

Frequently pull all nighter’s and doesn’t even feel guilty about it

Chug soda like it’s water.

An extrovert or one of those introverts that are bat-shit once you actually get to know them.

You have zero shame, can and will run across the street stark naked for a cheeseburger and a can of sprite.

Like fuck yeah who wouldn’t for a burger and some sprite y’know??

Despite being a whirlwind you are actually a hella chill person to have as company.

You own a skateboard or want to.

Own at least one pair of converses or vans.

Probably have a bucket list or tons of future plans for travelling/adventures stored in your head.

You really want a dog and would call it something like Dexter or Human Destroyer 9000.

Likely have had several hair colour phases.

A slut for doritos.

You ate glue once as a kid and it was kinda okay and that fact still haunts you.

Tanaka:

Listen to rap more than any other genre and ur playlist is fire

Punched dry wall that one time

Probably have several piercings and plan on getting more

Prefer sports bras to regular ones.

Intimidates outsiders but your friends don’t take you seriously in the slightest lmaoaoaooa

Ppl find it hard to approach you but you’re actually super chill so you get sad 

Definition of that Kanye meme “before you talk to me” >:( “after you talk to me” :)

Probably don’t trust people easily

Type of person that once you’re challenged/dared to do something they WILL do it regardless of how stupid bc you hate being called a pussy.

Went through a phase where you only listened to Eminem.

Probably is/was the class clown or wished they were.

You have virtually no patience and a pretty short temper lmao.

You’re a go-getter and hate being told you can’t do something

Definitely snuck out the house several times as a teen.

Walks barefoot outside a lot bc fuck shoes lol

The pairs of shoes you do own are mostly worn down sneakers you refuse to swap out.

You’re that asshole that wears socks with holes in for the sport of it and it doesn’t phase you in the slightest. (dw I do too lmaooao)

Could probably bench press someone’s dad

Enjoy’s drinking coffee.

Kageyama:

Such a picky eater bitch god damn.

Usually hella hydrated and judge people that don’t drink enough water.

Eats spoonfuls of chocolate nesquik powder when no one is looking I said what I said

You like stoic and Tsundere guys who have the outer emotional capacity of a brick wall.

You’re probably the same in that sense and don’t enjoy letting people know what you’re thinking/feeling

Poker face 90% of the time

Type of person to pretend not to find a joke funny but then crumble and start crying with laughter.

Probs an introvert

Once when someone asked you what you wanted for Christmas you responded “to be left the fuck alone” and it still applies to this day.

like fr you just wanna be left alone man but ppl keep bothering you.

You HATE it when people tell you to smile and quite literally take it as an insult.

Your bedtime is 9pm and you stick by it religiously 

Always smell really good like damn what you got on??

The most you do with your hair if it’s long enough is throw it in a pony tail and call it a day.

Either have really nicely manicured nails or you’v chewed them down to the nub no in between.

You hate to admit it but you doubt yourself a lot and it really frustrates you.

Probably wet the bed a lot as a kid and you’re still salty about it.

lololol bed-wetter Kags lover

Audibly snorted typing that I’m sorry.

Probably had a ._. face reading that since ur usually hella unamused.

Cute awkward dork though behind that facade it’s just most people don’t see it.

So critical of yourself like chill

An earth sign or an Aquarius idc.

Do not know how to reciprocate a hug but desperately need one

When people flirt with you you somehow manage to make them intimidated with your responses and scare them off.

You called your teacher “mum/dad” once and you get Vietnam flashbacks to this day.

Daichi:

You probably have a daddy kink and lowkey daddy issues with it

Very supportive friend who has a lotta patience

Hella determined and humble.

Mostly wear black because it’s just much easier than colour coordinating and plus you just prefer the simplicity, but you’re pretty vibrant as a person.

The one who stays sober at parties to drive the others home.

Probably haven’t been in many relationships but still do enjoy romance.

seems stern but is actually very friendly and enjoy company bc you don’t like spending too much time by yourself.

Honestly just wants to chill out, go to bed and read a book.

A coffee connessieur but mostly just drinks instant bc ur too lazy to make it properly and just drink it black.

Very reliable.

Often get stuck with most of the work during group projects lololol

People frequently ask you for the answers to the homework/assignment and it really depends on your mood and how charitable you’re feeling as to whether you’ll lend it to them

Low-key a sadist.

100% Old soul

Despite this you are a fuckin dork and have quite an immature but really funny sense of humour.

You have a thigh kink. 

Def grew up reading wattpad smut and most of ur sexual knowledge stems from that

probably prefer manga to animated versions

Absolute pro at winged eyeliner and looks v good in it.

Probably give lectures even without realising it.

Shamelessly watches the nature channel for hours on end and what of it.

Honestly just done with everyone’s shit lmao

Sugawara:

Either are the mom friend or the one the mom friend has to look after.

You vibe with pastel colours

Your fav season is either spring or autumn.

oversized hoodies and knitted sweaters are your vibe.

Enjoy drinking herbal tea

Likes the smell of rain and will purposely step outside after a storm and S N O R T the smell of damp concrete. (srry if ur from some dry ass place like nevada lmao it rains alot in the UK soooOOOoO)

Quiet but have a really creative imagination and has one HELL of a loud voice when they’re pissed off

like,, I wouldn’t dare get on ur nerves ion want my ear drums bursting damn.

Hoards flavoured chapsticks and scented lip gloss

Either did or still have your Harry Potter house in your bio and it was probably Hufflepuff.

Gives people advice that they are fully aware also applies to themselves but doesn’t follow it LMAO.

Listens to K-pop and several Korean and Japanese genres.

Played a dating sim once and you enjoyed it but ur still ashamed and refuse to ever talk about it.

Smells like lavender or something hella floral

Probably reads a lot of Yaoi and no one else knows but you.

Would 100% own a chinchilla

Read Killing Stalking and it messed you up for weeks.

Asahi:

The one who was trying to flirt for months and the other person never got the hint

Probably a really pretty crier and vibe with the mascara running aesthetic.

You tear up easily lol.

Probably a water sign.

Low-key a bad bitch though 

Looks really good in red lipstick

That one person who’s v attractive but completely unaware and v insecure.

That one friend who seems so soft and innocent but can turn into a banshee when need be.

Crying is your therapy.

You overthink a LOT and it often stops you from achieving what you want.

Actually have a lot of willpower despite ur sensitivity.

Was def a pushover as a kid and still have a chip on your shoulder about it.

Hella artsy and day dreams a lot.

You attract broken souls and often get turned to when people’s problems need fixing yet you’re a total mess yourself

Listens to Girl in red while questioning your sexuality

which you do a lot.

You hate being put in a box or labelled.

Gave up on that hobby that one time and you really wanna get back into it.

Always have at least one hair tie on your wrist that’s basically an accessory at this point.

Own a phat ass fish tank with hella pretty fishes bro it’s such a vibe say hi to Nemo for me.

Yamaguchi:

Too scared to ask for extra ketchup packets so you get your friend to ask instead.

Probably have anxiety.

The time you stuttered once when introducing yourself frequently gives you cringe attacks.

Major animal lover and prefers them to people.

Talked to a tree once and it was a pretty cool experience.

Wear a lot of pink or cute colours and radiate babi energy.

Likely wear skirts 

Wear those aesthetic planets necklaces and your tumblr is filled with space related art and themes.

Enjoy staring up at the clouds and figuring out what animal they are.

Has a lot of secrets that they probably tell to their cat.

dw ur cat isn’t a snitch they got you covered.

“meow”

yeah they definitely didn’t just try to reveal ur deepest traumas to your cousin.

If you don’t have a cat you probably would want one and would call it Mittens or sumn.

You’re whipped for freckles and anyone that has them instantly becomes 1000x more attractive to you

Either like 5′2″ or 5′10″ no middle ground

Definitely own a turtle or rabbit and if you don’t then you should.

Forgets your assignments but the professor lets you off because you’re so nervous they can’t scold you.

Oversleeps at least 2 times a week

Will not get up before 1pm on a weekend

Wall flower at parties but people still approach you bc you are so friendly and kind.

Social anxiety intensifies.

Always get’s called on in class when you haven’t been paying attention and it really troubles you.

Has a minimum of 3 blankets on your bed that you cocoon yourself in.

Tsukishima:

Your attracted to snarky assholes.

Sarcasm and insults are your form of flirtation and you get immediately turned off if they can’t take it or get upset.

Probably shy away from your feelings

Random flashbacks to embarrassing events frequently keep you up at night

Judge peoples fashion choices as they walk past you but actually have a really good eye for what works and what doesn’t.

You look like you have your shit together and you kinda do for the most part.

The quiet kid in class that’s listening to some loud ass screamo or rock n roll’ but ppl have no idea.

Definition of the glinting anime glasses pushed up your nose bridge cliche.

When you make a mistake you question all your knowledge and abilities but no one else knows that about you

Refuses to cry since you view your emotions as a personal weakness

If someone hugged you you’d get VERY uncomfortable.

Physical contact is not your forte

Probably a 5′0″ demon.

Would peg a man to assert dominance but you’re actually a lil bitch.

Knows the answer to the question they can’t solve.

Doesn’t study as much as they should but somehow still gets good grades.

Really likes french fries and the taste of strawberries.

Just wants to be left alone

Ennoshita:

The one friend that gets talked over and it really pisses you off but you’re too nice to say anything.

Seems really passive but can actually be hella confrontational when they wanna be

No tolerance for peoples bullshit 

Really stable and just an overall reliable person.

People often forget you’re in the room lmao but it’s okay you’d rather listen anyway.

Actually has a really interesting mind and a lot to say but mostly keep it to yourself unless they’re your friend

Answered for someone else in attendance a few years ago and it still bothers you.

People often come to you to vent and you’re chill with it

Don’t stand out much but honestly it doesn’t bother you

Can and will get through an entire book/series in a matter of 3 days.

Quite a minimalist and organised for the most part

You look like you have your shit together and you def do.

Have a controversial taste in pizza.

You have more acquaintances than friends but the ones you do are a v tight knit circle.

Will re take a quiz several times till you get the character you wanted

Radiate Virgo and Libra energy.

Kiyoko:

Type of person to say “step on me” as a way of complimenting and you mean it literally.

Both a sadist and masochist

When someone tells you their not interested it just makes you want them 100x more and it frustrates you why are you like this.

Doesn’t compliment often but when you do it’s really heartfelt.

Looks like your silently judging people but in reality you really couldn’t care.

Just kidding you low-key judge them anyway.

Very picky when it comes to partners.

Independent but has random hella clingy moments.

Despite being quiet, you are capable of roasting a bitch alive if they test your patience.

Like I would NOT wanna get on your bad side

You could deadass send them to therapy, their emotions fenna need some aloe vera for that burn.

Just really calm and relaxed tbh so people enjoy being in your company even though you don’t talk much.

When you do though it’s usually something really interesting or funny.

You just don’t see the point in talking if what your saying doesn’t hold any value??

You hate small talk and would rather slingshot yourself off a skyscraper than partake in it.

Your face is easy to read and you make no effort to hide it.

If your in a bad mood they WILL know.

Look like your plotting someones demise or questioning life’s theories but in reality you’re really just thinking bout what you want for dinner.

Honestly just a sweetheart tbh.

Low-key have a staring problem.

Has really neat and cursive handwriting like who tf taught you that.

Yachi:

Frequently says something then panics that it could be misinterpreted 

You overthink literally everything you have ever said and the actions you haven’t even committed yet

Really likes the taste of sherbet 

Could cut a bitch if they needed to

You spend most of your money at Urban Outfitters and don’t regret it.

have an assortment of colouring pencils that ppl always try and borrow and never give them back.

You highlight the shit outta your papers and never read them again.

Really like the smell of peaches

Probably have a v interesting earring collection.

Hoard water bottles in your room and you feel majorly guilty about it.

The taste of honey disgusts you but you eat it anyway for some reason.

Somehow managed to burn rice and solidify soup.

You shouldn’t be trusted in the kitchen but you try your best regardless.

I feel like that applies to most things in your life

Like yeah you fucked it up but like you’re trying your best lol cmon

V tolerant of people but have zero time for fuckboys and shut them down instantly.

You frequently get the shakes from caffeine or anxiety

Or both.

You give really encouraging hugs.

Have no clue what you wanna do in life but it’s ok bby it’ll work out.

Takeda:

You’re a very underappreciated and underrated person and I love u

Probably an English/languages major

Really kind and outgoing but high-key mysterious

Actually has a phat fucking temper like damn where did that come from.

Won’t take no for an answer when you want to achieve something.

That one person people don’t realise is there listening to your conversations but you definitely are and now know Becky’s deepest darkest secret.

Fuck you, becky.

Wore contacts once and forgot to take them out for 3 days.

You wondered why your eyes were so itchy.

Your music taste does not match your appearance.

Probably watch a lot of crime shows and imagine you’re an investigator

Aced physics and chemistry.

More than likely an introvert with extrovert tendencies when you feel like it.

Actually quite temperamental but it’s okay since you’re a v genuine person.

Often debate getting a sugar daddy bc that income looking real tempting rn.

Honest to a fault at times but it’s something people come to appreciate about you.

Just really wanna sleep for 15 hours and sit in front of your laptop with some hot coco.

Ukai:

You like older men

The smell of tobacco and coffee low-key comforts you for some reason.

Peed in a bottle that one time while on a road trip and forgot to throw it out until you found it a week later.

You’re a slut for dyed hair and dudes with piercings.

You once got drunk and passed out on a spinning round-a-bout in a park and your friend still has pictures that you refuse to acknowledge.

Bi-curious and just radiate big Bi energy

Would experiment but you’re too hesitant.

Hates the taste of beer but drinks it anyway.

Just wants to be loved man I stg is that too much to ask.

Often wonder if your friends actually like you then realise you don’t really care anyway lmao.

You still love them though.

Tired of working over time and just wanna catch a break.

Amazon Prime is your best friend.

Random ass parcels comin thru’ each day and it feels like Christmas.

A very lonely and one-man party Christmas.

Stop spending your fucking paycheck.

Have a pretty dark/cynical but really funny sense of humour and you often make people laugh.

Have a big ass temper and people KNOW it.

Often fantasised about dropping out and becoming a stripper bc your patience was being TESTED.

Really likes money but who doesn’t tbh.

You radiate Chaotic Evil but keep it under wraps.

#hq #haikyuu #karasuno #ukai keishin #takeda ittetsu #yachi hitoka #kiyoko shimizu #ennoshita chikara #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #daichi sawamura #sugawara koushi #asahi azumane #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya yuu #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio

[rosesisupposes]

also 114 + roceit?

Lover Prompts

114:  “I once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden”

⁂

pairing: Roceit

tags: post-breakup, bartender/patron, bad ex, nobinary Deceit, Deceit is named Dante, this is a lot of projection and i won’t apologize

word count: 1,815

read on ao3

⁂

The day Roman met Dante was the worst day of his life.

Not because of them. The two events were unrelated. (Time’s just funny that way).

But the fact remains that Dante’s first words to him were “Well don’t you look like shit. What happened, did the Beast steal your Belle?”

To D’s credit, they had no idea what an effect their words would have. But that didn’t stop Roman from flipping them off as he started to cry all over their bar again.

And that left them with a choice. Ignore the crying man, as they’ve ignored so many bar patrons, passing him drinks in silence until he drinks himself into becoming a part of it. It would be a little different - most patrons aren’t in an outfit that looks straight out of a Disney coloring book. But they could do it. Or, instead, they could do this.

“Forgive me, Princey, that was uncalled for. Let me get you a drink, you tell me all about it, hmm?”

And the man dressed like a prince looked up, tears still leaking out of his eyes, and nodded. 

Dante was a professional. They prided themselves on the ability to match a drink to a mood - not always what their patrons wanted, but always what they needed. And what this face needed was maudlin, but not self-pitying. Something with some sweetness, but complexity.

“Un Vieux Carre pour le monsiuer,” they said with a smile, sliding the elegant cocktail to land in the man’s immediately open hand. 

“Merci beaucoup,” he responded, almost automatically. He took a sip, and paused, looked down into the glass, and carefully took a second, swirling it in his mouth.

“Like it? It’s a New Orleans classic,” Dante said, leaning on the bar. It was a quiet Tuesday night, they had time to chat. “Let me know what you think, or if you want, you can tell me why royalty is getting weepy in my bar tonight.”

Tears started leaking once more.

“Or we can start with your name?”

“Roman.”

“Good evening, Roman. I’m Dante. If you forgot about seeing the sign already, this is The Snake’s Den bar, and I’m the snake. Now that we’re all caught up, how’s that drink-”

“It’s my fucking boyfr- my fucking ex!” Roman cried out suddenly, interrupting the bartender’s calm voice. “That absolute- he just- and then he-!” and there were tears leaking down his face again, but hotter now, dripping with anger and not just despair. He swigged more of his drink, and kept talking, words tumbling out like a burst dam.

“We’d been together for years, and I thought it was perfect, ya know, we were both actors! We understood the struggle together! And he’d encourage me to try out for the big parts that I would have only dreamed of, but I actually got some of them! And then this- this fucking play, it’s only my childhood dream, and he says, “Oh, wouldn’t it be fun to be castmates?” and we both audition, me for the Beast and him for Gaston, but then it turns out, oh, actually, he went the FUCK behind my back and auditioned for the Beast too!”

Dante listened, nodding and humming in understanding, a perfect sounding board. “That must have been tense when he told you,” they offered sympathetically.

Roman slumped at that. “I wish. My friend texted me that the cast list had been posted and I wasn’t on it. I told him I was on the way to his place cause I needed to talk, and before I could get there, he… broke up with me. Via text message.”

In spite of themself, Dante gasped aloud. “He did not!”

“He did! Like, am I in some fuckin’ teenage melodrama?! Did I somehow date a cartoonishly terrible villain in a DCOM?!”

Dante nodded sagely. “Perhaps that’s why he didn’t go for Gaston - he wouldn’t have had to act at all.”

Roman leaned forward, eyes flashing. “And you know what’s even worse?! He’d been helping me prepare for my audition and listening to all the ideas I’ve had for how I would play the Beast, if I got the chance! But I didn’t want to make too bold a choice in the audition room, so I was holding out. And that piece of shit used my idea to get the part!”

“A scoundrel and a thief!”

“And you know the absolute worst part?”

“What?”

Roman seemed to freeze as his thought connected from brain to mouth and he processed it fully. His shoulders slumped. “I wish he’d take me back.”

Dante stood up straight. “My dear Roman emperor, let me be the first to tell you: bullshit. To quote a wise scholar: “He doesn’t deserve you! If he doesn’t treat you right by now, you’re gone.””

Roman smiled weakly. “But he- he pushed me, in my acting. He was my fire, the one who encouraged me to be ambitious and dream big and- without him… I don’t know that I’ll be able to.”

Dante nodded. They spoke softly, calmly. “Roman, I’m going to say something that might be hard to hear. His actions in these auditions? They showed that not only did he not respect this dream, but he never respected any of them. He only wanted you to succeed as far as it made him look good.”

Roman scowled. “He was an ass, but he wasn’t that, he wasn’t just a manipulative bastard, he believed in me-”

“He didn’t,” Dante interrupted. They were still calm, almost gentle. “He believed in his ability to keep pushing you to be an asset to him. Until it wasn’t beneficial anymore.”

“No-”

“And you knew this, deep down. And that part of you wasn’t taken by surprise.”

Roman stared, his face a mask of many emotions at once - confusion, heartbreak, denial, acceptance, but what won out was rage.

“You know what? Fuck you, I don’t need your psychoanalysis bullshit! Hasn’t my day been hard enough? See you fucking never!”

Dante watched him storm out, leaving the rest of his drink. A man in a prince costume, disappearing into the night. If it had been a decent narrative, it would have been raining.

But narratives aren’t often perfect.

Neither are promises made in anger.

Dante looked up to see Roman arriving back at The Snake’s Den only days later, looking a bit chagrined and only slightly less regal out of costume.

“Barkeep, I regretfully did not pay for my drink at our last encounter, and have come to rectify it.”

Dante nodded graciously. “While I appreciate your integrity, it was on the house.”

“Nevertheless, I insist that you accept payment.”

“Why don’t you have another, keep me company on slow evening?” they suggested.

Roman hesitated for all of a second before sitting down once more, the same stool as the last time.

Two months later, it was Roman’s Stool and no one dared occupy it even in his absence, unless it was truly and utterly packed.

In two months more, Roman had dragged friends to the Den too, but none became a fixture the way the actor was.

And one week after that, it was another quiet evening. A Tuesday, just as it had been before. (Time is rather funny that way).

And in one of the comfortable silences that patron and bartender often found themselves sliding into and out of with ease, Roman cleared his throat.

Dante looked up. “Yes, darling?” Their nicknames and pet names had escalated the day Roman realized he needed an honorific besides ‘sir’ or ‘madam’ and had chosen ‘dearest,’ but neither of them seemed to mind.

“My dear, I- remember what you said, that first night?”

Dante pursed their lips. “Of course I do. And I stand by it.”

Roman nodded. “I…  I know you do. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.”

“I might lie to other people though,” they pointed out blandly. “Like the people who come in with a sob story when it’s all just their own choices. Because the boss said I can’t call people ‘sad sacks of pathos’ any more.”

“Your way with words will never fail to delight me, my Divine Comedian. I know you didn’t think it was a lie, but I didn’t fully believe you until recently.”

Dante put down their cleaning cloth and leaned in near their friend. “May I be so bold as to ask what changed?”

“So this will sound a little melodramatic-”

“You? Dramatic? Perish the thought.”

“Fuck you too, my sweet serpent.”

Dante blew a kiss and fluttered their eyelashes at him. “Pardon me, I interrupted you, you were saying?”

Roman shifted in his seat, adjusting without meeting Dante’s eyes. “I didn’t want to believe you, that that bastard was never cheering me on for my sake alone. Because- I said he was my fire, and I meant it. He was determined, and ambitious, and I thought that him urging me on meant that I was sharing in it. He was burning red, and that was what I wanted to be, and I thought I could be an equal flame where we burned stronger together.”

Dante nodded, humming quietly in understanding without interrupting. 

“But instead, I was just the candle that helped him burn brighter while slowly melting away. I was always so exhilarated with him, excited but then so exhausted. I always wanted to be more, or wanted to be what he wanted, at least. And he always wanted more. I tried and tried and I could never be enough because he just… he drained me.” A single tear leaked out and courses down Roman’s tan cheek. 

Dante reached over and wrapped their hand around his, and squeezed. “Love could look like that, could look like encouragement and ambition. But I don’t think that’s what you had, Ro.”

Roman blinked up at them. Both realized it was the first nickname based on their actual name that either had used. “So I wasn’t just a fool to think he really meant it?”

“Of course not, sweetheart. He was the fool, to not fully appreciate you.”

The lights of the bar shone through tawny bottles of liquor and glinted off the brass trappings, bathing them in a warm glow. Roman looked up at Dante, and he could have sworn they were absorbing the light and releasing it anew, their golden skin practically incandescent. And their smile, softening as they looked at Roman, focused on brushing away the dampness from his face, a careful and doting look that they never directed at their other friends.

Roman swallowed hard. “Dante, darling?”

They met his eyes, face lighting with a smile that rivaled the sun. “Yes, Roman?”

“I think I know what love looks like, now.”

“And what’s that?”

Roman rose up to Dante’s eye level, cupping their cheek in his hand. “It’s golden,” he breathed out, before their lips met.

#roses writes fanfic #roceit #prompt fill #ts roman #ts deceit #post break up fic #getting together #bartender deceit #nonbinary deceit #projecting onto roman time babes

[laputaindefrenchgirl]

quarantine feelings.

People ask me constantly, “How are you doing? Isn’t that tough for you?” and I’m just like, “No, I’m good. Not much anxiety. Neither fear. I’m adapting and projecting in the future, and it’s okay actually, I mean, yeah.”, and that’s it.

Except it’s more complex. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful I’m not feeling particularly anxious or stressed, and I’m grateful to be able to write, paint, and actually work while this pandemic. I’m so fucking grateful. But there are things only me can feel and see and these things are wearing me out. To quote Lana “don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not but at best I can say I’m not sad”, and that’s real. To be dependent physically from others is difficult, even knowing that I always embraced my disability, wheelchair and all. I can adapt, because I know it’s key to survival. And I’m grateful to be with my family in these difficult times. But sometimes, it’s hard to be asking and asking and asking (from wanting to pee to change you shirt through the day because duh, it smells) and to be faced with people who are tired to constantly “help” you. 

“Asking” in itself is a very brave thing to do. For sure, I do not have the choice to ask for help to go on the toilets or to wash my hair, but in general, asking for help is going all against what society taught you to do. It’s a very individual society, and to be asking for help can make you seem like less, weak. It’s not. Asking for help is facing the fact that you tried very hard but need a hand to get up. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s great to know to your limits and see beyond the very classical “What do they think of me?” because, fuck them okay.

A part of me truly understand how complicated it is for everyone. I know I’m one hell of a ride (and I don’t regret to be shamelessly who I am) and how scary and demanding having a disabled kid can be, though I’m not a kid anymore. Maybe that’s there, the blurred line which keeps everything a bit fucked up. I’m twenty eight, not eight. 

Disability or not, when you communicate and say that something hurt you, to people you care about, you bare yourself naked and expect, at least, consideration if not apologies (I’m such a dreamer, right?). And when all you receive is “You’re so fucking needy and touchy, get around yourself for once”, I can’t help to either blow a fucking fuse or shut down completely. Fuck off, I’m doing my best and to receive this is unacceptable. Because I fucking know my worth. Maybe, it’s here again a second line which this time, clears up the mist. 

There is this unspoken rule : if you let a relative or a friend speak to you like shit, then it’s game over. You’ll let anyone do that. 

I will never go there, because I don’t deserve it. I’m fucking brillant as much as I can be a fucking burden (I don’t think I am one, but my relatives sometimes can make me feel like one so, here we go) and if I’m here, twenty-something years later, it’s not to finish like a boring piece of furniture in the background.

Just the fact that I can spell this is maybe not okay. This probably makes me unlovable and coming on too headstrong and ambitious. But fuck you. I’m not here to play a game of “what if” when I can be all “so what?” and thrive. 

All these things I hold in me are not very pretty and probably no one want to hear or read them, I get it. It’s just all so fucking lonely to know things and feel them and to try to make it better someway, on your own. I know we all do. Maybe this is that thought which pushed me to write this down today, after another fight and you know, maybe someone would understand. 

I tried to relate to people but each time, it was a fail. I had this best friend for around eleven years and then suddenly, she wasn’t there anymore. I felt stuck and anxious that I did something wrong. Maybe “I am truly too much” is a feeling always dancing around me. Then one year later, we talked and I just saw we never were the same, then I hated myself for seeing things for years which actually were never there. And this shit happened to me three times. The last time didn’t hurt at all, just a vague sense of disappointment. 

The wheelchair is me and I yet I am more than my wheels. I don’t picture myself in all my acts and doing as disabled person. I’m just a girl trying to make it, probably faking until I make it, and creating and seeking truths in everything.

In eleven weeks of quarantine, I didn’t have a single assistant coming home to help me in my daily routine. It’s not that I only miss the people, but I really miss to seek help and to demand without someone making me feel like I’m too much or hard to please. I mean, yesterday I’ve just been called a hangman but if I ever say “Are you serious?”, I would have received something along the line “See, you can’t even take a joke.” and that stinks, because that’s not true. I’m full of humor and also empathy, I push myself to be a bit kinder and open towards others everyday, to have better values.

I think that I never cared until one day I truly did. I’m all black and white and it’s fucking exhausting. Truth is, if someone screw you, he’ll screw you twice. Period. Again, what else is there to say? 

Somedays I’m exhausted to be me. I’m tired to see everything, fitting or not in that giant puzzle which is life, and to be told to act or change when deep down I know I’m right. And fuck okay, I don’t want to be right! Despite being an Aries, I don’t have this competitive or “give me the last word” vibe. I really give zero fucks about it. If I win, I deserve it, and if I lose, then I learn. I don’t have the time for that shit. Though sometimes I’m right, and it’s tiring to see things so clearly that I’m like, whys and hows, but damn, can I just be stupid and reckless all over again?

People who are harsh are not meant to be mean, and I know that. My empathic side made me learn the difference. Own your shit, be that bitch, and go on. I’m all over that journey. So when on the other side, someone tries to hurt me, my worth reminds me that I do not deserve it. What I call my worth, some might call it your ego, and trust me, this is a lie. They put bad meanings into nobles feelings, and there is nothing wrong with loving yourself, just enough to not let assholes bring you down. Never. 

I would finish by quoting Frida “At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can”, and that’s one of the truest thing ever. Does that make you less? No. Does that justify the abuse? No. Does that make you a strong motherfucker? No. It just makes you human and it reminds you that tomorrow is another chance to be you, shamelessly, and to be proud of your journey, whatever it is. Hold on, be this shooting star, this burning sun, this magnetic moon, this stormy sea or blue sky, just know that you belong even if you can’t see it. Personally, I can’t see it. I feel so lonely. But I believe in me and how far this life showed me that I could be extraordinary and inspired. 

Do not think less of yourself just because someone called you something that you’re not. Their fucking loss. 

#writing AGAIN #quarantine feels #loneliest #frida #harley quinn #lana del rey #me #being disabled #disability rights #tough times #it's ok not to be ok #believer #eating my feelings #self analysis #being fucked up #but still me #self love #stay mad #be you #audrey

[dropsofletters]

the language of hate

title: the language of hate pairing: dong sicheng/reader genre: designer!au/assistant!au/enemies to lovers!au summary: dong sicheng wants to work in the fashion industry, so when he sees the opportunity to get hired as the assistant of one of the most respected young women in the business, more specifically a designer, he takes the chance. once he gets to know her, however, he realizes just how much he hates her. little does he know that he would be the one capable of changing that egotistic, narcissistic and stereotypical rich kid into a nice person. genre: fluff/angst. note: you can find the creator of this gif here!

It feels good to be looked at, the wary eyes of people casted over her the moment she steps inside a room, expensive high heels clicking against the marble floor with squeaky clean surfaces that still don’t make her falter her step, always an air of arrogance filling the air with the tilt of her head upwards and a quirk of an eyebrow at most times. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t proud that her name could be found easily in the headlines of news, for it was a memory of how much wealthier she had gotten with her real job, but her family name will always be a boost for her in every situation, yet, she likes to believe that her own independence since her teenage years had brought her to be the woman that she was today…

A little bit over the legal age and ready to take over the world.

She also has a nice ear for rumors, she bathes on them as if they were champagne and she laughs at them like the sound effect of a sitcom, simply because the noise of chatter around her feels like the right amount of attention. Another word, another headline, another zero in her bank account. She wins, even when people want her to lose. It feels vaguely empty to sit late at night without friends as she watches her favorite shows or works on a newest project for her fashion company, but she doesn’t linger too much on that. Call her narcissistic, maybe, but she has learned that her success and her growth as a person is more important than a few friends here and there.

She has had plentiful of assistants, of all genres, races, and sexualities—what’s important is their capability of working well, of course, but the latest one had been lucky enough that she did not take him to jail, considering the numbers in her checks weren’t really correct, and she ended up filling a report on her jewelry that was stolen as she was taken a shower, but she had luckily discovered the man that had robbed from her. She is having a bit of a hard time organizing herself but she manages, assisting to red carpets and fashion shows as much as she can, but also preparing meetings with her staff and working on her newest opening of a store in Los Angeles, which becomes harder as time passes by without an assistant. She keeps a leather covered agenda in her hands as she walks through the seas of people and people wonder why she, out of all people, was alone…but she couldn’t find an assistant that would keep up with her exquisite and picky needs.

She doesn’t mind, maybe not having an assistant will totally ground her and keep her humble, but she, you know, absolutely minds. She doesn’t like the stress that has her constantly living with migraines and now the sound of the lonely mornings at her office or her own sports car (after all, she had grown a bit tired of being driven around by someone since she was a kid) becomes a dull silence that she doesn’t want to stand. No one would believe that the ever-so-known woman would have lonely nights, for everyone would think that she had a few men that she maintained just to fuck her and leave, but she rarely ever likes trusting people too much—let alone lovers. Assistants were the closest people she had to friends but she always cut them off, after all, people only love rich individuals because they are supposedly airheads with too many problems that make them ungrateful.

Surprisingly enough, she can’t live without an assistant and that means she has to host a few interviews to get the perfect individual to work by her side at all times; she’s conceited, barely looking up from the folders that hold their curriculums before swatting her hand as a way of sending them off because they are not even close to what she wants. She needs someone who is able to follow after every single one of her instructions completely and she is very specific about things, like how she likes her coffee and how many clients they had to call in order to have features designers in her fashion shows. All of that without stealing from her, of course.

The sound of someone’s shoes clicking against the floors of her office doesn’t catch her attention, although she recalls the way said person closes the door in a soft thud before returning to their trip towards the seat in front of her. She fixes the pearls that are wrapped around her neck, the sunlight seeping through the spacious windows of her office and casting over the gray, white and black decorations. Once she reads the name of the man she was interviewing, she says it out loud. “Good afternoon, Mr. Dong Sicheng.” She had learnt how to be both charming and scary when speaking. It started out when she got classes when she was a teenager on how to portray charisma and professionalism at the same time, then it delved into her personality. It felt as if she had all the power in the world in the palm of her hands when she did.

“Good afternoon.” His voice is slightly deep and she notices a bit of a smile on his tone, making her look up from her folders to watch the gorgeous man in front of her. From the fabric of his clothes, she can tell it’s not a Versace or Gucci suit but it fits him really well, a black button down underneath a fitted suit with grayish squares on the jacket, making a contrast with his gray tie. The motto of her company was that anyone could look expensive if they tried hard enough and this man looked like he was part of royalty. From his pointy ears to his heart shaped face, his eyebrows were thinner at the beginning and they ended in thickness, eyes starting with a curve downwards before aligning the ends together, his nose is small but a bit quirked to the side, thick lips showcasing a plumper upper lip but a, still, very full bottom lip. Dong Sicheng, it sounds like a name of power and she is enthralled by his looks, to say the least. Just like diamonds, she loved how he shined. “First off, Miss.  I really enjoy your work in the fashion industry, you’re so young and you’ve done a lot of things—”

“Thank you, thank you.” She swats her hand elegantly before moving her hair over her shoulder, showing her long, dangly earrings that showcase her off-the-shoulder fitted shirt. She looks down at his curriculum and then, she sighs. “I can see here, Sicheng, that you recently graduated university in the Fashion Design major.  Why not pursue that on the first place?” The male’s hands are fidgety over his lap and she looks up until her eyelashes are facing upwards, watching as a soft smile grazes his face before returning to being completely serious. Sicheng’s nervousness almost made her chuckle, simply because the man seemed to see a demon in her when in reality, she’s far from that. However, she likes to ask the good questions.

“I worked as an intern for…various companies as I was studying but when I graduated, I wanted to reach something bigger and I heard you needed an assistant.  I feel like you could teach me a lot, so I could later on pursue Fashion Design for myself—”

“I’m not a university graduate, Sicheng, but it’s nice to know that you think so highly of me.” She quirks an eyebrow with a small raise and then, she licks her lipstick covered lips before turning on her chair to the side, crossing one leg over the other and watching Sicheng smile lightly. “So, where do you see yourself in five years?” The typical questions for a job interview are asked in the matter of seconds and Sicheng lets out a soft sigh through his nose, one that meant that he felt relieved that she had told him something that he had prepared for. He was pretty predictable without knowing so, or maybe, he knew.

“Hopefully I’ll be able to launch my own brand by then, but I’d be happy to work with anything fashion related.” Sicheng adds with that sweet beam, one that she would resemble to glass shattering because she has a slight feeling that he is more of a heartthrob that he makes himself out to be. After all, one thing fashion workers or graduates have in common is that they are highly charismatic, hinting to being a bit of a hypocrite, and that comes in handy, but it is also very misleading. She nods her head and she watches his hair for a few seconds, realizing how he had brushed back the neat black strands.

She leans forward, positioning herself better in the seat before crossing her arms over her chest. “Good, that’s ambitious.” Though she doesn’t like competition a lot, she becomes friends with them because she needs to, but she also likes being the best at her work. Like any successful person. “And…tell me a bit about yourself, Sicheng.” She hadn’t gone this far with any of the other people that had applied to her job as her assistant but Sicheng seemed like a legitimately good person and that’s exactly what she wanted. Someone who wouldn’t want to do this simply to add it to a curriculum, but someone who had enough passion for their job to always need to be better.

“Uh…” Sicheng stops to think for a moment as he looks up before replying. “I come from Zhejiang, China but I live here since I became an exchange student.  Like I said, I have worked for other companies, too and—”

She cuts him off, again, testing his patience in the slightest motions, deciding to play with him a little bit to see if he’d fall into her teasing traps. “When were you born?”

Sicheng seems to be put off by her question but then he composes himself, smiling widely. “October 28th, 1997.”

“That makes you a Scorpio, right?��� Sicheng nods his head after doubting for a bit and she chuckles for the sake of it, catching him off guard. In his life, he thought that someone as rich as her would consist of smirks and pretentious sayings, but she seemed to be a bit more on the professional side. She clicks her pen with her thumb and she writes down on his folder before speaking up. “I think I can trust a Scorpio, so you’re hired.”

Maybe, she needs to learn how to think about her decisions and plot them as future plans to fulfill and continue, but as expected she only took decisions that she felt like taking at that moment and life needs to be a little bit more planned in order to stop herself from disappointments. Sicheng gave her a nice vibe, a hunch that told her he needed a chance…or, she was already too tired of interviewing other people. The black haired man widens his eyes and he parts his lips. “Really?”

“Really.” She answers simply and then; she closes the folder with a loud thud before smiling a tight lipped smile. “I expect you to be here tomorrow at seven in the morning, organize everything for me, from meetings to schedules, you’ll also be following me around.” She stands up from her seat and Sicheng follows her step, walking slowly beside her and soon after, she can tell that he is a bit taller than what she had imagined. The sound of her heels is heavy as she opens the door and Sicheng stands outside, weary as she closes the door. She speaks over her shoulder. “I expect a lot from you, Sicheng.”

“I won’t disappoint!”

One last glance at him is given, fixing her sunglasses over the bridge of her nose before sending a small smile his way. Sicheng shows enthusiasm and she hasn’t had that in a long time, if ever, so she is more than excited to know that there is still a bit of that in this world. The last time she saw such passion for working was when she met her first nanny out of many, someone who truly wanted to take care of her instead of robbing her family behind everyone’s back. People like that always grow, always leave, but it is nice to have them around. Good things are not forever but she believes in the power of money to make people stay, after all: she has whatever she wants. “I hope you won’t.”

With those words, she turns around and continues walking towards her next meeting, eager to know that she won’t have to do everything on her own ever again.

The organization of a fashion show is always the hardest task a designer has to go through, much more if you are the creative mind in your team. Luckily, there are people that have the job of preparing everything from the decorations to sending the invitations to selling tickets to enter, but she is stressed out because her spring collection is about to launch and she needs to give a speech at the end of the runway show. She doesn’t show how nervous she is, though, it was only the morning and no one had arrived to the arena other than the staff and some of the photographers that worked for magazines and wanted to show a rawer version of the show. She is not wearing the outfit she is going to wear for the gala, but she looked spotless with the tight high-waisted pants that almost reached her ribcage and the gray turtleneck that she had tucked inside the pants. Her voice is loud even though she should be elegant, delicate and sweet as a flower—no, as honey! However, she is bossing everyone around and trying to make everything look perfect. Spring needed flowers and of course, she had gone for that but she had asked her decorations to be entirely based on orange and yellow marigolds. She wanted a pop of color and cherry blossoms were very overused lately so she was going one step forward. Classy, springy and definitely not done before.

 It’s simple—designers love to say they are unique, but unique is already a concept. She wants to go for done-before but with a hint of her way.

Still, there is a heaviness to her step and she doesn’t move as fast as she should for a reason, simply because she hears the steps of a man following after everything she does, he also goes anywhere she goes and she can’t help but silently squeal at her newest assistant. He had arrived earlier than she had told him to and luckily, he had gotten her tea order right—she’d go for coffee but it was too caffeinated and not so elegant, as well as not the best option when under stress. Sicheng tries to do his best, like the newest star added to the universe that wanted to get a spot in space, he wanted to be named, remembered and whatever else he had spoken about. He also catches the glances of a few people, mainly because he was her new assistant but also because he looked like the epitome of a model. His black hair was a little bit wet today, probably because he had washed it before going to work, his body decorated by a tight black sweater and some washed jeans. It was casual, yet she knew that the beauty of it came from the person who wore it.

She hears loud chatter from somewhere in the room, technically on top of the runway as the models practiced the way they were going to walk and at what time they will. She crosses her arms over her chest and she watches the instructor scream at one of the girls, the shortest one who had a bit of a hard time wearing the highest high heels she has ever seen. Maybe they had added insoles inside the knee high boots and that was why the model is having such a hard time. Sicheng is speaking to her but she cuts him off. Per usual, really. “Boss, we have already called the catering service and they’re going to deliver just what you wanted, but they’re asking if you want any alcohol or you just want to keep the orange juice—”

“Champagne and hush.” She tells him as she continues staring ahead, pressing the back of her hand to his chest to stop him from speaking and she hears the instructor speak louder. It seems like he had a thing for picking at the short girl, whose name she truly doesn’t know, but she had always been very open about the variety in the models that she hires. A higher spectrum of people could reach for her brand if she showed that everyone could wear it, which was true, so she has always loved that aspect of her work. She sucks on the lollipop that she had in between her lips (always being the woman who needed sugar to function better) and then, she releases it from her lips. “Marcelo, is there any problem with my model?!”

Marcelo, the best model coach that she has ever had, turns around thanks to his expensive shoes (“Not over a hundred dollars, just very shiny”, she thinks to herself.) and he shows her a charismatic smile, almost too sugarcoated…and she likes sugar a lot, but this is just the most obnoxious amount. “Oh, Miss, no, no!” He swats his hand romantically, like a flamenco dance that came directly from Spain and she raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms over her chest before tilting her head to the side. “I was just telling our model, Bori, that she needed to wear those high heels because she is twenty centimeters under the normal height of a model.” And he laughs, as if she could understand, as if it was a matter of laughing. She sends him a tight lipped smile, one that made Marcelo believe that he was on the right and she gives a few steps forward, her high heels clicking against the floor like always before she looks up at Bori, the model who seemed to be shaking by now. Sharp gaze. Nice lips. Moles around her face. Short, sure, but gorgeous.

“She’s beautiful.”

“A tad short, I’d say.” Marcelo adds in between his incessant laugh. Obnoxious, like him. All she can do is nod.

“But she could totally wear the flats that I added to my collection, the gold ones.  It contrasts with the skirt that she is wearing.” She replies mercilessly and Bori might think she has seen God when she heard those words, smiling weakly at the owner of the brand before she hears Marcelo’s laugh coming to a halt. “You see, Marcelo, I’m the one who makes the decisions here and knee high boots with that skirt look terrible.”

Marcelo differs from her opinion, though. “Miss, the designers and critics will go crazy if they see the height difference between the models.” His voice is shaky and he tries to convince her by placing one of his hands over her shoulder. The owner of the brand places her lollipop in between her lips, looks up at the tall ex-model with simplicity, no fear even added, she’s confident of her decision. “H-Hear me out—!”

“Don’t have time.” The sound of her voice makes someone laugh in the room and she turns in her heels to see that Sicheng is covering the sweet smile over his face, but Marcelo tries to talk to her and she has to continue with her step instead of faltering. Sicheng’s smile is like cotton candy and she can’t help but think that the man would look beautiful if he wore a bit of pink in his clothes, it’s a honeyed color that reminded her of him. Once she stands in front of him, she raises one eyebrow but she manages to return his smile. “What are you laughing about?”

Sicheng shakes his head, immediately getting serious as he looks down at the agenda that he needs to carry around everywhere. “N-Nothing, Boss.”

She can tell that Sicheng keeps a barrier in between the two, he doesn’t try to go out of his way to become her friend and he is naturally very respectful and charming. Her lips wrap around the lollipop once again and then, she wonders how rosy Sicheng’s lips would get if he had one, too, but instead of lingering on the fact that her assistant is very attractive, she should continue with her work. “Tell the catering that I need champagne, rosy is better, but also remember to call the bartenders, I need them here in four hours at maximum.”

Sicheng nods in agreement and he goes to pick up his phone but he sees her smiling to herself, making him speak up. “Do you want anything else, Boss?”

Her elegance reminded him of a true queen of hearts, always ready for her next move, for winning, so deadly yet so beautiful to the point he finds himself impressed by her, but at the same time her constant interrupting and overall over-confidence annoys him. Sicheng has heard about her for years, always knowing that she is one of the most youthful designers in the entire industry that had been able to keep their names up high in the magazines, which only lets Sicheng know that there are not two of her. She can’t be compared to anyone. “Nothing for now, Sicheng, thank you for your hard work.” She takes him by the collar of his shirt and she drags him behind her as they walk to another side of the arena and she can’t help but feel like she has a new friend.

But friends to her don’t really exist, yet, she’ll be able to have someone to protect her in the meantime. Her inner strength is always able to push people away so it gets lonely for her, but having someone that brought her coffee and helped her in her workaholic ways was more than enough. Surely, some people would say that her lifestyle was only a way of covering just how deeply immersed she is in pushing people out of her life, whether they are her family or her friends, but they truly don’t know a thing. She had her fair exchange of reckless memories of doing just what rich kids did, but now it was time to overgrow the family name that follows her everywhere.

Sicheng’s voice fills her ears as she watches the staff working on the lights that will cast over the arena and she raises her voice. “I want my microphone to be working perfectly for when I speak.”

“You got it, Boss!”

“Where’s my lunch, too?!  Someone bring it to me, please.”

Sicheng leans over her and he speaks near her ear, though she doesn’t want to show just how affected she was by the closeness of his body and the scent of his expensive perfume, maybe not as expensive as hers, though. “Do you want me to take care of that, Boss?” His tone of voice makes her turn around and she catches him off guard, making him stumble back and almost bump into someone, but he catches his step.

“Don’t worry.  You’re the one who’s having lunch with me.” She replies easily with a swat of her hand and then, she sees the bewilderment in Sicheng’s gaze.

“Pardon?” Sicheng almost chokes on his own spit when he speaks and she hums. In the matter of seconds, she feels someone placing a Styrofoam box filled with her favorite lunch to have, with a bit of a healthy twist, made by the chef that works for her. It’s microwaved but she really doesn’t mind, Sicheng also receives a box and he shakes his head. “Boss, thank you, but I really have to keep working.  I still need to call those guests that you told me to see if they’re coming or not and I have to see if some paparazzi can come over, too—”

She tuts. “Have you eaten, Sicheng?”

The black haired male responds easily. “No.”

“Then, we’re eating together. No buts, you’ll have the best food you’ve ever had in your life.”

And Sicheng must be enjoying his food as they sit backstage, the white leather of the couch they are eating on warm against her legs even when the room is cold. His plump lips wrap around the chopsticks in his hands and he eats the warm meal delicately, not saying a word throughout the entirety of their minutes together. Sicheng is a man of his job, he only wants to talk whenever he needs to and he wants to do his job really well and it’s stupid of her to think that her assistants should be people that she needs to be friends with, maybe that’s why most of them end up backstabbing her. She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear and she watches Sicheng carefully, realizing that he has a bit of a blinking habit that he would never admit and that, potentially, he thought that his boss was weird because she wanted to have someone to accompany her when she was having lunch. Her excuse is that she is stressed out and it’s a welcoming action for him, perhaps he should be thankful of her.

She gets the time to look at the way his eyes flutter and she thinks that behind his eyes, there is the humbleness that she has never lived. Sicheng reminds her of vintage cars, baggy cheap t-shirts and definitely, the sweet sound of laughter from someone shy in a big group of friends, it fits the mood—he fits the mold of a person who had spent his university years enjoying his life, whereas she only lived her life acting like the reckless piece of shit that she considered herself to be. Sicheng is not a thick wall of coldness and smirks, he is simply a person who tries his most, always. It inspires her, but at the same time she finds herself in awe that he can give such an aura…he’s calming, he’s soft, he’s tranquil, but people like that are the ones who surprise everyone the most when they needed to.

And she’s surprised, secretly, but the organization Sicheng has is obviously showing in his antics, even when he is clumsy at times…but his clumsiness was one of his few weaknesses.

“Oh, you finished?” Sicheng asks as he highlights a few things in her agenda, looking up at her to see that she was playing with her chopsticks, nodding her head before he picked up the box and put it to the side before patting his hands over his pants. He was probably trying to answer yet another call. “Excuse me, it’s from one of the sponsors—”

“Yeah, go ahead.” She mumbles and then, she stands up, straightening her back and walking out of the spacious room backstage before entering the arena. It was big, probably for concerts, but she had always thought that she either had to go big or go home and her home was already big, so she had to do even better. The moment one of the lights stops over her, she feels like this might be the night she had dreamt about the latest months. Her spring collection was something she was proud of and no matter how lonely she was, she was making a name for herself, a well-known one, too.

Her family was often rumored to have gotten their wealth because of drug dealing and while she can’t speak for some of her cousins, she knows that her closest family are just the consequence of years working in the entertainment industry, from actors to actresses, to musicians and producers, everyone had something to do with music but her. She hadn’t asked anyone if they were against it, she simply followed her dream of creating art in the form of clothing, fabrics, textiles and whatever was in between. Sure, she wasn’t specialized in it but once her life settled down a bit, she might go to university, see what’s good about it for once…she used to like studying when she was a kid, but then she grew to hate it.

People gather around late at night like paintings in a gallery, the same ones that she buys whenever she has time to shop around in museums or talk directly to the artists. The marigolds are standing up and shining with the flashes from the cameras, but she is more preoccupied on greeting everyone after the show that she had put up and her speech. Sicheng is behind her, reminding her who every person was and what they were doing her, enlightening her mind with who were the sponsors or not. Her left hand is gripping on a glass of orange juice because she had already had champagne and she wants to keep herself sober just to keep a bit of her consciousness of that precious night, one that she might remember forever. And she looks good, she looks damned good.

The long coat she is wearing reaches her ankles, big squares separating the jacket in four colors, going from cream to beige, then to pastel pink and hot pink. Underneath the long coat, she is wearing a tight black dress that hugs her curves nicely, ending mid-thigh and showcasing the opening at her leg with gold decorations, her platforms with decorations were also from her line. Sicheng is still wearing the same clothes as early but she thinks that the man looks gorgeous even after hours of working non-stop. His hand grips her wrist whenever he needs to remind her something and it’s a habit, but she doesn’t consider it bad, if she was honest.

The night was a reminder of the fact that she was a big influencer and she was happy about it, the attention that she always liked getting—that is. However, her eyes widen and her expression falters a bit when she sees the figure of her latest hook up…and he was holding hands with his oldest toy, his girlfriend, the same one he had cheated on with her.

Kim Hanbin is a nice, intelligent man. He is a producer and a rapper, a very excellent one, too, but she always had a thing for greediness and she liked the man ever since he wore one of her clothes to his airport whereabouts. She hadn’t investigated enough about him when she had asked her old assistant to contact the man because she wanted to make him one of the many faces of her brand. Hanbin’s manager had obviously accepted, but as Hanbin frequented more and more of her shows…she got to know more of him, as the owner of the clothing line that she has. The talks were languid and she loved the way the man spoke, the tone of his voice, how he would whisper to her and act as if they were friends. It was partly her fault for wanting to be more but Hanbin could have also mentioned that he had a girlfriend.

And that was a year ago, but she had never been one to go around reading news about the dating lives of stars, but she should have when she started frequenting Hanbin’s touring spots before she ended up with him in between her legs in Milan, out of all places. It wasn’t a surprise when the man had come around telling her that he couldn’t be around her anymore, crying that he shouldn’t have done what he did as she put on her clothes, realizing that maybe there was something that the ever-so-cool Kim Hanbin was hiding, in this case it was a relationship…one that had faltered that week and he thought that cheating was the best way on getting revenge, which obviously it wasn’t and she had sent him to hell after that.

She had made a lot of bad decisions but she is not a companion, she’s not a side dish, she wanted to be the center of Hanbin’s world but it was impossible. It’s a lie that she kept from everyone but she can’t believe that she had forgotten to take him out of her list of guest.

She grips Sicheng’s bicep and she brings him closer to her, looking up at him to speak closely to him before rasping out words that sounded nothing like herself. “I want Kim Hanbin the fuck away from here.” It didn’t help that Hanbin is wearing a shirt from her latest winter collection and it looks good on him. Her heart was untouchable for him, but she can’t help but feel like a slut when she sees the smile on his girlfriend’s face.

Sicheng, sadly, denies with his head before looking down at his agenda. “Hanbin…Hanbin was invited since two months ago.” The sound of his voice is still a bit dubitative but he manages to rasp out his next words. “We can’t kick him out, no one in here unless they cause a ruckus.”

Now, she didn’t like the fact that her assistant was unwilling to do something she wanted so she frowned, letting go of him before wiping her hand on her coat. “See, Sicheng, that man right there fucked me over and then I left him, I don’t want him near me.”

He doesn’t seem to be fooled by her gaze and she sighs deeply before continuing with her walk. New York is packed that night, though she should have drunk coffee even if she thinks it’s not classy, simply because she is running low on energy after working on the launch of her new store, then attending New York Fashion Week and finally hosting said event that soon turned into a party. The sound of her steps is heavy and she smiles warmly at one of the fellow designers, holding their hands and talking for a bit before she heard Sicheng speaking again. “This may offend you…but I find it unprofessional of you to want to kick someone out because you hooked up with someone. He’s one of the faces of your brand, no one knows about your encounter with him, you should just let it go, Boss.” And of course, there goes the snappy part of Dong Sicheng that she knew he had. She turns around and she grips the sides of her coat, rolling her eyes slightly before giving him a tight lipped smile that was followed by a sigh through her nose.

“You’re wrong.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. “I’m the face of this brand, the creator of this line, one of the biggest influencers of this year and people know that I have great ideas. One of my many great ideas include that I should keep you, because no one has ever been brave enough to talk to me like that, but the second idea…more like a command, Sicheng, is that I want Hanbin out of this damned launch.”

 Sicheng presses his lips together and he gets his agenda out before licking his lips. She knows he is thinking of an idea but she has never seen someone as snappy as him. Sure, he is being the epitome of professional but inside her head there is not anyone more intelligent than her, more prepared than her, she knows what she is doing—not at all times, but most of them. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“That’s a bad start for your first day, Sicheng—”

“I’m willing to help you out in the best way that I can.”

“And how would that be?”

“I’ll ask security to keep him fifteen meters away from you at all times, away from your eyesight.  Is that okay with you?”

She puts on her pair of thin sunglasses and she shrugs her shoulders, turning around and walking towards another guest before speaking to him over the music. “Sounds fair, Sicheng.”

When in reality, the man behind her sighed heavily as he wondered how in the hell he had decided to pick this job. He did enjoy her clothing line but she was the epitome of the devil, always thinking that she was right, that there was not anyone in this world that could be better than her, her ego taking up three rows of the arena whenever she spoke. Sicheng thinks that maybe the fashion industry was far worse than people thought it was but he liked it, still, maybe he keeps being there because this will bring some luxury to his future jobs and perhaps, someday he’ll be the boss instead of being the one bossed around.

But for now, he has to talk to security.

His boss is not exactly the most festive in the mornings.

She loves her black tea served from her favorite tea place exactly at five in the morning, because no matter how high maintenance she was, she still needed to get up early to do everything she wanted to do. She is back in Seoul now, in her real office and preparing for other things to do, mainly helping smaller lines with their launches now that hers had been such a success. It’s not like she didn’t expect it and Sicheng knows it by the way she smiles at herself and brags about her importance in the fashion industry. Inside her head, she is the only one who can put out nice clothing…that there is no one that compared to her and surely, the man is annoyed by it but he is pretty much cold to her, never saying anything that he shouldn’t say but once she was talking about work, he is ready to put his opinion out there.

As a matter of fact, Sicheng dislikes his boss, which is very obvious. She wants to make a friend out of him but he can’t stand people like her. He needed to be her assistant in order to be more well-known, that’s it, end of story, plot finished. People could wonder who the man by her right is, then he could potentially start showing his designs to the world and maybe, if she wasn’t so blind about everyone’s works, then she would notice that he has talent, too.

It was a quarter after five when he arrives with bags under his eyes, her cup of chai tea—Sicheng has learnt more about tea with her than with anyone else—and his agenda, of course. He enters the big mansion in which she lives at and he calls her by the honorific that he normally uses, Boss, although he doesn’t receive an answer first. Sicheng walks further into the house before passing by the spacious living room with collections of furniture and decorations that highlight the colors of gray and white that she uses as a color scheme around her house. Sicheng peaks his head in the kitchen but he only finds her chef, which he greets with a smile and a wave of his hand before walking further into the house. She has many bedrooms but he knew that she is going to be at the gym inside her house, probably working out for the day.

She has to be quick when working out and she doesn’t like to do anything too extreme before work and without a trainer, so she goes for something easy like Pilates or Yoga. Even Sicheng does some stretching early in the morning but he thinks that his boss is not quite the best at it, always doing her stretches in the easiest way possible. The man enters the gym and he watches her stretching in front of the mirror, wearing the most expensive workout clothes he had ever seen. That morning she is wearing a crop top with a sports bra underneath and a pair of baggy shorts, which had been the most casual that he has ever seen her look but he really shouldn’t be watching her now, she’s trying to touch the tip of her toes and her back is turned towards him and—

Sicheng doesn’t really want to be caught looking at his boss’—and potentially the person he hates the most—ass.

But it’s there. Sicheng has eyes…and she is not bad looking, quite clearly.

“Boss, good morning.” Sicheng greets simply and he sees her straightening her back, looking over her shoulder as she gives him a small wave, then, she is turning around and placing one of her hands over her waist before extending the other, which her assistant takes as a cue to give her the chai tea. “So…” Sicheng tries to read over the words he wrote down but sometimes he has a bit of a hard time with it, considering he has to read emails in various languages and his boss has the time to help him translate sometimes, but other times he is completely lost. “You’re going to be looking at some designs that Krystal prepared for you, for the expansion of the spring launch that you planned on making.”

“What did she say it was about?” She asks after taking a sip of her tea and Sicheng looks up from the piece of paper before speaking up. Of course, she is going to say something about Krystal’s work.

“All black, casual—”

She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head as she clicks her tongue. “Oh, that’s not it!  That’s…ew, no, we’re not going to release that—”

Sicheng sighs deeply, already knowing that she was going to talk like that about Krystal’s idea. “Your clothing line had lots of color but we need something duller, something people our age can use to feel expensive but at the same time feel comfortable.” Sicheng explains with a frown over his face but she doesn’t notice that it was because her assistant didn’t like her tone, her attitude or her big ego. “The clothes are…like what you picked and designed for the runway, not the same…they are different, but they are also good.”

“I’m not releasing stuff that I’d wear to sleep.”

“Most people are into hoodies, t-shirts or anything comfortable nowadays.  Not everyone dresses like you, Boss.” Sicheng replies and she takes a look at his lips, though she has only seen him smile so little, she has a thing for Sicheng’s smile ever since he started working for her a month ago.

She sighs. “Yeah, whatever, I guess.”

Sicheng feels a little bit of mischief trailing over his body the moment he sees her lips wrapped around the corner of the cup to drink her tea, so he looks down at one of the messages he had written down before clearing his throat. Oh, this was going to be great. “Also, Kim Hanbin sent you roses to your office.”

Those words almost make her gasp, but she always has to keep up a front, a sense of elegance, as if she doesn’t care, so she simply raised an eyebrow before walking towards the door of the gym to walk away to her kitchen to eat something. “Burn them or keep them, it’s your choice, they’re yours now.”

The man lets out a soft breath when he hears those words and she can’t help but smile at his dumbfound expression. “Excuse me?  I didn’t understand.”

She turns around, a smile on her face when she replies. “You deserve roses more than I do, Sicheng.  Keep them.”

And he hates her even more when she is nice to him, as if there was actually some interest within her to help him. Sicheng nods his head, deciding that maybe keeping the roses would be better than burning them, but he still doesn’t believe in his boss—not even the tiniest bit.

Her cup of tea is at the same spot over her black desk, that picture with her first runway participation shining brightly as it faced the tall door of her office. The curtains of the office are withdrawn to show the harsh sun of the time of the day where the afternoon and the morning collide, her hands are still tapping against her keyboard to answer to another email and she is starting to feel a bit hungry, but she decides to ignore it to complete yet another email to send, reminding herself that the next day she had an interview to attend to and a photoshoot after that—luckily, or not so luckily for her, there were plenty of events she had yet to attend: from red carpets to fashion shows to shows about fashion in which she had to criticize people, but in the nicest way that had people wanting to try harder with their outfits just to have her judging them. There were plenty of things to do but she didn’t seem bothered, at least not completely, she still had Sicheng to organize everything and she just had to show up there.

Speaking of the man Sicheng, he is not there with her to accompany her. Normally, she liked it when her workers got breaks at lunch because she had some time to listen to the sound of tranquility and the latest album of one of her favorite artists, but no interesting music had been released and Sicheng is at least fifteen minutes late from his lunch break and she really doesn’t want to give him a call, but she should. Her fingers tug at the edge of her black dress and she feels a bit useless because she had listened to Sicheng’s fashion advice and now she was wearing an all-black outfit, the long sleeved dress hugging her curves lightly and highlighting her waist with a gold thick belt that wrapped around it, giving her a bit more of shape to show. She should really be wearing something more interesting but she had to portray her next release and Krystal’s idea had been approved because Sicheng made a lot of points—it was easy to match, easy to wear and definitely something someone with a nine to five work could style.

And she doesn’t know how that feels…since she has always worn very expensive clothing, but so Sicheng explains that she needs to be more open to ideas, letting her designers work along with her so she could reach bigger expanses with her work. She’s against it…but black looks good on her and she might as well take this opportunity to match with Sicheng’s casual monochrome style.

Her fingers reach for her phone as she stands up, already tired of waiting for Sicheng because he should be there and she needs help recognizing some of the people that had written to her through her email, so she presses his contact on her phone and as she walks out of her office, she puts her phone up to her ear to give Sicheng an earful, but she is surprised when she hears the sound of Sicheng’s ringtone filling the air of the cubicles outside of her office. The secretary seems unfazed by the look on her face but she is more than angry because Sicheng is standing at the office with someone she doesn’t know, certainly not one of her workers and she accepts visits during lunchtime, but not exactly after that.

Sicheng’s body is covered by a button up with black dots and a white background, tucked inside his black jeans and making him look casual yet ready to go to work. His hair was barely brushed away from his eyes by his hands as he heard the man in front of him speak, definitely in Mandarin, and by the way he looked down at his phone he was planning on picking up her call but she cut it before he could pick up. She walks over to them, definitely taking a glance at the man whom he was talking to, very cute looking but the white t-shirt and jeans combo was too much like what a college student would wear and she’s not used to that look.

Her manicured nails let one finger after the other down on Sicheng’s shoulder and the man seems to stiffen at her touch, looking over his shoulder to see that his boss was there with a soft smile over her face. The man that had been talking to Sicheng stops in his tracks and she takes that as a cue to speak. “Hello, I didn’t know Sicheng was bringing a friend with him—”

Sicheng shakes his head and he babbles out an apology. “I’m sorry, Boss.  I didn’t mean to get here late but I lost track of time and I was helping him with directions because he is not good with-”

She moves her eyelashes softly and she shakes her head, though she can already sense that Sicheng is stressing out. Highly responsible and intelligent, that’s the best way she would describe Sicheng but he panics when he thinks he will disappoint her, perhaps not because he cares about her but he cares about what she thinks. “I like it, don’t worry.  It’s always a pleasure to have people here.” She tells him through a smile and Sicheng’s friend seemed uncomfortable as he fiddled with his hands and she tried to ease the situation by telling him her name. “…I’m the owner of this company, Sicheng’s boss. Who do I have the pleasure to meet?” By the flirty tone of her words, always lingering in between her vocal chords, she could see a blush spreading across the man’s cheeks and he extended his hand for her to take.

“Qian Kun.” The young man says with a smile on his face and she takes his hand, bowing slightly just as he did before pulling away. “I’m sorry I caused Sicheng any trouble-” And he did cause Sicheng some trouble and inside her head, she is already planning a list of very detailed, picky orders that Sicheng had to follow, like asking for Caesar salad only to take the lettuce out of it and she enjoys to see the groggy expression on his face whenever she touches certain nerves inside his brain.

“Trouble?  Yes, you caused just that.” She adds in the sweetest tone she could muster but then, she smiles sweetly. “But I’m so glad to meet you—Sicheng never talks about his life outside of work.”

“That’s because it’s none of your business.” Sicheng mumbles softly and she catches what he said, so she decides to straighten her back and have the last laugh in the situation.

She moves her hair over her shoulder and she grips on her diamond choker before shrugging her shoulders. “I would love to keep talking to you, Kun, but if Sicheng plans on keeping his job, he needs to do more than just looking cute beside me so,” Kun widens his eyes the moment he hears those words escaping her lips, both brave and offensive but also a compliment at the same time, she fixes the belt around her waist before she tapped her finger against Sicheng’s temple, catching the male’s attention as he mumbles something to Kun in Mandarin. Suddenly, when she starts walking towards her office, she hears the sound of Sicheng following behind her and she would smile if only she wasn’t as prideful as she was. That’s the main reason why most of her relationships ended, she’s always better, always ready for the next step. “I’m not a crazy boss.”

Sicheng clears his throat, shocking in his saliva and coughing soon after. “E-Excuse me?”

“I understand Mandarin and you called me crazy.”

Sicheng looks like a deer caught in the headlights, fingers gripping his agenda tightly in his hands as he bows by her side, directly turned towards her to show just how sorry he was. “Boss, I am so deeply sorry—I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just mad-”

She interrupts him. “…Okay.” She breathes out, words lingering with acceptance as she drops her hands to the side of her body. Sicheng has noticed just how gorgeous she is, through the thick layers of arrogance and rich kid vibe, she simply puts on anything and she looks like she came out of the classiest magazine—and she thinks it through, she knows what looks best on her and what’s the worst option. Sicheng can’t help but let his eyes trail down her chest whenever she wears a low cut dress or sometimes he is simply astonished by the color of her lips, he had heard once that people get attracted to opposites and physically, Sicheng feels like she is a whole another woman that he would love to go out on a date with, if she starts speaking…that’s a whole another deal. “Now do something for me.”

“Whatever you want, Boss.”

“Call my second manager, Yesung, and tell him that his break is over.  I need him to get here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

And that’s when the fun is over, simply because she liked Sicheng best when he did what she told him to…but what was the fun in that?

It’s not rare to hear the sound of music in her house, this time it was a jazzy lo-fi hip hop track that had her walking barefoot around her big closet. There are coats hung on hangers neatly in various places, the room even bigger than Sicheng’s bedroom back at home, with hundreds of shoes and shirts, a place in which she keeps her most worn clothes and a few drawers in which she has her very expensive satin pajamas. There is a big mirror in the middle of the room with lights perfect for a photoshoot and she stands in front of it when she is looking at her outfit, but tonight she was simply sitting in front of it, taking the makeup wipe she had in her hand to take off all her makeup while Sicheng was standing by the side, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at his boss. She looked the simplest he had ever seen her, with gray sporty leggings covering her legs and a flowy white top that was the tiniest bit see-through, just enough for him to realize that she was wearing a sports bra and she must have been planning on lounging around for the time being.

She looks peaceful when she is not speaking highly of everything she does, eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks when she goes to take off her mascara, her makeup smudges a bit with the makeup wipe but then it is gone with another swipe of the same material. The song changes and she can’t help but swing a little bit from side to side, still noticing the gaze of her assistant over her. She likes it, like she had said, she had always liked people’s attention but by the look on his face, she knew that he was totally judging her. This wasn’t the type of woman Sicheng would like—he preferred them humble and sweet, kind and cute, with so much innocence that it almost seemed fake and she wasn’t any of that. Strangely enough, she finds herself a bit astonished by the type of life Sicheng lives.

He wakes up earlier than her, he goes home later than her, too because he has to keep being with her even after work hours and then again, he still had friends. Sicheng was nice to the chef, to the cleaning lady, but he had never been nice to her. Sometimes she catches him laughing along with Yesung or simply listening to the stories the receptionist says…but he is never like that with her. She can’t help but throw her makeup wipe to the trashcan with a sigh, wondering if the closest thing she has ever had for friends were the kiss-ups that she dared to call friends when she was younger.

“Sicheng,” The sound of her voice startles him but he hums almost immediately, making her stand up as she looks at herself in the mirror. Makeup-less, the closest thing to a simple outfit she’ll ever get even when everything was expensive, the newest phone on the market by her side and a counter behind her where she has had the most luxurious, joyous and lustful adventures with the most well-known models, actors and producers and whatever there was in between. Kim Hanbin and Lee Minhyuk were people that had visited that closet, they were people that she once considered friends and yet, the only thing they did was touch her skin and call her beautiful, suck up to anything she had superficially before showing her their true colors. One of them was a cheater, the other was just as much of an asshole as she was and that was the truth. “What does it feel like to have friends?”

Sicheng frowns and it almost too cliché, how a rich kid like her felt lonely…when in reality, they were the ones who could find friends the easiest. He doesn’t understand why rich people think they need something else when they already have it all, but he answers, simply because she is his boss and he needs the paycheck that she gives him every week. “I don’t know.  It feels nice, you have someone to talk to.”

She scoffs. “You can talk to anyone.” Maybe Sicheng didn’t know as much about real friendship as she thought he did, but Sicheng begs to differ, speaking up as he plays with one of the coats by the hangers in the white room.

“They listen to your problems and they help you out with them.  They’re…honest and they make you laugh.” She frowns deeply at the sound of his words, simply because she is used to another terminology for friends. Friends like Hanbin, the guy whom she had travelled the world with only to be lied straight to her face—then, he wasn’t honest and not being honest was not being a friend. Friends like Minhyuk, who did everything in his willpower to bend her over any surface and she loved it, but he never listened to her problems and she never listened to his—they just talked about what they had and what they wanted to do to each other, so that wasn’t friendship. Friends like the ones she had, simple getaways for her to feel less lonely but not sincere in the long run.

A person that listens to her problems and they help her out with them, just like Sicheng, who woke up at five in the morning to be at her mansion in time and did everything in his willpower to make her happy, even if it was for a paycheck. Someone who is honest and tells her when her ideas are too closed down, just like Sicheng, who always told her what he thought was right and what was wrong with a frown over his face. Someone who makes her laugh…and that Sicheng does, too, simply because there are times where his absentminded cuteness gets to her… “You do all those things.”

“…Huh?”

“You’re my friend, then, because you do all those things for me.”

Sicheng wants to say that he is not friends with her, that he hates her enough to make himself gag whenever he thinks about her stuck up personality, but at the same time he can sense that there is a lost look in her face. Sicheng doesn’t answer, instead, he replies lowly. “Not…exactly, that’s not how it works.” Sicheng adds with simplicity and she turns around to look at it, placing one foot over the other to rub them together and create some heat. Their eyes connect and she can see a bit of a gush of pink over Sicheng’s cheeks, reminding her of one of her favorite colors. She raises one eyebrow and then, she rests her left hand over his waist before patting it softly.

“We could never be friends anyways.”

“Glad you know it.” Sicheng adds with a harsh expression over his face as he watches her walk out of the walk-in closet, making him roll his eyes as he trails behind her. Once they are inside her room, he catches with his gaze her body plopping down on her bed as she covers herself with the blankets, making Sicheng sigh out of happiness. “Boss, can I leave?”

She ponders for a moment and she flutters her eyelashes delicately before calling him over with several flicks of her index finger towards herself. Sicheng stands by the side of her bed as he hums for her to talk, but she opts to look into his eyes before wrapping her fingers around his wrist and she brings him down slightly, their gazes connecting with one another as she rolls her lips in a simple request. “Bring me a glass of water, please.”

“Sparkly or regular?” Sicheng asks in a tired tone and she responds the same as always, the answer that he already knew—cold water with two ice cubes, the glass should be halfway filled in because if she drinks too much before bed, she will have to get up to go to the bathroom several times. Sicheng knows enough about his boss to contemplate if the two are closer to being friends than he really thought, but he leaves the room with a nod of his head before he could think any more about it.

Looking at Sicheng and exchanging glances with him feel like long hours, or maybe it is because her gaze would always end up upon his as she takes pictures for a magazine interview, trying her best to look classy in the set…even though she was never one that enjoyed most of the pictures that were taken of her, mostly because she was picky about them. Sicheng seemed to laugh at her at times, by the way his lips twitched and how his cheeks would get fluffier whenever she gave another pose to the camera. Suddenly, she feels a little bit naked under the gaze of her assistant and she had never felt this shy, but strangely enough…she likes the way Sicheng is honest to her and while she would like to believe that it is not, she feels ridiculous in front of a big lens posing for a magazine in which she lied to every question that the interviewer had asked her.

She feels a pair of hands placing a fluffy coat over her shoulders as she is looking at the screen with her pictures and she is talking to the photographer about how she wanted some things fixed, like the colors and whatnot, she also asked for some of them to be deleted. Her fingers wrap around a cup that Sicheng gives her and she knows it’s her tea, making her drink it softly as she warms up at the taste of it. Sicheng’s hands are still placed by her shoulder to keep the coat in place and for a moment, she is lost in the smell of Sicheng’s clothes and how soft his skin was against hers by her side. She has had plenty of people in the same position as Sicheng and some of them in even wilder ones, but she loves the warmth that comes with Sicheng naturally.

Sicheng is not a night in Paris filled with lust, Sicheng is less than that and it feels more comforting. Sicheng is not the fabric of expensive clothing of overly used trends, he is the sense of authenticity. She wants to keep Sicheng longer than she would like to admit and when she finishes talking to the photographer, she looks over her shoulder to see Sicheng’s gaze over the screen, scanning her pictures before he pointed at one of them, specifically one that she disliked. “Don’t delete that one.”

“Why?” She asks, wanting to hear a compliment from his lips because she never gets them. Sicheng looks at her and then, he notices just how close the two were from one another. Sicheng pulls away from her with a blush dusting his cheeks in rose gold tones before he cleared his throat. “My dress looks like it’s bundled up.”

“But you look natural.  You look bossy, which you are.” Those words make her laugh as she raises her eyebrows, the photographer laughing along with her at the innocence behind Sicheng’s words. “And you also look very beautiful.” Sicheng moves his mouth absentmindedly and she notices the way he bites his bottom lip when he gets to look at her legs in the picture, she takes a glance at him and then, she realizes that not every single feeling that Sicheng had towards her were of hatred. She could see him falling for her if only they weren’t boss and worker, but that’s incredibly impossible to happen between the two.

She hums. “Keep the picture, Minho, I want it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She takes Sicheng by his tie and she pulls him with her to walk out of the studio, preferably taking a bit of time in case someone wanted something from her even when their hours with her were over. Her tongue is itching to make a comment about the attraction that Sicheng feels towards her, more like the slight sense of hate that follows him after every action of his towards her and hate and lust didn’t have a lot to do together, but the tension that the two possessed could get easily misunderstood. She decides not to be inappropriate, like she mostly is, and instead she goes around a question. “Sicheng, are you seeing anyone at the moment?”

Sicheng gets his breath caught in his throat and he runs his fingers through his hair before composing himself. His boss was just trying to get him nervous. “No, Boss, but that’s none of your business.”

“Oh my,” She mumbles in a sultry tone and then, she crosses her arms behind her back before chuckling. “I totally saw you dating. You’re cute, intelligent, very…responsive to commands.”

“Boss, drop it.”

“What leads you to being single?”

“It’s nothing.” Sicheng adds with blushed cheeks and she shakes her head.

“You see, Sicheng, we all have a reason why people break up with us.” She responds with a flick of her wrist and she watches as Sicheng opens the door for her, to which she thanks him with a nod before smiling like the Cheshire Cat would. “Like me, for example, people leave me because I’m so superficial and stubborn that they get tired of me. I’m the perfect example of a workaholic that thinks they are better than anyone else.”

Sicheng is glad that his boss knows how annoying he is but now her question is starting to haunt him. Most of his relationships ended because of natural reasons, people who lose interest in him and vice versa, but he doesn’t know any further from that. Sometimes, he thinks that maybe it is the fact that he is too bland that has his past relationships turning into dust…or perhaps, people didn’t enjoy the cutesy Sicheng that most people got to know. “I get people bored.”

“I can see that.”

“Hey!” The moment Sicheng’s annoyed voice leaves his vocal chords, she knew that she had a bit of a thing for getting him riled up. She waits for him to open the door to her car and he does exactly that. Once Sicheng is in the spot beside her, she instructs the driver to take them to her next schedule and after a few seconds of silence, she speaks once again.

Her hand ends up by his on its side as she lets her little finger touch with his teasingly and then, she leans over enough to look up at him with innocent eyes that she never knew she could use on anyone. “If it works for you, you don’t bore me.”

Sicheng scoffs. “Boss, I don’t mind what you think of me.” He replies curtly and she knows that he will try to be as sharp as he is with her forever, but by the way he reacts when she sits this close…she knew that there were some ways that she could have Sicheng liking her. She had always been a people-pleaser, and it would work just marvelous if she put her plan to work.

She liked Sicheng’s indifference, simply because he was one of the few people that wouldn’t try to become her friend specifically for her money, but she was far more interested in the fact that she rarely got to see the smile that he showed everyone and by now, she could already imagine how beautiful his smile would be if she was the reason behind it.

“And that’s one of the few things I like about you.” She answers and Sicheng doesn’t miss the way she smirks as she returns to her side of the seat, looking out the window after crossing one leg over the other with classiness. The devil wore designer clothing, that is for sure, but even angels like Sicheng can’t stop themselves from getting close to her.

Stress is her handbag, lemonade is her newest favorite drink because it distracts her, and she really is pondering about the facilities that coffee could bring her. The amount of outfit changes she has throughout the day are only endless reminders of the importance of her position in society and she wants to say she adores it, but she really needs a break. Her pores already feel clogged up with the amount of makeup she needs to wear on a daily, like shades of colors that really don’t represent the complexity of her personality. However, she is thankful that there are people who are able to work hard with her—waking up at four in the morning to prepare her for a gala, a grand entrance that could potentially make her the center of attention and also, bring that attention to her clothing line.

Her eyes are aching and normally, she would take a nap at that very moment, when her newest—and very sweet—makeup artist is pressing a beauty sponge to her skin to set the foundation over it, blend it to perfection and leave her like a little doll made out of glass. The seat is comfortable and the lights are a little bit dimmed, as long as she doesn’t get too close to the mirror in front of her that radiates white lights to accentuate her makeup and make it look as spotless as it could. Her manager is somewhere in the room, arms crossed over her chest and her face resting on her shoulder for some reason, but she is far too invested in thinking of the man that was supposed to bring her breakfast.

She already knows who it is. Everyone does.

She loves bickering with Sicheng, because she recognizes the amount of hatred he has towards her, and somehow she wants to change it, but that is not the reason why she needs to have Sicheng by her side. The problem starts with new, and continues with launch. A new launch had been the biggest of her problems, much more when she had been trying to create more of a casual style for men, that could sell more and at more accessible prizes (all courtesy of Sicheng’s advice). Someone like her with diamonds in her eyes, expensive rings around her fingers and a heart covered in stone cold could not understand the importance of saving money, but her assistant does and that means his opinions count as society’s, or normal people’s for that matter.

He is the image he had in her head when she created the concept of her newest launch. She wanted colors, from pastel blue to lemonade yellow (a drink, that according to Sicheng, is supposed to wake her up), with hints of peppermint shades and a few beiges to contrast, white cannot ever be too much, and the stylish suits for women and long jackets for males are the epitome of exactly what she had imagined. A punch of an eighties throwback to the gut, but not hideous enough to look out of place, but a rewind of style mixed with office and casual, pieces that can be thrown together just like they can be taken off and the facilities of buttons that make everything look stylish. She loves some color, and she thinks it should be more highlighted in the fashion industry, and the pop feeling of her line had some stylists from pop artists already reaching her phone, but she needs to make sure every piece is perfect.

Perfection is like sugar, sweet but not good in big amounts. People craved it, but it wasn’t good for their health. She learns that now, how she has always been criticized with a perfect standard in mind. “I am trying a red and black eye-look,” The soft spoken makeup artist, Lia, says as she picks up her palette after applying primer on her lids and she bites on her bottom lip as she looks at the colors. “I bought some glitter eyeliner, too, since we want it to shine.” Lia looks like a girl next door, with cheap cotton clothing covering her body, and a smile that never leaves her face. She is too pure for this world, even going as far as bringing cookies and coffee to the busy designer, and she speaks throughout the whole process of the makeup. Long eyelashes, beautiful thin lips and starry eyes that shined as bright as the glitter that she is going to apply to her eyelids. “Are you okay with that?”

“We’ve already talked about this.” She says tiredly, leaning her head back on the seat after she feels a small pull on her muscles. All she wants are five hours of sleep and potentially on her bed, not in some limousine while Sicheng reads her what she needs to do throughout the day. “Do what you need to do.” When she finally closes her eyes, getting ready to get lost on the hands of drowsiness and a sleepiness that carries her throughout life, she hears the sound of the makeup studio’s door being opened and she groans lightly, opening her eyes.

“No, no,” Lia says sweetly, moving her hands with the makeup brush on her hands. “Close your eyes. I’m going to start with your eye-makeup.”

“Sorry.” She whispers while closing one eye and with the other she catches a glance of the person that is entering the room. Sicheng is wearing a suit, although his hair is messy and his eyes are just as tired as hers. He lives off coffee and alarms on his phone, always rushing behind her, being her pretty little companion and her Atlas for the latest months. Just like how Atlas carried the world on his shoulders, he carries everything that she needs to do and keeps her company even in the toughest times, when all she wants to do is hide and pretend she was never famous to start with. “I’m glad you got here.”

“…I feel asleep, sorry.” Sicheng apologizes, just like she did a few seconds ago, and he bows to the manager before waving his hands cutely at the half-asleep woman. The designer, however, feels the movements of the brush against her eyelid coming to a halt and she opens her two eyes to see that Lia is catching a good glance of Sicheng. Tall. Gorgeous. Natural. Humble. Made for people like her, who love a good love story and a prince instead of a frog. Sicheng is that, a prince with a ceaseless need to speak his mind out about his hatred towards his boss. “Hi. I’m Dong Sicheng.” He introduces himself to the makeup artist, who only tucks a strand of her long hair behind her ear before smiling.

“Lia.”

“Sicheng?” She calls out in a whiny tone, raising an eyebrow and making her assistant look at her, starry eyes changing into bored ones once he shares a glance with his boss. He nods his head before going over to where she is, placing her breakfast on the table beside her before she starts speaking once again. “I need you to try the pieces of clothing that are in the bathroom next door, and I’ll be making some changes if I feel they don’t fit you right.”

Her assistant frowns at that. “I’m not a model. No.” But he might as well be, with his plump lips and tall height, as well as that mysterious aura that wraps around him that gives an enormous contrast with his sweet features. She thinks that Sicheng is more than he claims to be, but he will never let her know if he continues to be just like how he is right now.

“I’m your boss. You need to do what I tell you to.”

“Boss—”

“Come on. You’re the prettiest person I know currently and I trust your judgement.” Those words catch him off guard, and he cusses as he looks over to the side, the tip of his ears shining like cherry blossoms. She smiles to herself, closing her eyes once again and taking one of the cookies Lia had given her to bite down onto it.

Sicheng thinks that he has the upper hand in the relationship, a professional one that is, but she knows that is not true. He has served as inspiration, that is true, but it goes even further away from his great looks and his humble desires—his passion for work and his cute reactions had brought some kind of happiness to herself. Her work is no longer a need for attention and power, it became something more, like what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. “Okay, Boss. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m excited.”

“Please, don’t say anything.”

And the sound of the door closing has her leaning back on her seat, with a pride that swells up inside her body like a balloon, but it is quickly deflated the moment Lia speaks. “Uh…” Her nervous voice, lingered with shyness, is enough to make her open her eyes. “No, no, close them.” The repetition is not necessary, but she does as Lia says and then, the older woman clears her throat. “Is he…your assistant?”

She does not know what happens whenever she hears someone ask her about Sicheng, but it reminds her of that one time her parents took her favorite toys and sold them just because they felt like she needed to grow up. It is as if she is betrayed, but at the same time she doesn’t want to let go of what is within her touch. She swallows thickly, nodding her head and not saying a lot more, letting out soft breaths meant to relax her. However, a few minutes later she hears the sound of the door opening once again, when Lia is blending a nice transition shade on her crease.

What Sicheng is, in presence, in the scowl on his face and the sound of his voice, no one else has been to her. She has met a hundred men, slept with a handful, fallen in love with one rock-star once, but it has never quite felt like the admiration she feels towards Sicheng. He stands strong for his beliefs, even when he doesn’t completely like her, and the more she tries to become his friend, the less it feels like she has always been accompanied by people. She realized with him how lonely she is, but at the same time, that there are good people out there in the world. Those who don’t love the zeroes in her bank account, but hate her for what they made her be. What he is, is the burn that lemonade brings down her throat, with some taste of sugar but mostly bitter.

She would never admit it, how the border in between the two feels more like a frontier. How she wants to jump it and have him as a friend, or maybe simply hear him tell her the truth about herself. Perhaps, she should go to a psychic or something else, but she has never had a real person as a friend. Someone that cares about her for who she is. He doesn’t, but she feels like he could. No one would stand this job like he does, right?

Sicheng clears his throat, with cheeks made to kiss and lips that match his scowl. He is wearing one of her favorite pieces, the lemonade yellow button down, a perfect pair of trousers in a color of black and a paste blue leather jacket with a nice, handmade imprint in the back. She coos at the sight of him, clapping her hands together once before resting them against her chin. “Don’t say anything corny.”

“You look so handsome.” Without noticing, she stands up from her seat, not caring that Lia calls behind her to continue with her makeup. Once she reaches Sicheng, she opens the leather jacket by the zipper before fixing it slightly. “Don’t be nerdy. Don’t zip up the jacket.”

“The zipper is there for something. Don’t put it, if you don’t like it.”

“Ah, don’t be a grumpy ass.” She replies, looking up into his eyes before tracing the outline of the lace collar of the shirt. “How you like it? Did I do good with my color vomit?”

“Very comfortable, I might say.” Sicheng speaks his mind out, like always, and then he fiddles with the fabric of the jacket. “And the pieces are colorful, but not that…un-usable. I would wear it.”

She smiles, biting down on her bottom lip and giving a few steps back before nodding her head. “There are a few other pieces waiting for you at the bathroom. Come on. Give me a show.”

Sicheng huffs, throwing his arms to his sides and watching the two other women in the room for help, but Lia is too busy gawking at the designer and her assistant, and her manager is thoroughly asleep. He does not say much after that, but she takes a good glance of his broad shoulders as he leaves the room once again. She takes a seat, watching as Lia plays with her makeup brush before sighing. “I have a question.” Her high voice says and the designer hums, pressing another bite to the cookie on her hands, filled with chocolate. “…I’m sorry if it’s none of my business, but how do you feel now that you like someone?”

She coughs, the cookie being swallowed before it should have been, and Lia rushes to pat her back as repetitions of ‘I’m sorry’ spill past her lips. Then, she is reminded while she coughs that Sicheng has been working with her for months, and on a daily. She has seen his face in a million ways, but she hasn’t gotten tired of him. She has heard his voice, but she has never screamed at him. Although their distaste for one another is, more or less, a tale or myth of sorts—she feels like they cooperate with one another. They are a match made in heaven, like John Lennon and Yoko Ono once were.

But that is one thing, liking him as a friend or a worker of hers, but she doesn’t think she would ever like someone at that point of her life. She has broken plenty of hearts, and gotten her heart broken, too. The least she wants is to get involved with one of her workers, but it would not be a beginning for her. Love never meant a lot to her, but a crush sounds childish. Her latest relationships always started in kisses in the back of a car and ended in forgotten socks early in the morning after a night filled with passion.

But there are different types of passion, like the one Sicheng has whenever he arrives early—like he always does.

And she realizes then that people could misunderstand what has been going on with Sicheng, but she doesn’t know what pulls her to him, exactly, either. She is scared of the matters that have a meaning, but she had never thought of actually liking Sicheng. Flirting is something she enjoys doing, but she has never thought of it as something meaningful. “It’s cute.” Lia spills after starting with her makeup once again, realizing just how hot the designer’s cheeks are. “I have never seen you like someone…not even before I started working for you. Magazines have always portrayed you as a player.”

“I don’t know.” She replies, mumbled and lost in between her own lips. Suddenly, the sound of the air conditioner and the deafening silent is more of a response than anything else will ever be. “I won’t say I don’t, just like how I won’t confirm it.” Because she would rather have him by her side than have him by Lia’s. Perhaps, she is pulling in someone who doesn’t want to be by her side, but she knows that she is a bit jealous whenever she catches Sicheng looking at someone—and Lia is not an exception.

“That’s acceptable.”

The door opens once again as Lia is putting false-eyelashes on her client, and Sicheng rushes towards Lia’s side to be in front of his Boss’ line of vision. This outfit is mostly black and gray, although the sleeves have pretty shades of pastel that tie the look together. “I really like this one.” Sicheng admits with a smile on his face, one to enjoy darker colors while she likes the whole rainbow. She opens her eyes, fluttering her eyelashes slightly to get used to them before she looks at Sicheng. The smile on his face is priceless, although a bit tiny, and she knows Lia is looking at him, but for some reason they are the only ones existing in the room, inside her mind.

“I knew you would.” She confesses, thoughtful of what the man likes and doesn’t. She had never been like that with anyone, but she couldn’t show her weakness to a man. Never. A part of her wants to pull him in by the collar of his shirt and let him know who is in charge, but she is left like a blushing mess on her spot before she crosses one leg over the other. “Try some more and I’ll let you have my breakfast.”

“But Boss, I brought it for you—”

A glance to his eyes shows just how things have changed for her, how she has always cared about him to certain extent but now everything is different. There are effects that are unstoppable—like gravity, and the rain, and matters of the heart. “I want you to eat. You must be starving.” Sicheng can’t say a lot more because she lifts her hand up in the air to indicate his silent and a small ‘thank you’ is enough to bring a smile to her face.

Mornings were no longer gray as long as he was there with her. And she never knew colors could be so much brighter beside someone who could like dullness so much.

“Tell me about your first love.”

“Huh?!”

To have Sicheng talking to her when she is at her office, working on e-mails and sponsors for her newest launch, is not normal. Screw that, having Sicheng talk to her without spawning some hate towards her way of working is never a situation she has been in, but that Friday night he seems enthralled in staying by her side and while he could have left home, he decides not to do so. He is twisting around on a chair, watching her office that has a lot of professionalism but an unfitting Gibson acoustic guitar in the darkest spot of her office, holding onto a dusty corner. The latest months have not been one to linger on the thought of a guitar, out of all things, but now that he has some free time with his boss, he feels the need to know the meaning behind it. Just to scratch an itch, or know if the rumors that go around the office about his boss’ love life are real, or are even remotely close to the reality.

She stops typing, but then she shakes her head to look at her computer, finding it interesting that Sicheng is even curious about anything in her life. She straightens her back, not showing her discomfort but instead opting to cover her reminder of her only love with her faux yet so real confidence. “I thought you didn’t care about my life. Why would you want to know?” She asks and Sicheng stops twirling on the chair to press a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes after getting dizzy before speaking through his teeth.

“You don’t like playing guitar, and it doesn’t match the aesthetic of your office at all. I figured…it must have been something that reminds you of your first love. If the rumors are true.” Of course, her office is filled with rumors about her, but she opted to be a heartbreaker instead of being the heartbroken one. Even Sicheng had believed it for some time, that Hanbin or Minhyuk were her first heartbreak, but they were not even close to the pain Goichi once inflicted on her. A guitarist of some band with the softest lips to kiss, and insecurities that had crawled up on her, creating a mess of deep lakes of jealousy and screaming between the two. What was once beautiful, turned bitter rather slowly, like a painful death. “…And I do care about your life, just that I don’t voice it out.”

“It’s not like I didn’t know it.” She says, still typing, although that is a lie. She has always thought that Sicheng hates her, but to see such contrast brings a smile to her face and she remains silent, making Sicheng talk again.

“Come on. What happened with that guitar?”

Her fingers do come to a halt, only to look at the old guitar that is at that corner of her office, dusty with the memory of around fourteen songs that were written about her, some hits and some not. She remembers her ex-boyfriend, not her first, but it definitely felt like he was the only person that mattered at that moment, all the other faces in the world blurry and meaningless. She realizes that she hasn’t got rid of it, even after years of that relationship coming to an end. Her hand presses against the side of her face as she rests her elbow on her desk and she looks at Sicheng’s eyes, realizing that she has always liked that humble side of him, just like Goichi had it. “His name was Goichi. I met him while I was in Los Angeles, and he had some gig there. He played the guitar on some band…their popularity has dropped lately, but you know…he’s talented.” She breathes out softly, her red-lipstick covered lips puckering up at the action before she remembers that moment in which she met her first love. “I wasn’t that...I guess I was innocent, but I was flirty. I tried to get his number, and he promised to give it to me if we went to his favorite bar in Los Angeles. We had some drinks and he always left things for later, so he left me hanging for a kiss.”

Sicheng scoffs at that. “Someone would leave you hanging?” He asks and she smirks at that.

“Why? You wouldn’t?”

He flushes at that, crossing his arms over his chest before clearing his throat. “I’m saying most people wouldn’t.”

“Thanks.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. “We started a long distance relationship. Although, not really long distance…I would visit him whenever I could, since I just jumped on a jet and I would be anywhere I wanted. I was young, and stupid, and I got that first kiss and a song written just for me.” The reminder of the tunes that he had sang just for her before they were released brings a bitter taste to her mouth. “So we quickly became a couple, and we were planning to move to a place people didn’t know us. We only wanted to run away…or some shit like that…the clichés, you know.”

“Was Goichi sweet?” Sicheng asks, humming after her reply.

“Oh, he was.” She confirms, but then she seats back on her chair, looking at the guitar once again. “He was until he showed me the broken part of himself.  I discovered that he wanted to run away because he was so insecure, scared of me going anywhere…scared of being abandoned…and no matter how many times I told him I loved him, he would always tell me that it was not true.”

Sicheng frowns at that. “And why wouldn’t he believe you?”

“Because, as my career grew, I stopped paying that much attention to him.” Then, she is reminded of how much her career has taken from her. Her life, altogether, is based on fashion, diamonds and money, but she has gotten little from that sentimentally. Sometimes, she wishes she would not be as lonely as she was. “And I got angry, because he had to be happy about my success, but he wasn’t!”

“You’re right.”

“Right?” She asks softly, sighing soon after before setting her fingers over her computer’s mouse. “So, I would get on a plane crying whenever we had a fight and he would release another song, and I would be back to him. It was a cycle.”

Sicheng hisses at that, and the way he looks at her makes her feel like she is the Goichi in the situation. Someone is trying to look at her as more than she is, see her past as nothing more than blurred lines, like her as she is instead of fixing her. “That’s not good for neither of you. How did things end?”

“He got a hit from one of the songs he wrote about me, and we were going to celebrate it and all…but I had to cancel because of the launch of my second store, and that meant that I couldn’t go to where he was.” She sounds like a complete heartbreaker at that moment, and then she realizes that the burn in her throat is guilt. That is why she has never gotten rid of that guitar, because she feels bad for what she did to Goichi. “When I got home that night, I had a lot of voice messages from him…and he told me I was a whore, that he wished he would have never fallen in love with me because I would always give more importance to something else when I was the axis of his world. I called him that night and broke it off.”

“And he agreed?”

“He did.” She replies and then, she bites her bottom lip. She stands up from her seat and takes Sicheng by the wrist before the man follows soon after her. “We are going to destroy that guitar because I am no longer tied to that man. I should not feel guilty for not fixing someone, when they didn’t want to be fixed.”

Sicheng tilts his head to the side at that, looking at the guitar in front of them before taking it in between his fingers. It is not heavy on his hands but when he passes it to her, she realizes just how many songs Goichi had written with that same guitar, and all about her. Those songs still played inside her head, and while she grips the guitar with both hands to slam it on the floor, she finds difficult to do it until she feels Sicheng’s hands over her shoulders. “Come on. Let it all out. You have enough money to buy a hundred guitars just like that.”

She nods her head. “Yeah, I do.”

“And he shouldn’t have called you a whore for growing in your career.”

“That’s right.” She squints her eyes and then, she slams the guitar against the floor, barely creaking it but the noise makes her flinch slightly. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit—”

“Don’t be scared of not being classy.” Sicheng says in between a chuckle and then, he pats her back. “Get it over and done with.”

She hits the guitar against the floor, once again, letting out a smile when she sees it breaking slightly. She continues two more times until she releases it to the floor, turning to look at Sicheng and grip his forearms with a happy beam on her face. “I’m over it!” Sicheng has never seen such emotion on her face, like a child-like glow that can only feel like being reborn. He smiles down at her, as if he finally sees a side of her that he actually likes. “Wait,” She stops on her tracks and takes Sicheng’s cheeks in between her hands. “Did you say earlier that you do care about me?”

And then her confidence is back, with that smirk that makes him burn from within, as if his organs were turning inside out. “Oh…that.” Sicheng replies before frowning his eyebrows and lifting his nose with a scrunch. “I said it in the heat of the moment…you know.”

“No, you didn’t say it in the heat of the moment.” She says with a smile on her face and then, she pinches his side, realizing how he flinches slightly because of the tickling motion. “Look how cute you are, pretending you hate me when I’m probably your crush or something.”

Sicheng shakes his head, clearing his throat and pushing her by the shoulders slightly to keep her at arm distance. “No. You’re far from that. I hate you, Boss.”

“Oh, come on, call me by my name—” She smiles up at him and then, she sticks her tongue out playfully. “And you helped me get over my ex? Come on, you’re at least my friend!”

Her assistant rubs his temples with a sigh leaving his lips. “You’re so much like a teenager sometimes.”

“That’s good. I remain young, then.”

Sicheng shakes his head. “Stop it.”

She pinches his reddened cheeks before pointing at the mess of wood that is on the floor. “You’re going to have to clean that up while I finish working, but it’s not like you’ll mind—because I’m your friend.”

“I said stop it!” Although, Sicheng gets out of the room to look for a broom and she crosses her arms over her chest, always used to looking at his back as he leaves, but he always comes back. She thinks Sicheng makes her feel like how she should have always felt, happy and bubbly, as well as inspired and ready to fight back. He is not like anyone from her past, and she realizes then that Lia might be right—she might like Sicheng, but he is too precious to approach just now. Perhaps, she’d like to have him as a friend first, and that’s a start for her.

Waking up to Sicheng is almost normal occurrence, when he moves her shoulders when she takes too long to stand up from the bed, or when he enters just at the moment she is working out. Most of the time he brings tea, unless she asks for something else in her spoiled mind, but that morning is entirely different. She wakes up to a text from her assistant saying that he is extremely sick with a fever, to the point he is unable to stand up from the bed and that he is incredibly sorry, and while she could get Yesung to work as her assistant for a day, she thinks it is better to call it a day and take care of the poor man that has taken care of her for plenty of days, more like months and sometime, it will be an entire year of being her angel. Paid angel. Guy with a paycheck that cares about her even through that paycheck.

Or so she thinks.

She feels lost, that is not something she is going to deny. She puts on her planned set of clothes, brushes her hair back to give it a sleeked back, but slightly wet look, and when she puts on her heels to get ready for work, she realizes she really doesn’t want to leave Sicheng in his bad state, so she calls Yesung and he is suddenly the head of her company just for a day, or an afternoon, or however long it takes her to take care of Sicheng. It is until then, at exactly nine in the morning, that she really thinks of what she wants to do once she gets to Sicheng’s apartment. Does she want to give him medicine or is it better to take some nice food to him? She thinks the latter would be more heart-touching, but she is not that great at cooking. Well, not really one to cook, either.

With confident steps from her high heels, she gets to the kitchen to meet up with her cook, all filled with knowledge on the most excellent of tastes. She licks her lips, leaning her weight forward to look at the thirty-something men as she bends over the counter. “Good morning to my favorite cook,” That is not a lie, his food had always been the best and they have been working together for years. “Did you know Sicheng is sick?”

“Oh, Mr. Dong?” Always one for formalities and being called ‘cook’, the man questions as he prepares a perfect plate of waffles. “That’s unfortunate. I had prepared the second serving you had asked for.”

“Save it for later, I’m going to visit Sicheng.” Those words surprise the chef, and he looks over his shoulder with widened eyes. Soon after, his deep voice lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head. “I will be making some soup. What kind of soup should I give to a man with the flu?”

The chef actually cackles at that, loud as he sets the plate filled with waffles in front of his boss, and he presses his big hands to the counter. “Miss, I’m sorry—but you don’t know how to cook. I’ll take care of it. I can make a changed version of my Mom’s recipe for when I was sick, back when I lived in Rio—”

She takes a big bite of her waffles, eager to finish quickly just to get to Sicheng. She knows his address but she has never fully gone to his place, only staying inside her limousine to go pick him up if needed, yet this is completely different. The chef notices her seriousness and he lets out a sigh. “I’ll help you. Really, I want to help.”

“Miss, okay—yes, you can help me after you eat.” She nods her head, taking another big bite of the honey-covered waffles. “But…you don’t plan to go to Mr. Dong’s apartment with those clothes…right?” She looks down at her outfit, perfect and immaculate, with a pink top that hugged her waist and a marble-patterned skirt, paired with a fluffy jacket from one of her favorite designers, and the heels, although black, accentuated her legs nicely. She looks like an example of perfection, in her eyes. “He’s a very…tranquil man, and his neighborhood is not poor, but it is also not as luxurious as this one. You’d look out of place.”

“I don’t think I have anything cheap, though.” She says in a mumbled tone before continuing with her meal. “Would a white blouse and jeans work? That’s as casual as I can get.”

The chef hisses. “I was thinking more of t-shirt and jeans…but…whatever you want, Miss.”

Is that the type of people Sicheng liked? Not as outstanding as her, with enough bite to make him go crazy, but someone who is as dull as the water in a fountain. She is the whole Red Sea, unknown and out of her own head, always being an exception of the rule. She stands out, but she can’t do it now. “…Chef,” She starts. “Do you think…Sicheng…likes normal…girls?”

The chef already knows what is going on, raising his eyebrows and smiling sweetly, interlocking his hands under his chin before tilting his head to the side. “What is your concept of normal?”

Oh, she knows it—diamonds, breakfast to bed, and a lot of clothes in her closet. The concept of normal to Sicheng is probably cereal as breakfast and sweet laughter that comes with movie dates. “I…I am very spoiled, and rich. I don’t think I have a proper vision of what normal is.”

He nods his head at that. “I’m sure Sicheng does mind how…picky you can be, Miss. Stubborn.” He corrects himself before clearing his throat, going over to put Sicheng’s breakfast in a container before starting the process of making soup with his boss. “But you are not unlikeable for average people, Miss. Quite the contrary.”

“Really?” She asks, before rolling her eyes with a smile on her face. “I knew that much…but Sicheng makes me believe that’s not the case.”

“He’s just different from the men you tend to pick, Miss.” The chef says. “Although, that’s none of my business.”

“No, no!” She retorts. “Please, do speak.”

The chef closes the container with a soft thud before speaking, his back turned to her as a way of shielding his words—or maybe, he is only working. “All the men you pick are rich out of the crib.  They are used to getting what they want, and Sicheng knows he has to work for things—it is only normal for him to want others to work for things, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“He wants you to work for him, in some way. If you want to seduce him, he wants to have you wrapped around his little finger.”

Whether she gasps or not, that doesn’t matter because the events that follow soon after show how affected she is by the chef’s knowledge. As she ‘helps’ him make the soup—more like stands to the side and passes him what he needs—, she starts talking about how no man can ever have her wrapped around his finger. She knows what she is worth, perhaps a million dollars or a thousand more, she regards herself as a woman of power, but she is also not as little as an ant when being with Sicheng. He makes her feel equal, and that is different. She likes it, but she also finds it frustratingly slow.

Once she is changed out of her clothes, inside her cheapest car and driving over to Sicheng’s neighborhood, she realizes just how much he means to her. Past the professional source, the friendship title and others, Sicheng is someone she appreciates past any title. He doesn’t want to change her, but she feels the need to better herself thanks to him. There are enough mistakes on her shoulders to drag her down, but Sicheng always tells her honestly what he thinks about her. At first, he was too honest, but now he is the perfect complement of reality and dreaming.

His neighborhood is, to say the least, as cute as him—tiny, with kids playing on the streets and people buzzing with happiness. She feels a bit out of place when she parks her car and people keep staring at her, but she is used to this, why should it feel any different now?

She walks forward, opening the entrance of Sicheng’s apartment complex and talking to the security guard at the front. Once she is let inside, the elevator and the smell of air freshener meet up in a way that makes her feel dizzy, or maybe it’s the nervousness that buzzes inside her. All she wants to know is that Sicheng is alright, and she tugs at the fabric of her blouse as she walks to the apartment that she knows is his. Or it’s not. Perhaps, she made a mistake going there—

But she has already knocked, and she tries to remind herself that she has given speeches in fronts of thousands of people, had the most influential of people begging to have her attention, enamored the most handsome men that people continuously talk about on social media.

She has got this.

She knows what she is doing.

Until Sicheng opens the door while covered in a thick sweater, his blanket draped over his shoulders and his sweatpants hugging his slender hips softly as he lets out a noise of surprising, calling her name in a way that would have warmed her heart if only it wasn’t the first time she has heard her name from his lips without any honorifics in front of it. “Oh!” She calls out sweetly, widening her eyes and pressing the bag filled with food to her chest with a smile on her face, hands interlocked together. “You just called me by my name.”

Sicheng blinks sleepily at that, nodding his head soon after before saying: “Sorry, Boss.”

“No, no. Don’t call me Boss again—”

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds a thousand times deeper, opening his door wider to lean against it in efforts of staying up, but she can tell that he is feeling his worst. His body seems to be dragging against the material of his door, his hair is even messier and dirtier than other days, and his lips are chapped to no end. “Didn’t you see my text? I can’t—” He coughs his lungs out at that moment, speaking through short spans of breath. “I can’t…go to work…sorry!”

“I came here because I took the day off to take care of you.” She wants to look over to the side, but she is too prideful to do it. Sicheng looks at her with surprise when she says those words and the thick silence within them makes her cringe. God. What does one do in a situation like this? She waves the bag in front of his eyes before smiling. “I brought you some soup, courtesy of my chef and I, and waffles, courtesy of the chef only.”

Sicheng puckers his lips at that, although his eyes warm up at the sight of her. “No. Go to work. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to fire you if you don’t let me take care of you.” She replies and Sicheng shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, you don’t know me all that well, Sicheng.”

“…I—” He coughs after he says those words and she takes him by the arm, dragging him with her before closing his door with her foot.

“You are going to have your waffles and soup, because I’m sure you haven’t eaten, and then you’re napping. I’ll take care of the dishes or whatever.”

Sicheng’s apartment is casual, like the one a young man would have, with sheets sprawled on the coffee table with designs of his and reminders on sticky notes around the doors. The smell is of his perfume, not the cheapest but not the most expensive, and the colors are as dark as he usually likes. The kitchen is small, but he takes a seat and invites her to talk to him, though she does most of the talking as he slowly slurps on the soup and takes bites of the waffles until she feeds him. Sicheng wraps himself on his blanket and accepts the spoonful of food she gives him each time, chewing on the strange mix of waffles and soup, but he is too hungry to care.

She feels her heart warm up when he crawls inside his bed, thanking her with a smile on his face as she sits by his side, and although he complains when she runs her fingers through his dirty hair, his eyes closing slightly at the mere action, he lets her do it after a while. Sicheng’s hands are resting on each side of his body, his cheek tilting to the side while she continues stroking his hair. Then, he speaks in a husky voice. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you’re my friend.” She confesses and Sicheng whines lowly.

“But I always said I hated you.”

“And you still hate me?”

“I don’t.” He coughs after that statement and then, his hand rests over hers that finds a home on his scalp. “You’re my friend, too.”

It has never felt so warm, to be cared for, or maybe she has never been cared for this purely that she finds it so beautiful. She watches as he falls asleep by her side, his runny noise making a few snores leave his lips, and while he doesn’t look his best—she still sees what he is, what he makes her feel, and the magnificence within him. Sicheng speaks a few languages, and the language he spilled to her was hate, but now it feels like peace has settled within them.

Is being just friends really good enough?

That notebook is everything that seems to go through her brain.

There is a potential sponsor, investor and a colleague in the fashion industry in front of her, graced by her tall height and knowledge that she should be interested on, but she is far too distracted by the fact that Sicheng is carrying a new notebook around, and it is not her agenda—the one he uses to keep up with her schedule, updated on a daily thanks to his connections with her managers—, so whatever secret he is keeping from her, she needs to know.

The notebook is dark green, and it always stands behind her agenda on his hands, but he checks it constantly. Her first thought is that he has another person he’s working for, but Sicheng doesn’t even have the time to hang out with his friends with her busy schedule, let alone have another work—and he’s well paid, so he shouldn’t be looking for any other job. She thinks that as she is talking to the sponsor, not caring if her eyes look a little bit too lost. She’s committed plenty of sins, lying shouldn’t be a problem.

But when thinks of a second guess, she comes clueless with nothing inside her head and while Sicheng spends time with her throughout the day, they are too busy to talk about the matter that has her distracted. Her mind should be in Sydney, getting ready for a two-day trip there with Sicheng. He’s still there, she shouldn’t care about another notebook that probably is a continuation of her agenda with how busy she is, but something inside her mind tells her that Sicheng has been acting different and while they are closer, much more lively with one another, although bickering just as much, Sicheng is hiding something.

If that is her issue or not, that is unknown, because she thinks she deserves to know what is going on.

She finally gets the chance to talk to Sicheng when her heels are neatly placed on her walk-in closet, her body is cladded on her most comfortable pajamas and she is taking her makeup off with a wipe. Her eyes are staring into the mirror, but she looks at the reflection of Sicheng behind her, having finished his task of organizing her clothes neatly for her trip and now, he’s looking down at his notebook and writing down something. Then, she speaks. “What’s that notebook for?”

The man jumps at the sound of her voice, though he tries to feign innocence when he says a small: “Excuse me?”

“The notebook. It’s new. I’ve never seen you with it.” The air feels heavy on a piano tune that mocks the two as Sicheng stares at her in bewilderment, not expecting her out of people to be observant and detailed, but she is just for him. She stands up from her spot, pulling her pajama bottoms up with the motion before quirking an eyebrow. “Don’t you dare lie to me. I’ll know.” Though the smile on her face is mocking, the tone of her voice hides the indecision that aches within her. Sicheng clears his throat, fixes the fabric of her button down before looking over to the side.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

And when he looks into her eyes, brown and clouded, hazed, troubled, she realizes that whatever is bothering him is very important for him. Sicheng bites down on his plump bottom lip, rosy and covered in chap-stick, and with a sigh, he presses one hand down to her shoulder, as if he is trying to find leverage and support to say what comes next: “I’m…I’m trying to launch my own clothing line, and it’s going great. In the past eleven months that I’ve worked for you, I’ve been saving and—you pay me plenty, so I have been able to work on designs and find a little team to support me.”

She widens her eyes at that, a smile creeping up her face. “Oh my God!” She gasps out of surprise, but pride altogether, because Sicheng is hardworking and he deserves more than success. “Yes, I’m all for that. I could even go as far as working with you!”

“I want to do this alone for now, just to prove myself.” Sicheng says but then again, there is something bothering him, deep within him. “And if everything goes alright…” Like how it should. “I might leave my job.”

Now, that is something she did not expect and with a faux grin on her face, she stares at him with emotionless eyes. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I support you.” She speaks through her teeth, because she really is happy for him, but she knows she will miss him to bits. He is not her half, for she’s not incomplete, but hand in hand they create a perfect duo.

Sicheng beams at that, bright with excitement. “So, let’s revise over your schedule for tomorrow—”

Like her black tea in the mornings, sometimes there and sometimes not, she will miss him.

Very rarely does she get to see Sicheng in his office, tiny but immaculate at the same time, because he is normally at hers doing his very best to help her fulfill her tasks, but now that he is working on his own projects, she sees him use the phone more often, checking his designs and even going as far as replying his own e-mails with the partners he is looking for, all for his big launch. However, when she peeks her head inside his office as she is about to leave, she realizes that Sicheng’s posture is clear enough to show his distress. He’s hunched over the desk, holding his phone in one hand and frownin deeply at whatever the other person is saying.

She knows he is at the verge of screaming—she has been there, although she has had a handful of people to help her from the very start, but Sicheng is almost doing everything by himself and that means that his levels of stress are up the roof. She takes some time to look at the depth of his face, the way he leans back on his seat and gives the image of a boss in disguise. One day, she believes, she will be able to see his clothing line going on runways. She just knows it, classic and meticulous, Sicheng has studied fashion, unlike her who only knows what she likes and what she doesn’t.

“What do you mean you mixed the fabrics?!” His tone now rises in volume and she flinches a bit before a smile spreads across her face. She has always seen herself as the boss and Sicheng being the one bossed around, but he is a thousand times more attractive when sitting there with an air of knowledge. She bites down on her bottom lip as she finally enters the office, and he only steals her a glance before continuing. “No. I specified it a week beforehand, it’s not my fault that you never check your e-mails and when you do, it’s half-assed. I’ll have to fix all of this by my—” Whoever is talking on the other line interrupts him and Sicheng breathes in deeply, rubbing his eyebrow as a way of calming down his nerves. “Yeah, once you fix it give me a call, alright? We need to have this launch finished by the date I gave you.”

Once Sicheng hangs up the call, she whistles under her breath and crosses one leg in front of the other. “That’s hot. You being bossy.” Sicheng flushes red at her words but he doesn’t even smile, he is in another world floating in worries. She gets closer to him, the fabric of her dress hugging her nicely as she leans over his smaller desk. “Hey, I know how it feels, but if you continuously check on your work and make sure everything gets done, from there the rest is easy.”

Sicheng sighs deeply and he covers his face with his hands, for a moment she is scared that he will start crying, but then he uncovers his face. “I’m tired, and hungry. I don’t need this amount of stress.”

“Then, let me invite you to dinner.”

“I don’t feel like going to a restaurant.”

She trails her gaze up and down his body as he stands up, licking her lips at the sight of his black-cladded outfit. “Then, let me invite you to dinner at my place.”

“Yes, sure.” Sicheng mumbles, turning off his computer and then, picking up her agenda and his notebook. “Thanks.”

The car ride is filled with a different temperature, the golden lights of the streets bathing them as the chauffeur takes them to her house, and they bask on conversation about work. It is clearly noticeable that Sicheng’s perception of fashion is different, sexy but at the same time casual, enough to give normal people an edge, something that designers try on a daily but can’t ever reach. Sicheng is newness, like a sunrise, and she can’t help but feel thrilled to see what he comes up with.

But what really is clouding her mind is the way Sicheng seems more open to her, and the constant reminder that she has been into him for the past few months, but she has not tried anything out of utter respect for the man, too scared of ruining what took her months to create. They are friends now, so she should not ruin that, but it is difficult to not want to seduce him when his clothes fit him so nicely—no, when he is that absolute perfection of a person whenever he talks to her, eating with her in her balcony as they take bites of honey-chicken and a salad prepared by her chef.

“I’m proud of you,” She says as she looks at the night sky, blue and dark, but with enough stars to cast over them and the moon is slotted in a half. She stands up from her spot on the table in her balcony to press a hand to the railing, her leg slitting away from the open fabric of her long dress, black that matches his as she touches the necklace filled with diamonds she had opted to wear that night. Sicheng looks at her, glass of water pressed to his lips and for a moment, his eyes trail down the silky skin of her legs in full display. “I am sure you will be big, Sicheng. Like, I have never met someone as…given to their work as you are.”

“You really think so?” Sicheng asks and she nods her head, getting closer to him and running her fingers through his hair to get a good glimpse of his features. Nicely shaped nose, rounded eyes and a scowl that is always there, but that his smile seems to cover with ease. The air smells like seduction and she wonders if she wants to give a step or not. His lips are an energy drink and she is sleep-deprived. All she needs is a taste to feel energized, awake and alive. “I can promise you that I have learned a lot from you. You’re…difficult to work for, but you’re excellent at your job.”

“I’m excellent at a lot of things.” She brags before letting her hand fall from his hair, to his cheek and finally his chest. She presses against the taut surface to have his back resting against the chair and she flutters her eyelashes at that. “Even if you have a hundred problems, don’t let any of them get to your success.”

Sicheng looks up at her and she can tell he is considering the touch of a woman he had despised for a while and that he, now, looks up to. The cold air of the night hits her uncovered leg and she tilts her head to the side when he mumbles out something that she can’t quite understand. Upon her look of confusion, although adoration, Sicheng repeats himself. “Thank you for being there for me since the beginning.”

“Hey, I expect to be in a speech sometime.” She points out and then, she gives him a smile that is worth a million dollars. They look into each other’s eyes and sooner than later, she realizes there I something in between the two, like tension and gravity, meant to be there from the very start. Sicheng pulls the fabric of her dress down, with a soft caress that is barely felt and then, he looks down at the way his fingers touch her skin.

“Your dress was riding up.”

“Oh, really?” She puzzles sultrily and then, she leans her body forward slightly, until she grips Sicheng by his collar and can bring him closer to her. “How did you notice? Were you looking at me?”

Sicheng raises his eyebrows and then, he smiles, different from any grin that he had given her. It’s not shy, if anything, he can sense the change in the atmosphere. “It’s hard not to look at someone like you.”

Gravity helps them when it works to pull them together, his hands ending on the back of her thighs as she kisses him with slow yet passionate movements, as if she is not scared to drown in the sea that is Sicheng. Every movement of their lips feel different, considering that she knows Sicheng is not a one-night stand, he is more than that. They look at one another like pieces of art, and wannabes of Picasso they are when they are with one another. A soft breath leaves his lips when he stands up, holding her by the waist and smiling against her lips as she leads him back to her bedroom, or one of the many she has inside her house.

There is a song in between two, like the sound of his jacket falling somewhere in the room and his lips catching hers once again. She chuckles against his lips and he whispers something along the lines of how beautiful she is. There are no diamonds that can portray just how bright his eyes are when his hands roam her body once they end up over her bed, and maybe it’s a goodbye, or a see-you-later, but it feels like closure but the beginning at the same time. Diamonds on her neck turn into blossoming roses around her throat. The beat of her heart becomes a tempo for him to continue and his smile is her compass, finding her and losing her at the same time when he shows just how exactly he has her wrapped around his little finger as he takes off his shirt and stands within her with a smile on his face.

She touches his arms, leaning forward to kiss him but being stopped by a giggle that spoke too loudly, said too much, and it is the sweetest sound she has ever heard. “Hey, hey, take it slow.”

“Hush.” She adds but Sicheng takes her by the cheeks, looking into her eyes and chuckling.

“Come on, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” Sooner than later, his lips press to hers with a sweet melody, like honey dripping through her body, and she relaxes against the bed. This time it’s not like the others, he’s Sicheng—different from anyone else she has ever had.

The fabric of her beige coat falls on top of her shoulders when she hears the entrance door of her house being opened, the sound of her security guard’s voice filling the air. “Boss, your assistant is waiting at the entrance, but he doesn’t want to enter. Please, go over to him.”

She knows it has been tough for Sicheng lately, considering it is very cold and with each passing day of the two together after their romantic encounter it gets harder for him to leave, as well. Heck, she has been thinking about how much she will be missing Sicheng for the past few days, too, and all she wants to do is wrap him up in a hug and never let go of him, but his growth is far more important than anything else in the world right at that moment. She nods her head, fixing the fabric of her high-waisted baggy pants, pulling her bag over her shoulder and walking out of her house with confident steps and certainty on her bright eyes.

The coldness seeps through the fabric of her clothing and she cusses fashion for being a little bit useless when she needs warmth, but Sicheng is there to give her the heat she desires. She walks a few steps with a tempo, the snowflakes falling upon the beige clothing that covers her from her shoulders to her ankles. She sees the outline of a man that is sitting by the sidewalk and she lets a smile creep up her face. She doesn’t want to think too much that there is no future for the two, but she wants to keep whatever she can from Sicheng, so the moment she sees him in such a predicament, she knows it’s the end for the two.

Paris is cold around this time, just like love.

She rubs her hand against the back of his neck and that is enough to catch his attention, lending her his hand to take to sit by his side. Her legs press to her chest to keep herself warm, but she leans to the side to rest her head on his clavicle and Sicheng takes that as a starter to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He doesn’t say much, and that is the start of the end. “I’m guessing you have bad news for me.”

Sicheng nods, pressing his big lips to her head because they are alone, for she knows fully well that he is not one to show his emotions to the public. “The release date for my clothing line release is set…and I’ll have to work fully on that.” There are things that are bound to end, like fireworks and published books, that is just how life works, but she never thought that her time with her favorite assistant out of the amount she’s had would halt so suddenly. Sicheng pulls away to look at her, lips reddened and nose runny. He feels like a dream, touches her like she is reality and in his mind, everything suddenly becomes a dream-like nightmare. Why is it that saying goodbye to someone he hated hurts him so much? “So, I’m here to…say that I will stop working with you.”

He will stop working with her. She won’t have the opportunity to see him early in the morning, to tease him, to daydream about such a humble man that has moved her ground, turned her earth inside out and created a mess that she adores. She wants to say something, act as childish and spoiled as she has always been, but she cannot. This is his dream, and she can’t expect to be the one to replace it. “I understand.” Her fingers run down the bridge of his nose, looking down at his lips before parting her own. “I want you to be successful. Show all those people who never believed in you who is the real boss.”

He chuckles at that, gripping her hand and bringing it to his chest before sighing. A sigh so deep that it almost feels like a gush of breath against her face. “I kind of expected you to whine, and kick the floor, and beg me to stay.”

She scoffs at that, raising an eyebrow. “I never beg.” Sicheng quirks an eyebrow at that, the tip of his tongue holding a secret that only the two know and she presses her finger to his lips. “I rarely beg.”

“Rarely. That’s a better word.”

“Hey, we’re talking about you, not me.” She tells him, taking their interlocked hands up to her lips to kiss the soft surface of his hand, the fingers that sometimes hold rings, but they don’t that morning. “I’m proud of you. You shouldn’t feel bad for growing—after all, you took the job as my assistant as a way of learning from me. Not that you needed to learn much, you were already so good.”

Sicheng looks at her with adoration, looking around the place to see if there is someone looking at them and when he realizes they are alone, he wraps his arms around her in a hug that takes her breath away, her hands pressed awkwardly against his chest, in between their bodies. She breathes in his scent, that cologne that she has always called average but now represents him perfectly. She closes her eyes, holding her tears when he says: “Let’s make our last day as coworkers worth it, okay?”

“Yes.”

The clock is ticking, the air is filled with upbeat music and she has gotten tired of seeing painted nails and pastel clothes. Sometimes, she is there for when the stars that she advertises wear her clothes to concerts or award shows, this time around it is an award show of sorts that she is not fully interested in, but she is backstage as a group of people wear her newest launch, uptight and ready to perform to their best of their abilities. It is stressful, to be asked questions in the red carpet and also be in charge of making sure the stylists pair her pieces of clothing perfectly. Most designers are not this involved, but she has never learned how to care about her own business.

There are a few rules that she has when she is working, one of them is to never pick up the phone when she is under stress, because she tends to scream or even worse, snap at the person on the other end, so she normally keeps her phone on vibration or gives it to her assistant. Although, it has been a month since Sicheng left the company and she has a new—gorgeous looking, seriously—assistant. Her name is Yuri and she is one of the most responsible people she has ever met, as well as charming enough to have people smiling at the mere thought of herself.

One of the indie stars that is probably going to win the popularity award that year in that award show calls out her name, but she is interrupted by the vibration of her phone inside the pocket of her jeans—thankfully, she had been able to change once she entered backstage—and she groans at the reminder that she is busy at any angle. She takes her phone out of her pocket, inspecting it to be the ever-so picky designer Ten Leechaiyapornkhul that seems to be all too excited for their collaboration, to the point she wants to slap him across the face thanks to their different points of view. “Listen, Ten, I am extremely busy right now and I don’t have the time to—”

“Sorry. Did I call at a bad time?” That voice…it’s not lightweight and lively like Ten’s, it’s deeper and a bit mysterious, hinting to what one would know as shyness. She widens her eyes when she realizes that Sicheng is the one that is calling her, making her swallow thickly as she presses her index finger to her free ear and moves to one of the free rooms backstage. A bathroom might do.

“Sicheng?” She asks, not having heard his voice for a few weeks…maybe even a month. He has only gotten busier with the launch of his clothing line and in all honesty, her outfit at the moment comes from his first few designs. A hum is heard on the other line, along with a laugh once she gasps. “Gosh, I missed you so much—! I, uh, why are you calling?”

Sicheng ponders for a moment, basking on the sound of her voice before sighing. “I was wondering if we could have dinner. It’s my first free night in a while and I would love to spend it with you, but you’re…busy, right?”

Curse her and her mouth, because she always says what she shouldn’t. Everything could be fixed, however, because she leans her weight against the wall of the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror before chuckling. “Oh, never too busy for you, Sicheng.”

“No, really, if you’re busy we can leave it for another time—”

“This award show can wait.”

“You’re at an award show?! No, stay there!”

“Nope. Let’s meet at my favorite restaurant in half an hour, okay?” Before he could give her an answer, she hangs up and smiles to herself, pressing her phone to her chest and almost waltzing in her step as she gets out of the bathroom. The room is buzzing with fear and excitement and as she tries to walk to her assistant, one of the stylists stands in front of her while carrying two jackets.

“Miss, Jay Park is getting ready to go on stage but we don’t know if we should go for the red or blue version of this jacket—” She sighs deeply, interlocking her hands in front of her body before pointing to the red jacket. Red has always been more outstanding on stage, in her opinion. “Such a good choice, thank you!”

“Yes. It’s nothing.” The sweet smile on her face only gets wider when she gets to where Yuri is, holding a stack of papers and her agenda. Her mind is filled with the idea of finally seeing Sicheng, but to be able to spend time with him—and also touch up her makeup—she should leave as soon as possible. “Yuri, cancel all my meetings for the night. You’re in charge of any decisions that need to be made—and is my chauffeur waiting for me by the entrance? I have to go to dinner with Sicheng.”

Yuri does not even know who Sicheng is, but the notice of being in charge for the night bewilders her. “No, Boss, I can’t do all of this alone.”

“Sorry, but I really need to attend this dinner. You’ll be fine.” The swat of her hand only serves to make Yuri even more nervous. What is she supposed to do without her boss? “Just remember…no bandanas, I hate those, and no backup dancer should wear red, okay?”

“Boss—”

“I’m late, I’ve got to go!”

It is only a matter of seconds until she is inside her limousine, touching up her makeup quickly and fidgeting with excitement in the backseat. She can only wonder how Sicheng looks like, although perhaps beautiful as always, and maybe she will be able to steal a kiss or two, as well as bask in conversation about their lives with him. The reminder that she hasn’t had dinner yet is palpable, and while the food sounds delicious and like something she desires, there is nothing that could top the reminder that Sicheng is only a few minutes away of being with her once again.

The atmosphere of her favorite restaurant has always reminded her of Sicheng, with violet and blue colors that calm her down, but at the same time excite her. It is not as packed as it should, for it is a busy Tuesday night at work, but she is welcomed with glee by the workers that already know her. When she steps inside the restaurant, she realizes there are only three tables taken—one with an old couple with a lot of Botox, other with some kind of singer that she knows but doesn’t really talk to (extremely famous, she might add) and then, there is one man that is barely taken a seat and she would recognize those long legs and broad shoulders anywhere, paired with dark hair and all black clothing.

That is Sicheng.

No, her Sicheng.

She walks over to where he is, tapping his shoulder and hearing the small ‘huh?’ that escapes his lips as he turns around to look at her. Sicheng widens his eyes when he realizes that his ex-boss is there, standing up from his seat quickly and smiling with his bottom lip stuck in between his teeth as he adds a barely audible: “…Hi.” Although she knows he is not one for public affection, she doesn’t mind showing the few people there that she is very much into Sicheng, and that she has missed him to bits. She wraps her arms around his middle, smiling with her cheek pressed to his shoulder and he chuckles awkwardly, resting his hands on her shoulders. “Hey, we’re in public. Did you miss me that much?”

“Look me in the eye and say you haven’t missed me.” She replies while pulling away from him and Sicheng tilts his head before sighing.

“I can’t say such a lie.” The sound of his voice is enough to bring a smile to his face and then, he points at the table. “We should sit down, since you’re so busy and I should take advantage of every single second I have with you.”

She scoffs at that. “Me? The busy one? You should tell me how those sales are going with your clothing line!”

The world seems to start spinning as they talk through bites of food and a small cheer for the two of them in between drinks. She would give everything up just to see that smile on Sicheng’s face, as if his life is suddenly a thousand times happier. There, he tells her every detail of his clothing line, even going as far as showing her a few designs that he has been working on, and she is more than excited to see the way he has grown from a small piece of sky to the whole universe.

There is no mistaking that she feels like Sicheng makes her feel alive, past whatever experience she had in the past, he makes her live in sin but feel like an angel at the same time. The night passes by thanks to the deep conversation and she wonders why in the world they hated each other, or disliked for that matter, at some point of their lives. He feels like all the protection she needs, the type of man that she never hoped for but exactly the one she needed, with enough honesty to let her know that there won’t ever be a barrier in between the two.

After sharing dessert and sharing a few touches here and there, she holds onto his arm as they walk out of the restaurant, not fully caring if anyone sees them in such a lonely night, but she thinks they are the least important matter to anyone that night. She looks at him as he talks about how much he had missed her. “Now, I have an assistant and that’s…that’s crazy. I don’t boss him around as much as you did to me, though.”

She rolls her eyes at what he says. “I didn’t boss you around all that much.” She replies and Sicheng squints his eyes as if inspecting her, although he is only calling her crazy internally, from what she can perceive from him. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I only enjoyed your company, and annoying you. More annoying you than your company.”

Sicheng is the one to laugh at her remark first, and she follows soon after. “You really did annoy me a lot.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t like coffee. I had to look for tea every single morning.” He replies and then, he stops on his tracks before reaching his car. “Is your chauffeur waiting for you?”

“Yes.” She replies but then she takes her phone out of her pocket. “Do you want me to call him up and say I will leave with you?”

Sicheng smiles at that, the apples of his cheeks looking perfect to kiss as he rests his weight against his car, crossing his arms over his chest before nodding his head. “You’re really touchy, so I might as well take you with me.” He replies cheekily and when she pulls her phone to her ear to talk to her chauffeur, she feels his hands reaching for her waist to press her against his chest, his legs resting by her thighs as he writes unknown letters on her waist with the tips of his fingers. She is speaking to her chauffeur, who accepts with glee to have a free night, and Sicheng chuckles once she hangs up the phone. “You could have said please, at least.”

“Oh, sorry. Are you a manner teacher now?” She asks and Sicheng shakes his head, leaning forward to jot their lips together and taste the beverages they had on her lips. She hums against his mouth, her fingers running through his hair and taking handfuls as he parts his lips and lets their tongues meet one another. Anyone would say that their relationship is only based on their mutual attraction, but it goes past that. She feels like Sicheng is the only person that has gotten to know her fully and likes her for it. He shows it through the way he kisses her, as if the world is not important as long as they are there for one another. Perhaps, he is on sugar-rush, because Sicheng would not normally be as wild as he is at that moment, his hands trailing down and resting just over the back of her thighs. “Are you really needy or did you miss me that much?”

Sicheng bites down on her bottom lip before smiling sweetly. “I missed you. Shut up.”

She coos at the sound of his voice. “Have you already fallen for me?” It is a playful question that is thrown his way, as a way of boosting her ego like she always does, hot like the start of summer, but Sicheng looks at her with a deep glare on his eyes. His head tilts as his hand rests on the back of her neck, pulling her in once again to kiss her softly. Sicheng takes her breath away, fiddling with the pockets of his jacket to find the keys to his car before sighing against her lips.

“That’s for you to discover.” He says, setting her skin on fire more than anything else. A glass of wine does not have as much power as Sicheng does. Once he confesses such thing, she pulls away from his lips completely, holding onto the edge of his jacket and parting her lips to ask him something else, but the door opens soon after and Sicheng almost falls on his butt at the quick action. “Let’s just get in the car before I end up falling.” Although, she does not know if it’s rhetorically or literally.

The idea of love is weird. Even self-love is difficult to find, to create, and some people like to believe that love is a palpable concept of reality, but sometimes it becomes a nightmare that is hard to get over. Throughout her life, she thought she could only love two things—or three, for that matter—: money, herself and work, but every single day in her spoiled life taught her that it was difficult to even trust herself. A person can be measured by their stereotypes, and she was a victim of such thing, of the lingering glances and the words as faux as leather. The repetition of those three words of love only made it sound more unlikeable, until she heard it from someone who actually meant it.

It’s stupid, how she misses him even when is there, and when he is gone, it feels like he is there. Sicheng is so much like exactly what she had never imagined, humble and sharp mouthed, like a prince but not quite. Quiet enough to keep her calm, but wild once he explodes, only leaving her breathless. Her organs burn with the idea of a competition in between the two, of ever being compared with one another, as she works hard on her next project with her back aching with every movement of her hands against the piece of paper she is drawing on.

Yet, her train of thoughts is stopped when she feels a pair of lips pressing to her cheek, plush and soft against it with the perfect amount of pressure. The white fabric of the straps of her dress are pulled down slightly so someone could rub on her tired shoulders and she knows it’s Sicheng, but he should have been asleep by now, not in her home-office taking care of her. “Go to sleep, it’s late.”

“You haven’t even eaten, let alone slept, and you want me to go to sleep?” His voice is hoarse and husky and he turns her around on the chair to look into her eyes, the air in her lungs being knocked out at the mere sight of him. She licks her lips when Sicheng parts his lips to indicate for her to open hers, slipping a cookie past her lips before holding her chin with his fingers to close her mouth. “You’re going to have dinner and then, we’re going to bed.”

“You used to hate me, why do you care so much now?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend now. I have to care about you.” Sicheng doesn’t let her complain, instead, he places his hands on the back of her moving seat to push her out of the room, making her squeal as she holds onto the chair, laughing at his antics.

“Hey, I have to finish that project!”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

“Sicheng!”

However, it feels nice to have someone that loves her enough to take care of her, no matter how spoiled she can be, and even though he masks it as hate—the language of hate is complex to understand between the two.

#winwin scenarios #winwin #nct scenarios #nct #kpop scenarios #wayv scenarios #wayv #writing #assistant!sicheng #designer!reader #nct angst #nct fluff #wayv angst #wayv fluff #winwin angst #winwin fluff #wayv au #nct au #if you feel like you've read this before it's because you have #but i deleted the other parts to post the entire thing because i feel like it's better??? #so here you have it!!! #the full thing!!!

[a-wandering-ghoulette]

MyRock ; issue n°44 (Jan/Feb 2017) A Nameless Ghoul from Ghost interview.

Photos: Manon Violence Interview: Mark Renton

2017 has been the year of all records for Ghost! After an exceptional concert at Hellfest, a nicely lead Download Festival (despite voice problems) and a France tour still in minds, the band then launched a triumphal American tour. Meanwhile, the satanic clergy also draw its awesome “Popestar”, EP lead with drums beating by the heady single “Square Hammer”. Telephonical talk with one Nameless Ghoul to take stock on the past, the present and future of this definitely fascinating band.

//Before continuing, note this issue is still available for international orders on their online shop. Direct link to this issue’s page in source! Don’t be surprised by the first cover shown there, it’s litteraly a two covered mag… The mag is meant to be read in 2 time: you start by one side, no matter which one, and when you reach the middle, you have to close it and flip it then tadaaa you have more to read on the 2nd side!//

(Read the full interview under the cut and feel free to point out mistakes!)

Hello, who’s calling? Nameless Ghoul: Hello! I’m one of the Nameless Ghouls.

Which one? Which instrument do you play in the band? N.G. : I’m our clergy’s official spokesperson. I’m also Ghost’s founder, main composer and, most of the time, I play guitar.

How do you feel at the approach of Papa Emeritus III’s end of reign? Because there’ll certainly be a new Papa Emeritus soon… N.G. : You’re right, we’re close to the end of a cycle. Personally, I always saw change as a good thing. It’s stimulating. We still have a lot of concerts to give in 2017, but I think I can safely say that at the end of the next year, all Nameless Ghouls will be tired of Papa Emeritus III! It’ll be nice to see a new leader coming to guide us.

How would you describe the personality of Papa Emeritus III compared to his predecessors? N. G. : First of all, Papa Emeritus III is an entertainer! He loves projectors, he loves the public, and he loves success. The first Papa Emeritus was someone very rigid, very strict, and very solemn. A real son of a bitch! (laughs) To be honest, we don’t miss him at all! Papa Emeritus II was a pervert a little bit sadistic, and, in hindsight, I think he wasn’t very at ease on stage. He wasn’t a showman, unlike Papa Emeritus III! Him, he’s the guide we missed to rise up the quality of our shows, to reach the step above and communicate with our fans. We will be eternally thankful for his work. I believe he have paved the way for his successor…

Precisely, what are you waiting from the future Papa Emeritus IV? N.G. : Well, I want him to be scary. That he bring back something more tenebrous, while remaining spectacular. Broadly speaking, I want the next album to come back to a gloomier atmosphere.

Fueled by ego

On a more personal viewpoint, what is your relationship with your character? N.G. : What’s exciting me the most with Ghost, it’s that the project is a real challenge for the individuals involved. Everybody is on an equal footing. Furthermore, there’s something really thrilling to embody a character which is a part of yourself, but never totally you. Traditionally, rock stars always reach the point where they fuse with their creature. In the end, rock’s always been fueled by ego. Even if you’re part of a fully honest and underground band, you’ll always have this desire to be under the spotlights, to be recognize, famous and loved. Those pretending the contrary are liars. Roughly, no matter the music you make, you all secretly dream to be a kind of Justin Bieber. (laughs) To be masked is something very different. It’s a kind of anomaly in the entertainment system. Because every day, you never receive the admiration you deserve. When I’m not on stage with Ghost, I’m going back in anonymity. It’s very positive for me. I would say, my character brings me some stability in my daily life. But I’m aware my case is a bit special since I’m Ghost’s main composer and thus I’ll always be linked in a way or another to this project. But being in the obscurity is sometime more complicated to manage for the other Nameless Ghouls…

This mystery surrounding Ghost inevitably attracts the fans curiosity. This year, some of them started a vast quest to discover your identities. We imagine it’s part of the game, but what are you feeling regarding it? N.G. : From the beginning, we knew it’ll be impossible to keep the secret until the end. It’s already a miracle we held this long. (laughs) Personally, it doesn’t matter. I think the work accomplished pays its own way. I mean, our albums, our concerts and our universes are that strong they succeed to supplant the reality. Today, people don’t care to know who’s under Papa Emeritus’ hat. When they come to see us play, they want the real Papa. It’s a bit like if our creature ended up escaping us to live its own life.

2017 has been a successful year for Ghost, with appearances in huge festivals, a colossal American tour and the worldwide success of the EP “Popestar”. How did you live that? N.G. : This year has been amazing on every points, really! We’ve been able to see how much the band has grown by federating more fans. However, I’m not someone who contemplate our success and congratulate myself. The past doesn’t interest me. But the future does. When we take a step forward I always try to have in mind the next one. 5 years ago, we played at the Olympia supporting In Flames and Trivium. It happens that on 11 April next we’ll come back, this time as the headliner. But instead of rejoicing, I like to tell myself: “OK, it’s cool, but what I really want to do is Bercy!”. And if one day we make it to Bercy as the headliner, I know in a corner of my head there’ll be the Stade de France. I’m ambitious. (laughs)

I come from extreme metal.

Ghost is one of the rare bands to link metal to the general public. Do you think it explains this popularity? N.G. : I think, yes. We see more and more diversity in the public at our gigs. Of course, there are metalheads with long hair and battle jacket, but there are also hipsters, girls who usually listen to pop music, and alternative rock lovers. I find it fantastic. You know, musically, I come from extreme metal. It’s been in my genes since my teenage years. I listen to many other things, but it’s where I come from. It’s my identity and it’s what forged my mentality. At the point that, when Ghost began to be successful, I started to feel guilty. I had that feeling I transgressed underground metal’s tactical rules, which are systematic rejection of success and popularity. It took me a lot of abnegation to understand success isn’t nefarious, on the contrary, it’s the reward for an hard work. And deep down I think I was scared to be rejected by my own community, to be treated like a sellout.

Have you ever been confront to animosity from fundamentalists metalheads? N.G. : Oh yes, mostly now! On internet, some start to let their hate flow on Ghost. But it’s OK, I understand. Myself, if I wasn’t in the band, I think I would hate Ghost. (laughs) Because in metal, once a band makes money, they’re sellout. It’s like this and I accept it. It’s also an old metalhead’s thing. People who were here during the rise of the extreme genres grew up with a certain code of conduct, with a more rigid thinking. By the way, I’m going to tell you a secret: some of my best friends abhor Ghost. They hate the band. They don’t understand what we do, they think it’s crap. But it’s nothing. They can. They stay my friends after all. (laughs) It’s different with kids, they are more open minded. But in hindsight, I’m figuring out that me too, in my daily life, I’m an old fart. (laughs) I listen to a small amount of new things. Nothing give me more joy than a good old “Master of Puppets”, a “Seven Churches” by Possessed, or a King Diamond, my hero!

King Diamond & Merciful Fate.

Would you say King Diamond was the biggest inspiration for Ghost, in terms of theatricality? N.G. : Indeed! As far as I remember, I’ve always listened to King Diamond and Merciful Fate. At home, my mother listened to a lot of 60’s and 70’s classic rock, like Beatles, Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. My brother, him, listened to harder stuff like AC/DC, Sex Pistols, Rainbow… I liked all of this, but when my neighbor introduce me to King Diamond I had the feeling to be someone special. I was listening to this crazy stuff that no one else knew at home! I was 8 and, at this age, as you can imagine, I was very marked by his albums’ visuals. King Diamond is the one who open me the door to this gloomy universe which is now find in Ghost.

Kid from the 80’s.

We also guess an interest for the 80’s! If previously you made a cover of Depeche Mode, your EP “Popestar” offer us covers of Echo & The Bunnymen and Eurythmics. N.G. : I’m a kid from the 80’s, it’s the soundtrack of my life. I think it’s mostly thanks to the radio, which was always switch on at home. I like all classics: Mike Oldfield, Nik Kershaw, Eurythmics, Midnight Oil… When I was a teenage, I kind of liked to show of and act like a thoug one who only listen to extreme metal, but secretly, in my bedroom, I listened to Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet and Bronski Beat. (laughs) And, in the end, Ghost is exactly this: a mix of Kiss, Depeche Mode and Merciful Fate with a bit of Pink Floyd over it, especially “The Piper at the Gates of Dawn” and “A Saucerful of Secrets”.

On your last EP, there is the heady single “Square Hammer”. It’s the first time you embrace that clearly pop’s codes. Is this song representative of the sound you would like to have on the next album? N.G. : You know, album after album, each time we ask ourselves how far we can go. It was already the case with “Infestissumam”. At the time, we wondered if the song “Ghuleh/Zombie Queen” wasn’t too much. After a moment of hesitation we were like “Fuck! Black Sabbath made ballads so why not us?”. On “Meliora”, we wondered if there weren’t too many ballads. Then, when we composed “Square Hammer”, we found the title too direct, too effective. We were scared our fans wouldn’t understand. We’ve always had this metalhead consciousness tugging us. But in the end, we thought a good song is a good song, no matter the shape. So to answer your question, I think our next disc will wander further more into these melodies, indeed.

You have a break until the resumption of the tour, on March. Will you write the new album while you’re at it? N.G. : Of course! I’m already on it, I have some new songs…  And a good idea where I want to go with this album, but it’s too early to talk about it. The problem is the 2017 tour will extend and I’m not sure we’ll have the time to finish the recording before going back on the roads. I think we’ll finish it in late 2017, with a potential release in 2018. Earlier seems difficult to me! All I can tell you is that visually, the next album’s imagery will come back to something way darker than “Meliora”.

What can we expect for your next date at the Olympia, on 11 April next? N.G. : I saw today that our concert is sold out, it’s amazing! It’ll be very alike shows we gave in the USA this year. We have a stage structure more sizable compared to the last time we came in France. Visually, the show will be impressive, but we’ll also play some rare titles. The only deception is we won’t have the pyrotechnical effects, because they aren’t authorized at the Olympia. So it’ll has to work doubly hard! You know, we love to play in France. We are always very well hosted here. Moreover, what I most loved since the release of “Meliora” it’s to play again and again in France. I really saw our public grow out there when it comes to Hellfest or Rock en Seine. To feel appreciated like this is the greatest reward. Furthermore, the food is succulent in France, people are lovely and you have this attitude a bit impertinent which is rather close to that of Ghost. France, it’s our second home. We’re eager to be back at the Olympia and to party with you! (Translator note: Ooooh you and your sweet like honey words~ We love you too, dear.)

Bonus anecdote:

(Almost) naked with James Hetfield! Our new friend Nameless Ghoul is an ultimate fan of Metallica. Before becoming friend with James Hetfield, he met him in circumstances rather… embarrassing: “Metallica, it’s the greatest band in the world! I hadn’t have time to fully savor their last album but I’m so happy to know they’re alive and in great shape.  It also means they will tour, and thus we’ll get the occasion to meet on the road. James Hetfield has been one of Ghost’s first supports. I had the chance to meet him several times, and since we often message each other. The first time he’s been introduced to me, the situation was rather… surrealistic. We were in our lodge, changing ourselves, and here come James Hetfield suddenly appearing by the door to say hi. And you know what? I was in underwear! It was the most embarrassing situation of my life! I was there, in underwear, in front of my greatest idol! How embarrassing!”

#the band ghost #Nameless Ghouls #papa emeritus iii #special ghoul #tobias forge #interview

[hellyeahheroes]

Post-OMD/Slott’s unused Spidey characters: Alpha a.k.a Andrew Maguire

So there was an ask about Alpha and it was about what happened to him, and yeah, it was just as @filipfatalattractionrblog​, otherwise known as the admin, said, Slott got tired of him and dumped him on someone else where they got written into obscurity. And that is like a thing Slott or the writers of Post Brand New Day did constantly. He did it with Cindy Moon, he did it with a bunch of Spider-verse characters, he did it with Yuri Watanabe, he did it with Mr. Negative, Screwball, he did it with the entirety of Parker Industries and Horizon Labs. He even did it with Superior Spider-man. The moment Brand New Day started, Spider-man was tossed around a bunch of writers where they all started trying to race to create the next MJ love interest replacement. So there are even more characters that Slott didn’t create that are very under utilized. Not to mention characters created prior to One More Day/Brand New Day didn’t have much fucking screen time during this and thus did not receive any development. So characters like Liz Allen, Phillip Chang, Betty Brant, Flash Thompson(although he got to be Agent Venom), Randy Robertson, Glory Grant, Mary Jane Watson until fans complained, and even Aunt May which made the whole One More Day deal redundant. 

Old school Spider-man constantly hung out with his clique. Post One More Day Spider-man didn’t seem to have many friends outside of his Spider-man persona. And the partnerships that he did make didn’t last.

So, this is where I will go back and detail those lost characters starting with Andy because he is the most egregious. Then I speculate if they can come back, what role should they have.

I fucking hate Andrew Maguire. And apparently, I am supposed to hate him according to Slott, but I believe that is a cop out. He wanted this character to work. Regardless, Andrew Maguire serves as the Peter Parker without any of the selflessness and virtue. “So...Eddie Brock?” No, not as cool as Eddie or as well written.

And subtlety is not a thing for Slott. If you noticed, the character is named after the two Spider-man actors at the time, Toby Maguire and Andrew Garfield. People say it is a tribute, I personally think he was mocking them. My opinion, but you already know that.As you can see that the origin is pretty much a This Loser Is You trope which is weird because it’s insulting for fans of Spider-man, a character that is renown for being a superhero with everyman problems, to have a character who exists to say Peter is exceptional and you are not.

Andy goes on a Field Trip to Horizon Labs and meets Peter Parker who is about to unleash his newest discovery, Parker Particles. Which by the way, feels like an accomplishment for Peter, but Slott just had to twist the knife on that and have Reed casually say that he discovered it first and decided to leave Pandora’s Box be. Fuck Reed Richards. Anyways, as expected, Parker’s experiment went to shit and Andy decides to to perform his one solo act.

And Alpha is born. 

Okay well, first, Horizon had to settle with Maguire’s parents to avoid lawsuits and Any became the mascot for Horizon labs and then Alpha is born. So they do a check on his powers to see what the kid’s got.

He has the strength to lift a ton which is weaker than any Spider-man, he is bulletproof, has enhanced speed,has energy projection. So if you are following those useless ass stat charts on Marvel wiki, his chart would be...

Intelligence: 2 Normal

Strength: 4 One Ton is his max

Speed: 3 It just says enhanced speed so I am going to assume he can’t break the sound barrier

Durability 5 Bulletproof

Energy Projection: 5 Long Range single energy type blasts

Fighting Ability 2 Normal

What we have here is a powerhouse. Oh and he has a caveat. He can only use one power at a time at the moment. And he is only growing more powerful because Mr. Fantastic points out, Andy is embedded with Parker Particles which are tied to the expansion of the universe. His powers are only going to grow. So Mr. Fantastic decides to place Andy Maguire under Peter Parker’s care. Thus making Alpha Spider-man’s sidekick.

Alpha because no one else in the world has self-control without an Uncle Ben dying decides to market himself as the next best superhero. He gets marketing deal with Horizon to market their inventions, and he also becomes a pop sensation and media darling. Gets the girl that he was pawning after, Chrissy Chen, who I do like btw. I mean he is living the life, amigo.

His new girlfriend even makes him a fan page. 

And this is where there is some credence to the idea that Andy was meant to be hated because the comment section tears him apart with meta commentary. He is called a poochie which is a synonym for Scrappy, a term tor fan hated characters. Which, again, what is the point of a character that we, the fans, are meant to hate? It is counter intuitive and a waste of time. I mean people like Golden Booster, Slott. I just don’t get why bother with this? Of course, Andy’s set up in his origin follows the same beats as Slott’s other creation, Cindy Moon, who he wanted to be liked and cried racism when fans hated her as well.

This is endemic to Slott’s run as a whole. He doesn’t get Spider-man. He wanted to create Iron Man instead of making Spider-man stories. And when he introduces new characters, he doesn’t properly want to build them. Like Kamala Khan had 3 issues of character development before she became a superhero. Her origin was fleshed out. Miles had 5 issues and 14 issues to have a proper origin. Andy literally has just 1 issue that can’t even be considered an origin. It is not his origin story. It is just another problem for Peter to solve and that was the problem with Cindy Moon. She wasn’t a character but a replacement to Felicia Hardy who Slott went and tarnished to begin with.

So Alpha gets annoyed with those comments and decides to prove the haters wrong. Peter has been keeping track of Alpha the entire time so he intercepts him before he does anything wrong. Spider-man takes him under his wing and makes him his side-kick.

First, no. Spider-man has turned down sidekicks from Black Cat without super powers, Ollie Osnick, Sally Avril, and a few others. Miles’ isn’t his sidekick, student, or anything. Miles is his own hero who Peter feels responsible for and he sort of hangs out with.Spider-man doesn’t do sidekicks nor would he take them on if offered. He barely does team-ups and only out of propriety and necessity. So him donning Andy as such is out of character and kind against theme.

Second, the dialogue here does not match Peter’s tone.He is too sarcastic and cavalier about things. Peter is one of the most restrained heroes in Marvel in terms of his power usage. He knows what Andy is capable of. He wouldn’t be so casual. He would be on him like white on rice. He knows the seriousness of Andy’s situation. If he teaching Andy, he would refrain from fighting unless he has to. Peter was a teacher. He should know how teenagers are because he has dealt with them. It is like....okay.

Anyways, Andy being the ambitious little scamp decides to take over and do his own thing.

Okay, this is when I kind of knew that Slott would be an okay Fantastic Four writer.And he doesn’t waste any time reminding people that he is the most powerful hero of all time. 

Ben is beside himself because the little shit used his catchphrase in public, Johnny is ribbing on Spidey because he created a monster, Sue is trying to keep the peace, and Reed is annoyed because of Parker’s terrible decision of telling a teenager that he is the most powerful being in the universe. 

Reed tries again, and reminds Peter that Alpha is his responsibility. He has to essentially babysit Alpha for free. Meanwhile Alpha is letting his newfound success go to his head. He decides to two-time the girl that he was pining for...or he only liked because he felt that she was the best that he can get. You see, Andy is the guy who thinks as people as material to gain. He doesn’t mind using them, but once he outgrows them, he dumps them.

It is like Slott just wants to create the biggest asshole in Spider-man. And I guess that’s okay, but again, to what end? Is Andi going to be a bad guy? No. Is he going to be a reoccurring character? No. So why bother creating him if other writers won’t bother and fans hate him?

After this, Miles Warren aka the Jackal captures Andy easily and Peter has to find the little fuck because he is ,”Peter Parker’s responsibility.” Yeah, I am tired of that too.The Jackal wants to clone Alpha and repopulate the world with his own Alpha Males. No I am not kidding, that is what he calls them. Anyways, Peter tries to stop him but not before Miles Warren congratulates him of “out mad sciencing” him and creating Alpha. 

....I am already bored with this comic so I will speed it up. Jackal unleashes the clones, clones don’t have the Alpha powers because the power is not tied to Alpha’s genetics, Alpha breaks free of the harnesses and kills all of the clones, and saves himself sort of. Well not before saying even more alarming shit.

This is it. This is where he will learn, right? This is where Alpha makes a turn and become the little scamp that we hope for.

Well...can’t say that I am surprised. 

Peter gets fed up and conspires to take his power away from Alpha because the kid just can’t be trusted with them anymore. He is far too dangerous and honestly, Peter was right, but he was wrong the rest of the time.

Here is the thing: Alpha should have never been given these powers and allowed to keep them in any capacity.Peter should have suggested of taking them away from the very beginning and so should’ve Reed Richards and every hero who tested Andy. And I get it, it’s a little hypocritical of a blog about teenaged superheroes to say this, but there is a difference between the teens we usually cover and characters like Alpha. Alpha is in it for the glory and fame. He never has a redeeming moment. He is never humbled and is too self-centered to be humbled.Making him the strongest teen ever without proper guidance and knowing his parents were trying to mooch off of him and didn’t give a shit how much it effected his son, and only cared because of a profit margin should have been a dead giveaway. Someone should have spoken to his therapists or teachers and figured what kind of kid Andy was. It shouldn’t have taken issues of Spider-man testing it out because it was a bad idea from the start.

Alpha continues to use his power irresponsibly until the Avengers demand that Spider-man call him in to deal with Terminus. Alpha does so as he travels from Japan to Manhattan to deal a huge blow.

So good news is that Alpha got stronger. Bad news is that Alpha took out all of the airplane controllers in the vicinity so all planes are about to crash all over the New York area. So think 9/11 except on 30 buildings or so. The Avengers go into scramble mode and try to immediately rescue the civilians which by the way was the first rule Spider-man told Alpha. Guess who isn’t trying to save any civilians? 

So Alpha utterly failed this day. He made a bad situation worse and it shouldn’t have taken this to finally bench Alpha. The moment he disobeyed Peter, was the moment he should have been stripped of his power. I am being serious. But whatever, Alpha gets stripped by Spider-man.

So Alpha got powered down and is normal again.

But wait, there is more. Otto took over Peter’s body and preceded to give Andy his power back, but only a little of it this time. Andy moves to Pittsburgh, his parents divorced, and becomes the new hero of the Burgh. But he accidentally kills someone using his Alpha power, his power has been shown to be cancerous and he unknowingly gave his mom cancer and he doesn’t know it, the person he supposedly killed comes back and becomes this huge cancerous alpha powered villain named Zeta, Alpha stopped Zeta, and then another criminal blackmailed him to stop Andy from fighting crime or he will kill his whole family. And that was it for Alpha.

Can this character be redeemed?

Yes. 

Honestly, Alpha was saved in his mini in my opinion. I know, I didn’t post any pictures because that mini looked like shit. Again, however, the story wasn’t bad and did redeem him a little. He should have been in Miles Morales spot when it came to Marvel’s PS4. He was more suited for it and most of Marvel’s PS4 was Slott’s Spider-man run anyways. It had Yuri, Screwball, Mr. Negative, a sympathetic Doc Ock, and shit. All of these are hallmarks of Slott’s writing.

What would I do to introduce him back to the Marvel fold?

First, Alpha isn’t Godly anymore. He is like a low rent Nova. That stat chart that you saw in the beginning is where he is at now. So as long as he stays at that level, we are good. Second, his new predicament of being blackmailed by a criminal creates an interesting scenario. I would think a criminal would love having a bad guy under his thumb. So I suspect this bad guy, Boss Jimmy Cohen might think of expanding with his brand new super pet.Let’s say Alpha becomes his own enforcer and forces him to. Alpha’s mom dies of the cancer that he accidentally gave him and becomes Zeta 2.0.

So Andy after dealing with a ton of despair decides to come back and help Boss Cohen expand his empire in New York. He starts in Brooklyn, and you know where I am going with this. Andy meets Miles, Spider-man II. I am against having Miles inherent Peter’s characters, but Andy is basically an unused character. He might as well go somewhere so why not with Miles Morales who is getting an expanding list of rogues anyways. A reluctant fallen hero would be an interesting addition.

As for Chrissy Chen, I don’t like wasting characters at all, especially one that is just off the edge of Spider-man mythos. Chrissy still goes to Midtown High. And so does Lana Baumgartner. Instead of creating another character, just have her be Lana’s confidant just like Miles has with Ganke. 

And that is all folks. Now I will be doing a bit more on the forgotten characters of Post OMD Spider-man. A lot of them aren’t teens, so I will cover them on my other blog. I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading.

@ubernegro​

#alpha #andrew maguire #spider-man #peter parker #dan slott #marvel #Marvel Comics #long post

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 48

Chapter Summary - Exhausted, Danielle and Tom make their way to Suffolk for the holidays, leading to fun and conflict.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

I doubt the real Emma Hiddleston is like this, but we will just go with this for now.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog  @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“Wake up, Darling.” Tom nudged Danielle awake.

“Mac?”

“Unless you think your dog has my voice, no.” Tom chuckled, loving sleepy Danielle’s logic.

“Where are we?”

“We are nearing your place now,” Tom explained, getting the car to drive on again since the traffic lights had turned green.

“I fell asleep?”

“You were up until three am the last few nights and you were the one to organise everything for our coming here, it is safe to say, you are allowed to have a nap.”

“But you were left to drive alone,” she whined.

Tom chuckled again and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. “I was just concentrating on the road and I had Mac.”

“I shouldn’t have…”

“Elle, please, it’s fine. The reason I woke you at all is we are nearly there, but it is passed midnight, can we park up in yours and stay there, I don’t want to wake mum and everyone by going into hers?”

“You not sick of me yet?” Danielle half-joked.

“Never, my love.”

“Well then, you can hold off on your escape until tomorrow.” she groaned as she stretched slightly. “Why did I end up underestimating that fucking paperwork?”

“You didn’t. What you said would be three to five days, took four, but the other stuff you were faxed on, that was unexpected. What was that?”

“I want to try and work on something for a career thing.”

“Wait, you just got into being a Safety Officer, don’t you like it?”

“I love it, but I want to get more qualified to broaden my prospects, Irlam spoke with the people on the last project, so I got a bit more work from them.”

“That’s good...I think.”

“It is.” Danielle yawned. “Or it will when I am not up at all hours, until all hours.”

“What are you planning?” Tom smiled, knowing that she always was planning ahead.

“World domination.”

“Good plan.”

“I am nothing if not ambitious.” she grinned, but said no more, causing Tom to think little of it.

Mac gave a small yip when he realised where he was, and wagged his tail, the long appendage banging onto the back seat as he did so. “We’re just as happy as you are, boy.” Tom smiled as the car crunched down on the gravel of the driveway. “I cannot wait for the next few days.”

“You mean where you will have a gaggle of women cooking and cleaning for you instead of just one?” Danielle eyed him suspiciously.

“I am not going to lie.” Tom declared, then he said nothing else, causing Danielle to laugh. “Come on, a quick stretch of limbs and a crashing into bed is exactly what we need.” he opened his door and exited the car before opening the back door for Mac, who proceeded to sniff and mark several parts of the front garden. “Mine, mine, that’s mine too.” Tom joked in a low voice as they took a moment to watch Mac, Danielle smiling fondly at him as he did. “Come on, let’s get to bed.” Tom ushered her into the house.

“I can sense you staring at my ass,” Danielle commented when Mac was settled into his bed in the kitchen and they ascending the stairs.

“In my defence, it is sexy and right in front of me,” Tom argued.

“Behave.” She warned when they got to the Master bedroom.

“I could not if I tried.” Tom grinned, getting his toothbrush out of his bag.

*

“What time are Elle and Tom coming today, does anyone know?” Sarah asked as she got her daughter’s breakfast.

“Uncle Tom’s car is at Ellie’s house.” the table stared at the six-year-old. “I can see it from my room.”

Immediately Diana walked out the front door and checked over the hedging, sure enough, her son’s Jaguar was in the other driveway. She walked in home again to see her daughters, granddaughter and sons-in-law looking at her. “It is.”

“So now he will be staying there too,” Emma snapped, getting up from the table.

“Em, I went to bed at midnight, and there was no car there then, they must have come at all hours, you would have been the first to complain if Tom woke you,” Emma said nothing and stormed off. “What is going to be the plan to deal with this?” Sarah pointed to the door. “She needs to get over it.”

“She feels hurt by it all,” Jack explained, getting up to follow his wife. “I tried to talk to her, but she’s not interested at the moment. I have no idea what to do.”

“She will get over herself,” Diana dismissed. “Well, since everyone is here, we can begin to organise things properly now.”

*

“Darling,” Tom wrapped his arm around Danielle, pulling her to him. “We do need to get out of bed today.”

“No we don’t.” she muffled against his chest. Tom chuckled as he kissed her head. “I’m so tired.”

“I know darling, but you need to get some food, washed and fresh air, you have been inside the whole ever time since the day you went shopping with mum and Sarah.”

“Tom…” she moaned in a manner that did nothing to assist him getting out of bed, his body reacting to her sultry tone.

“Yes, Elle?” His voice tight.

“If I asked you to do something to me, would you?” Tom frowned. “Nothing mad, I promise.”

“I’m listening.” Her response was to start kissing him with gusto. “Darling, are you feeling feisty this morning?”

“I ignored you most of the week.”

“I would not call it ignore, you were busy.”

“I neglected you.”

“A tad dramatic,” he leant over her, kicking off the boxers he had worn to bed.

“Tom…”

“Please, Elle, say it.”

“Fuck me,” she begged, but to Tom’s shock, she twisted herself around, lifting her ass up slightly so that it rubbed along his length. “Please.”

Tom swallowed and looked at her for a moment. “Elle?” she looked around at him slightly, the wanton look in her eyes turning him on all the more. “You are a filthy little minx.” she grinned and bit her bottom lip at him.

*

“Elle…” Tom looked at his watch, after their earlier sexcapade, they had fallen back asleep for a time.

“No, sleepy.”

“I can see that,” she curled over in the blanket, making it effectively a cocoon around her. “I need to get up.”

“No stoppin’ uu.”

“Did I ever mention you are incredibly hilarious when overtired?” he grinned, earning him an attempt at an elbowing, but she was too wrapped up to do anything. “Nice try darling. Get some more sleep, Mac and I are going for a walk.”

“No, me come.”

Tom frowned. “You want to come with us? What about being seen?”

Danielle groaned, “No fair.”

“What is not fair darling?”

“I want come.”

“If you want to, then do, I want you to, but not until you are ready.”

“Tom?”

“Yes.”

“I love...sausage.”

Tom stared at her for a moment before he erupted in laughter “I love that you are mine, Elle, you are the most amazing person ever,” he smiled lovingly as he kissed her cheek and left the room, grabbing some spare clothes he had in the suitcase in the hall. So he didn’t have to wake her, he got dressed in the hallway and walked downstairs, he had not made it in the kitchen door when Mac barked at the back door. “I’m sorry Buddy, I know.” he opened the door and the dog rushed out. Tom looked in the fridge and smiled, there was some food after being stocked in her fridge, obviously by his mum or one of his sisters, just enough for a breakfast and a cup of tea, exactly what was needed. Mac gave a bark in the backyard, so not wanting to wake Danielle, he rushed over to let him back in. “Get in before you...Sarah!”

“Hello, little brother.” she joked as her daughter rushed in and jumped into Tom’s arms. “How are you?”

“Good, tired. We got back late last night, so I said I would crash here and not wake anyone.”

“You were spotted this morning.” Sarah indicated to the excited youth in her uncle’s embrace.

“I saw your car, where’s Ellie, and why are you over here and not with us?”

Tom knelt down. “Well Darling, Elle is in bed asleep, she is very tired, as for why I am here, Ellie is my girlfriend now, and we came back too late last night to come into mum’s and wake you all, so I stayed here with her.”

“You and Ellie kiss now?” Tom nodded. “Euch! But I like Ellie.”

“Well that’s a good thing then, isn’t it?” Sarah asked.

“I really like her more than the other girl, the Princess was really rude.”

Tom swallowed as the young girl referenced his farcical relationship with Taylor. “Well, I am glad you like Elle so much, I know she adores you.”

“What is your plan for the day?” Sarah asked.

“Walk Mac, go over to mum’s and give Danielle some space before I scare her off, you?”

“Well we were in mum’s until we heard you leave Mac out, and we are not busy now, so would you like some company on the walk?”

“Honestly, I would love it. You came to London for a day and for said day, you stole my girlfriend and abandoned me.”

“Stop your dramatics, Tom; that won’t work with me.” Sarah swatted his arm. Grabbing a jacket, he retrieved his car keys and got Mac’s headcollar and lead from the boot before the trio and the canine made their way down the road, the older two of the Hiddleston siblings talking en route.

*

Danielle groaned as she woke, her body ached from being stooped over for days on end with her paperwork, sleeping in Tom’s car, though it was comfortable as far as cars go, was not overly comfortable, her lack of sleep to get her paperwork done before that, and their activities when they had woken up earlier all meant she felt as though her body was punishing her. Forcing herself from the bed, she wondered where Tom had gone, going to the door, she called him, but there was no response. Going to her little study/office, she looked out the front and noticed his car, as well as Sarah and her husbands, were in her driveway, Emma and Jack's car and Diana’s were in the Hiddleston matriarchs driveway. Smiling slightly, she looked down the stairs, calling Tom’s name again, when he did not respond, she walked into her room, grabbed the shirt he had worn coming from London, put it on and went down the stairs. It felt odd to be in her own house again after some time away. Before her staying in Tom’s she missed it more but staying with him, she noticed, did not make her miss it as badly, why, she was unsure, no doubt part because he allowed her to make herself as much as home as she wanted, another part being she was so comfortable with him. She had barely thrown on the kettle when there was a knock on the front door, thinking it was Tom returning to her she rushed out and opened it without checking who it was. “Did you forget that your mum has a…” Danielle stood staring open-mouthed at the person that was on the other side of the door. “Emma.”

The youngest Hiddleston stared at her for a moment, before her eyes trailed up and down Danielle’s body. Her expressionless face turned to one of hurt and anger together. “Waste of my fucking time,” she growled, turning around and beginning to leave, but after a few steps, she stopped and turned back to look at Danielle. “You were supposed to be my friend.”

“I am,” Danielle declared.

“My ‘friend’ would not go and do this, you are no better than the girls we used to laugh at, the ones that thought I was not able to see what they were doing, trying to get to Tom through me, though I have to give it to you, you were smarter than them. I didn't figure you out.”

“Emma, no, I…”

“You are answering the front door in nothing but his fucking shirt Danielle, I am not stupid or blind, so don’t fucking insult me by suggesting I am,” Emma shouted.

"I love you as a friend, Em, my best friend. I always have. This just sort of happened, I didn’t want it to, but he’s a sweet, good, kind idiot, and I fell in love with him, and he felt the same. That doesn’t change how I see you, I always was so happy to have you as a friend, I would do anything I could for you.”

“If you are really my friend, you will give me some time alone with my brother, some time where I can actually spend time with him without someone invading on my family and our time together.” she snapped.

Swallowing hard and willing the tears to remain unshed, Danielle nodded. “Yes, of course.” she closed the door as Emma walked away without a backwards glance.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 48 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic