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shaykesqueer · 1 year ago

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O Rose, Thou Art Sick

Chapter Two: J’accuse!

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Summary: Fox gives a very bitter Terzo an earful after meeting with him in his office.

Word Count: 3.6k

Content Warnings: 18+. Arguments, references to cults, references to breatharianism, references to trepanning. Some angst, the Italian starts in this chapter and I can’t promise it’s perfectly translated. Terzo does not like the Ghouls but it’s for plot reasons.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kitchen,” Fox said, looking past the fellow across the desk and out the window. All they could see were the flat, grey clouds as if the room wasn’t attached to any kind of building and was just floating through the sky.

“Has something happened to the directory? Have you not read it?” he asked. Fox turned their eyes back to him, his grainy silhouette coming into focus again. When Fox had come in, they’d thought for a good long while that this man was the mysterious figure they’d seen in the window last night. The first one. He certainly shared similar eyes with that depth and sadness. Fox was sure he wasn’t, though. They didn’t get that same heavy feeling when they looked at him, didn’t feel the pull of his grandeur.

“Kitchen wasn’t even listed,” they snorted and pushed the stack of papers further across the desk. “Even if it was, it doesn’t say where any of these rooms are. It took me forty-five minutes to find this office!”

That forty-five minutes didn’t include all the trudging up and down stairs that Fox had been doing either. They had been doing that for an embarrassing amount of time before a passing Sibling stopped them and kindly pointed out the elevator on the other side of the building. But it wasn’t their fault they’d missed it, this place was laid out like a damn labyrinth. Even so, Fox was not about to admit what kind of situation they’d found themself in this morning, even though that certainly was not their fault either. They absolutely could admit to having woken up drunk, hungover, both at the same time somehow, in the garden, in the bathtub, in any less than optimal scenario actually. But in the bathtub, holding a candlestick like it was their teddy, and in the dark after sitting up for hours because of a monster outside the window really took the cake. And that was all before realising they had such a fierce ache in the neck, they thought that it could’ve been broken. Obviously, it wasn’t. Otherwise it would’ve taken an hour to get up out of that tub, and it had only taken Fox about fifteen minutes. Fox liked to celebrate the small wins. And since they’d gotten a few pointed stares from a group of Siblings milling about in the gardens when they had just happened to be peeking through a gap in the curtains, and the fact they still hadn’t managed to get any breakfast, Fox was going to need a few more small wins this morning.

Fox wasn’t entirely sure whether standing here arguing was going to be one of those wins. But they sure as hell weren’t going to back down from standing up for themself.

“Sit,” said the man on the other side of the desk. He was a strange looking man. He certainly wasn’t ugly, he wasn’t even unattractive, but there was an aura about him that put Fox on edge. He was awfully pale and Fox would’ve thought his skin was an unnatural, glowing white had it not been for the even lighter collar that came right up to his chin. Or perhaps it was just how dark his hair was, black as night and swept back. It made him seem arrogant.

Fox blinked, unsure for a second. Had they missed something?

“No. I want some proper plans for this place.” Fox punctuated the statement with a finger pressing down onto the desk. The man didn’t say anything. “And while I’m at it, what the hell is this?” Fox brushed the top paper to one side, possibly a little too carelessly, to reveal the stack that was the ‘terms of employment’. The man across was staring them down, eyes locked and it was clear he was becoming a little impatient. “I can’t read Italian.” Fox stared back. They supposed that this man was used to intimidating every dolt that stepped foot into this office, especially with that creepy white eye.

“This is Latin,” he said.

Fuck.

“Well, I can’t read that either.” Fox knew they must have sounded a lot snappier than they really wanted to, but they’d come here to not get caught out and that had already gone tits up. All concern about their tone of voice went out the window as soon as their companion began to laugh, actually laugh. It was a proper laugh too, not sarcastic, not mocking, a real, low laugh. Not that Fox really noticed it however, for as soon as that laugh emerged, they were clenching their teeth in anger.

“I’m not an idiot, you know. I know what’s going on here,” they said, crossing their arms over their chest. The man sat back in response, going lax and giving Fox a smirk that made them want to give him a proper slap. Fox was beginning to think that if there had been a monster last night, maybe they wouldn’t have needed that blunt object after all and they would’ve done just fine going toe to toe with it.

“Do you?” He spoke in a way that clearly said ‘you know fuck all’. He really deserved that slap.

“Yes,” Fox hissed. “I don’t give a damn what you people do here. I don’t care if you all dance around naked and sacrifice virgins. I don’t care if you’re trying to brainwash me or indoctrinate me, I’ve seen all this crap before. I’m here to do a job and I’ll do it, so will you just cut the bullshit.”

The room was very quiet for a very long couple of seconds, the entire duration of which was spent with Fox and their new friend meeting each other’s eyes in what could be described as a standoff. However, Fox was surprised when the man smiled.

“This” -he leant forward and picked up the stack of papers, holding it out for Fox- “is very funny.” Fox all but snatched the papers from him.

“What does it say?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s nonsense.”

Fox rolled their eyes, “I told you to cut the crap, I’m not-”

“You misunderstand, tesoro. I mean to say it is nonsensical, it doesn’t mean anything. It is- what did you say- horseshit. ”

Fox’s brow wrinkled under the scrutiny, looking down to the papers in their hands. Not that it did much good. They were still unable to read it.

“You never needed a contract, caro. You accepted the employment as soon as you set foot on the grounds. This” -he leant over the desk again and placed a hand on the papers- “is very funny.”

Fox opened their mouth to say something, sucking in a sharp breath. They had been prepared to quip back, resume what they had wanted to be a heated argument. But they stopped. And then closed their mouth. And sat down.

“Now, I have to say,” came the man’s voice. “I am very interested in this… dancing naked with sacrificial virgins. Please, tell me more.”

When Fox looked back up, the man was sitting back in his chair with his fingers steepled together. He was grinning and Fox rolled their head back with an exasperated sigh. The ceiling of this office had some very lovely moulding. Lots of skulls.

“You still haven’t told me where the kitchen is. I haven’t had any breakfast, you know.” Fox managed an unconvincing, lazy smile, propping their chin on their hand, elbow on the chair’s arm. In response, the man let out another strong laugh before leaning back over the desk and offering his hand to Fox.

“I shall direct you after the pleasantries. Terzo,” he introduced.

Fox took his hand to shake. It was cold. He wore gloves, but they could feel the absence of heat beneath the leather like touching the surface of a freezer. His grip was gentle though, and it was careful. It made for an unusual experience, like shaking hands with a ghost.

“I saw. On the door, I mean,” they replied. Not that they’d been told what office to actually visit this morning, but this particular office had ‘Terzo’ embossed onto a little silver plaque. It was possibly just luck that this was the only office on the floor that had someone inside that was expecting a visitor. “I didn’t realise that was you.”

Terzo didn’t say anything, he only raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Oh. Fox,” Fox said. They had assumed anyone of any such notoriety around here would have known who they were already, having been hired by them after all. Pleasantries.

“What made you choose such a name, if I may ask?” Terzo cocked his head to one side and Fox shifted in their seat. They realised that perhaps this would make him think his stare was finally making them uncomfortable. That eye was creepy. In a charming sort of way. Maybe it was just his smile.

“I didn’t, it’s my birth name. But thank you for thinking it was unusual enough that I did.” Again, silence. Smile. Fox wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just… how did he keep his gaze so steady? “It’s short for Foxtrot.” Terzo didn’t respond for a few moments before breaking out into a laugh, which made Fox roll their eyes- what an asshole- and break the stare.

“My parents were in a cult, their whole life. A real nutty one, like breatharianism, you know. They sort of… worshipped an old radio signal.” Fox cleared their throat. “I’m lucky though. I’m pretty sure there was another kid who just got called a long string of numbers.”

Terzo was no longer looking at Fox as if he was trying to hypnotise them. He was looking at them with his mouth agape and his nose wrinkled, as if they’d just stood up and dunked a bucket of water over their head. He didn’t seem quite so intimidating looking at Fox like that. “I’m not fucking with you, I swear.” His face didn’t change, he only narrowed his eyes.

“You do know where you are, don’t you?” Terzo said finally.

Fox shrugged, “I have an idea. At least this place has real money behind it. When you grow up around people who are hell bent on trepanning themselves, you can’t always be picky. You know, they really thought the human brain could send and receive radio signals. I honestly don’t know if it can, I never found out, but I’m almost certain putting your brain in a jar doesn’t help.”

After a pause and a purse of his lips, Terzo said, “I can see why you were hoping for the bonfires and virgins. Not so messy, yes?” Fox really couldn’t help but laugh.

“I didn’t say anything about bonfires, but you’re the boss. Who am I to judge?” they replied. And they instantly wished they hadn’t. Terzo’s face turned like something sour, dragging down into a dreadful scowl. Fox forgot about ever thinking he wasn’t frightening and his eyes were so cold and so sharp that they were brought back to last night, feeling like they had come face to face with a monster. After a moment, Terzo pushed back on his heels and stood, making Fox want to flinch in case he made a spring to give them a smack. But they didn’t flinch, and they were damn proud they didn’t. They leaned back into the back of their seat and dug their nails into their palms, but they didn’t flinch. And they didn’t dare look away.

“No,” Terzo said, his voice low and strained into a whisper. “I’m not.”

“At least you’re not bitter about it,” Fox answered after a beat, hoping it came out steady. They took a considerable number of seconds thinking they should just up and leave. They’d learn on the job. It wasn’t unreasonable that they could just avoid this one man for the rest of their time here. At least before they were found with their head on a spike- courtesy of Terzo, with kisses. But then Terzo stood up straight, crossing his arms, and a smile appeared. It could’ve been a smirk. If Fox thought too long, it could’ve looked like a scowl again.

“You know why you’re here, yes?” Terzo said, evidently moving on from the subject. Clearly, a sore spot. And what a sore spot! Fox was sure if anyone other than the newest person to show up had said it, they’d have been severely maimed.

“Yes, sir.” Fox pinched their lips together. They’d found their way up to this office, hadn’t they? They already had a brush with some peeping-monster last night and they were still here, weren’t they? They didn’t need anything more than a point in the right direction. Come to think of it, they didn’t even need that! They knew where the gardens were. Actually, they didn’t, but a pleasant walk outside was nothing to sneer at. Fox had no doubt there would be a proverbial eldorado of gardening tools around here somewhere. And if there wasn’t, they’d get some. Demand some. Perhaps getting left to their own devices was the win they needed. “The Ministry has acres of unkempt land and I’m going to… kempt it. It’s what I do best.”

Terzo placed his hands flat atop the desk and leaned down. He still bore the same smile-smirk-scowl expression, showing no indication of whether Fox had said the right thing.

“What is your experience with pest control?” He said, spitting out his words. This man was spiteful.

“Pest control? You mean like rats?” Fox didn’t much like the sound of that. Not that they had a problem with getting their hands dirty- far from it- but they’d had a pet rat in the past and didn’t think they’d be able to swallow getting rid of one. Let alone a whole nest. Well, it hadn’t really been a pet. More like a creature that just lived in the same place as them and chewed on the end of their mattress, but still.

“Bigger,” Terzo replied with a flail of his hands and Fox narrowed their eyes.

“Look, I appreciate the optimism. But if you need someone dead, I’m not the right person for the job. Burying bodies would be more my thing. I’d pick out a real nice spot too,” Fox half-joked, offered a wavering smile. They weren’t being facetious either. If anyone could landscape a buried body and make it look as beautiful as some bloated, flowery simile, it was them. A bulb flower would be nice. Allium. Or mushrooms, perhaps. That seemed customary.

“We’re not in the business of hiring assassins,” Terzo said. “I suppose the more accurate term for you would be custodian, sì?”

“Oh, Christ, I knew it. I knew there was going to be a catch.”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

“You see, cara mio, you agree it would be among your duties to attend to any wildlife living on the grounds.” It wasn’t a question. “Well, some of that wildlife has proven particularly difficult. If it were up to me, I would send them crawling on their bellies back into the Pit where they would be branded and befouled and I would have Him send up some creatures of actual credence. But since it is not up to me anymore, we must have someone to take care of the little darlings.”

Fox opened their mouth to speak, if they were even able to speak, and Terzo lifted a finger.

“Papa cannot spend all of his precious time waiting on them and we don’t want them taking any more chunks out of the Siblings. Oh, don’t look so glum, piccina, you are still responsible for the gardens. I’m sure the Ghouls will just adore you, even while you’re shovelling dirt and handing out your little flowers.”

Fox’s brain was put into standby and before it could catch up to their body, before it could form any sort of rational thoughts about anything Terzo had just said, they slammed a hand down onto the desk and rose from their seat to stand eye level with their colleague .

“There is no shame in what I do,” they spat. “Can you identify over two-thousand different types of plant? Because I can. You realise I was told there’s a cemetery on the north side of the building that has- oh how did that Sister put it- gone to shit. If this job was so easy , you would’ve scraped it off onto one of the Siblings, but you didn’t. Now- give me my keys.” Fox thrust their hand out with their palm facing the ceiling as they tried to match Terzo’s sullen glower. They very quickly realised they weren’t anywhere close, but as long as they remained unblinking, jaw set with an unwavering hand, they’d get through this alive.

Terzo broke eye contact first. Without a word, he dragged open a small drawer on the right of his desk, producing a set of heavy keys. Eclectic was too modest a word to describe it. It was a dense knot of rattling metal, with ornate silver and brass and brushed iron. And this was somehow exactly the kind of thing Fox had expected. They would have to get a hell of a carabiner to hold that monstrosity.

“You,” Terzo said, dropping the keys into Fox’s hand, and they just about let them fall right out. “Are one spiteful young thing.”

“Thanks.” Fox rolled the keys across their fingers. “You too. Well, spiteful at least.” Terzo gave a tilt of his head in what Fox could only interpret as affirmation and he grunted as he sat himself back down. They looked away for only a moment to consider their keys, wondering if they could get labels or covers to discern which were for outside and which were for inside. They also considered that there must have been at least fifty keys on this thing. When they looked back to Terzo, a textured glass bottle sat on the desk in front of him and it had two or three fingers of clear liquid in the bottom of it. Fox gathered it probably wasn’t water. He held the rims of two glasses between his fingers, gesturing them towards Fox in question.

“It’s eight o'clock in the morning,” they said.

Terzo didn’t respond, only turning his eyes up and staring at Fox through his eyelashes. That was a you’ve got to be kidding me look. Fox didn’t dignify it with an answer, but found themself with a glass in hand a few moments later. Even though there was barely a thimble’s worth of liquid in there, when Fox gave it a cursory sniff, it felt like their eyeballs hit the back of their skull. That was nothing compared to the spluttering fit they were launched into as soon as they dared to take a sip.

“Fuck, what is this, paint thinner?” Fox coughed, wiping their mouth on the back of their sleeve. By the time they were finished clearing their throat, Terzo had all but inhaled his drink. Fox couldn’t help but think maybe it was paint thinner. They would honestly rather that be the case than have to admit they’d been outdrunk. “I want to change my question,” Fox continued, wiping their sleeve off on their pant leg.

“You have asked several questions already-”

“This will be the last one, and I’ll figure out the rest from there.”

Terzo’s face didn’t change as he turned the empty glass around in his hand, as if he were swirling an invisible liquor. Fox might have considered him wistful, or thoughtful. Or maybe he was just bored. He seemed so fickle with his reactions that they really couldn’t be sure. “Go on,” he said.

“If I were to lose some fingers,” Fox began, flexing their hand instinctively. “Where would I go to get that looked at?”

Terzo paused in between putting his glass down and taking up the decanter by its neck. “Are you planning to ‘lose some fingers’?” The mocking sneer was practically audible.

“Of course not, do I look like that much of a nutcase?” Don’t answer that, Fox thought and continued before Terzo had a chance. “I don’t know what a Ghoul is, but you said they bite so I’m just getting ahead of myself.”

“I did not say they bite, I said they-”

“Took chunks out of Siblings. I was listening.”

“And you, Volpelino,” Terzo lifted his refreshed glass in a cordial toast. “Are not a Sibling.” He brought the glass to his lips and took a very generous sip without so much as a hiss or a flinch. “You might get lucky!”

For Fox, that sounded as close to consolation as they would get today. It was as close to consolation they would get ever in this place they thought. And they were very happy to take it. Losing a couple of fingers wasn’t even the worst outcome they could conceive of. And there was another win!

“Infirmary, ground floor,” Terzo added, running his gloved thumb over his bottom lip to sap up the remaining drop of the spirit.

“And the Ghouls?” Fox had been stroking their own thumb over the surface of their glass, fiddling with the sharp divots and planes while the alcohol still swished inside. Terzo curled his hand out, motioning for Fox to return the glass.

“Their den is inside the crypt, on the east side of the cathedral.” His words trailed off into the bottom of the glass as he drank down the remains, clearly the only place he thought any mention of the Ghouls should belong. Fox gave a curt nod and with a melodious rap of their fist on the edge of the desk, turned to leave.

“Oh, and the kitchens are-”

“In the basement, yeah, I figured.”

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nitewrighter · 2 years ago

Note

Since all the other fankids got an epic fight scene, how about giving Jaime one?

Not really an ‘Epic Fight scene’ but I think Jaime has one of the most interesting origin stories out of all my fankids and it’s a damn crime I haven’t expanded more of it into actual fics.

----

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” A man with a medium skin tone and umber brown hair sat across the cool steel table from Jaime. The man's features weren’t unattractive, but there was a proportionality to them that rendered his face almost nondescript. With most people you could notice distinguishing features—maybe eyes that were a little too close together, ears that stuck out, or in Jaime’s case, a nose and mouth he hadn’t quite grown into yet. Not flaws, necessarily, but aesthetic idiosyncrasies that served to make them seem more real. This man had no such features. Eyes: Good and average. Nose: Good and average. Mouth: Good and average. Jawline: Good and average. And yet it wasn’t even uncanny or particularly attractive in its good proportioning—that too, might be an idiosyncrasy. Really the most memorable aspect of him was the hair—close cropped in a business-appropriate length, but spiked up in the front, like the “cool teacher” who would sit in a chair backwards to try and relate to students who had no interest in relating to him, but he had decided there would be no flyaways, so it was stiffly styled into distinctly sweeping points.

Duck butt… Jaime thought, looking at the hair, and a smile pulled at his mouth. The man ignored Jaime’s smile.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” the man went on with a slight shrug, “While Vishkar certainly has its share of role models and exceptional individuals within its ranks, it’s important to not to fall into the traps of fame and cults of personality. Individual charisma can disrupt collectivism—the natural human instinct for connection can, paradoxically, create parasocial relationships that, in the end, only confuse and distract from the betterment of mankind. Those with a significant effect on the people around them must be dealt with carefully. Come down too hard and you create a martyr. Come down too soft, and certain ideas antithetical to Vishkar’s goals can find new footholds, either spreading like a virus or laying dormant until another charismatic individual comes along and creates a new outbreak.”

Jaime kept silent. He had been bumped between enough orphanages and been through enough stark white rooms like this to know that anything he said to anyone from Vishkar could be used against him. This silence didn’t seem to bother the man in the slightest.

“I’m Sanjay, by the way,” he said with an automated warmth, “Sanjay Korpal. And, to your credit, it’s been a long time since I’ve been called in like this.”

Jaime perked up a bit at those words. Most of the Vishkar officials up to this point had started off their lecturing by furiously listing their credentials and how they all added up to him being ‘in big trouble, Mister,’—this was the first that moved in with an odd combination of compliment and ‘this shouldn’t be my problem.’ Jaime kept the hard look in his eyes.

“And your name is…?” Sanjay floated the words out to him.

Jaime was silent. Don't respond. Don't give them anything to work with.

Sanjay observed him, came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to say anything, and answered for him.

“Jaime Sagari--born to Eneko and Hazan Sagari 12 years ago," with a lazy wave of his fingers, Sanjay brought up a small holographic screen of all of Jaime's personal information, "Orphaned in the Null Sector attack on Bilbao."

Jaime's knuckles whitened against the blue of his orphanage uniform pants. Don't react. Eyes forward. Eyes cold. They aren't above bringing up your parents because they know that hurts you. They know that makes you not think clearly. It's just a tool for them. Ama and Aita won't get mad at you if you don't let that tool work.

"I understand the resentment," said Sanjay, "And, yes, I’m willing to admit that the facilities of Vishkar’s Displaced Youth Foundation are far from the typical image of the nuclear family, but we like to think we are above such tribalisms, and the amount of strain we’ve taken away from countless governments speaks for itself.”

The corner of Jaime’s mouth quirked. This was the point where Vishkar’s logic was lost on him. This strange instinct of “People would be much better off if they didn’t act like people.” But he kept silent.

“I must admit, given some of the murmurings of your proctors, I was concerned about what you might represent, but upon reviewing your record on the flight over and looking at you now, it’s a relief to see reports of your ideological disruptiveness have been greatly exaggerated,” he smiled a bit at this, “Any supposed defiance you may inspire in your peers is due almost entirely to the novelty of said defiance.”

Jaime's eyes narrowed. Insults. All the Vishkar proctors got to this point eventually. Veiling comments of his own insignificance behind clinical-sounding assessments. But Jaime just smiled a little. If I wasn’t a problem, they wouldn’t keep bumping me to different orphanages. If I wasn’t a problem, I wouldn’t be here, and neither would you, Sanjay Duck Butt.

"The contraband is an interesting approach," Sanjay gestured at the small pile of grubby books and music holos at the right corner of the table, "Knowing your words can't inspire, so counting on your peers to interact with text and media, concoct their own meaning--it's not about them following you, per se, it's about turning them against us."

You say that like it's hard to point out how much you suck, thought Jaime.

Sanjay picked up a music holo from the pile. “Ah, Lúcio Correia Dos Santos... long a thorn in our side. Are you going to tell me how you got this?”

Jaime shrugged.

Sanjay set the music holo down and picked up a paperback book with a coffee stain discoloring half the back cover. “King Rat... Now this one is unusual. Physical books to bypass Vishkar’s selection of approved literature... when your confiscated materials were brought to me, I took the time to read this on the flight over. Would you have your peers believe they are prisoners?”

“Isn’t that what we are, if we don’t want to be here and we’re not allowed to leave?” the words slipped out of Jaime.

“And he speaks!” Sanjay’s face brightened and then sank into a gut-boiling smugness, “And to answer your question, no. You are a ward of Vishkar. You’re not a prisoner, you’re a minor. And so long as you’re here, Vishkar will do everything in its power to see you thriving.”

“You’re traffickers,” said Jaime.

The smugness dropped from Sanjay’s face.

“You think you’ve moved me from enough facilities that I don’t notice,” said Jaime, “But I talk to people. I keep track.”

“You’re still bitter about Javier, I see--”

“Javi,” Jaime said on reflex. Always Javi. Never Javier. He and Javi were friends before the attack on Bilbao. Javi was one of those quiet, sensitive boys-- a contrast to Jaime’s mouthiness, but the world seemed so wide and full of possibilities when they were together. Javi’s parents always muttered about Jaime being a bad influence, but they were inseparable... Jaime and Javi... at least until Null Sector turned their world to rubble and Vishkar scooped them up from the ashes. Once Vishkar found out Javi had a talent with Hard Light, Jaime never saw him again. “But it’s not just the kids who can work with hard light,” Jaime went on, “If one of us is really smart, or really strong, or really pretty... they disappear.”

“Oh please, you make it sound so dark-- Vishkar merely takes notice of particular talents and moves the talented individuals to facilities and environments that cultivate those talents.”

“And away from anyone who might know them,” said Jaime, “Or if they seem to get too close to someone else.”

“I think you understand a thing or two about friendships holding people back from that last escape attempt, don’t you?” Sanjay’s lips slid back into that smile.

Jaime’s jaw tightened.

Sanjay sighed. “Look,” he said, tenting his fingers, “I know when you’re 12, it seems like the world’s against you, and given your trauma, and the sudden shifts in environment---” Sanjay scanned Jaime’s face and seemed to catch himself. Sanjay set a knuckle against his own chin thoughtfully, “No... no, you’ve been given this one already, haven’t you?”

“The ‘we just want what’s best for me’ speech? Yeah like, 4 times.”

Sanjay gave a short huff of amusement. “All right. You’re a realist. I can appreciate that. So I will give you this: The truth is we don’t actually care what’s best for you. No one does. You are trash. You are a liability. And you are a burden. There is no one outside of Vishkar who has anything to gain from your presence. You are unwanted. You would not be here, in this spot, in this chair in front of me, if you were not. And I can assure you not even I want you and I have seen enough of your report to say that there is nothing you will ever be that will ever pique my interest. Nothing that will ever make you anything more than an annoying but predictable anomaly. And that is your situation. You can rail against the system as much as you wish, insist on your own personhood, but at the end of the day you’re just a body in a world that has no problem adding you to a growing pile of bodies. But since you have a marginally functioning brain and body, we have use for you, and thus, we are the best chance you have at having any life with dignity. Any life with security. Any life at all. Have I made myself clear?”

“...crystal,” said Jaime, trying to keep his face as placid as possible.

“Oh... oh I know that look,” Sanjay tilted his head, “Falling back into all of your stubborn, hormone-fueled mental defenses. It’s adorable. But I can assure you, I have no problem watching you dash yourself to bits running into a wall over and over again. No one here at Vishkar does, really.”

“That doesn’t seem very... ‘Vishkar building a better world’ of you guys,” Jaime arched an eyebrow.

“Oh we are building a better world,” Sanjay leaned back in his seat, “It’s just.. the part that doesn’t go over as well with the public is the simple fact that not everyone’s going to be able to see it. Particularly, those that get in the way of it. Do we understand each other?”

“...Yes,” said Jaime.

“Excellent,” said Sanjay. He pressed a button on the desk, “I’m going to need an escort for Mr. Sagari back to the dormitories, and if I could get a custodian to throw this...” he gave a glance to the contraband on his desk with a sour frown, “garbage... away--that would be great, thank you.”

“Of course Mr. Korpal,” a voice buzzed on the other end.

---

Jaime stared at the ceiling on his bunk that night. Most of the dormitories were already sleeping.

“Wow, Sanjay--You know all the chaperones and instructors were freaking out when they found out he was coming,” Makena spoke up from the bottom bunk across from him.

“He’s not as scary as you’d think,” Jaime half-lied. What Sanjay instilled with him wasn’t fear--that is, he wasn’t going to let it be fear--it was an awareness of just how easy it would be for him to disappear here completely and for no one to question after it. “His hair looks like a duck butt.”

Makena suppressed a giggle into her pillow. “Did you stab him?” she asked. She was about a year and a half younger than him and asked stuff like this sometimes. She had lost her parents in car accident when she was small, and according to her, had been raised by a beloved great aunt who let her watch probably too many not-age-appropriate movies, before that aunt passed and she was plopped here. She kept on bringing up sewer pipes as possible escape route, ‘And then we’d stand in the rain with our arms spread out and lightning flashing.’ He was pretty sure that was a reference to something, but never pressed her on it.

“What would I stab him with?” Jaime smiled, not taking his eyes off of the ceiling vent.

“I don’t know, a stylus?”

“He didn’t have one.”

“Too bad,” Makena audibly settled in with a soft rustling of sheets. “So--what’s the next plan?”

“I’m still figuring that out,” said Jaime.

“Do you know what you’re going to do when we get out?”

When. We. The words he had used to rally so many other stupid kids felt like rocks in his stomach now.

“I guess it depends on... who’s getting out,” said Jaime.

“We have to tell someone what’s happening here--people need to know what they’re doing. There are people that can stop this--there--there have to be.”

“Yeah...” Jaime’s voice was distant. He didn’t have a lot of faith in that sentiment, mostly because after losing his parents, the people who were supposed to be doing the right thing, the people supposedly acting in everyone’s interests, had dropped him here.

“Then we can come back for everyone,” Makena’s voice was soft.

“Mm...” Jaime turned over on his mattress as a partial signal that he was too tired to carry on the conversation, but that wasn’t quite true with how his mind was rankling.

“Well, when I get out, I’m going to catch up on all the Flash Brighton movies I missed, and--and I’m going to find somewhere with decent kelewele and eat until I pass out,” she yawned, “No more... stupid... hypoallergenic Vishkar food...or those stupid little scoopy portions...”

“Mm-hmm,” was all Jaime responded with. If he got started on how much he missed crusty bread and escalivada--hell, how much he missed gluten--they could be up for a while longer.

“Well... when you’ve got the next plan, I’m ready,” said Makena.

“I know you are,” Jaime forced a smile.

There was another, final ruffling of sheets and Makena’s breathing blended into the chorus of soft snores that filled the dormitory. Jaime kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He realized he lied a lot, and had gotten very good at lying--better than he used to be when he was trying to bullshit himself and Javi out of trouble back in Bilbao. But this lying was worse. Because he knew if he was going to get out of here, he would have to do it alone.

After all, it would be easy for one kid to disappear.

#yeehan kid #sanjay korpal #mchanzo kid #this has been in my drafts for 10 thousand years

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pepper-up-potion · 3 years ago

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Morning Swim (James Potter x gn!reader)

Summary: Nothing like a morning swim to wake you up on a Sunday.

Warnings: would not recommend this if you don’t like/are scared of lakes. Other than that I can’t think of any, let me know if you do.

Word count: 1.4k

a/n: listen, I’m a SUCKER for lakes and I absolutely adore floating on my back so I just had to write something to do with it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” James shouts.

You grumble some nonsense and clench tighter onto your blankets while James moves with vigour next to you. You can feel the bed dip as he stands on it, jumping on top of the mattress. The bed squeaks annoyingly loud under his feet. You groan, grabbing his pillow and tossing it in his direction. It’s a weak throw but, in your defence, you’re sleepy and you’re in an awkward angle as he towers over you.

“What about my beauty sleep?” you huff, pushing the blankets away from your chest and crossing your arms. You silently wonder why you love a man who has this much energy in the morning.

James finally stops jumping and settles on his knees beside you. “But you’re already beautiful,” he smirks, so proud of himself. To top it off, he sends an endearing wink in your direction.

You grimace and lightly push him away. “Ark, that’s so cheesy.”

You shake your head and try to cover the small smile beginning to pull at your cheeks. James leans forward and kisses you once before hopping off of the bed and sauntering towards the doorway. Once he’s out of the room, you let yourself smile properly. He might be corny but he’s also a charmer. When he comes back moments later, he’s carrying two large towels. You tilt your head and arch your brow, trying to understand their purpose.

“James,” you precaution, catching onto his plan. James just smiles in return. It’s a mischievous, yet endearing, smile. You hate how attractive you find him, knowing that his allure always manages to persuade you to go through with his plans.

“Oh yes.” He dances over to you and wiggles his eyebrows. You laugh at your goofy boyfriend as he reaches a hand towards you to pull you out of bed.

You hesitate, enjoying the warmth that surrounds you. One look in James’ eyes proves to be too enticing, however. You firmly grab his hand and leave the comfort of your bed. You take one of the towels from James and wrap it around yourself before walking downstairs, out the back door, and towards the lake.

About 200 meters away from the water, you share a look with James. You give him a cheeky smile, daring him with your eyes. He knows exactly what you’re hinting at. You both shed your towels, grab each other’s hand and run down the slope towards the dock. You don’t let yourself question your movements, you just keep running even once your feet hit the warm wood of the pier. You yelp as your foot pushes off the dock and you splash into the freezing water below.

The sudden chill wakes all your senses; your toes tingle, the morning fog in your head clears, the dried sweat from the night before is replaced with a fresh and cool sensation on your skin. You swim a little deeper, stretching every muscle in your body with each stroke.

When you come back up gasping for air, you find James waiting for you. In that moment, he is the epitome of joy; his hair is slicked back, his eyes bright, and his smile radiant and sincere. He’s practically glowing with the elation that runs through him. Swimming over to him, you slide into his embrace. You run a hand through his wet hair, admiring his dripping features.

“You’re so pretty,” you confess in a whisper. There’s a moment of silence where James looks dumbfounded. His cheeks flush and he dips his head in embarrassment.

He’s quiet for quite a long time. You roll your eyes but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “Take the compliment, James.”

He crinkles his nose, unsure of how to respond. Suddenly his face changes. There’s a new mischievous smile, but this time you can’t predict what he’s thinking.

“What if I threw you in the water instead?” he wiggles his eyebrows and pulls you closer to him. You use his chest to push away and swim backwards.

“Ooohhh no no no.” You sing, playfully shaking your head. James continues to slowly tread towards you. You turn and swim in the opposite direction of him, attempting to put distance between the two of you.

James is quicker, though, and he grabs onto your ankle, pulling you back. You let out a fairly unattractive snorted giggle as you're dragged into James’ arms.

“Take the compliment, James.” You repeat, raising your brows, daring him to object.

His eyes narrow and his nose scrunches. “Not if I can throw you in first.”

He swiftly wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you up and out of the water before sending you through the air, landing again with a splash.

You swim back to the surface of the water and peak your head out as laughter bubbles from your lips. James giggles along with you, swimming towards you to wrap his arms around you and kiss your forehead.

You hold each other in the still water for quite some time. James occasionally plants kisses across your cheeks and your nose, a few finding their way to your lips. You mirror his affection, smearing gentle kisses over his features.

It's too early for anyone else to be out on the lake; the murky water slowly settles around you, and the only noise is the sweet sound of birds singing in the distance.

You close your eyes, mesmerized by the peaceful moment. When you open your eyes once more, you meet James’ gaze with a pure and genuine smile on your face. James moves to cup your cheek in his palms, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Thank you for what?”

“Being here with me.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you coo.

James smiles and kisses you gratefully.

“Race you to the island?” you challenge. James nods before separating from you and starting a front stroke towards the island ahead.

“No fair!” you shout before following suit.

You push with every stroke, maximizing your power. You feel your heartbeat racing in your chest and it's an exhilarating feeling; you feel alive and powerful. As you near the end, your arms and legs start to ache. You slice through the water, maintaining your pace through the burning sensation in your muscles. Ten strokes later you start to slow down, looking forward to having your feet on firm ground.

You move to a slow breaststroke, letting yourself float between each push of your arms and legs. James is just a few strokes behind you. You glance at the island trying to decide if you should finish the race or let James take the win. You don’t have time to decide as James stops right next to you, gasping for air.

The two of you swim slowly to the rocks, catching your breath. Finally close enough to the shore, you can touch the ground with your feet. Both you and James take this moment to give yourself a break. Every muscle in your body feels alive and awake, which is much more than you could say half an hour ago when you were still in your warm bed.

You push off the rocks and float on your back, letting the current move you away from the island. James copies you and links his hand with your, slowly gliding together through the water.

You close your eyes and take in the moment. Floating on your back in the middle of the open water makes you think of how lucky you are to be in this beautiful world. How lucky you are to wake up next to the man you love and to experience such surreal scenery.

You feel the water on your skin and James’ hand touching yours. The muffled sound of the birds’ song fills your ears as you bob on the water. The orange light of the rising sun creates a glow behind your closed eyelids. Floating there, you feel small in such a big pool of water, in such a big outdoors, in such a big world. How lucky are you to be in this world.

#james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james x reader #james potter

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xbunnybunz · 4 years ago

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Flowers Between Ribs [Sans x Reader]

Summary: Papyrus is cooking downstairs and Sans is asleep. Of course, you would take this opportunity to stick flowers in his ribs... You did not know he was sensitive there.

Genre: Fluff

Date: July 21, 2016

-----

It was an unusually peaceful day. A comfortable yet rare silence had settled in the humble abode of two skeleton brothers, which was usually bustling with noise and strange misendeavours. The sun was just starting to set, and the hues in the sky cast their light into the house. Gradients of the fading twilight slipped past the curtains and washed over the room, bathing it in it’s palette of orange, pink and purple watercolor.

You would soon attribute the odd spell of quiet with the absence of a certain boisterous skeleton-

“SANS, WE HAVE RETURNED WITH THE INGREDIENTS FOR DINNER!” Papyrus kicked the door open, almost sending it off of its hinges.

The door bounced off of the wall with a splintering ‘CRACK,’ and would’ve slammed back into Papyrus’s armful of groceries if you hadn’t jammed it open with your foot.

Whew, that was a close one. There were eggs in there.

“AND I BROUGHT A GUEST! (Y/N) IS STAYING FOR DINNER AGAIN TONIGHT!”

You poked a head around Papyrus’s towering frame and peeked inside the familiar house. As always, it was relatively clean, leave for a sock in the corner. (Which was bombarded with sticky-notes.) You visited Papyrus and Sans on a regular basis, and knew this place better than the back of your hand. Scanning the room, you realized that something was missing- or, to be specific, someone.

“Hey Papyrus, do you know where Sans is?” You ask as you shift the brown bags in your arms, and walk towards the kitchen. Papyrus follows close behind, scanning the room as well.

“WELL, IF HE ISN’T IN THE LIVINGROOM, HE MUST BE SLEEPING UPSTAIRS.” Papyrus set the bags down on the counter and placed his hands on his hips, “THAT PILE OF LAZYBONES.”

You chuckled and plopped your share of groceries on the counter as well, snatching a particularly light paper bag off the table. “I’ll go wake him up, then! You better get started on cooking Pappy!”

“AH , YES. I SHALL BEGIN CREATING MY WONDROUS SPAGHETTI! HM, SHALL I USE GLITTER GLUE OR PUFFY STICKERS TODAY?” Papyrus thought out loud to himself.

As you slipped out the door, you couldn’t help but shudder at the skeleton’s strange sense of taste.

Sure, Papyrus may be sweet, but unfortunately that didn’t make his cooking any more palatable than a third grader’s macaroni-and-glitter art project.

Still, you were kind of thankful he sucked at cooking- it was what strengthened your bond with the brothers so much. Whenever you were free, you’d come by their place and give Papyrus some cooking tips (“GEE (Y/N), THAT MAKES QUITE A LOT OF SENSE. I THOUGHT THAT WHEN PASTA CAUGHT ON FIRE, IT MEANT IT WAS SPICY; ISN’T THAT WHAT THE COMMERCIALS MEAN BY ‘FIERY HOT?’”) while also preparing nice meal for the three of you. Of course, you’d leave room for one or two bites of Papyrus’s self-proclaimed “MASTERPIECE SPAGHETTI, NYEHEHEH!” which seemed to satisfy everyone.

With the bag delicately pressed to your chest, you tiptoed quietly upstairs toward Sans’s room, faintly hearing the telltale signs of light snoring. Luckily, he had left his bedroom door slightly ajar and unlocked, making your job a lot easier. (You knew Sans couldn’t be awakened by the mere sounds of knocking, and you didn’t have the adequate tools to lockpick.

(NOT THAT YOU LOCKPICKED.))

You shouldered his door open quietly and were greeted with the sight of his room- something people could politely describe as… organized chaos. It wasn’t often that you came up to Sans’s room. Perhaps you’ve been in and out of here once or twice when you were sleeping over and needed extra pillows, but that was done rather quickly.

You never really paid attention to anything (except for the odd flashlight-lamp-contraption on his dresser.) Taking a closer look at the room now, you notice many odds and ends you're surprised you didn't spot before. A dusty treadmill, heaps of clothes and stray socks littering the floor- and… A hurricane of a mess. Literally.

Typical Sans.

Stepping over the oddities strewn across the bedroom floor, you make your way over to a sleeping Sans, peacefully snoozing away while sprawled on his back. The corner of your lips quirk up a bit further upon hearing the faint clanging of pots and pans downstairs, along with the occasional “NYEHEHEH!”and you figure Papyrus is entertaining himself: you'd let Sans catch z’s for just a little longer.

You plop down next to Sans’s bed and rest an arm on the edge of the mattress, propping your head up on it. Your eyes latch onto his chest, rising up and down at a slow and steady pace. No nightmares this time, huh? You let out a small exhale and give the sleeping monster a small lopsided smile.

Despite his endless slew of lame jokes and easygoing attitude, you knew Sans always had a torrential wave of thoughts consuming his mind- in both sleep and his waking hours. At one point, you had gotten worried enough about his worsening eyebags and asked if he was alright, only to receive a broad and somewhat conventional reply. You begrudgingly changed topics, taking the hint- but pressed him for answers once Papyrus called you up begging for help at 7AM on a Saturday.

You had dashed over there with a bad case of bedhead and mismatching socks, assuming the worst- only to arrive and find Papyrus in desperate need to use the only bathroom in the house- which Sans had fallen asleep in while brushing his teeth. “no need to get so pee-ved, can’t a guy get some bath-room to himself for a bit, heh?” “Sans,” You huffed “Look, we can tell something is bothering you- and it must be pretty bad, to lose sleep over.” He shifted from one slipper-clad foot to another, eyes darting away from you.

No response.

You sigh and place a hand gently on his arm, furrowing your brows at him. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but take care of yourself, okay? We can’t have you injured for small things that could’ve been helped, yaknow?” Sans chuckled and lightened up considerably as Papyrus came out of the bathroom, looking much more calm.

“hey, eye’m bagging you to let this go, (Y/N).”

“SANS!“

And that concluded your semi-serious conversation about Sans’s health. You knew Sans was only avoiding a direct answer to save you and Papyrus the trouble of being worried, but there was a nagging feeling in your mind that there was something more than that. Something that he was… Protecting you two from?

Your eyes travel from his rising chest to his ivory face, completely relaxed despite the constant grin that was plastered from cheek to cheek.

From afar the bony surface seemed flawless and smooth, but up close you could spot small imperfections. Chips on the surface, tiny indentations, ridges and occasional scratches decorated his face, and you found yourself struggling to keep your hands to yourself. It was strange how these small markings could be argued to be unattractive- but to you, be so entrancingly unique and beautiful.

It made Sans who he was.

Your stare catches on parts of his exposed lower ribs, a result of his white shirt and unzipped blue jacket riding up during his tossing and turning.

Your cheeks betray you and flush a deep red rivaling Papyrus’s cape, and you hurriedly avert your gaze elsewhere. It was then that you remembered what you had brought into the room with you, and an idea popped into your mind.

Smiling coyly, you pick your head up and dig a hand into the brown paper bag, careful to subdue any obnoxious crinkling. You pull out your hand. In between your pointer finger and your thumb was a dainty little flower with vibrantly colored petals and a thick, robust stem.

After you had gone grocery shopping with Papyrus, you spotted a flower vending cart next to the park you two passed to go home, covered from wheel to canopy with beautiful, multicolored flowers of all variety.

“GO AHEAD, HUMAN. I SEE YOU HAVE TAKEN A LIKING TO THE PRETTY WEEDS.”

Papyrus gestured for you to go with a wide and genuine smile, but you were too busy cringing at the unintentional jab to really notice.

“I SHALL WAIT FOR YOU HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE FINISHED LOOKING! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM EXCELLENT AT WAITING! AMONG OTHER THINGS OF COURSE.” You wondered if bringing up the incident where he could barely wait for the bathroom would be appropriate, but bit your tongue.

Instead, you tossed him a grateful smile and went to pick out a handful of snipped daisies, bluebells, bleeding hearts and carnations.

Chuckling at the memory, you twirled the powder pink carnation between your fingers and eye Sans’s uncovered ribs. You honestly had no idea what to do with the snippets of flowers, and had only bought them in the spur of the moment. But now, you had an idea Would he feel it? He was asleep… This could be payback for that time he stacked ritz crackers on your forehead as you napped on the couch- needless to say you got a faceful of saltine cookies once you awoke. (“aw, come’on (Y/N), don’t be mad! I’m crackerin’ up over here!”)

Carefully, you slipped the smooth, dark green stem of the carnation between his second to last rib. Seeing that it stayed put, you felt a burst of happiness and immediately worked to place as many as you could in the exposed expanse of his bones.

Selecting a line of deep red bleeding hearts, you nestled those on the innermost part of his fourth to last rib. A cute daisy followed, placed snugly next to the bleeding hearts. You decorate his outer false ribs with baby blue bluebells and tuck some red carnations comfortably against the tip of his Xiphoid Process, grinning to yourself. Lines of fresh white daises and bleeding hearts dangle from his floating ribs, and you can’t help but admire your handiwork. The vividly colored flora somehow both complimented and contrasted perfectly against Sans’s milky white bones, framing the already strong and alluring structure with a collection of complimentary daisies and bluebells, gradiented red and pink carnations, and elegant yet sharply colored bleeding hearts.

After a few moments, you catch yourself staring and shake yourself out of your stupor. Glancing inside the brown paper bag, you are confronted with one more healthy-looking daisy sitting alone at the bottom. Removing it from its confines, you stare blankly at the garden in Sans’s ribs, wondering where to put the final flower.

Finally, you decide to place it with the other daises, but- Accidentally, your fingertips brush along Sans’s costal cartilage, and static shoots up your arm.

Oh, geez.

He was unexpectedly warm for a skeleton, and insanely smooth.

Your hand instinctively draws back as you sharply inhale, eyes darting up to Sans’s face. Fortunately, he was still asleep- although a strange bluish hue had dusted his cheeks. There was no way...

Was he… Enjoying that?

A shiver travels up your spine as you hear him give an almost inaudible but throaty groan, and you press your fingers to your lips. You didn’t ever really have a chance to find out what monster anatomy was like- but it was rather odd to you that ribs of all places could be a potential erogenous zone. Slowly, you lower them back onto the same spot and wrap the pads of your fingers around the bone, giving a longer, harder rub.

The response is immediate. Phalanges curl into the bedcovers and metacarpals twist into bedsheets.

Sans arches his back with a whimper and brings his ribs into your palms, reminding you of lesser dog and his keening.

Except this one moans.

Sans unconsciously bucks into your hand and gives a crescendo of a guttural moan, sending your heartbeat sailing and skin crawling. Your head whips towards the bedroom door to make sure Papyrus hadn’t heard and come up to check on you, and once you were in the clear, you yanked your hand away despite the tingling in your fingertips that urged you on.

Well, attempted to. Your eyes widened into saucers when you feel boney fingers- the same ones that were grappling at the bed a few seconds earlier- wrap themselves around your wrist and hold you in place- if not pulling you closer.

Sans gazed at you with one half lidded eye, a lazy but knowing smile licking at his usual cheesy grin. “mornin’.” You gulped and flushed red. Caught. “I-It’s more night than morning, but…” Your eyes followed his gaze to the small flower show in his ribs, and when you glanced back at you with a grin and a raised eyebrow, your blush reached the tip of your ears.

“I-“ You rushed to explain yourself, but found yourself tripping over your own words, “T-The flowers looked pretty and- and your bones were there and i thought it'd look good and alsobeacuseoftheritzcrackersthing-“ You visibly deflate with complete and utter embarrassment, wishing you could either turn sink between the wooden floor boards or turn into one of the many heaps of clothing on his floor.

“it’s kind of like a garden.” Sans smiled at you, his long fingers still wrapped firmly around your wrist.

You mutely nodded, avoiding his gaze.

“the only thing im missing are butterflies in my stomach, but you already give me those.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the comment, and your pupils rapidly dart to-and-fro, intensely staring at anything BUT Sans. Ohgoshthiswasembarassingwhydidyouthinkitwouldbeagoodideaatall-

“hey”

You feel the metacarpals around your arm pull you forward so you were practically on the bed with Sans. Before you could part your lips to protest, another set of fingers brushed along the breadth of your jawline and firmly but gently grasped your chin and turned you to face him.

“look at me.”

He was so close- maybe just a little more and- Sans plucked the daisy you forgot you were holding from your hands, tucking it into your hair.

“don’t think I don’t know what you were doing, kid.” Sans chuckled mischeviously, the laughter coming from deep within his chest. Maybe it was just your imagination, but was his left eye glowing cyan…?

“I, uh-“

“(Y/N)!” A loud voice called from downstairs, “THE PASTA WAS COOKING TOO SLOWLY SO I PUT CANDLES IN THE POT TO MAKE MORE FIRE INSIDE.” Silence follows. “THE CANDLES HAVE DISAPPEARED.” More silence. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL MAKE ANOTHER BATCH!”

As you opened your mouth to respond, Sans stopped you with a finger to your lips. “let’s finish what you started, hm? you might wanna keep quiet."

His eye flared

"my room's right above the kitchen."

#undertale #fanfiction #sans x reader #reader insert #old story

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istoleyourboat · 4 years ago

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Eyes of Gold - Rumpelstiltskin AU

This fic is dedicated to anubis-005 who gave me such a precious fan comic for one of my other fics and now I’m blessed to think about it for the rest of my life.

______

Nene paced the small room full of straw. Judging from the windows, the descent below was too deadly for her to escape.

Leave it to her father to lie about her ‘ability’ to spin straw into gold.

And leave it to luck to let the lie spread to nobility.

The king separated her from her father and filled a room with straw just for her. He threatened that if she didn’t have an entire room of gold, he would have her head by sunrise.

After seeing that there was no means of escape, she placed herself near the window where she cried underneath the moonlight. Her father was desperate to get money after their mill burned down. As much as Nene hated to lie, scamming a few people was the last resort. She had no idea that a quick scam to get something to eat would turn into a fight for her life.

So she cried and cried and cried till there was no more water in her body.

When a hand offered her a handkerchief, she quickly got to her feet and rubbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get to work right away, the magic just needed a few tears is all-“

“You can cry magic?” a manly voice asked.

Once Nene opened her eyes, she was met with the sight of a smiling young man her own age. Or what she could guess was her own age, given how he obviously wasn’t human, what with the way he floated and all. He had this ethereal glow to him, which highlighted his handsome features. Though he wasn’t her type, he was undeniably attractive, in a strange otherworldly sort of way. Given his smile, it was as if he already knew her answer.

A bit shaken, she answered, “No. Unfortunately, I can’t at all.”

“Then why were you crying?”

So she explained everything to the strange man. How her father’s mill burned down, how they tried to scam a few people, and what led her to that prison. She even told him how the king would have her and her father’s heads if she didn’t spin all the straw into gold.

He tutted his finger at her. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to lie? Really, what a situation you’re in.”

“I know!” Nene exclaimed, a bit irked. “But it’s too late now.” She got back to the spinning wheel and started threading. “Sorry if my tears were too loud. I promise not to bother you again.”

His voice chirped. “You weren’t bothering me.”

Quickly, he floated towards her and whisked her away to the window, pointing to the full moon.

“And you shouldn’t give up so easily. The moon is a portal into my world and when you cried under it, I was able to hear you.” He set her down on her feet. “I could transport gold from my world and bring it here while you throw away the straw.”

“You would do that?” Nene asked graciously. “Oh thank you!”

He halted her for a moment and brought his hand up. “For a price of course. You can’t just get something for free.”

Nene shoved her hands into her dress pockets, patting it down to find something. There was nothing left over from the mill and she had no jewels or riches to give.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to give you…” she muttered sheepishly. “I don’t think I have anything you’d want.”

Hanako stepped right in front of her. The click of his boots touching the ground echoed. “Nonsense,” he said. “In fact, what you’ll give me will help seal the deal.”

Her brow quirked. “What would that be?”

“A kiss. To seal the deal, we’ll make a pinky promise.”

“A- A- kiss?” she stuttered. Her face flared up in embarrassment. “Is a kiss really worth a whole room of gold?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? It makes things more interesting don’t you think?” Hanako held out his pinky towards her. “Do we have a deal?”

Although Nene’s instincts screamed at her to not make deals with shady moon men- no matter how handsome they were, a huge part of her felt safe, like she could trust him wholeheartedly.

As she held her pinky out to wrap around his, she looked into his eyes and saw no sign of bad intentions. Magic worked in strange ways… Maybe he was telling the truth. When his pinky grasped onto her own, he bent down and gave her a soft kiss on the lips, sending tremors down her body as she forgot how to breathe.

Parting away from him, she felt empty, tempted to kiss him once again.

“What’s your name?” she asked breathlessly.

Hanako gave a teasing grin.

“Just call me Hanako.”

Hanako did as he promised and kept disappearing in and out of the room. He’d exit out of the window and come back in with bags full of gold earrings, gold bars, and the like. Even if the king was confused by the straw turning into objects, Hanako assured her the king wouldn’t mind. Nene kept throwing straw out the window and every time Hanako came back, they shared many laughs and a few stories to pass the time.

Once Nene threw all the straw out the window, Hanako floated beside her. Hanako started to disappear into thin air as the moonlight faded. Before he left, he gave a kiss to Nene’s hand and laughed at her flustered face. By the time dawn came, the king came in to take in all the wonderful treasure.

“How magnificent!” the king cried out. “This is truly a gift.”

“Thank you,” she bowed. “Now I must check on my father-“

“Nonsense! In fact, I will give you another room filled with straw and you can give me more gold. In return, I’ll give your father a new mill. I’ll let the servants entertain you for a whole day.”

And so Nene was thrust into a whole day of pampering. She ate a wondrous feast as musicians came to play on their lutes and singers came to give their songs. All day long she was treated like a queen as all the servants rushed to her beck in call. By the end of the evening, she was dressed head to toe in rich silks while her hair shone like starlight.

It all would have been in good fun, had the king not been so greedy. Once again, he locked her into another prison. This time, there was even more straw. So much so, it reached the ceiling.

Sighing to herself, she plummeted her body to the window, wishing that she really could spin straw into gold. Hanako was so kind to have helped her. Although she didn’t understand why he’d want a mere kiss and a pinky promise, her heart swelled at his kind gesture. He must’ve been fatigued by the whole ordeal. If there was anything to comfort Nene, it was the fact that her dad was probably living happily at his new mill.

She felt her head lean against someone’s shoulders. When she turned her head, she was delighted to see her friend once more. “Hanako?! What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to see you,” he said. Taking in all the straw, he whistled. “More straw for gold? What a tyrant.”

Nene hung back her head in defeat. “Yes… But luckily my dad is free and at his new mill. Even if I die tomorrow, at least I’ll die knowing that.”

“Who said you were going to die?” He chuckled. “I certainly won’t let that happen.”

Nene couldn’t contain her shock. “You’re really going to help me? I’m sorry, but I can’t really give you anything. I didn’t take any treasure in here. All I can really give are the clothes off my back.”

“Well if you’re offering~” he teased.

She playfully swatted at him. Over the course of last night, she had learned he was quite a perverted trickster. Between his journey, he’d get her flustered by breathing into her ear and sneaking quick scares. It would’ve been frustrating if he wasn’t so devilishly charming. To tell the truth, she didn’t really mind his advances.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he joked. “But I do have something I want from you.”

“And what would that be?”

He leaned against her small frame and started to play with her fingers. “I want you to sing me a song. Whichever one you like.”

Nene’s eyes were fixed curiously. The straw had doubled in size and all he wanted was a song?

“Are you really sure a song is worth a room of gold?” Nene asked worriedly. She felt incredibly guilty for not giving him anything of value. Although she knew that fairies and magic creatures operated by different rules, it still plagued her mind.

To her surprise, he just raised her hand to his lips and kissed it like he had the day before. “Anything from you is more than enough for me.”

Hesitantly, she placed her head against his shoulder and started to prod at his fingers. She sang him a lullaby that her mother sung to her a long time ago, when she was still a little girl who dreamt of leaving the mill. Nene was not like the other trained singers in the king’s court, but Hanako’s eyes drifted happily as they sat by the window, engulfed by shadows of the night sky.

Once her song was finished, he gave her a kind smile, awed by her gentle tune.

With that, the two got back to work as he brought in more gold and she threw out more straw. They laughed and sang till the moon faded out of sight, where Hanako gave another kiss to her hand. However this time, Nene noted, he looked a little sad in his departure.

Like the day before, the king came in and marveled at all the new pieces of gold. He set her out to be pampered once again. Only throughout the whole day, Nene could only think about Hanako and how she would repay his kindness. When the king announced that they would wed after she spun gold that night, Nene actually felt distressed. The king was her usual type, but the threat of her head chopped off made him extremely unattractive. To her surprise, when the marriage was brought up, her mind trailed back to the sweet kiss that she and Hanako shared.

Truly, what a dangerous thought.

Nene sat in the roomful of straw the third night. Thankfully there was less straw than the two previous nights. The king even gave her a little mattress to rest her body. No doubt it was to show her that he could also be ‘kind’ and ‘generous.’

She scoffed at the whole notion. How could he ever think about doing that to someone he’d consider as his future queen. Just as she approached the window, Hanako appeared right before her, as if he had been waiting for her.

“Oh, Hanako! Have you come to help me?”

“I didn’t think that little tyrant would let you off so easily. Is he still threatening to kill you?” He sighed, putting his hands on his hips expectantly.

Nene’s fingers started fumbling with each other. “Well, yes. But he also said that if I get all this straw spun into gold, he’ll make me his queen.” She gazed at him with pleading, innocent eyes. “So please help me…”

Unpleasant silence drifted into the room like a cloud. For the first time, Hanako frowned.

And even stranger, his tone turned gritty and callous. “Ahhh, I see. So even with all the times he’s tried to kill you, made you a near slave, you still want to be with him. Gee, I knew you were a romantic, but never I thought you’d be stupid.”

Her heart constricted and tears pricked the corners of eyes. “It’s not like that’s what I wanted any of this!” she yelled. “How could I deny being his queen? He’ll kill me if I say no. You wouldn’t understand what it’s like to go hungry or beg for some morsels to eat! At least if I say yes, he’ll give me a good life.” She had to turn away from him. If she spoke any more, she’d likely fall apart.

“I suppose I don’t understand.” He sighed defeatedly. “Very well, I’ll give you all the gold you need for your happily ever after.”

Before she could give him her new jewelry as payment, he held his hand up to stop her. “No need,” he said.

With a snap of his fingers, all the straw was replaced by shimmering gold treasures. Stacked high to the ceiling were gilded statues, metal flowers, and twinkling coins. All so beautiful and yet so empty.

She was absolutely dumbfounded. If he could do that all along, why bother to float in and out of the window to see her? Why go through all the trouble?

“Unfortunately, this is the last time I can help you. The people of the other world aren’t too happy about me bringing all this gold,” Hanako said. “I’ll have to spend a few mortal months paying it all back.”

Nene was disappointed to hear the news. All the fun times they shared came to an unsatisfying end. She should have known better than to think a mere kiss and a song were enough. Now poor Hanako would have to pay a price.

Once he faced the window and prepared to float away, Nene hugged him from behind, intent on trapping him there till he heard her pleas.

“You’ve done so much for me Hanako! I’m sorry I was so selfish…” He turned to look her in the eyes, a bit surprised by her apology. “What’s your price?” Nene humbly asked. “Surely I can give you something you’d want!”

He gave her a glance up and down, eyes enticed by her lovely face and soft figure.

“You.”

It’s all he said before he kissed her. The last thing she could feel was her back hitting the mattress.

When Nene woke up the next morning and gathered her clothes, she found herself missing the warmth of Hanako’s body. The cold stone tower gave off very little heat and the only thing to comfort her was the beat of his heart underneath her ear. As strange as it was, he felt even more human than the king.

Silence was the only noise in the room as the two made themselves presentable. Combing her hair around him has never felt so awkward, nor has it ever felt so lonely. From her left eye she could see his sulking figure and she felt her heart growing sad.

“Hanako, I-“

The door to her prison opened and like every night, Hanako vanished without a trace.

Nene’s marriage to the king was an incredibly unhappy one.

When she gave the excuse that magic could only spin straw into gold three times, he nearly had her head cut off. It was only until his advisors told him it would make him look monstrous to the kingdom that he put that idea to rest.

Their few months together were extremely volatile, with him muttering about how he had no need for her. Still, they were married and as most married couples, they were expecting a child.

But he didn’t so much as bat an eyelash when he found out she gave birth to a girl and not a baby boy.

‘She’s unfit to rule,’ he had said. ‘Name her whatever you want, I don’t care.’

After being so rudely dismissed, Nene could only trudge to her separate room as she held her dear daughter in her arms. The maids and servants gave her looks of pity, knowing all too well how cruel their king could be.

It had been over a month and her daughter still had no name. Nene didn’t have the heart to give her one, too tired and depressed to think about it.

Because the king hadn’t even tried to go near her daughter, he missed out on her adorable yawns and little hiccups. He left all of his parenting duties to Nene and a couple of nannies, who would often coo at the little princess. They cited how she looked an awful like Nene herself, with tufts of cream colored hair and a soft nose, an utterly perfect picture of beauty. She was a child that any parent would be proud to love.

As much as her daughter greatly resembled her, a peculiar thing to note was that her eyes were neither her mother’s shade of ruby red or the king’s deep onyx.

They were a glimmering shade of gold.

Once again, Nene failed to get her husband to pay attention to her daughter. Setting the baby down in a cradle, Nene tucked her in with a little wolf toy that had amber buttons for eyes while she sang a familiar lullaby. When she was done, she sat in her own lone bed and wiped her tears away furiously. The moonlight that shone over the cradle did very little to comfort her. As strange as it seemed to be upset over a man not paying attention to what should be his daughter, Nene’s heart ached. Now she knew that even if the baby had been bred from his blood or borne from his feathers, she would be treated no differently. Still unloved, still unwanted.

“She’s beautiful,” a voice awed.

Nene gasped and flung her head back. The moonlight had seeped in through the window’s cracks and onto the cradle. Her sleeping baby’s hand was curled around Hanako’s finger. Hanako gave a tiny laugh, fawning over the precious thing. “What a beauty,” he whispered. “She looks just like you.”

When he heard nothing and turned to Nene, his brows creased in worry. “Why are you crying?”

It was hard not to tear up in front of him. Not only was this the first time she had seen him in almost a year, but he had shown more care to her daughter in two minutes than the king had in two months. What should she say? That her marriage was horrible? How she thought of him each time she looked at the moon? How the king’s daughter was actually his?

Instead, she confessed that the king was ashamed of not having a son.

If Hanako was annoyed with her sudden engagement, then he was absolutely furious when he heard the words leave her mouth. “How could a king not notice such a treasure? Not even a whole world of gold is an ounce of what she’s worth.”

Unable to hear anymore, she ran into his arms and cried a year’s load of tears into his shoulder. He hushed her graciously and grazed her cheek with his thumb.

“Oh, Hanako,” she whispered. “He won’t even look at her… And he hates the fact I can’t give him gold anymore. I’m just so miserable here…” Sinking her nose deeper into the crook of his neck, she muttered, “What should I do?”

Hanako took a hold of her small frame and smiled at her, looking even more handsome than the day she lost him. “Don’t worry, Yashiro. I’m going to set things right.” He walked the both of them over to the baby’s cradle. “Just follow my lead.”

The very same night, the king was stupefied to see a man from the moon come to him demanding his firstborn child. Nonchalantly he dismissed Nene’s concern with the wave of his hand. The king didn’t particularly care about Nene’s tears or the advisors warning him about magical creatures, he only paid full attention once Hanako threatened to steal away all his gold.

Hanako rolled his eyes. Of course he would only care about that.

Clearing his throat, Hanako glared down at the king. “Again, your wife promised me her firstborn child the moment I taught her how to spin straw into gold. But now that she’s broken her end of the deal, I’ve opted to take them both and all the gold she’s ever given you.” Hanako smirked viciously. “Unless you can tell me my name within the next hour.”

Making his way to the king, Hanako jutted out one hand. “Do we have a deal?”

The king grew nervous, clinging harder onto his jeweled rings and his throne’s handles. Shakily, he shook Hanako’s hand. As afraid as he was, he was even more afraid of losing all his riches.

Hanako smiled mischievously. ‘Excellent’, he thought.

Once the deal was done, the king ordered everyone in the room to guess the moon man’s name. All the advisors shouted possible names, ranging from Aito to Zenshiro. They used their own names, their family’s names, and even scoured through books to find a name.

As the hour ticked by, Nene and Hanako were elated at the king’s futile efforts. Any minute now and their deal would be done. More than fifty minutes passed by when all the advisors were at their wit’s end, stammering as the king grew more and more frustrated.

Angrily, the king took a hold of Nene’s shoulders and shook her violently. She clung onto the baby as her husband’s voice got louder.

“Tell me! You must know his name!” the king yelled. “How could you not!”

Seething in rage, his fingers started digging deeper into her shoulders. She yelped in pain as the baby started to cry from the motion. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? You planned on stealing my fortune from the very start! You useless piece of-”

The king could not finish his sentence as a fist collided right into his face and sent him flying. His neck nearly collided with the throne’s platform as his nose was painted in scarlet.

Everyone stood in shock as the moon man shook off blood from his knuckle.

“That’s enough,” Hanako grit. “Your time is up.��

With the snap of his fingers, the room started spinning. Everything- even the gold off of their hands and ears, was snatched away, vanishing into thin air.

There was almost nothing left in the throne room besides a few fragments of wood and a couple of fabrics, which scattered along the floor when the wind came.

Fed up with the royal’s nonsense, Hanako sneered at the king’s shock. The lavish room looked nothing more than a pile of shabby dust. Turning to Nene and the baby, his eyes softened.

Gently gathering her up into his arms, no different from how a man would carry his bride, he floated high and above. The moonlight engulfed their bodies while he gave a victorious smirk.

“I’ll be taking my wife and my daughter back.”

With that, he and the miller’s daughter were never seen again.

“So you knew all along…” Nene flushed. Her baby was sleeping once again, this time in a cradle from the other world.

Hanako laughed. “Of course I did.” He laid his chin on top of Nene’s head and held her close with his slender arms. “She has my eyes.”

How he was able to tell, she doesn’t know. Save for her brief cries in the throne room, her baby had been asleep the whole time. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized she didn’t care. If Hanako called her his daughter, then that was all she needed to hear. The memory of his finger engulfed by her infant’s hand was more than enough.

“And you don’t mind?” Nene asked.

You don’t mind having a daughter? You don’t mind me?

Hanako placed a kiss to her temple. “If I did, would I have stolen you away? You can be so silly, Yashiro.”

She could feel his heartbeat right behind her back as they stared down at the infant. Turning around, Nene’s eyes lowered as her smile widened. “Well if that’s the case, then you should be the one to name our daughter. It’s only fair.”

Before he can leap in joy, she pinched his nose and giggled when he winced. “You better make it good though! You know how hard it was to take care of a kid all by yourself? You owe me about nine months of care!”

He chuckled amorously. “Of course, I do,” he teased. “I’ll give you all that and more.”

Bending down to feel the soft texture of his daughter’s cheeks, his eyes came down in bliss. Besides her mother, she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

“Mizuki. Let’s call her Mizuki,” he said.

Nene leaned her head against him, happy to have heard such a lovely name. Quite befitting for a daughter of the moon.

#istoleyourboat #rumpelstiltskin au #anubis i love you please take this fic as a humble offering #i would literally write more stuff for the royal cards au if you asked #that fan comic got me like #❤️#hananene

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ichika27 · 3 years ago

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Mairimashita! Iruma-kun s2 ep18

Was gonna post this days ago but I decided to do twewy-related stuff first lol.

Anyways, lots of pictures below again. At least 20, I think. Talks of ships below as well.

The last time we saw them, Iruma had jumped in front of the beast preparing to shoot a blast of magic in front of Ronove. Everyone else is worried but don’t know what to do cause if they tried to help, they’d get blasted, too. It seems though that Iruma himself has a plan.

Iruma plans to use Ali-san’s ability to swallow the huge amount of magic to eat the blast of it the beast is going to release saying he thought it was possible since Ali-san is the Ring of Gluttony. Arikured is surprised by this and complains at first but agrees he could do such a thing but Iruma's strength will be needed to succeed.

Remember that spell Iruma learned before about changing the appearance of something? Iruma uses that magic spell to turn Ali-san into this... cat thing. Giant cat thing idk so it could swallow the magic. Ali-san swallows the entire beast and let it explode inside him. Once it was over, the sky clears up, too. The plan totally worked and Ali-san is full!

Does this mean Iruma could use the power that got eaten from the beasts?

Trouble is over and Iruma gets together with his friends again. His friends were all worried about him though and Kalego-sensei came up to tell him he'd been reckless again. Iruma says he hasn't forgotten about what Kalego-sensei had said before at the home visit and that he had now finally understood what sensei meant. He was so used to danger due to almost always being in one himself that he never realized how bad such situations were until everyone else he cared about got affected. He adds that he gave it everything he's got even though he wasn't sure he'd even win because he wants to protect everyone and holding onto that ideal is part of his "desire".

I’m happy this arc helped some of them grow and show the growth of those who already have. Pretty cool.

Random screenshot but I just wanna direct your attention to fluffy Kalego-sensei who is being adorable right now. I cannot take him seriously when he’s like this and even when he’s angry, this form makes it look adorable.

Back to the story.

While all the mess is happening on the surface, Kiriwo-senpai has finally been found by the Six Fingers who are there to help him escape under the orders of Baal. The other escaping inmates are also in the area but still behind bars and Kiriwo-senpai tells them that he never planned to help them escape alongside him and never said he'd do such thing in the first place.

I kinda feel bad for them but they are also bad people so, eh.

Upon donning the same coat the Six Fingers' wear, one of the prisoners had the realization that unlike all of them there who are merely "bad", Kiriwo is actually "evil".

One of the Six Fingers asked why they couldn't just let the prisoners escape, too as it'll help in causing chaos and Kiriwo-senpai answers that seeing the despair the prisoners are gonna be in when they realize they'd never be let out despite going this far will be fun to see. Plus, they're not strong enough and will be caught again anyways.

I missed seeing Kiriwo-senpai’s evil hairstyle. It’s been a while. I guess this answers the question I had back in season 1: Kiriwo-senpai chose to be evil. Sad but I should’ve seen it coming.

Back on the surface, a parade starts and on the float are the heroes who saved Walter Park. While Iruma is properly mentioned, the owner, Rossevelt also shows off his son (Ronove does call him Legend-daddy as in the English word lol). The owner thanks Iruma for saving the park and calls him a hero.

They look alike except for the mustache and hair length. Anime genetics never fail. Does Legend-daddy also sing his own bgm?

Unbeknownst to our heroes, Kiriwo-senpai is around the corner watching the parade. He's surprised to find out that not only was Iruma also at Walter Park at this time but Iruma is also the one to defeat the beast. Instead of being angry at another evil plan foiled, Kiriwo-senpai says that this must be destiny and was happy to see Iruma. He was gonna walk out into the crowd but snaps out of this happy state by a call from Baal.

Senpai really blurs the line between love and hate cause he acts similarly when it comes to Iruma. Congrats to the fans of this ship for getting this scene and also, I still don’t know the ship name for them. How do I tag this?

Back to the phone call, Baal isn't happy that the park still stands. Walter Park is created to vent out demons' evil cycle after all and he has no need for that in his goals as he prefers that the demons go way beyond the evil cycle and just become ultimately evil. Unfortunately for him, the authorities are coming and they can't really do much else so he tells Kiriwo-senpai and the rest to escape already.

After being told to escape, Kiriwo-senpai says that this isn’t the end and declares that he and Iruma will meet again as they are destined enemies.

I guess in Iruma’s harem, he’s the “enemies to lovers” love interest lol.

Iruma looks at the direction where Kiriwo-senpai was but of course, he doesn’t see anything and he’s none the wiser.

Opera gives Iruma back his backpack at the float. As Iruma looks inside for his stuff, he finds the note his grandfather gave him of things he must do on his trip with the final one on the list being "Have fun with everyone!". Iruma looks at his smiling friends and thinks that even though a lot of scary things happened today, he still did have fun with them. Aww so cute!

Iruma gets reunited with his worried grandpa who goes to the hotel to check on him. Iruma says he couldn't go home early as Ronove's dad let them stay at the hotel as thanks for saving the park. Ronove’s dad adds that they are also Sullivan's students so he's happy to give them such things. Iruma tells his grandpa that he's happy and okay and that the teachers and Opera protected them. Grandpa Sullivan decided that the three adults would be given the job of protecting Iruma from now on (and Kalego-sensei felt a chill down his spine elsewhere in the hotel lol).

These two adults are the same. They probably won’t stop talking about their kids if you’re around them. Reminds me of FMA’s Maes Hughes (thought still makes me sad).

While the teachers are discussing information about the attacks, Kalego-sensei goes to his room to find his team on the bed making fun of the stuff he said earlier much to his annoyance. The boys said wanted to stay in the teachers' room as it's better than the room they got but Kalego-sensei quickly kicks them out.

The girls also get rewards and are allowed to get any clothes they wanted which made them happy. Ronove’s dad is pretty generous, huh? Like, I know these guys deserve it for all their hard work but the guy looks so happy that he’d probably still be nice to them even without all the trouble happening.

They are all also given an all-you-can-eat buffet. Iruma eats a ton of food obviously. Clara is having fun at the chocolate fountain thing and Ronove is trying to make Agares eat. Those two got close, huh? lol I wonder if Ronove’s doing this to try and make Agares unattractive or something. It’ll be cool if they became friends though with their very contrasting personalities and all.

While everyone is having fun inside, Iruma leaves without anyone else realizing except for Ameri who decides to follow. They end up at the rooftop by themselves with Ameri trying to calm herself down as she's thinking of romantic stuff as it’s just the two of them. Iruma then reminds Ameri of the question she asked him before about his goal and tells her he finally found one: he wants have fun with everyone. He's willing to change in order to be able to protect that ideal of his. Ameri is happy to see Iruma has grown.

Ameri decided that she also wants to give it her all for her own desires and ambitions. She then tries to tell Iruma something but sadly she gets cockblocked by Clara and Azz both appearing. Ameri gives up for now and tells Iruma to just go with his friends.

Before leaving, Iruma asks Ameri a question - the same thing she was going to ask him earlier! He asks if they could hang out sometimes but just the two of them and she passes out from this lol.

Congratulations to Iruma x Ameri fans for getting a scene like this, too. I also don’t know the ship name for them. Anyways, why is it just the senpais getting a moment with Iruma? Ameri has been getting a lot of moments, too and it’s making me wonder if she’s endgame.

lol also, Ameri is worried about the other female rivals not realizing there’s another threat somewhere else.

While all that teen drama is happening, both Romiere's dad and Iruma's grandpa are being interviewed on tv. The two men then tell everyone how their kids and those kids' friends are the heroes of Walter Park. Since Iruma's name had been specifically mentioned (with everyone knowing the heroes are "Iruma and friends"), there ends up being reporters outside the hotel wanting to see Iruma the next day. Iruma, of course, doesn't like this popularity. With the thought that there may also be reporters waiting at his home, Clara offers to let Iruma stay at her house.

Oooh... will we finally get Iruma x Clara and Iruma x Azz moments as well? Hehehe

There's something new in the ED video by the way! This used to be for Kuromu but now it’s for these boys! Cute!

---

I’m guessing this is the end of this arc? I wonder what the last one will be since we only have like, what, 6 episodes more? What kind of arc will it be, I wonder cause this one had battles.

Okay, the end where the heroes are mentioned to be “Iruma and friends”, I’m happy and surprised that none of the others were bothered by this at all. No one complained about why Iruma is the only one specifically named. It didn’t cause a fight between the entire group unlike what would’ve happened if this was any other story. I get why Iruma got proper credit as he is the one to end the incident and saved everyone around from being fried but his friends did a lot of work, too and it’d have been better if they were all credited properly in the news. None of them were mad though and are happy that they won because they did their best.

Ronove calling his dad “Legend-daddy” will never not be cute and funny to me. His dad, despite being rich enough to own this entire park, isn’t an annoying, arrogant asshole and I like that. I’m happy that most characters in this show subvert my expectations and they make me like them more.

I’m sorry if I don’t tag ships in my mairuma posts but I don’t know any of the series’ ship names lol. Speaking of ships, as I mentioned before, Ameri’s been getting a lot of moments with Iruma or focus on her growing feelings for Iruma. Kiriwo-senpai only showed up a bit in this arc and got a bit for himself, too. Kuromu and Clara only had a bit when Iruma went evil cycle and I wonder if they’d get more, too. I personally ship him with Azz so I wish they’d gets some moments as well. Eiko gets hers mostly on the “Interval” segments.

So... is it possible to have a mairuma dating sim or not? Look at how many routes are available! XD

Anyways, focus next time is on Clara’s family probably with Iruma spending time there. I expect another Valac Family musical! XD

Thanks for reading!

#Mairimashita! Iruma-kun #welcome to demon school iruma-kun #sana_post

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years ago

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a twist of fate | pjm x reader

a twist of fate | park jimin x reader oneshot

☘ genre | bff2l, soulmate au, fluff

☘ word count | 4k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ summary | It was on one of those nights, sprawled lazily on the couch with the armrest as a pillow for your head, mindlessly scrolling through the threads as you speed-read them, that you first came across the term. Singular soulmates? It had you sitting up. Singular soulmates, put simply, was where someone may be your soulmate, but you’re not theirs.

☘ a/n | This fic was fueled by the recent return of my struggles with insomnia (but has, in turn, further fueled my insomnia as well...) and I just wanted to write some characters being dumb alrite HAHAH

The day your best friend’s name appears on your body was a day filled with panic for you. You still remember the immediate response your brain spat out the moment you saw the black letters of his name printed on your skin.

What the heck- NO.

It’s not that Jimin was unattractive- in character nor in looks. It’s just that, like every boy that age, he was obsessed with girls, entranced by any girl that so much as looked at him for more than two seconds. You couldn’t blame him. Being fourteen was just like that, or so you’ve heard. Being fourteen, pubescent and hormonal, people around you just magically became attractive, acne and brace-faces didn’t matter. Being fourteen, standing at the cusp of maturity and the newfound independence that it brought, but without possessing said maturity in its fullness yet, love and relationships were inevitably an exciting topic to navigate in all its sparkling novelty. Being fourteen, you knew that he didn’t really have feelings for you.

But now, at age twenty-two, his name still sits in its place under your collarbone. The cursive style of it has the starting letter of his name looping into the other remaining letters that resemble little waves with the way it’s strung together.

No one really knows all that much about soulmates, just that the mark appears after your soulmate falls in love with you. But as to how fleeting or how deep the feelings are, no one knows. Whether the mark fades along with the feelings is a mystery too. There’s little proper literature on the subject, and whatever you do know about the topic is the result of casually scrolling through reddit whenever you’re bored.

It was on one of those nights, sprawled lazily on the couch with the armrest as a pillow for your head, mindlessly scrolling through the threads as you speed-read them, that you first came across the term. Singular soulmates? It had you sitting up. Singular soulmates, put simply, was where someone may be your soulmate, but you’re not theirs.

You’d dismissed it away back then, writing it off as hogwash floating around on the internet where there’s no information gatekeeper.

Now? It’s become a real fear.

Because you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.

Har har, what a cheesy romance trope, you know. But what were you supposed to do when, during that Christmas break of your first year of college, you had the shocking revelation that Jimin had grown up.

You barely restrained yourself from gawking at the sight of your best friend walking down the street towards your rendezvous point. You’d gone off to different colleges, neither of them far from your hometown, but not close enough that it was convenient to see each other anytime. So you haven’t seen each other in four months. And apparently, in the time that you’d both gone not seeing each other, Jimin’s body had suddenly gained all this muscle in a lithe and toned kind of way. Studying contemporary dance full-time had really changed his body, his once lean and slender limbs now becoming sinewy and firm.

He’d really become a…

“...Hunk.”

“What?”

“Hug!”

You barrel into his arms, and his familiar musk eases you. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the ridges of his body where soft and pliant flesh used to be. But he rests his chin atop your head, and the gentle weight of it is still the same as ever.

“Did you miss me? Or are you just using me for my body warmth?”

Even though he’s changed physically, he’s still the same dork as ever, and it has you smiling both with mirth and with the assurance that he’s still the same Jimin despite the distance of four months between you.

“You’re probably the one using me for body warmth, Mr I’m too cool to wear a jacket to the movie theaters.”

“That was one time!”

It earns you a jab in your side that has you squeaking and writhing in his arms. Yup, some things stay the same.

It’s at your yearly Christmas get together with the gang that things start to go wrong.

Up to that point, you’d blamed the odd sensation on the initial surprise at Jimin’s change in physique. But now, looking at him in his black turtleneck and silver hair, standing by the fireplace and laughing with Tae, his eyes creased in laughter in that oh so familiar way, it has your heart squeezing in a very unfamiliar way.

It’s just because you haven’t seen him in a while and you’ve missed him, you rationalize, taking a sip of the drink in your hand.

Or it could be the alcohol. Yes, it must be the alcohol.

He’s still the same Jimin as ever, you muse, yet something about him just feels so… different. It’s like he’s grown up so much, even though he’s still retained his dorky rambunctious nature.

On the drive here, one arm on the wheel and the other on the backrest of your seat, and the setting sun behind his profile, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt in your chest.

But maybe it’s just the golden hour sunshine that had him bathing in radiance.

Yet, you knew the view of him was just one thing. It was also in his aura. Leaving for college had forcibly hurled all of you into independence, and Jimin’s had left him becoming someone with a quiet hum of reliability.

Even his chronic tardiness had been left behind with high school Jimin. You’ve known Jimin since preschool and after all these years of knowing him, you’re well-accustomed to the pouty apologies that he doles out each time he’s late- which is always. When he’d offered to pick you up at your house at 5pm to drive you to Hobi’s, you’d fully expected to only have him swing by at 5.30. To your surprise, when you’d made your way downstairs at 5, you’d found him sitting in your living room chatting with your mum, as he apparently had been doing for the last 15 minutes.

Jimin notices your arrival and you don’t miss the quick once-over he gives you. But he doesn’t say anything about it as he gets up from the couch- the same couch he’d once stained from tripping and spilling chocolate milk all over way back in middle school- and promises your mum that he’d make sure you come back in one piece. When you got to his car, instead of the candy wrapper and crumbs-strewn car you were expecting, you were met with a surprisingly spotless interior instead. Your previous perception of your best friend- little brother to be taken care of at all times- was shattered with each new discovery that left only a sturdy and dependable version of him in its wake.

You go to take another sip of your drink, only to find that you’ve unknowingly emptied the cup while you were musing over your best friend’s recent transformation. Frowning into the cup, you decide to get a refill.

From the corner of his eye, Jimin spots you moving off the couch and it’s clear you’re heading to the kitchen where the drinks are. The flush of your face is a tell-tale sign of your tipsiness, if your quiet and withdrawn demeanor weren’t already a dead giveaway. He sighs and apologizes to Tae, cutting him off mid-sentence, and heads over to the kitchen after you.

You’re just about to gulp down more of Yoongi’s mulled wine when a hand wraps around yours, preventing the tilt of the cup and stopping you from ingesting any more of the inebriating liquid. A pair of stern eyes are trained on yours, and you wilt under his gaze, letting him take the glass from you.

But no. Your brain suddenly speaks through the fog. Thoughts of him have already plagued your mind all night, keeping you from having fun. But he’s not going to stop your fun any longer. You reach back for the glass, but it’s a weak attempt that’s easily countered as he pulls it away and out of your reach. He quirks an eyebrow at this.

“Stop controlling me,” you whine.

“I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just know you, and know that you won’t like missing the rest of this gathering just because you drank too much too fast.”

“But I’m fine!” Your voice comes out a little louder than you expected.

“Just slow down on the drinks, okay?” His tone is hushed as he attempts to placate you. “How many glasses has it been?”

“Not even that many.” Unlike him, you can’t be bothered to keep your exchange discreet. “Just give me the damn drink, Jimin!”

Unsurprisingly, your bickering has caught the attention of the others. Back in the living room, it’s Hoseok that has been badgered into playing peacemaker. He enters to see the two of you squabbling in his kitchen. But he also sees something else. Someone- most probably the instigator of all chaos in the group aka. Jin- has sneakily hung mistletoe above the drinks station, likely in hopes of catching two unsuspecting people as they got drinks together.

Which turns out to be you and Jimin.

Hoseok’s bright laughter cuts through the thick tension that has settled over the room. You look at him, only to find him pointing at something above your heads, and that’s when you finally look up and spot the mistletoe.

When you look back at Hoseok, the smirk that sits on his face is smug and unbudging.

“You gotta kiss now,” he sings in an equally smug tone.

“No,” you refuse. “No way.”

“Uh-uh, you know the tradition. You’re not escaping this.”

You shake your head adamantly.

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” he goads. “C’moooon it’s just a peck.”

Jimin, who has stayed quiet up till now, finally speaks up. “Am I really that unappealing?”

He’s unreadable, wearing an expressionless mask.

“Okay, fine.” You’re unsure what his words mean, and it has you relenting, giving in to him as you so often do. “It’s just a kiss.”

You lean in, expecting just a chaste peck that will placate Hoseok. But you’re taken by surprise as Jimin cups your face, hand slightly cool on your cheek from your alcohol flush. The sensation is refreshing and you find yourself leaning into it slightly. His face hovers near yours, and the proximity has your heart pounding. Instinctively, your eyes flutter shut as he closes the final few millimetres between you. The kiss he lays on you is hesitant but the tenderness is undeniable, his plush lips nipping yours gently. He pulls back slowly and you can’t help the yearning that grows in tandem with the distance between you. Before you can say anything, he breaks eye contact and turns to Hoseok.

“There. Happy?”

Hoseok is nothing but pleased.

“Definitely.”

You’ve kissed. Jimin and you have just kissed. You kissed Jimin. Well, technically, he kissed you. You just stood there in shock the entire time. But the point is, Jimin, your best friend, and you kissed.

You spend the rest of the night by his side under his insistence that he keeps watch over you. He still refuses to let you drink a sip more. Not that you were putting up a fight anymore after what had just transpired.

At least your quietness for the rest of the night can be pinned on your tipsy state- you’re known to be a quiet drunk.

The rest of the way back home is spent mostly in silence too as you struggle to process what’s just happened. Even up to when you’re pulled up at your house and the engine is cut, you and Jimin merely exchange quiet goodnights.

The silence surrounding it persists till the next day. You’re hanging out in his room, watching a movie. You had said yes to the invitation to laze around in his room for the afternoon way before the unexpected events of the previous night. Even though the thought of seeing him had you antsy as hell, you couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to flake on him, so you dragged yourself over to his place.

It hadn’t been too bad when the movie was playing, you could just fake that you were watching the movie intently. But when it came to an end, so did your excuse for your unusual quietness. So here you are in his room, an empty bowl of what used to be popcorn and an incredibly awkward silence sitting between the two of you.

“Hey, ____,” he begins quietly.

“Hm?”

“We’re still best friends, right?”

Best friends. Right. You can’t deny the way your heart sinks a little at that. Quickly, before he can notice, you plaster on a smile.

“Of course we’re best friends, what are you talking about? We’re Jimin and ____. The dynamic duo. The inseparable pair.”

Jimin smiles faintly at that.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, y’know?” he starts again. “The kiss, I mean.”

“What?”

“I mean, Hobi was just pestering us into it so, yeah. Can we just forget about it?”

It has you pausing for a beat, but you scramble to agree.

“Yeah, yeah. Forget about it.”

That was all three years ago. You’d been friendzoned a whole three years ago. But still, you couldn’t get over your feelings after three years. You said you’d forget about the kiss, but you never did.

What hurt even more than being friendzoned though was the growing possibility that you were singular soulmates. After that Christmas break, things with Jimin had just gone back to normal, your best friendship persevering over geographical distance as you returned back to your own college campuses.

The kiss had certainly complicated things in that you suddenly had all these feelings for the person who at one time had simply been your best friend. Of course, it wasn’t just the kiss. Perhaps it was that first semester you’d spent apart- the first time your previously inseparable pair had ever really been separated- that made your appreciation for him grow. Or maybe it was the growing up he had done over that time that had you seeing Jimin in a different light and finally considering him properly as a man. The kiss had merely been the seal on the confusing feelings that had been bubbling up inside you since your reunion till the Christmas gathering. You had to come to terms with it- you’d fallen in love with your best friend.

If you were his soulmate, your name would surely have appeared on him by now. But he never mentioned it and the dynamics between you two only continued on as best friends.

And it sucked. You were in love with your best friend, your soulmate, but you weren’t his.

You’d tried dating around, in the last few years. Well, if your name hadn’t appeared on him, then maybe it’d appear on someone else. Maybe you just hadn’t met them yet and hadn’t fallen in love with the right one yet. Heck, maybe when they fell in love with you, their name would appear on you just under Jimin’s. It was an odd idea, you know, and you’d never heard of anyone else having that experience before. Perhaps you should launch your strange query out into the unknown void that is reddit and hope to find a comrade somewhere out there in cyberspace.

But the thought of it, imagining a name under Jimin’s, was just plain revolting to you. And what would they even make of it, having to play second fiddle to someone who’d been in your life through all the finger-painting and scuffed knees and awkward puberty and the countless late-night conversations on anything and everything? After all, your long-standing friendship with Jimin had been built on the kindred spirit that you’d serendipitously discovered in each other all those years ago in the playground of your childhood.

You always had to suffer through this train of thought, didn’t you, each time you were about to meet Jimin. You exhale, huffing out your frustration, and wrap your shawl around you as you step out of your car. It’s his graduation show tonight and the formalwear was a dress code requirement. You’d left all your formal dresses at home and had to borrow your college roomie’s instead. But the one she’d loaned you was strapless and failed to conceal your soulmate mark, hence the shawl to hide it.

By the time you get seated in the auditorium, it’s only a couple of minutes till the show begins. The program booklet keeps you occupied as you search for Jimin’s name to take note of which items he’s in so you can look out for him. But you know that even without it, you’d still spot him any time he’s on stage- his stage presence powerful and captivating enough to hold the audience rapt at attention.

The lights dim, and the conversations in the hall quieten with it. The anticipation for the show to begin is palpable. With a bang, it starts, the first item full of fierce and strong movements. You sink back into your seat, settling in for the entrancing show that the dance majors never fail to provide.

The show goes well, and Jimin’s appeared a number of times now. He exerts this magnetic pull on you, your gaze following him from when he first steps on stage till he runs off into the wings. Having followed his dance journey for so long now, you can see just how much his full-time training has paid off- the lines of his extensions are long and poised, his turns are immaculate. His movements exude passion and emotion, and you can’t look away.

That’s probably why you notice it. It’s as he’s running off stage that he stumbles. It’s small, and he’s almost at the wings, but you see how his ankle rolls and a pang of worry reverberates through you.

The enchantment from earlier is broken and replaced by nothing but concern. Each jump that he lands no longer has you dazzled, but wincing instead as you imagine him landing on his busted ankle. You know Jimin and you know his work ethic. He’ll put the production over his well-being any time and only speak up about it after everything is over and his body left battered with abuse.

There’s a slight relief when the lights finally come back on at the end of the show, but it’s not in its entirety. You need to see Jimin.

You’ve been to enough of his shows to remember the path backstage, and you sneak into the dressing rooms, slipping past the families and friends of the exhausted but happy dancers now crowding the lobby in the usual post-production celebrations.

Now that you’re backstage, your next challenge is finding the right door to Jimin’s dressing room. You spot someone ahead of you carrying an ice pack and figure it must be the person Jimin finally, and most likely begrudgingly, admitted his injury to.

“Jimin-ah,” the person calls, as he opens one of the many doors in the corridor.

“Ah, thank you so much,” you hear Jimin’s cheery voice ring out. You roll your eyes. It’s so like him to be putting on fake smiles to hide just how bad the pain is so that he won’t cause his friend to worry.

Your heels clack annoyingly against the floor, but you can’t find it in you to care to be quiet as you race to see him.

“Jimin!”

“____?”

Maybe you should have knocked. Or maybe you should have texted him that you were coming backstage. But then, you can’t find it in you to regret not doing either of those things because you burst into the room to find Jimin, drained and still in his final costume. That is- a shirtless costume. In your peripheral vision, you register his shocked expression, but your eyes are locked on something else.

Sitting there, just underneath his collarbone, is your name.

Jimin reaches for the first thing he can grab, which happens to be the ice pack, and attempts to cover up the mark, but that only has him hissing from the icy sting on the thin and sensitive skin of his chest.

“You idiot.” Your words are harsh but your tone is nothing but soft.

Sensing the seriousness of the conversation about to go down, his friend excuses himself from the dressing room. But you barely register that either, your mind still fixed on the visual memory of the soulmate mark on your best frie- no, your soulmate’s chest. The mark that matches yours in placement and in font.

You approach him slowly, and kneel next to him where he’s slumped on the floor and leaning against the wall. With a trembling hand, you gently hold his wrist and pull the ice pack away. There it is, skin slightly reddened from the cold, but the delicate swirls of the letters of your name sit crisp and delicate on his chest. Your thumb strokes across the letters, across your name imprinted on his skin.

“When?” You take the ice pack from him and settle it on his swollen ankle.

“Three years ago.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” your voice is soft, your eyes shimmering with tears from welled up emotions. He holds your gaze in his as his thumb wipes away the tears that have spilled over.

“I thought you wanted to remain as best friends.”

A sardonic laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “And what gave you that stupid idea?”

Jimin averts his eyes with the next statement, the boring linoleum floor of the dressing room acting as his anchor as he verbalizes the thoughts that had wrung his heart out for so many years now. “I’m not your soulmate, and it’d be really selfish of me to force you into a relationship with me just because you’re mine.”

Your jaw drops. Then you sigh and shake your head lightly. A gentle tug on your shawl has it slipping off your shoulders and folding haphazardly into his lap. You get the satisfaction of watching his eyes go wide, his gaze trained on the script sitting just underneath your collarbone. The thought that it’s an exact replay of your own reaction has you giggling.

“But I-” he stutters, index finger rubbing at his name as if it would rub off. “But you said? We’re still best friends?”

Then his head snaps up to look you dead in the eyes, brows furrowed.

“Wait. Why didn’t you tell me?” he cries.

“We were fourteen!”

“Since we were fourteen?! You knew since we were fourteen and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I figured it was nothing more than pubescent hormones!” you scoff defensively, arms crossed in indignance. “Need I remind you just how many girls you were obsessed with that year?”

“Just one,” he mumbles and you barely catch it.

“What did you say?”

“It was just you,” he whispers. Your arms go slack as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He clears his throat and looks away. “I mean, I’m sure you know the struggle- what if I’m the only one who feels this way? And what if I lose my best friend because we’re not meant to be?”

The way his words resonate with your own sentiments so deeply reminds you just why you’re best friends. He’s captured your thoughts and struggles so astutely, as if you both shared one mind. Perhaps that’s why you’re soulmates after all.

“Is that why you asked me if we were still best friends?”

All you get is a quiet hum in response.

“And is that why you told me the kiss didn’t have to mean anything?”

He sighs. “Like I said, it would have been selfish to just keep you for myself, even if you’re my soulmate. Your soulmate could have been out there somewhere.” He finishes the thought with a chuckle and a shrug. “But not gonna lie, I wish you’d told me sooner. Do you know how difficult it’s been to love you from afar all these years because I thought I wasn’t your soulmate?”

“Oh believe me, I definitely know that struggle firsthand,” you say, echoing his earlier sigh of exasperation at both of your stupidities. “We’re idiots, aren’t we?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming as he asks, “are we still best friends?”

You snort. “Definitely idiots.”

“Well at least now I know I’m your idiot, idiot.”

219 notes · View notes

chelsfic · 4 years ago

Text

I Fell into Fantasy - Nandor x Guillermo One-Shot

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo admits to a secret desire. Nandor tries to fulfill it without compromising his aloofness.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song called “Days of the Phoenix” by AFI. I was inspired to write this fic by the scene in the movie where Viago talks about how he likes to make things “nice” for his victims during their final moments.

Warnings: Blood drinking, a bit of smut, frottage, pining, angst

---

Guillermo really should know better.

How many nights has he spent digging up the garden to dispose of the mangled corpses left behind after the vampires’ feasting? How many bruised, torn throats has he seen? Cracked collar bones and broken limbs? Lifeless, staring eyes?

He knows the victims are in pain before they die. He knows the vampires sometimes like to play with their food, chasing tearful virgins through the house, giving them a taste of escape before tucking into their meal. He knows it hurts. He knows it isn’t sexy.

Really. He knows.

He’s still jealous. He’s jealous when he shows up to yet another sad familiar mixer to find that nearly every other human in attendance has faded puncture wounds and he has to hide his smooth, pristine throat with a turtleneck sweater. He’s jealous when he’s forced to stand in the corner and listen to his master’s obscene, tantalizing moans as he drinks from some random human who isn’t him. He’s jealous when Nandor remarks on how tasty a victim is, licking his lips before discarding their lifeless forms like so much garbage.

He knows it’s wrong. But he gave up caring about right and wrong a long time ago, around the time he dug his first clandestine grave.

He’s wanted to be bitten ever since he was 13-years-old and he first watched Lestat turn Louis on the 18-inch TV in his bedroom. He’d paused the movie, rewinding and frantically beating off as the blood poured onto Brad Pitt’s lips. He wants to know what his master’s lips would feel like on the tender hollow of his throat. He wants to feel the scratch of his beard as he closes his mouth over Guillermo’s sensitive skin. He wants Nandor to hold him close. He wants to feel those sensual moans rumble through the vampire’s chest as he takes his fill.

He wants so much.

Whenever he feels jealousy, lust, longing... he reminds himself that he should feel grateful, proud even, that Nandor has never fed from him. Nandor sees him as more than a meal. He’s a trusty companion, a person, a...friend? This is what Guillermo tells himself. He knows it’s not a matter of taste. How many times has Nandor scolded him for looking too tempting when he blushes? Or warned him to be careful with his sword collection because he didn’t want him bleeding all over the place and testing his self-control?

Whatever his reasoning--respect, boundaries, taboo--Nandor doesn’t feed on his familiar. But Guillermo often wonders if things would be different if his master knew how badly he wanted it.

---

“Guillermo, you’re very serious tonight. Are you having to take a human shit? I can wait until after for you to do the tucking in…”

Nandor stands by his open coffin with an uncomfortable smile on his face that’s akin to a grimace. Guillermo has already helped him remove his outer layers and brushed out his flowing, dark hair. All that remains is for the familiar to hold his hand while he steps up into his coffin.

“No, master, I--I don’t have to take a shit. I’m fine,” Guillermo murmurs with sadness practically oozing out of his pores.

Nandor bristles, his eyes darting all over the room as he wars with himself over whether to press further or simply to ignore Guillermo’s stupid human moods and hope they go away.

The vampire sighs dramatically, “I think you better tell me what is the matter, Guillermo. I don’t want this affecting your work performance. You do a very poor job dusting the paintings and the window dresses when you’re sad. Now what is it? Laszlo and Nadja? Are they giving the guff to you?”

Guillermo is quiet for a long moment, looking up into his master’s fathomless brown eyes as he decides how to respond. Nandor’s whole body is tense as if he’s awaiting the guillotine blade. Maybe he should just get it out of his system and finally admit--well, certainly not everything he feels for his beloved master, but at least about his deep desire to be bitten.

He blushes, lowering his gaze as he finally answers, “I guess...I’m just a little jealous. Of...of the people you feed from.”

Nandor’s face drops into blank befuddlement before his dark brows lift upward and his lips curl in a poorly concealed smile.

“You’re jealous of my victims? I kill those people! You want me to murder you? Is this some kind of death wish thing? Because I find that really annoying!” Nandor sputters, half amused and half serious.

Guillermo’s face is burning with humiliation now and he rushes to clarify, “No! No, I don’t want to die, master. It’s just...I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bitten by a vampire...”

His voice fades to nothingness but Nandor clearly understands him and his face grows pensive as he contemplates his words.

“Are you bullshitting me?” Nandor questions and his tone is just close enough to irritation to cause Guillermo to shrink in on himself as he answers.

“No, master.”

“Well…” Nandor sighs and affects a look of disinterest. “It’s alright to say that sort of thing to me, Guillermo, because you’re my familiar. But you want to be careful out there with the other vampires. You could get eaten up! And then where would I be? Having to make another ad on the Greg’s List!”

“...Craigslist…”

“As I said!” Nandor snaps, holding out his hand expectantly as he moves to get into his coffin. “Now, that’s enough of this crazy talking. Alright?”

“Alright, master,” Guillermo murmurs subserviently, reaching up to release the lid and slowly lowering it, sealing his master inside.

“Goodnight, Guillermo!” Nandor’s muffled voice calls as the familiar moves around the room, blowing out candles.

“Night, master!”

Sealed in the claustrophobic darkness of his coffin, Nandor’s mind races as he tries to process this new information about his familiar. Guillermo--his little Guillermo!--would let him bite him and drink his delicious blood? No, he wants him to do it. Yearns for it. He is jealous of the people he kills just because they get to feel the sting of his fangs and the touch of his lips. Nandor palms himself through his trousers. He’s harder than he’s been in a century just thinking of it.

---

He tries, he really does. Guillermo tries to forget about his shameful admission and go back to normal. Nandor certainly seems unmoved, doing nothing to even hint that he remembers having the conversation. So, Guillermo goes through the motions, dutifully completing his chores, searching for fresh sources of virgin blood, and standing by while Nandor sates his bloodlust with perfect strangers. But now that he’s revealed his secret--part of his secret, let’s be honest--and faced his master’s outright rejection, he just can’t seem to let go of the hollow ache in his chest.

He feels inadequate, pathetic, unattractive. And sad. Mostly sad.

Guillermo might think that Nandor has forgotten all about their little chat, but the vampire dwells on it just as much as the human does in the days that follow. And it’s impossible to ignore the scent of “sad human” that’s begun to permeate the household. Nandor spends several days battling with himself over what to do. He considers killing Guillermo and starting over with a new familiar… Guillermo gets his wish, Nandor doesn’t have to confront his shameful attraction to his servant… everybody wins! But the thought of Guillermo’s sweet little face gone still and lifeless sends a foreign stab of emotion into his chest that is really unpleasant.

He could ignore the situation and hope for it to go away on its own. But now that he knows his familiar is secretly lusting after his bite, he can’t get it out of his mind. He’d avoided feeding from Guillermo for years. At first it was a matter of preserving a valuable asset. Guillermo is a good familiar, why risk slipping up and accidentally draining him? After a while, when Nandor started to fixate on his familiar’s adorable smiles, fantasizing about how his soft, little body would feel against his...then it became a matter of self-control and rejecting his disgusting, unnatural feelings for a... servant!

So, that leaves him with one option. He must feed from Guillermo...carefully. So, so carefully so as not to be overcome and either kill or ravish the poor fellow. And if he is going to bite his Guillermo, then he must make it a pleasant experience for his familiar. He can’t stomach the idea of simply ripping into his human and hearing him scream and cry with the pain of it. No, it has to be...special.

---

Guillermo is barely in the door, laden down with shopping bags, when his master’s voice calls to him.

“Guillermo! Is that you?”

“Yes, master! I’m back from the store. I got you some more of those bath bombs you like,” Guillermo answers, wrestling with the bags as he edges towards his room. “Is there something--?”

Nandor appears at his side and interrupts, “The one with the lavender? Very good, Guillermo. Ehm--why don’t you put down those satchels and come with me to my room for a moment. I have a surprise for you.”

Guillermo’s face lights up with a warm smile and he drops the bags on the floor by his closet-room, “A surprise? For me, master?”

“Just for you, Guillermo! Come!” Nandor practically skips at his side as they walk back to his room, his eyes lit with anticipation.

Nandor closes and locks the door behind them, watching his familiar take in the arrangements he’s made. He borrowed Laszlo’s gramophone and set it up in the corner. It’s playing a soft, quiet melody that floats gently on the incense-infused air. A vase of vivid red roses sits on an end table next to his fancy couch, which he’s covered in a layer of bath towels.

“What...what is all this, master?” Guillermo breathes, walking up to the flowers and burying his nose in the fragrant blooms with a smile on his lips.

“Do you like it, Guillermo? I wanted it to be--” he pulls a face but manages to get the word out “--nice for you.”

“But, why?”

Nandor steps up beside his familiar, towering over the smaller man. “I’m going to feed from you. If... if that is still something you are wanting.”

“Oh,” the word comes out on a shaky exhale and Guillermo feels his knees go weak. “I--yes, I still want...that. Thank you, master.”

Nandor smiles, baring his fangs and crinkling his eyes. Guillermo feels his heart do a flip in his chest and wonders, distractedly, if Nandor can hear his heartbeat. They’re standing so close. Guillermo could lean forward just a bit and they’d be touching. He looks up into Nandor’s eyes and finds them melted with warmth. His master has never gone through such an effort for him before. Guillermo feels like his heart could burst.

“You want to take a seat?” Nandor gestures to the towel covered couch and Guillermo snaps out of his daze.

He sinks down onto the cushions, running his hands appreciatively over the terry cloth, “This was clever, master.”

Nandor takes a seat beside him, close enough that their thighs brush together and Guillermo gulps. He’s brushed his master’s hair, helped him dress, helped him bathe for goodness sake, but he’s never felt as close to him as he does now.

“Are you comfort-a-ble, Guillermo?” Nandor asks, staring at his face with a hungry intensity.

Guillermo locks eyes with him and he sees his master’s pupils dilate, his lips part to bare elongated fangs. He gasps out a quivering breath as he fights the waves of exhilaration, lust and fear in order to answer.

“Yes, it’s...very comfy, master. Very nice, thank you.”

“Good,” Nandor responds, his eyes flicking down to Guillermo’s collar. “Why don’t you remove your woolen garment and open your collar. I don’t want to spoil your nice clothes.”

Guillermo feels like he’s in a dream. Nandor is never this...considerate. His mind flashes back to every time he’s watched his master strike out at a victim unannounced, with fierce aggression and even cruelty. It’s pathetic that his standards are so low, but the fact that Nandor isn’t treating him like just another victim to be used and discarded sends a rush of affection and hope flowing through him. He hastily grabs the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and tossing it aside. Next, he reaches for the collar of his shirt, but Nandor is there first. His long, thick fingers pluck at the buttons, releasing each one until Guillermo’s chest is visible. He pulls the collar aside, revealing the smooth, unblemished curve of Guillermo’s neck and shoulder.

“Are you ready?” Nandor asks with a hiss as he eyes his familiar’s naked skin. He’s never seen so much of the man before and he feels his cock stir with interest inside his trousers.

“Yes,” Guillermo breathes needily, tilting his head to bare his neck even further.

Nandor brings his hand up to cradle Guillermo’s head, letting his fingers sink into his soft curls and cupping his warm cheek in his palm. The pulse point at Guillermo’s throat is practically visible, his heart is beating so fast. Nandor feels his mouth flood with saliva as the rushing flow of Guillermo’s blood reaches his ears.

He wraps his other arm around his familiar, drawing him onto his lap and finally leaning in to bury his face into the warm, inviting crook of his neck. Nandor breathes in the intoxicating aroma that even the human-things-for-smelling and his incense cannot obscure. He moans loudly. He might be embarrassed if he were less overcome with the sensory feast of his familiar’s soft body in his arms and the promise of his warm, thick blood.

Guillermo mewls at the touch of his master’s mouth on his bare throat. His beard is scratchy and rough but his lips are impossibly soft and gentle. It’s like a kiss, he thinks, his heart rushing with affection and joy. Nandor’s arm around him is firm and strong. He knows that he could never hope to escape if Nandor truly wished to restrain him and drink him dry. Putting this level of trust in his master makes him feel like a tiny, frail rabbit in the jaws of a hungry wolf. A delicious shiver runs down his spine at the image. And then Nandor’s lips pull back and he feels the sharp points of his fangs graze over tender skin.

“Oh!” Guillermo cries out.

Nandor growls low in his throat but pulls back just slightly to check, “Is this still alright?”

Guillermo nods quickly, bringing up his hands to run them through Nandor’s soft hair reassuringly, “Yes! Yes! Please, master!”

He feels Nandor’s chest rumble with suppressed laughter and then there’s just the blinding, burning flash of pain that blooms as Nandor finally strikes, burying his fangs into his familiar’s soft, warm throat. Guillermo’s mouth falls open and his hands fist in Nandor’s hair as the first wave takes him.

“Shhh,” Nandor murmurs wetly against his neck, lapping the spilled blood with long strokes of his tongue. “Shhh, you’re safe.”

“Nnghh!” a pleasured groan strangles from the familiar’s throat at the touch of his master’s tongue. Guillermo squirms, his cock filling even as blood drains away from his body.

Nandor tightens his arms around his little Guillermo, pulling him flush against his broad chest and biting down once more as he begins to drink in earnest. He moans wantonly as the sweet blood fills his mouth. He’s as hard as he’s ever been and he rolls his hips against his familiar’s generous backside. He drinks and he drinks.

The pain ebbs enough for Guillermo to lose himself in the delicious feeling of connection with his master. His hands, his lips, his tongue, his teeth are all on him, inside of him, part of him. Nandor’s touch unlocks a secret room inside of Guillermo where he keeps his most tender feelings. For once he allows himself to truly feel the devotion, the affection... the love that he has for his master. It’s wonderful and dizzying. Tears slip from his eyes as he reaches his arms around Nandor’s broad shoulders, hugging him closer for as long as he’ll allow.

Too soon he feels his head start to spin and his grip on Nandor’s shoulders loosens. The vampire senses it immediately and draws back with a feral growl. Guillermo is limp and breathless in his master’s arms. He looks up with heavy-lidded eyes and watches Nandor lick blood from his lurid, stained lips.

“Thank you, master,” Guillermo whispers, snuggling into Nandor’s chest with a contented sigh. His arousal is flagging and he hopes that his master hasn’t noticed. He’d felt Nandor’s rigid erection grinding against him while the vampire drank his blood, but he has no way of knowing if that’s just something that happens every time he feeds. Whatever the case, he’s far too weak and drunk with happiness to do anything but drift along and hope that Nandor keeps holding him.

Nandor’s dead heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of his sleepy familiar burrowing his face into his chest. His plan seems to have failed. He’d wanted to give Guillermo his fantasy while remaining aloof, but instead he’s feeling an annoying rush of warm affection. Worse, he’s shamed himself by...rutting against the human like a street dog. He should push him away, or give him an order to remind him of the boundaries that are still in place. But as he looks down at the sweet smile on his familiar’s lips he can’t find it in him to spoil the moment for him so soon. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night he’d remind Guillermo of how things still stand between them.

“Will you keep holding me, master?” Guillermo mumbles, his eyes drifting shut. The human has read his thoughts!

“Yes,” Nandor replies, leaning down and tracing a barely there kiss onto Guillermo’s forehead. “For a little while.”

#nandermo #nandor x guillermo #guillermo x nandor #nandor the relentless #guillermo de la cruz #wwdits fanfic #wwdits

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buffcontrol · 5 years ago

Photo

NEW STORY: Lust for an Idol

(inanimate transformation, domination, brainless, feet)

When you’re an idol in one of the most popular Kpop groups on Earth, finding pussy isn’t a problem. Shownu’s problem was having too much of it. After every concert and meet and greet, women were throwing themselves at his body. He couldn’t blame them -- a strict workout regimen and harsh diet gave him a physique to die for. With a supple musculature lining his already broad and masculine features, Shownu found women begging for his cock without so much as having to blink.

And it got boring. Women were always the same, he thought. They sucked him off for awhile, let him pound it in missionary and then got clingy, begging over Line to meet up again. What he really wanted was someone to worship his body and appreciate his strength. Do what he told them to do. He knew he was a powerful beast of a man, and he wanted someone who recognized that.

After years on the idol scene, he knew women were never going to provide what he wanted so bad. It was when a foreigner in the audience met him after a show that things started to change.

The white, skinny American was as red as sunset as he shook Shownu’s meaty hands.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” the boy stuttered. “I’m-- I’m a big fan.”

As the boy awkwardly laughed, Shownu tightened his grip on the tiny little fingers. He flashed his signature grin and watched as the boy melted in his palms. Almost literally: a supreme surge of heat flushed through his skin as he got more embarrassed. Right away, Shownu knew that this kid was gay.

He used his best English to ask him, “I am your favorite, member, right?”

The boy trembled even more. “Of course!”

“Why do you like me?”

“Well, I... I just...”

And Shownu leaned close to the twink’s ear, murmuring, “It’s because you like my body, don’t you? You like all my muscles?”

The kid was so taken aback he could barely reply. He only nodded as vigorously as he could, bright red and quivering in shock. Shownu felt a flood of arousal at the reaction he produced in this lonely, gay little loser.

“Well, if you like my body so much, come to my place tonight at 11 and prove it,” he said. He wrote down his hotel room number on the back of the picture he had signed, winking and slapping the kid hard on the shoulder as he turned to the next desperate fan.

And as expected, right at eleven o'clock the kid showed up. When Shownu opened the door, he almost laughed at the twink's inferior frame. He was totally dwarfed beneath his massive shadow. Not unattractive, but totally unremarkable. And so skinny. His arms were as thick as twigs and Shownu's forearms alone nearly outsized the boy's waist. Pathetic, he thought.

He pointed into the hotel room and watched the boy awkwardly shuffle in. Shownu immediately took him by the shoulders and seized him: "Tell me how much you like this body."

"You're so sexy," he said. Shownu could already feel the boy's minuscule, stiff dick press against his leg. "You're... you're so big."

"Yeah? Tell me what you like best."

The nervousness seemed to have melted off him. His lips unhinged as if he was going to drool and he moaned to Shownu, "Your chest, oh my god, your beautiful chest."

Shownu laughed at the desperation oozing off the boy in front of him. This was just the treatment he wanted -- pure, unadulterated admiration directed at him and him alone. He felt like a god, like he could do anything. And he chuckled as he realized, yes, he was a god. To this weak, pathetic little creature in front of him, he was a god. He could do whatever he wanted.

So he removed the expensive Gucci shirt from his torso, button by button. As each button undid, the look in the boy's eyes only grew hungrier. Shownu didn't even know his name. He didn't care. All he cared about was the delirious look of desire in his eyes. Once the striped shirt fell to the hotel floor, the boy's eyes were incinerating with lust. Shownu grabbed him by the skull and forced it between his mighty pecs.

The loose flesh engulfed the boy's face. Shownu couldn't see a single detail of his visage between the great mounds of meat hanging off his chest. He began flexing his soft pecs around the twink's cheekbones and nose, all the muscular tissue sliding around and enveloping every inch of the face. The boy only licked harder as he moaned and his hands flew to massage the exposed skin.

"You like that, huh?"

There was no way for the kid to annunciate any words with his tongue loosed from his mouth. Only a long, greedy moan.

"I bet you wish you could be hanging off these muscles forever, huh?"

"Oh yeah," he finally withdrew his face from Shownu's body, "I'd do anything for you."

Supplanting the space between his beautiful, hairless pecs with the boy's slender face once more, he felt even more like a god. It was his body, his looks, his muscles that had this nameless little creature reducing himself to nothing. Just a horny bitch for his body, willing to do anything. Totally submitted. He could do whatever he wanted to it. He was just a thing for him to use. The thought send a wave of pleasure through Shownu's dick as he pressed his pecs together against the little nothing's face. When he let go, he found a strange resistance: the kid's cheeks and tongues seemed stuck his chest.

He pushed back on the head but it wouldn't move, only trash against his pecs, desperate to lick and consume more of his muscle. "What... what the fuck?"

Shownu tried to step away from the boy, but his whole body followed as he toppled onto the bed. Atop him, the twink's hungry tongue continued lapping at his chest. And his arms surrounded Shownu's burly, shoulders too. The kid was literally wrapped around him.

"What's going on? What the fu..."

The kid finally looked up from Shownu's chest. But only the top of his head could move, his tongue and chin remained sucked against the chest. Panic fluttered through his eyes as he tried to speak, tried to pull away, but the more he struggled the less motion he was capable of achieving.

"Get off of me!" Shownu said. "Get the fuck off!"

He tried to pull the boy from his body, but felt only a soft, mesh response from his head. The bones seemed far less stiff, mushier. When Shownu tried to yank it away, the skin and hair only began to give as if it was all becoming something like fabric. And the boy's face was warping over Shownu's massive man tits, slowly losing its structure and form as it began to spread up and over the entirety of his pecs. The details of his face grew darker and softer as his mouth began to slowly lace together.

From that closing mouth, several fading words drifted away, "I'm yours... I'm...cumming... feel good... changing... am all... yours...”

Shownu noticed that the kid's dick along with his legs were slowly retracting towards his own torso. He was quickly losing all shape as any remaining skin took on the lacing strand of fabric and first constricted around Shownu's abs, then his chest and finally around his arms and shoulders. All at once, he could feel the presence of the boy wrapped around him and pressing into all of his muscles with an orgasmic heat. It was like Shownu could hear the boy's girly little voice as it floated somewhere through him, "huh... what is... what is this... can't stop... cumming... feels... so good..."

And Shownu could feel the boy lost in pleasure as the shirt constricted and pulsed against him, hugged his entire form. He’d turned into a shirt. A simple, tight, black shirt. This is how it should be, he thought, those who want to serve his body permanently should be able to like this. Maybe he really was a god, he wondered, maybe when someone really submitted to him they literally became one of his things. He didn't stop to think long about it, however, rubbing his wide hands up and down his ripped stomach as he felt the tightness of the shirt flex and react. The voice seemed to reverberate from his touch, "feels... so good to be a... what am I? Who am I...."

But the more Shownu flexed his own biceps and chest against the tight fabric, the more he ran his fingers over its length, he felt the voice disappear into a primordial, wordless orgasm. It seemed incapable of communicating much of anything beyond the extraordinary pleasure it felt and the simple fact that it was clothing now.

Out of a cocky sort of curiosity, he couldn't help from wearing the shirt the next day to rehearsals, where he practiced with the rest of Monsta X for hours on their dancing. It was a grueling routine for their next single, and Shownu was ready to put the work in. For hours and hours with little breaks, he thrust his arms through the air and leapt, jumped, spun his body beneath the tight strain of his new shirt. His muscle tits bounced inside only to be restrained by the material of his clothes. All the while, he grew sweatier and sweatier, his body emanating a profound stench and dampness from the sheer effort. And the shirt drank it all up. When he listened in for its voice, he could only hear moans, "so.. good.. more... more... I'm shirt... more sweat, more muscle... just a shirt."

It seemed the boy had taken to becoming nothing more than his clothes. He existed now to bask against muscle, endless sweat and musk. Shownu had finally gotten what he wanted.

But he grew to want more. He was curious if he could reproduce the same effect somehow. And all the time wearing the shirt, letting his stench sink into deeper as it hugged his body had only made him hornier.

Finding someone else was just as easy as he thought. Watching the crowd at his next live performance, he scanned the crowd for the faces of young men. There were a few Korean guys obviously dragged along by their girlfriends, but to his surprise near the front row was someone in his thirties. He was fit and stern-faced with rich, dark skin. And his eyes, they were cast on Shownu the entire time with a lustful glaze. Shownu knew he would be next -- he had to run once the encore was over to find the guy on his way out. This time he asked for some details of the man he might be transforming. He thought it would be hot to know someone's former life was like before he’d be reduced to serving him entirely.

"No, no way!" the guy stammered. Despite being a full grown man, he seemed almost girlishly excited to meet Shownu. Just as he thought. "I can't believe I get to meet you!"

"What's your name man?"

"Me? Oh, I'm... I'm Jordan!"

"Well Jordan," and he grabbed his junk, shaking it right at his next victim, "how'd you like to come and play with this tonight?"

Of course he would. And it wasn't long before the man once known as Jordan was on his knees begging to suck Shownu's cock. He jerked off in front of him, just enough to tease the dude and get him horny. His thick, veiny dick wagged in the man's face.

"Tell me how bad you want it. Tell me what you'd do to get close to my cock."

"I'll do anything!"

So he did. He wrapped his thick lips around Shownu's dick and gave everything to it. Once again, Shownu could feel the desperation in the gay man's mouth as he furiously tongued his meat. He hadn't realized men really wanted to serve him so badly. Well, if he wants to serve me so badly, he thought...

And just as the man serving him as a shirt had, Jordan's handsome features began to stretch and contort toward Shownu's hips. But there was no resistance this time, no fear, only a strange, airy confusion as Jordan's body began to scrunch up and lighten. It snapped and hardened as the bones of his temples became grey and laced with lettering: they wrapped from Shownu's obliques and around the summit of his tight, round ass. Shownu could hear him -- "What is this? I've never felt anything... like this... before..." -- before his words grew less formulated and more carnal. It was like Jordan was being reduced to nothing but the isolated feeling of pure orgasmic service. Shownu's eyes closed in the extreme sensation of having a life force contort around his balls and cockhead.

The feeling was too much: he burst with semen straight into the face of Jordan as the eyes and nose flattened into a perfect cup for his cock.

"Tastes... so good... more cum... more dick," he heard. "Must be... must be underwear! I must be underwear! Must support dick! Must hold up the cock!"

"That's right," Shownu said, patting the hardening stain of cum against his new underwear, "You're just my underwear now. Your job is to support me, lick up all the sweat, make me feel good."

"Make you feel good! I want... underwear! Briefs! Must! Make you feel! Good!"

Shownu got good use out of the new boxer briefs. And it wasn't long before he was adding to his collection. Within a week of tour dates, he picked up a new pair of shorts and even a pair of socks for his massive feet. Each of the men had willingly abandoned their existences and lives, their families, friends and their entire sense of selves, their consciousnesses and beings, to wrap themselves around his god body. The only new article of clothes that even put up a fight were his shoes: a lighting guy he had caught eyeing him backstage. It made Shownu so horny on the spot to be ogled by one of the crew, he demanded the little slut to lick his feet right then and there.

"What? No, no... I can't," he said.

"Oh yes you can. And you're gonna like it. Or I'll tell the whole group how much of a creepy perv you are."

And just as expected, the sight of Shownu's long, high-arched soles was enough to get the crew member hard and horny, lapping at his toes with the ferocity of a starving dog.

"I knew you'd like these," he said. "You like licking my feet, don't you?"

"I love it!"

"You're going to love your new life then."

The lighting guy's mouth began expanding, allowing for the whole breadth of Shownu's left foot to slip inside. It was warm and tight, trapping all the fumes of pent up sweat and musk as it fitted his fat toes. As the man's face began loosing with laces and splitting to form two wholes, he began to thrash and resist, trying to get away. "What are you," he choked, "doing to me!"

"Relax," Shownu said. "I know you like this." And he stretched his foot deeper into the softening form of his victim. "How about you tell me how much you like my feet."

As he furthered the span of his reach deeper into the man, he finally heard a relaxed moan come from him. "So... big..."

And it wasn't long before he was mindlessly repeating his satisfaction. The pleasure in Shownu was so immense in knowing this fact, he could only manage to keep one of his new slaves on at a time. Though he kept gathering new pieces, more and more men disappearing from their shows, his hunger never subsided.

Finally, he wondered what it would be like to feel a whole outfit of men cumming over their existence as his clothes. He imagined what it would feel like, several souls pressing into his body as they lived out their purpose on Earth to support his toned form. That would make him a real god, he felt. He couldn't resist anymore, the pressure in his cock was too much as it pressed against another one of victims enshrined as Calvin Klein briefs. So he started with the socks: slipped them over his soles and relaxed as the presence of a turned man began to hum in his ear: "Surround feet. Surround toes. Drink sweat." That's it, Shownu thought. He sighed, feeling the otherworldly comfort seep through his bones. It was even more intense as he slipped on his Adidas all stars and slowly did the laces, feeling every pulse of orgasm with the fixture of the knot. Once the shorts were on, he was so dizzy with satisfaction it was almost too much. He could barely focus as he mindlessly pulled his final white shirt down over his abs.

He felt the reverberating pleasure of so many men at once it began to utterly fill his brain. "Yeah..." he muttered. "Haha... it's... so good!"

Dumb with horniness, he began lazily pawing at his junk through his pants. He was erect, thrusting mindlessly into his shorts. But even the locomotive act of masturbating was nearly beyond him. "Huh..." he said. Drool began spilling out of his mouth, the only thing capable of entering his mind unbridled pleasure. He failed to notice his clothes sinking into his skin, filling his muscles with blood and entering his body. They relinquished from them all the horny, satisfied nothingness of their existence, filling Shownu with it directly. All at once, he was possessed with the souls of every man he had taken, all so dumbed down with satisfaction and so blended with the egos of others, the only consciousness they could produce in Shownu was one of limitless, empty pleasure.

When the managers found Shownu several hours later, they were shocked at what they discovered. The idol's eyes were completely blank and his body was spilled out over the bed, lifelessly jerking off in a room rank with cum. "So horny," he laughed. "Haha... feels so good..."

Shownu had gotten what he wanted after all.

#inanimate transformation #inanimate tf

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syms-things-5 · 4 years ago

Text

Clear The Area - Chapter Eleven: Part Two

Previous Chapter HERE

Warning: Language, NSFW

Notes: Second part of Chapter Eleven. Thanks for stopping by!

Chapter Eleven: Part Two

Where once she had been curled up near to him, out cold from the effects of the day, now laid an empty space. Chris had been lying alone with just a pillow for comfort and way past the phone alarm he had forgotten to switch off. He knew she had planned to go back in to the hospital that morning but he had hoped she would at least stick around for coffee, or wake him up before creeping out.

They got back to his apartment swiftly enough the previous night, despite the weather. She had been still the whole way. At one point, he thought he caught her glancing at him when he stopped at a red light but she looked away almost as soon as he’d noticed. He poured them both a generous glass of whiskey and they drank it in his kitchen in silence. Something was on her mind. He was taking this time to suss her out, to gauge whether she was thinking the same things as he was but he was coming up short. He recalled Shanna saying thousands of times before that she could be a little difficult to read but he never had the luxury of experiencing it first-hand. He always figured they shared a similar wavelength or something. He felt he understood women enough to know what they wanted from him and the majority of the time he didn’t care enough or wasn’t sober enough to question anything. This was different and he couldn’t put his finger on why that was. It was so much easier when he didn’t have to think.

“You feeling OK?” He finally spoke. He was hoping she would have made a move by now so he could be sure of what was running through her mind but alas. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” she shook her head, giving him an apologetic smile. “It’s just been a lot to take in.”

He leaned across his kitchen counter to close the space between them, twisting the glass containing what was left in his hand. “You wanna lie down?”

She knew where his bedroom was and she made herself comfortable under his covers while he cleaned up from his flight and the effects of the weather. By the time he entered the bedroom again, she’d drifted off to sleep. He climbed into bed as quietly as possible so as to avoid waking her but allowed himself to watch her for a little bit before rolling onto his back to put a small amount of space between them. He must have fallen asleep at some point soon after only to be stirred again a couple of hours later as she turned and moved towards him. She was more awake as that point, taking her turn to watch him. She didn’t seem to mind the kiss he eventually tempted across her lips or his hand reaching around her back to pull her closer. She sighed when he started moving his fingers delicately up and down her back as the kiss deepened. Still not a word was spoken, like they knew exactly what the other was thinking for the first time. He felt familiar and comfortable and he himself was reassured when she didn’t push him away.

After moments languishing in their kiss, he leaned up onto his forearm and looked down at her. He could barely make out her face in the dark except for waves of her soft hair splayed out across her pillow, the sweet coconut smell overpowering his senses. He could do so much from this position and there was so much he wanted to do in the dark as he started to feel his way around her body, tracing his fingers up to her shoulder, down her arm, across the soft skin of her tummy as he gradually moved her t-shirt up to rest below her breasts. He leaned down to kiss her again and he felt her relax a little more. Lying fully on her back and more open to him, he slowly grazed his fingertips down her stomach before moving them inside her panties. A little slower down and he could hear her breath hitch in anticipation, delicately fanning his face as he held his mouth just millimetres above hers, breathing the same breath. His fingertips felt like a feather on her skin, teasing slightly and just enough to make her skin tingle in all the best ways. It was so different from their previous experience together, calmer and more soothing but, knowing what he was capable of, what they were both capable of, practically electrifying. He had struggled to get the mental images of her out of his mind since that night as he relished feeling her again. Things could happen very quickly for them both if he wasn’t careful.

His middle finger continued to graze ever so gently over her lips, once and then again and then again, her wet heat enticing to his tough, before moving a little lower and almost, nearly, not quite pushing inside her.

“Wait.” She whispered, freezing herself from moving again. She quickly moved her hand atop his to stop him. “I’m sorry.”

He removed his hand from her underwear until it rested on her lower tummy. “It’s OK.”

She breathed. “Sorry, I just...”

“Hey, it’s OK. You don’t need to explain. I thought...I just thought you wanted to.”

“No, I did, I’m sorry. I just...” He leaned away from her as she moved to sit up in the bed, hand clasped to her mouth. She took another deep breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He rubbed a hand over his face as reality began to dawn on him. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to comfort her, reach out a little, but was wary of touching her again.

“Maybe you’re right.”

They laid awake not speaking for some time afterwards. She made motions to leave but he managed to convince her otherwise, reasoning there was no point leaving now if she had to get up soon and he figured, in the cold light of the morning, maybe things might make more sense and they could talk. She offered to move into a spare room but he wasn’t thrilled with that idea either. He wanted her close by. Except here he was now, along, confused, and mildly unsatisfied. He chastised himself for that last thought.

Head down and with a plain blue cap pulled low over his eyes, Chris successfully made his way through the hospital bay, just dodging the one local news crew still stationed outside. It wasn’t as busy as he was expecting given the events of yesterday but he was still wary of being recognised in this bright light, with nowhere to hide.

He hadn’t particularly figured out how he was going to locate her. Truth be told, he hadn’t even figured out what he was going to say once he had tracked her down. As soon as he plucked up the courage to find her again, he all but dived out of his apartment later that morning. All he could think about was just seeing her face again in the hope words would come easy to them both and they could work themselves out. Now, with a few doctors and patients milling around and a low hum of background noise, he realised he hadn’t properly thought this through. In a moment of dread, he made a move to turn and leave thinking better of himself until someone’s hand reached out to grab him on the shoulder.

“Hey, I thought it was you.” Audrey spoke in a quiet tone, understanding of his propensity against causing a fuss. Judging by his casual clothes and the dark circles underlining his eyes, he wasn’t there for some PR arrangement either. “You OK, hun?”

Chris breathed a discernibly sigh of relief when, at first, he recognised Audrey’s tone and then her friendly big brown eyes. “Yeh, I’m good. Thanks. Things seem a little quieter today, huh?” He shuffled a little clumsily on his feet, a move not unnoticed by her.

Audrey nodded indistinctly, not completely agreeing with him. He had no idea what it was like but she also wasn’t going to be the one to bore him with the details. “Yeh, it, um, it is what it is, y’know? Tragically, I’ve seen worse.” He was trying to act casual. “You here for something?”

“Actually, yeh, I was hoping to speak to Sarah but I guess she’s busy. I can just catch her later.” He tired to turn away only to be stopped once again.

“She’ll be here somewhere I’m sure. You know the diner over the way? It’s quiet. You wanna hide over there for 5 minutes? I’ll go grab her.” She insisted and for the first time in a long time, someone else was making the decisions and he was relieved.

it wasn’t long before Audrey found Sarah riffling through the equipment cupboard and muttering to herself in irritation. Naturally, their stocks had been depleted from the day before and also just as naturally, no one took it upon themselves to ring upstairs for new kit. It had been an unofficial part of Sarah’s job since she first joined the hospital and, after a while, people just got used to her taking the initiative. She’d be damned if she was going to do it again, though.

“Found you. You hero friend is across the road looking mighty fine as always if I may so myself. You never told me her was growing his beard out.” Audrey nudged her as she stood beside her pretending to need something from the trolley.

“Huh?” Sarah turned a little too sharply to see Audrey playfully affect innocence.

“God’s righteous man.” Audrey elbowed her again, a smirk growing across her face. Sarah couldn’t always discern the methods with which Audrey described Chris but the love hearts currently floating around her halo soon made things click.

“Oh. OK.” she closed another drawer. She couldn’t think of anything else to say and the silence was dragging on a little too long than was comfortable.

“Said he wanted to talk to you so I told him I’d send you across to Joe’s. You can take fifteen. You’ve not had a break yet.”

“Honestly, it’s OK. I’ll just catch up with him later. I’ve got some stuff to sort out here first.” She resigned herself to the fact that she’d be stock-checking again for the remainder of her shift but, faced with the alternative prospect of seeing Chris, it didn’t seem all too unattractive. “I doubt it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“I can sort that.” Audrey grabbed a spare notepad from her side, initiating a take-over. “He’s literally sat over there waiting for you. Just go over and bring me back a double espresso if you can. That coffee machine in the staffroom is on the blink again.”

She really should have known better that Audrey wasn’t going to drop it that easily. “What’s the big deal, Sarah? It must be something if he’s come out here in broad delight. He never visits, more’s the pity.” Audrey shrugged, something not connecting in the back of her mind. Was there an argument she didn’t know about? Maybe something was going on with Shanna or worse, Charlotte.

Sarah reluctantly handed her the pen she’s been holding and stepped over some flattened cardboard boxes currently separating her from the door and a clear escape route. Audrey just shook her head.

“Hey,” Audrey called our. “Is everything OK? You’ve been acting a little weird lately.”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She attempted to convince her in agreement. “I’ll see you in a bit. I’ll remember the coffee.”

He was sat in the furthest corner of the diner when she found him, nursing a black coffee that looked almost painfully strong. She felt more than a pang of guilt at herself for being the likely cause and she didn’t want to add to his concerns right now. He only looked up when she was close by the table and she felt a little better when he flashed her a grateful smile.

“Sorry. I know you’re busy. Audrey doesn’t seem to take no for an answer.”

“Oh don’t worry about it. She can be like that sometimes.” She tried to wave off his concerns as she sat down opposite him, hands eventually resting in her lap. “We probably need to talk anyway and I’ve been thinking. About us. It’s probably for the best if we try not to hang out together for a little while. I don’t wanna cause any issues but I’m not sure what to do about it. So. I know you like being at ours so I’ll just make myself scarce or something. I can work a little later or change shifts. It’s not problem, honestly. Obviously, things will be easier when you’re filming away or whatever but we can figure it out as we go.”

He looked at her, eyes still low under the brim of his cap. He couldn’t quite believe what she’d said and she could barely read the expression on his face. He didn’t blink, nothing. She naively believed if she just laid it all out in one breath it would be like ripping off a band aid, he’d nod in agreement, then they’d each go on their merry way.

“In the time since you left this morning, this is what you’ve come up with?” he questioned, an element of accusation lacing his tone. “That you’re just gonna ignore me?”

“No, not ignore-”

“-it’s kinda what it sounds like to me. That you’ve made your mind up and not bothered consulting me about it. You’ve not cared to see how I might feel.”

“God, no, that’s not it at all. I just thought it might be for the best.” she reasoned.

“The best for you, you mean.” He tilted his head to the side. She recognised this move from interviews where he became visibly frustrated with questions he had been expected to answer and she didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.

“Chris, I don’t know what else to suggest here.” She held her hands up in defence. “I’m just trying to keep everyone happy and I thought this would be the safest option but clearly I was wrong. I’m sorry if you think I’m deflecting or something.”

He wasn’t listening. “You seem to think these things only concern you. You forget other people are involved.”

“What?”

“I mean, you certainly have form for it.” He pressed, needling her a little bit more.

“Like what?”

“Well, Charlotte for one.” He shifted in his seat while looking down at the cup in front of him. He’d made little effort to drink it since it arrived but he found the smell fairly comforting.

“Oh wow.” She leaned back against the bench rest, despondent. “Thanks for that.”

He might have felt a little remorseful at his glibness if he thought about it but nevertheless, he remained firm, straightening up in his seat. He wasn’t going to let her pretend things weren’t existing now. “It’s like sometimes, no one else gets a look in even when they might wanna help. You didn’t even give me a chance, Sarah. You just left.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Oh OK well we’re even now.” He responded, sardonically. He finally stopped toying with his coffee and leaned into his hands, his elbows on the table. This was not going how he had hoped and he felt more and more guilty as seconds passed as he noticed the strain etched across her soft features. “Look, I’m sorry, OK? I’m just not really used to this.”

“You think I am?”

“Of course not.” He shook his head. He needed to place the train back on the track if this was going to get any better. He could sense her distancing himself from him, looking like she could run away at any moment. “I’m not used to working this hard.”

She met his glance briefly, his attempt at lightening the mood failing to land. He took a risk and smiled at her but that didn’t seem to do much either. It had barely been ten hours since they’d kissed, dangerously close to straying even further from the relative safety net of their friendship. He slowly rubbed a hand over his face, smoothing out his beard as he moved, not taking his eyes from her. He nudged the cup towards her, wordlessly offering her a drink.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He spoke under his breath. “I’m not sure what I am doing here and I don’t know what to do about any of this but one thing I do know is that I’ve been thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t be. So...” he held his hands open on the table in a contrite offering. “...that’s where I am.”

He had fully expected her to get up and leave but she stayed put. She looked like she was trying hard not to look at him, her shoulders down, thoughts clearly crossing her mind. Maybe if he had been this upfront at the start, they could have avoided this dance around each other but that was by the by at this point.

“I think you’re thinking about me, too.” He fixed her with a stare, half sincere and half wary of what her reaction would be. He knew she wasn’t the type to shout and scream but she was the type to ignore issues in the hope they would disappear on their own. This is where his confidence became a valuable asset and if this was going to work out, he would have to do it now. “Because you wouldn’t be talking to me about any of this if you weren’t.”

She considered this for a second. It pained her a little to admit he might be right. “Shit.” He reckoned he wasn’t supposed to hear that. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Chris. It’s not that I am denying it but there’s other people to consider. Shanna for one.”

“We’re not breaking any rules, Sarah. Things happen and maybe they happen for a reason. Right now, there’s something here I think we should explore. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know...”

“You do know, you’re just scared and that’s OK, too.” He tentatively reached his hand half way across the table hoping in vain she might reach back but she stayed still, hands back in her lap no doubt picking at her fingernails under the table like she did when she was anxious. “I think we need to cut ourselves some slack. There’s nothing wrong with finding a little comfort. Might even make ourselves feel better?”

Audrey had finally managed to find a quick window of opportunity for a break when she handed her order request to O’Brien. He at first looked baffled at how much kit they managed to breeze through in the 24 hours previous but Audrey merely shrugged. She was past the point of playing the bureaucracy game with glorified middle management. She grabbed her secret stash of cigarettes - the ones Michael didn’t know about - and headed outside to the ambulance bay. She bummed a lighter from Dan, a Paramedic on his break, and leaned her foot back against the brick wall. It was cold again but it was dry and worth it.

As she looked down the street rolling out either side of where she was stood, her eyes eventually landing on Sarah and Chris leaving the diner. It was unfair that he looked his good in a casual sweater and jeans that had seen better days. She had to admit that seeing him for a couple of minutes that day had so far been the highlight of an otherwise rough week. Indeed, she sometimes found herself envious of Sarah’s relationship with him and how she managed to not be affected by his colossal, other-worldly handsomeness. Lord know she couldn’t imagine being that strong. But as she saw the hug he gave her and the kiss he cautiously landed on her lips as they parted ways, maybe she didn’t have to wonder after all.

#chris evans fic #evans fic #Sarah Bernette #Chris Evans #chris evans x original female character #Clear The Area

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years ago

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Title: Colette’s

Author: mattzerella_sticks (me)

Artist: hit_the_books ( @hitthebooksposts )

Rating: M

Word Count: 112k

Posting Date: 10/28

Summary:

Castiel set up his own life far away from his hometown of Lebanon, in Pontiac with a daughter and a wife... and then he added a son and another wife when his first wife decided to leave him. Now, though, with two divorces under his belt and growing children, his life in Pontiac is too hectic to handle alone. Which means he’s returning to the one place he promised never to let his roots sink into again.

However Lebanon isn’t the same town as he remembers. The 90′s and its turbulent change washing over even this small, Connecticut hamlet. People have come and gone. Like Cain, the gruff, old owner of an out-of-the-way diner called Colette’s. In his place is a man who has transformed the failing restaurant into the new town center.

Dean Winchester was not what he expected, but exactly what he needed. As the year goes on, Dean and Castiel grow closer. Although nothing in Castiel’s life ever did run smooth. As amazing as Dean is, the man is an enigma. One Castiel can’t resist in figuring out.

Excerpt:

The sign stands strikingly as it always has; the post tall and painted the color of the sky, like the red letters on the white sign were floating above the building. Beside it rests the diner the name belongs to.

Through the wide glass windows Castiel sees a strange sight from what he recalls. Cain’s ownership saw a maximum of ten people inside the diner during its busiest hours. Now it looks like every booth is packed, and wait staff flit between guests with notepads and menus in hand. Walking inside, the vinyl waiting area has its own little group as patrons chat while hoping for others to finish up soon so they can eat.

Castiel’s jaw hangs noticeably and very unattractively as he takes all this in. “Wow,” he mutters, “your brother must be something else… to turn Colette’s into… this.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “He’s okay, could use an updated discography but everyone has their flaws.” He needles him in the side, “What do your kids look like?”

The elbow to his side reminds him why they were there in the first place, and his mind shifts from appreciation to scrutiny. Instead of answering him, Castiel squints across the room at every face - hoping to find one that’s familiar to him.

A man in soft flannel and a trucker’s cap pushes up from the counter, and that’s when Castiel finds Jack.

His boy sits, with a milkshake and a workbook opened in front of him, writing furiously if his look of concentration is anything to go by. Castiel’s body shudders with intense relief, his soul rolling over ten times inside his body knowing that Jack was safe and well.

Castiel strides across the room, cutting between tables and knocking waiters off their usual path as he walks the fastest route possible to his boy.

“Jack!” Castiel calls, choked up and voice rougher than usual, “Jack, thank God you’re okay!”

Jack perks up, twisting in his stool towards him. “Dad!” he greets him, waving frantically, “Dad! Did you know this place was here? They serve milkshakes and pie and burgers and -”

Castiel hugs Jack close to his chest, dropping a kiss to the crown of his head. “I’m so sorry I forgot to pick you up. I promise it won’t happen again.”

He giggles in Castiel’s grip, squirming around. “It’s okay, Claire said you might do that. S’why she came to get me!”

Remembering his other child, Castiel begins the search anew. “Where is she?” he asks, “Did Claire drop you off? Or is she in the bathroom, or -”

A hand taps at his shoulder and he whirls around to face the owner. A man with brilliant green eyes and a soft grin that makes the freckles on his cheeks bounce as he speaks says, “Claire’s over in one of the booths with Alex.” Then he points somewhere nearby where his daughter covers her mouth as an unexpected spray of milkshake squirts out her nose, the brunette across from her nearly falling from her seat.

Loose ends tied up, Castiel’s heart descends from his throat to its cozy place in its chest. He sags against the counter, sliding into the unoccupied stool. “You’re both here… good. Then I guess I didn’t mess things up too badly.” Castiel drags a hand down his face, glancing towards the man behind the counter and meeting his curious gaze. “You probably think I’m a bad father, don’t you?”

“With the way you nearly bowled over my staff to get here?” the man chuckles, “Nah, you’re a good one.”

Castiel apologizes, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. “Usually I’m more put together than this…” He trails off, hoping the other man would fill in the blank.

Jack does for him. “This is Dean!” he helpfully supplies, “He’s been helping me with my math homework.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise, casting them onto the other man who has stolen Castiel’s pink cheeks for his own purpose. “Really?”

“He’s super smart with numbers - almost as good as you are!”

“Numbers are numbers,” Dean says, “At least there aren’t any letters yet.”

“Still you didn’t have to help,” he tells him, holding a hand out, “Castiel.”

“Dean,” he repeats, shaking his hand. “Although,” Dean continues, squeezing his fingers, “you already knew that, because of Jack and…”

“Dean!” Sam barks from nearby, “let the man have his hand back.”

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn fanfic #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #Jack Kline #Claire Novak #dcbb 2019 #dcbb #dcbb2019promo #dcbb 2019 promo

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danfanciesphil · 6 years ago

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too high (can’t come down) by @danfanciesphil

Suspending himself 7,000 feet above the rest of the world seems likely to be a sure-fire way for Dan to escape normality, and isolate himself for the foreseeable future. The Secret of the Alps, a small hotel tucked into the side of the Swiss mountains is too niche for most avid adventurers to have heard of, making it the perfect place for Dan to work as he sorts through his problems. Unfortunately, privacy is a coveted thing, and as Dan soon finds out, the hotel harbours one guest who values it more than most.

Rating: Explicit Tags: Enemies to lovers, snow, mountains, skiing, hostility, slow burn, secrecy, longing, repression, nobility, classism, cheating, eventual sex

Ao3 Link

Chapter One Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Mr Novokoric doesn’t cross paths with Dan for the rest of the day, so Dan doesn’t get a second opportunity to gawp at an entitled semi-celebrity, not that he has much of a desire to, after their first encounter. It’s probably for the best that Dan avoids him for a while, given that he’s still shimmering with rage. How was he supposed to know that this man is some sort of Royal exception to the hotel rules? Just because he made a mistake doesn’t mean he deserved to be talked to with such... disdain.

So, devoid of any further unpleasant - albeit unnervingly handsome - strangers, the rest of Dan’s third day passes without much to note. Mona had been right about the days here being pretty much the same. He imagines it will soon become hard to distinguish one day from the next. He’ll have to use the evening film as a marker so he can remember which days he did what, though that won’t be easy either, as Mona has an apparent love for heist movies, which aren’t known for their vastly dissimilar plots.

Dan heads to bed weary, wondering how long it will take to fall into a routine, so he can drift through the days without thinking. As he fumbles for his key, he notes the light on in the next room again, and pauses. He spends most of his days alone here, either in the suite on the top floor, or out on the slopes somewhere. If Mr Novo-dick is really in the room next to his, then that presumably means the music Dan has been hearing is coming from him. At least that means Dan isn’t developing a slow schizophrenia, but it does seem odd. Dan wouldn’t have had the man who shouted at him this morning pegged as a Chopin enthusiast.

Putting it to the back of his mind for now, Dan goes inside and gets ready for bed, only realising he’s being especially quiet when he’s already in his pyjamas, sat under the covers, ears staining to hear something above the silence. As the wait stretches on, Dan feels the familiar weight of his own guilt, failure and misery closing in, and soon the first of his tears begin to drip from his lashes. Soon, he is full on sniffling, eyes streaming, mouth pulled down in an unattractive curl.

And like clockwork, a melody begins, drifting slowly and calmly through the wooden wall. It’s soothing and delicate, making Dan’s sniffs lessen, and then stop altogether. He sighs in relief, settling back into his pillows, and lets the music buffet him gently into a long, deep sleep.

The next couple of days pass in a similar vein. Dan is woken early by the extreme light pouring into his room. He drags himself downstairs and into the kitchen, where Louise teases him for ten minutes straight while he drinks the coffee she makes him, and eats whatever delicious food she’s prepared. He sets up for breakfast out on the balcony with Mona, and serves the four guests that attend, all of whom tell him he’s a ‘charming’ and ‘polite’ young man.

In the intervening hours between breakfast and lunch, he cleans the guests’ bedrooms and changes the beds, tidies the communal areas, and if he’s feeling brave, goes outside to sweep the area around the hot tub and wipe down the benches in the sauna. He and Mona then serve lunch, eat whatever Louise has left over, then do a general stock take. After that, they serve dinner, eat dinner, and finally set up the evening film. During any downtime, Dan sits at the front desk, answering the phone when it occasionally rings, booking in new guests, or granting the requests of current ones. At the end of the long days, Dan falls onto his bed, sometimes managing to worm out of his clothes, sometimes not, and makes a valiant attempt at crying himself to sleep. Inevitably however, that light, classical music starts up before he can get too lost in his own sadness, and he finds himself floating away with it, his cheeks sticky with dried tears when he wakes up the next morning, ready to repeat the whole thing again.

He’s never exactly rushed off his feet, but he rarely has time to be bored, apart from late in the evening, when Mona leaves him at the desk, and he wiles away the hours until his shift ends playing on his phone, or reading one of the books left for guests on the mezzanine lounge.

For three days, Dan doesn’t speak again with Mr Novokoric, though he does glimpse a flash of crimson from his window each morning, and occasionally catches sight of him wandering through the hotel, on his way back from the hot tub, or clasping a cup of coffee as he sneaks back into his room. On his fifth day, Dan watched from the desk as Mr Stevens - a middle aged guest with a receding hairline and an aversion to wearing anything except a robe - accost Mr Novokoric in the lobby to discuss the weather. Somewhat hilariously, Mr Novokoric appeared to be too polite to simply turn his back on the man, and had stood for eight patient minutes, responding in short, stunted sentences, and looking extremely uncomfortable. It had been the highlight of Dan’s day.

On Saturday, Dan’s seventh day, just before noon, Dan is sat at the front desk, wondering if Louise might have finished making lunch yet, and if he could go up and see, when the front door slams open, and Mr Novokoric hurtles through it, still wearing his skis. Dan can only watch, mouth agape, as the man awkwardly but determinedly slides his way into the lobby before reaching down, muttering angrily, and undoing the skis one at a time. He then proceeds to kick each one hard, sending them skittering across the wooden floor, and into the far wall. It’s reckless, idiotic behaviour, and if it had been anyone else, Dan would not have hesitated to call them out on it. The skis are heavy, and the walls are made of wood, for christ’s sake. Dan can see the chips they’ve made from all the way across the room.

Mr Novokoric does not, apparently, care about this. He marches across the room towards Dan, pulling off his thick gloves and tossing them to the floor as he goes. If he thinks Dan is picking them up for him he can forget about it. By the time Mr Novokoric is at the desk, Dan’s mouth is a set line, and he’s having trouble keeping himself from curling his fingers into fists.

“Sir, is there something the matter-”

“I need to use your phone,” Mr Novokoric barks. “Now.”

Dan thinks about saying no, or refusing, mostly because he wants to piss this asshole off, but his years of customer service training override his petulance. “Certainly, Sir,” he says through gritted teeth, then reaches underneath the desk, and lifts the corded telephone up onto it. “Go right ahead.”

Mr Novokoric snatches the receiver at once, and immediately begins punching in numbers with such vigorous jabbing motions that Dan fears for the keys. He lifts the receiver to his ear, fingers drumming restlessly on the lip of the desk. He turns to Dan, incredulous.

“Are you just going to stand there and listen to my private call?”

Heat surges into Dan’s cheeks, mostly born of the intense anger that sweeps through him. He doesn’t trust himself to reply, so he simply turns from the sight of the man in front of him, and begins pretending to be engrossed in the guest information database on the hotel’s only ancient computer.

For a moment, Dan can still feel eyes on him, and is convinced he’s about to be shouted at further, but then he hears Mr Novokoric’s voice say “about bloody time!”

The voice on the other end of the line, which Dan can just about hear, replies, “who is this?”

Dan has to hide his smirk in his hand.

“It’s your husband, you wank-stain,” comes Mr Novokoric’s hushed, furious response, which has Dan’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t recognise my voice.”

“Phil?” the disembodied voice says, vaguely. “This isn’t the number you were calling from a minute ago.”

It’s taking an extreme amount of effort for Dan to keep his eyes fixed on the screen in front of him. He tries valiantly to appear as though he’s engrossed in reading the Stevens’ guest information. It seems that under ‘special requests’, Mr and Mrs Stevens had asked for ‘an extra robe each’.

“That’s because you pissed me off so much that I dropped my phone down a mountain!”

There’s a pause in the conversation, and then the responding voice says, a touch amusedly, “a little harsh to blame me for that, darling. What could I possibly have said that would upset you so much?”

“I’m upset because you cancelled on me, again!” Mr Novokoric snaps. “I can’t believe you, Nikolai. How long are you going to leave me up here at the peak of Mount-fucking-Whatever? Are you playing out some warped, Rapunzel love story for the media?”

There’s something vaguely pathetic lurking beneath Mr Novokoric’s words. Dan squints at the screen, not seeing it, and strains to hear whatever is being said on the other end of the line.

“Darling, you know I’d have you with me in a heartbeat if I could,” the voice says, sounding slow and distracted. “I’ve just been drowning in all these meetings and dull media-stints. You’d be bored stiff if you were here. It won’t be much longer. There’s that benefit thingy in a week or so, right? You should probably come along to that. I’ll send the helicopter to collect you.”

“Oh I should probably come, should I?” Mr Novokoric snarls. “Good to know that, as we’re married, it’s probably a good idea for us to be together at least one fucking night of the year. You know, most married couples actually live in the same house. We’re not even in the same country most of the time!”

“It’s for the best that you stay out of the public eye for a bit, Phil. We’ve spoken about this.”

“Even if that’s true, Nik, you said you’d take a few days off to spend some time with me-”

“I have to go, darling, I’m sorry,” the voice says. Dan might be imagining it, but he thinks he hears a splashing noise, followed by a shriek of laughter. “I’ll see you in a week.”

“What’s that noise? Nikolai, are you in the Ibiza apartment again-”

He cuts off as the dull note of the dial tone replaces the other person’s voice. Dan chews the inside of his cheek, and sneaks a glance up as Mr Novokoric places the receiver down, slowly, and turns to lean against the desk. At first, Dan is smug; he wishes he were able to hang up so brutally on him, but on closer inspection, he notices that Mr Novokoric actually appears to be crying. At least, his bright blue eyes are glistening. Traitorously, Dan’s good nature wins out, and he feels his heart squeeze in dumb sympathy. Dick-brain or not, Dan can’t just sit by while a guest he’s employed to look after cries right beside him. He plucks the box of tissues from the shelf behind him.

“Ex-excuse me, Mr Novokoric,” Dan says, swallowing a wash of pride for getting the name right on his first out-loud try. He holds out the box of tissues even though the other man doesn’t acknowledge him. “Here, take these.”

Mr Novokoric turns to Dan coldly, snatching the box from him. “I’m not crying,” he insists, but yanks a tissue from the box anyway, scrubbing it over his face.

“Oh, no,” Dan says, nodding in complete agreement with this outright lie. He really is an absurdly patient and talented customer service worker. “I just thought…” he scrambles for a viable explanation. “Well, I don’t know about you but I think the, er, high altitude of this place does something weird to my sinuses. I’m blubbering every night,” he jokes, thinking that the peppering of truth might give his ramble a little weight.

It would be so easy, Dan thinks, for Mr Novokoric to accept Dan’s fumbling excuse for the offer of tissues, to blame the thin air for his tears and never speak about it again. But evidently the man has a defensive arsenal so loaded and precarious it can be triggered with the slightest wrong step.

So, Mr Novokoric’s expression hardens, and he says, “so it’s you that I can hear wailing on the other side of my wall, is it? You should keep these for yourself.” He shoves the tissues back into Dan’s hands. “Maybe then I'll actually get some sleep.”

Like he’s been whipped, Dan shrinks back, attempting to swallow the burning lump of coal now lodged in his throat. Any response he might have had, stupidly kind or not, dies on his tongue. For a split second, he imagines he sees a flash of regret pass over Mr Novokoric’s features, but then he is stalking away, skis lying forgotten against the wall, and stomping up the stairs. Dan sits heavily down in his chair, and tries not to let the flames of angry, hurt humiliation burn him to ash.

That night, Dan does his best to muffle his sobs in his pillow. They’re worse tonight, because the embarrassment of knowing he’s being heard, that he’s been heard this whole time, only makes him feel worse. If he could halt the tears altogether for Mr Novokoric’s sake he would, but nightfall has always been the time where his resolve leaves him. With nothing to distract him, Dan can only dwell on everything that’s wrong. At ten past one, however, the music seems to know to start up anyway; it’s baffling, obviously, but the only explanation Dan can think of is that the music is either unrelated to Dan’s crying, or being played to drown it out. He tries not to be grateful for it, knows that before long he’ll rely on it to send him off, but in the end he can’t help letting the swells of notes wash over him, and press him into unconsciousness.

Just after lunch has been cleared on Sunday, Dan is caught in a pleasant but rather over-detailed discussion with Mr and Mrs Stevens about their show-dog, Sherbet, when Louise calls him over from the serving hatch. He excuses himself politely, leaving the middle-aged couple to their game of Uno, and walks up to her.

“What’s up with you today?” she asks as soon as he’s within earshot, then places a mug of coffee in front of him. “You’ve got a face like a trodden foot.”

He manages a smile, but he doubts it’s very convincing. “Just tired,” he says, picking up the mug. “Thanks.”

She slaps his wrist, and he almost spills some. “That’s not for you, foot-face.”

“Oh.” He lowers it, glancing back at the Stevens’s. “Did they order…?”

“It’s for Phil,” she says, briskly wiping up the coffee Dan spilled with a wad of kitchen roll. For a moment, Dan just looks at her blankly, and she raises an eyebrow. “Mr Novokoric.”

“Oh,” Dan says, and smartly places the mug back down, stomach squeezing.

For whatever reason, his abrupt action makes Louise laugh. “Christ, he’s not a yeti, Dan. Anyway, he’s been looking for you all morning, so I thought you could take this to him.”

Exhausted as he is, it takes the words a few tries to penetrate Dan’s addled mind. “Wait, what?” he asks eventually, sure he must have misheard. “Looking for me?”

“Yes,” Louise replies, like this is a perfectly normal occurence. “Mona mentioned it earlier. Apparently he was hoping to catch you at breakfast but you weren’t serving.”

“I… I was adjusting the chlorine levels in the hot tub,” Dan says, feeling as though he’s stood on the edge of a crumbling cliff. Mr Novokoric is looking for him, specifically? Had he not made Dan feel awful enough yesterday? Is he looking for another chance to brutally attack his ego for a trivial reason? “Do I have to take this to him?”

Louise looks at him strangely. “Are you scared of him or something? I know he’s technically Royalty, but he’s just a regular guy underneath, Dan. Not much older than you. I know it’s a bit daunting at first, but don’t worry. He’s pretty chill.”

This makes Dan snort. “I’ll try and remember that next time he’s verbally abusing me.”

“Yeah, he’s a hot-head at times,” Louise allows. “I remember my first few encounters with him being on the snippy side. You’ve just got to get past that though, he doesn’t mean it. I just think he’s a bit… frustrated.” This makes Dan’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and Louise laughs at her own phrasing. “Not like that. Well, maybe like that. I mean, he’s here for weeks at a time, supposedly having ensnared this fabulous young hottie. But where is this prize pig, y’know?”

“Ibiza,” Dan mutters, and when Louise sends him a puzzled look, he picks up the coffee mug, sensing defeat. “Where am I taking this, then?”

“He was heading for the gym, last I saw.” Louise watches him make his way towards the stairs, being extra careful not to spill any coffee lest he feel the wrath upon its delivery. “Dan?” she calls out, making him pause. “Be nice, okay?”

“Me be nice?” Dan exclaims, and turns to shoot her an incredulous look, but Louise’s expression is unmoved.

“Just let him say what he’s got to say.”

“Let him belittle me, you mean?”

Louise sighs heavily, turning away from him, and Dan is left in the middle of the mezzanine with a steaming mug of coffee, and a niggling sense that there’s still some great secret etched into the wooden walls of this place that he still hasn’t been entirely privy to.

Dan has only been in the gym once, on his first day, which is a perfect allegory for his entire mentality around gyms in general. From outside the door, he can hear a rhythmic pounding noise, like someone is punching the shit out of something. It’s unsurprising, then, that as he enters the gym, he sees Mr Novokoric in the corner by the mirrors, punching the shit out of a big cylindrical bag. For obvious reasons, this sight does not instil Dan with a desperate urge to go over and interact with Mr Novokoric, who is wearing headphones, and appears not to have noticed Dan come in.

Giving him a wide berth, Dan slowly approaches, intending to place the mug of coffee down on a nearby surface and escape quickly before Mr Novokoric has the chance to either hit him or yell at him some more. Instead, what happens is this: Dan attempts to edge along the wall to put the coffee down, and at the same moment, Mr Novokoric draws back his elbow and catches Dan in the arm, jolting him. Louise makes a good cup of coffee, Dan will admit. As it soaks through the fabric of his shirt sleeve, however, he can’t help but wish it was a little less scalding.

“Fuck,” Dan shouts, just as Mr Novokoric jumps back in surprise, ripping his headphones from his ears. He’s panting and damp, strands of his jet black hair sticking to his forehead, making it look like he’s got a stupid noughties side-fringe.

“Careful!” Mr Novokoric exclaims, as if Dan hasn’t already done the stupid thing. Surprisingly, he takes the mug of hot coffee from Dan’s hand. “Are you hurt?”

Dan shakes out his sleeve, wincing. “I’ll live. Sorry for startling you.”

“You should announce yourself next time,” he says, like a wanker. Like Dan calling out ‘whaddup it’s me your boy Dan’ would have done any good at all when he was blaring what Dan thinks is... Fall Out Boy? Really?... through his headphones. “I could have really hurt you.”

Doubtful of this statement, Dan’s eyes flick down to Mr Novokoric’s biceps. Begrudgingly, as he surveys the shallow valleys of his arm muscles, Dan admits to himself that out of the two of them, there’s no question of who would best the other. Dan’s never been more glad of his own long sleeves.

“Yeah,” Dan mutters, wanting nothing more than to scurry away to his room and recover from this incident with the excuse of changing his wet shirt. “Sorry, Sir. Won’t happen again. Enjoy your coffee.”

“Wait,” he says as Dan turns to go. “I wanted to speak with you.”

Oh, God. It’s true. Louise wasn’t pulling his leg, it seems. Dan seriously considers just legging it. He could potentially feign a third degree burn from the coffee and sprint back through the doors. “Um, yeah,” Dan says, his own cowardice feeling vaguely nauseating as it curdles in his stomach. “She mentioned.”

“Yesterday, when I used the phone at reception-”

“I’m really sorry that I’ve been keeping you awake,” Dan blurts, badly needing this to be over now. “I never meant to-”

“I owe you an apology,” Mr Novokoric says, which stuns Dan into silence. For a minute, all he can do is stare into those two darting blue eyes, utterly perplexed. Mr Novokoric sips his coffee self-consciously. “It was rude and completely unacceptable for me to hone in on something so personal. I have no idea what your circumstances might be. I was upset, and I lashed out. So,” he sticks his hand out, awkwardly, into the space between them. “I’m sorry. Can we put it behind us?”

Dan stares at his outstretched hand as if it were a foreign beast. Then, belatedly remembering societal norms, he reaches out and takes it. “W-well, I suppose-”

“Great,” Mr Novokoric says, shaking Dan’s hand quickly, once, up and down, and then dropping it like it’s coated in poison.

Dan stares at Mr Novokoric’s back as he sets the coffee down and pulls his gloves back on. Could it be that there’s a shade of decency to this man? Not once did it cross Dan’s mind that the reason he might be looking for Dan was to apologise.

“Yeah, great,” Dan echoes softly, and Mr Novokoric turns, eyebrows raised, as if he’s surprised Dan is still standing there.

“You can go now,” he says, puzzled, and turns his back.

All thoughts that Mr Novokoric is anything less than a rude, entitled bitch flies out of the gym window. Dan rolls his eyes, shaking his sleeve dry as he turns to leave.

(Chapter Four!)

#phan #phanfic #too high #enemies to lovers au

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sunshineandstorm · 6 years ago

Text

Hey Jude (Sam Kiszka x Reader - Fluff)

Here you were this morning, phone in hand, ignoring the rest of the world.

@gunpowdergelatin: So how's the weather there?

@ClinkFloyd: Gloomy. It's been raining non-stop since this morning.

@gunpowdergelatin: Really? Wow. It's literally the same here.

@ClinkFloyd: It's okay, though. Your presence makes up for it.

You couldn't help but grin like a mindless idiot as soon as you finished reading the last message he sent. You leaned against your locker, unsure of what to do with the butterflies in your stomach.

How were you supposed to respond to a message like that?

Too busy racking your brain for a decent reply, you were snapped out of your trance when your best friend clapped her hands loudly in front of you.

"Jesus, Grace. You startled me." you say, clutching your chest.

"Bitch, I had to. Why were you grinning so hard? Did Harry Styles finally top the reader in this smashing fic that you're reading?"

Bold of her to assume you were reading fan fiction. Whatever made you smile from ear to ear was undoubtedly so much better than the feels trip you occasionally take in the land of make believe.

"Shut up. I'm not you." you retorted, not wanting her to think you were still stuck in that phase.

Grace furrowed her eyebrows as she tried her hardest to guess the reason why you were beaming. You started walking the hallway to your room, her, following closely behind. The moment she kept up with your pace, she began pestering you with all the questions you answered unenthusiastically.

"I wasn't watching a rom-com either. Just forget it."

"No, I'm not gonna stop until you tell me what happened." she insisted, refusing to back down.

You groan as your walking came to a halt, turning to your stubborn best friend beside you. You contemplated telling her for a while, afraid that she'll think you're stupid for smiling because of a sweet message you received.

Well, it's not like you didn't have the right to. It's just that the person who sent it to you is someone you absolutely know nothing about. You know that he's your age, a classic rock fan just like you are, and that he loves music just as much as you do, but much to your chagrin, that's the bloody extent of it.

You have no idea what he looks like or where he's from. Hell, you don't even know his name. You mentally pat yourself on the back for not knowing basic information about this guy that you've been talking to for a month now, just telling yourself that neither of you bothers to inquire because of how good the conversations get as a sop. And even though you were deprived of his personal info, you did know his deepest and weirdest thoughts, making you feel closer to him in a way.

But if you say you're not a little interested about his personal life, then you'd be lying.

You averted your gaze from the ground to Grace, sighing as you decide to just give in and spill. It's not like she didn't already know everything about you anyway.

"Fine. It's Jude. He said something sweet. Are you happy now?" you shared, immediately regretting your decision as soon as more questions were raised.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. You're still talking to that guy?"

"So?"

Damn it.

You knew it. You knew you shouldn't have brought him up.

"So? Y/N, you hardly know this guy!"

"But he and I are just talking!"

"Okay, yeah, sure. But occasionally, you flirt with each other and maybe even sext. Bitch, how can I be sure you're not dating this guy through Twitter?"

Your eyes widen at her allegations. You were stunned, partly because she's accusing you of something she would do, but mostly because she's scolding you for it instead of supporting you.

Normally, Grace would tell you that you're too uptight or that you need to let loose and have fun, so having her nag you like she's doing at the moment greatly astounds you. You suppose she's just looking out for you like any best friend would, but she tends to be more impulsive than you, so she's really left you confounded right now.

"Chill, mom. We do nothing but talk about dead or old musicians. And personally, I don't see anything wrong with that." you said, defending yourself.

Grace sighed, admitting to herself that your reasoning made sense, but she still found the whole set-up ridiculous nonetheless.

"Okay, but didn't it ever occur to you that this dude's probably a two?"

You gave her a look of disbelief.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Dude, if he's a ten, then his icon would've been a picture of himself instead of Jim freakin' Morrison."

She has a point, but you were certain that yours is a far better one.

"Well, has it ever occured to you that maybe he wants to keep his personal life private? Stan accounts exist for a goddamn reason, Grace, and it's not so he can show the world how good-looking or unattractive he is."

True enough, fan accounts are dedicated to any phenomenon that floats your boat. Grace didn't have trouble understanding this. She just so happens to find the idea of you, conversing with a total stranger on a daily basis really dumb that she's not holding back from giving you a list of reasons why you shouldn't do so anymore.

"And it doesn't matter if he turns out to be an ugly guy. I'm not dating him, nor do I have any plans to." you added, hoping that she'd stop bombarding you with her arguments.

How concerned she is of your actions is making you feel like you're sinful, and as if you're making the biggest mistake of your life. You thought you've already made her understand your explanation and believe your statement, but you were wrong. She wouldn't let the issue slide, which is unlikely.

"You don't even know what his actual name is!" she said, completely disregarding what you've said prior to her comment.

Another thing that bugs you is that you had no choice but to refer to him as Jude since he has "Hey Jude" as his Twitter name. It's probably not the most practical decision you've ever made, but the lack of essential information sharing between the two of you has prompted you to resort to that solution.

"Oh, come on. As long as I'm not crossing the line, then I'm not doing anything wrong! Can we just drop it and talk about other stuff?"

"Fine." Grace huffed, accepting defeat.

"I was going to drop some bomb on you before things went haywire anyway." she informed you, not wanting to argue with you over this mysterious dude you call "Jude" anymore.

You inched closer to her, having forgotten about Jude for a second as you anticipated the juicy gossip she's about to tell you. You grabbed her arm and shook it, urging her to spare the details already.

"Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Chill, baby cakes. It's about Sam."

Samuel Francis Kiszka. That perfect assortment of chromosomes. Oh, how greatly you loved his long brown locks, his glowing skin, and his prepossessing smile. You've had a crush on that boy since forever, but you only ever talked when you needed to and he never really looked your way. Your interest in him dwindled the moment you interacted with Jude on Twitter, but it's not like you're a loss to him.

You, losing your feelings for him does not affect him in any way since he could care less about you. And besides, he always has a string of girls, pining after him wherever he chooses to go.

"Oh. What about him?"

Typically, you're all ears when literally anyone has anything Sam-related to say, but having Jude to talk to has really made you less interested in him.

If Grace noticed how indifferent you seemed after she mentioned Sam, she chose to ignore it.

"He already has a new girl. I wouldn't say they're dating, though, 'cause I overheard his conversation with Danny and learned that he and this chick are just talking as of now. But according to Sam, things are getting pretty serious." she said as a matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Good for him."

Now it's Grace's turn to give you a look of disbelief. She didn't expect you would react this way. This is the first time she's seen you so nonchalant about Sam. She tried to appear as unsurprised as possible, but her facial expression betrayed her, finding it hard to close her mouth that's currently agape. Never in her wildest dreams did she think you wouldn't be bothered by the idea of Sam, dating someone else that's not you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" you asked, blinking, confused by her question.

"The last time you found out Sam has a girlfriend, you bawled your eyes out. And now you're out here, unaffected, and saying shit like, 'good for him'? What kind of supernatural being possessed you?"

You chuckled. You tried to give her an answer, but you couldn't find any. You truly didn't know what happened. It could be the fact that you ran out of feelings for Sam because your relationship with him never really progressed after all these years. On the other hand, it could be the fact that you met Jude and grew awfully close to him.

"I don't know. I think it's just that... I found another person to give my attention to."

Grace scoffed, looking pretty disgusted by your response.

"Please don't tell me you're referring to this son of a bitch named Jude."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but yes." you said, dragging her inside your classroom.

"Seriously, Y/N. Eww."

"I don't care what you think, G."

Settling into your seat, you were alarmed upon realizing that you didn't reply to Jude's last message. You quickly fished your phone out of your pocket to send him a message, not wanting him to think he made things weird. The two of you continued to message each other until your physics teacher entered your classroom. It's funny how you didn't only have the gloomy weather in common for both your annoyingly punctual teachers arrived at the same time.

Your mind temporarily shut out thoughts of him as you tried your best to answer this headache of a quiz that was given to you.

- - -

"You guys are still talking?" Grace asked, exasperated, swallowing the food she was chewing.

"We are."

"Grace, seriously. We're just talking. You're worried for nothing." you tried, convincing your best friend to stop giving you dirty looks.

"Fine. What are you guys talking about right now?"

You smiled even though she just rolled her eyes at you, knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist you, no matter how insane she thought you were being.

"He just asked me what my favorite John Denver song is."

"The Music Is You? Sounds cheesy." Grace said after peeking at your conversation with Jude in your phone.

"Trust me, G. Every guy you've dated is way cheesier."

Grace was just about to say something snarky when Sam had an outburst. You and Grace exchanged looks before diverting your attention to Sam and his friends. Thank God you can hear them perfectly from your lunch table.

"Oh, what is it now?" Danny asked, just as annoyed as Grace was a minute ago.

"Her favorite John Denver song is The Music Is You!" Sam answered, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Oh.

My.

God.

Fuck.

Both you and Grace's eyes shot wide open, Sam's words leaving the both of you dumbfounded. Is this really happening? You were too shocked to tell.

You couldn't move. You lost the capability to speak. Your brain won't even form sentences, let alone words right now as it refused to process what your ears had heard. Suddenly, all that you felt was this abnormal pounding sensation in your chest.

If you thought Sam Kiszka couldn't make you weak anymore, you've never been so wrong.

- - -

A/N: PART TWO.

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happiness-and-klainebows · 6 years ago

Text

Love on the Star

Over seven billion people in this world and I'm the one whose dreams come true. It couldn't have been someone else who had much more exciting dreams, no it had to be me. The boy who has the most basic dreams ever, get on Broadway, win a Tony, and maybe start a fashion line. Oh wait, I forgot the most basic part, I want to meet Blaine Anderson.

Blaine Anderson is an alternative singer who sings from the soul. He is the lead singer of my favourite band and I am lucky enough to have tickets to one of his concerts. Me and my best friend Rachel Berry will be in the front row of his first concert back in his home state of Ohio. Blaine was named the best singer of our generation and I have to agree with that.

Rachel and I both graduated from high school last spring and decided that we were going to take a semester or two off and go to NYU in the spring. Both of us were going for musical theatre, and we would be living together in an apartment. It was going to be fabulous!

At the moment I am in my room doing my nightly skincare routine since I most likely will not want to do it after the concert and I need to keep my porcelain skin free of blemishes. Rachel and I had the entire night planned out, and it was going to be the best night of my life!

Suddenly I hear the doorbell ring, must be Rachel. I yell to Finn that I'll get it, if he gets it then I will never get Rachel out of the house. You see, Rachel has a huge crush on Finn and has since sixth grade. Finn is my step brother and became it when my dad and his mom got married back when we were juniors in high school. Finn is this big oafy football player who surprisingly sings amazingly but dances like a giraffe learning to walk..

I throw open the door and sure enough there is Rachel in all of her kindergartener glory. She has long brown hair with blunt bangs across her forehead, a nose like a beak, and cheekbones that could cut glass. The only thing that makes her unattractive is her clothing, she dresses like a kindergartener on picture day.

“Hey Rachel,” I say blandly as Rachel throws her arms around me.

“Kurt! So I just got this new sweater just for this occasion and I thought I would ask the expert what he thought of it!” I am in no way an expert, I just love fashion and read vogue more than the average person..

“It totally looks fabulous!” I say in what I hope is a convincing voice, I may hate her fashion taste but I don’t want her to know that.

“So what’s the occasion?” I look behind me to see Finn standing there.

“We’re going to see Blaine Anderson in concert,” I try to explain, “we have VIP tickets and it’s in Columbus so we have to leave now to get there on time.”

“Okay, well have fun then,” Finn exits the room slowly while staring at Rachel, I’ve begun to suspect that he likes her back.

“You ready Rachel?” I say as I turn back to her.

“Absolutely!” We turn toward the door and head out toward my black Navigator.

I climb into the driver’s seat of the car and turn on the engine. Rachel immediately hooks up her phone so that she can start playing Blaine Anderson songs. This was gonna be a long car ride of singing and listening to Rachel’s self-absorbed babble.

We pull up to the concert venue after dinner and checking into the hotel. Once I find a parking spot I climb out of the car excitedly. I am shaking with anticipation as I open the door for Rachel. I grab her hand and run up to the door of the venue. When we get there I hand the attendant our tickets and I release Rachel’s hand in order to go through the metal detectors at the entrance. We get through and find our seats. We are right in front of where Blaine will be.

By the time the warm up bands are over the venue is full. I am kind of feeling claustrophobic and so I sit down, Blaine will be out in around five minutes. The five minutes go by quickly and at this point I am feeling extremely claustrophobic. I have a headache and feel like I may pass out and throw up. Rachel hasn’t noticed this and is instead jumping up and down in anticipation. The lights dim and I see a figure enter the stage through the floor, which has opened up. I stand up immediately and start yelling as well, almost all of the claustrophobic feelings dissipating my body as I see Blaine on stage singing.

At the moment Blaine is backstage getting ready for whatever song is up next. The lights are getting gradually darker as we wait for Blaine, without him onstage I have nothing to focus my attention on. The claustrophobic feelings are coming back and this time they are so much worse. Rachel turns to me and yells, ”Are you okay?” there is no way I’m yelling back so I just nod my head weakly. She seems to take this as an affirmative answer and just goes back to screeching with every other fan in the arena.

Soon I could see a shape on stage, it was short and I could just see the hint of curls on its head. Just from this outline though, I knew exactly who it was. Blaine was back onstage, but this time the feelings of claustrophobia did not dissipate completely.

The opening chords to the next song came on and the lights went completely out. Then they turned back on slightly and suddenly I saw a figure in front of me. The figure had dark hair that appeared to have been gelled but now curls were springing out all over the place, he wore an incredibly over the top gold suit, and I knew his name to be Blaine Anderson.

I couldn't breathe, I felt like I could pass out. He seemed to notice this and pulled me into a tight hug while singing the opening lines, once he pulled back he stopped singing and pointed the microphone towards me and said, ”Sing,”

I nearly passed out right then and there.

I sing the next lines much higher than he would have, I have an abnormally high voice for an eighteen year old boy, so when I sing I’m a countertenor, I was the only one in my glee club at McKinley.

When I finish singing he turns the microphone towards himself and starts singing again, pulling me into another hug. This time he starts to venture down the row further, hugging or giving handshakes to everyone who wants one. The claustrophobic feeling is completely gone now thanks to Blaine.

I can just faintly see Blaine as he belts out the last note of the song, at this point he has made his way to a piano. Soon the piano is being lifted up into the air. I am in wonder as he sings on this piano. How could this eighteen year old be singing at a sold out concert on a floating piano? It was just crazy.

I look back up at Blaine and see him staring directly at me as he sings the song. He's singing a cover of Teenage Dream by Katy Perry, I can remember that this was the first song I ever heard him sing, it's also the song that he got famous for singing. It seems like he is singing it to me but I know logically he isn't. He doesn't even know I exist.

The concert is over now, it's time for me to meet the one person that will completely change my life. Me and Rachel are following the security guards who are leading the small group of people with backstage passes. We flash the guards our passes and walk past into the room where Blaine will be. The guards have left to go get him while all of us get into a line. Rachel and I are in the middle of the line, which means that we have at least a half hour to wait. They take each group to hang out with him for ten minutes, and there are only six separate groups. Finally it’s Rachel and I’s turn to meet him. We walk up to the guards as Blaine says goodbye to the last group, my heart is racing as I see his eyes flick over to mine. His hazel eyes widen as they land on my glasz ones. I feel my heart flutter as Blaine grabs my hand and shakes it.

“My name is Kurt,” I whisper in a barely audible voice.

“Blaine. Obviously,” I can’t believe that I’m actually talking to Blaine Anderson, I feel weightless. Then Rachel ruins the moment with her loud mouth.

“My name is Rachel Barbra Berry! I am like your biggest fan. Well except maybe Kurt here, he's been listening to you since you sang Teenage Dream on your Myspace page!” Rachel continues to ramble on as I glare at her. Blaine is now paying attention to her, and I hadn’t realized that we were walking to another room until now. Finally, Rachel stops rambling. Blaine turns to me and asks how I am, this starts a conversation that lasts the full ten minutes with Rachel butting in every time she feels necessary, which is every ten seconds.

Finally our ten minutes are up and we have to leave. As we are gathering our stuff to leave Blaine yells something out.

“Wait! You guys didn’t get anything signed!” that’s when I realize that we didn’t, so I grab out the picture I wanted signed as Rachel grabs her’s. We both give him the pictures and he signs them. I don’t bother to look at mine as I give him a hug and say goodbye. I grab Rachel’s hand and scurry out of the room.

Once we get out of the venue, we get in our car and drive to the hotel. When we finally get there I look at the picture for the first time. It’s all normal, just a signature, and then I notice something strange. There seems to be a series of numbers underneath the signature. I freak out when I realize that it must be a phone number. I decide to text it to see whose it is.

Hello, who is this? I type this and then wait for an answer. When I don’t get one within the next hour, I start to think that maybe it’s a prank and so I go ahead and crawl into the bed next to Rachel, who is sound asleep. I am half asleep by the time I feel my phone vibrate, I grab it immediately and see a text back from the number.

This is Blaine. Is this Kurt? I drop my phone out of surprise. This can’t be Blaine Anderson, there is absolutely no way. I decide to text back to find out.

It’s been three months since I met Blaine and my life changed for good. Now he’s off tour and we are best friends, I told Rachel about Blaine and to say she freaked out would be an understatement.

After talking for two months we decided to take our relationship to the next level and we started dating after I accidentally told him that I had a crush on him during one of our phone calls and he said that he liked me back. It’s been a month now and Rachel is the only person who knows.

Blaine is finally coming to Ohio to visit his family when our worlds flip upside down and inside out. We’re celebrating our one year anniversary and going to our favourite restaurant, Breadstix. We hadn’t expected there to be paparazzi since it was late at night, but we obviously underestimated them because the next day there were pictures of us doing stuff from walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, pecking each other on the lips throughout dinner, and just sitting with each other sent to Blaine.

I find out about the pictures when Blaine calls me up crying and having a panic attack. I immediately rush over to his house, it’s strange to see him crying and panicking when he is usually always smiling and happy. This pictures obviously have distraught him quite a lot. When I get to his parent’s house, I knock on the door. His older brother Cooper opens the door and ushers me up to Blaine’s room. I’ve met Cooper once, when Blaine and I met for the second time in person, It was the first time since the concert.

When I get to Blaine’s room I knock on the door and announce my presence to him. He throws open the door and runs into my arms as I wrap them around him. His cheeks are tear streaked, and his usually hazel eyes are bloodshot. His usual gel helmet of hair is a curly and matted mess from sleep.

I feel him mumble against my chest and I pull back to hear what he is saying. He repeats the same phrase over and over with tears streaming down his cheeks. He’s choking on his words, and it hurts my heart to hear what he’s saying.

“My life is over, I’ve ruined everything.” That’s all he says as the tears drip onto my shirt. His hands navigate towards my waist as he bawls, I’m holding him tightly and rubbing his back. “Have they posted the pictures?” I whisper softly. He shakes his head and croaks out.

“No, but they said they would if I didn’t tell the world before Thursday.” The problem with all of this is that Blaine isn’t out of the closet yet and would like to keep that on his own terms, but at this point he’s just going to have to tell everyone.

“Blaine I think that you should tell everyone.” I whisper this softly, barely audible yet Blaine hears it.

“I think I will.”

Soon, Blaine and I are sitting on his bed., he has dried his tears, and is typing out a tweet to tell the world everything:

‘Hey guys, I have something that I need to confess. I have been keeping this a secret for years and quite a few of you have guessed. I’m gay, and I have an amazing boyfriend. His name is Kurt Hummel and I love him. If you don’t approve then go ahead and stop listening to my music. Thank you.’

I look over at Blaine and see fresh tears running down his face, I wipe them away as he presses the post button. Blaine throws his phone across the room as he starts sobbing again. The phone hits the wall with a crash and I’m honestly fearful that he broke the screen. I hear the phone vibrate with notifications as the tears fall from his eyes down to the soft sheets on his bed. I’m not sure if I should leave his phone or grab it, I’m not sure if I want to know how the world is reacting to the news. I finally decide to take the risky route and get up off of the bed, I cross the room and with shaky hands I grab the phone. I don’t look at what the replies say as I cross the room again and drop onto the bed next to Blaine. Without looking at the replies, I unlock his phone and open the ‘Twitter’ app. I open the tweet and start to scroll down to see the replies, my finger lands on the first one and I almost start crying along with Blaine.

‘I’m so happy for you. Everyone deserves to have joy in their life and it seems that you have found that joy. No one should be angry about you finding the one person who makes you truly happy, not even if that person happens to be a male. I hope that you are both very happy and that you know that you will always have at least one fan.’

A tear finds its way down my cheek as I turn the phone towards Blaine, he grabs the phone and reads the reply. He looks up at me and smiles through the tears, I lean forward and press my lips against his in assurance that everything’s going to be fine. It is going to be fine.

A year goes by and we are living our life on the high side. I moved in with Blaine about a month ago and life couldn’t be better. Rachel and Finn got together three months ago and now live right next door in the apartment on our left. It truly is a dream come true.

At the moment Blaine and I are sitting in a recording studio composing a tweet to tell the world about the fact that we will be starting a duo career. Blaine and I talked about it for a while and finally decided that it would be fun, we are dropping our first album in May and I couldn’t be more excited.

Finally everything in my life is perfect. Finally I get to live my life fulfilling my dreams instead of feeling like I’m fulfilling someone else’s. Finally I get to live my life the way I want to and I get to live it with the one person who matters most to me. That person just happens to be Blaine Anderson, and I couldn’t be happier about that fact. No matter how much disapproval we get from the public I know that I will always have Blaine. I know that the disapproval is inevitable as well because I found love on the star side.

#klaine #fanfic #writing #i wrote this for school #i got an a if anyone was wondering #romance #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #glee #help me #this is a cry for help

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